Dec
19
I have written a bit about M, the patient I visit in a care facility. Let’s call him Mark. I don’t want to cross privacy boundaries sharing about him, but I want so badly to help you know him a bit like I have.
Mark is in memory care and I am not sure how much he has progressed in terms of a dementia type diagnosis. In my experience, he is very lucid and has a much better memory than I have in terms of being able to talk about his past. He is physically fragile and short of breath and speaks in short but impactful sentences. Every word he says lands just right, he is a bit like a Raymond Carver or Cormac McCarthy novel where words have been stripped lean but are somehow more full.
He recently revealed a great box full of photos, one of the few personal items in his room, and over our last several visits we have been going through them. I pull a chair next to him with a pile of prints in my lap and hold each one up so he can see it, and he can almost always tell me what is happening — where it was taken, who he was with.
There are a stunning number of images with beautiful women. I mean I cannot overstate this: there are so many women. Many where the woman is the only subject, and many more with Mark in the picture. Sometimes there are two women, with smiling Mark in the middle. “One on each arm, if I could swing it,” he tells me.
It is something to see woman after woman, each one so beautiful in her very unique way. Some look almost modern in their appearance but most really echo the era, and one thing that stands out to me is how lovely it is is to see so-called imperfections: small breasts, real teeth, minimal makeup, normal lips. Each women looks like herself rather than a social media filter and it is breathtaking.
He was obviously an enormously charming man, you can see it. He has a terrific smile that lights up his face, a real twinkle in the eye. You can see that in his face today. His eyes are older but they have the exact same glimmer. You can tell then and now that he was not a lecherous, leering sort of man. He was a man who deeply appreciated beauty and was able to capture it in a way that shows his skill; he was not simply snapshotting the moment but rather framing it with great care.
Mark was also ridiculously handsome. A pleasing just-right face full of character, an attractive full mustache, not a tall or big man, a man who fit perfectly next to the women on each arm. You can see that handsomeness in his face today, it is different and he has a full white beard now but he is still so pleasing to look at.
In some images he is in formalwear for ship events and my goodness. “You must have been irresistible,” I told him, and he said, “That tux didn’t hurt me one bit.”
He never did marry, although he says he came very close three times. He says he has regrets about this now, and sad that he never had children. I am sorry for this sadness but we often talk about how incredibly rich and adventurous his life was. He knows that, because it is true.
Among the many photos of women — women he was dating, women who were passengers on the cruise and river boats he worked on — there are a wonderful number of pictures of ship passengers in costume. He was the ship photographer, the person who takes photos as you enter the ship and also during the trip. His specialty for some period of time was offering the experience of getting a novelty Western-themed photo, sepia tinted and showing people wearing Western wear. He had a large collection of costumes and props for people to choose from, and I love these images — it is fascinating to see what people were drawn towards. For instance, many women chose the big fluffy boas, the peacock-feathered hats, the bustiers and huge flowing skirts, while men went for the fringed buckskin jackets and the pistol/rifle props. But every now and then a woman chose the menswear and the guns, and I find myself longing to know more about those mysterious long-ago ladies.
The final photos would be given to recipients in cropped oval paper cards, but Mark’s images show the full image, often with a backdrop in the frame. So almost every picture shows these people in historically-accurate wear, complete with nonsmiling faces (he would ask them not to smile so as to look more authentic to the time, but he told me that if someone did smile, he did not stop them). But if you look at their feet: sandals! Flipflops! Tennis shoes! Oh, I find that detail so charming.
For a time when he was a very young photographer just a few years out of high school, he took pictures of high school marching bands. These images are enormously interesting too, the way he was able to pose and frame very large numbers of people. The giant sousaphones in the very back, staggered just perfectly so as to balance the shot. Girls in the front with batons or flags arranged in striking sort of way that draws the eye in. Every single person facing the camera at the right time! God, he was so very talented.
I wish I myself could be photographed by Mark, I would love to see that. I find myself one of an untold number of ladies throughout his long good life that has been swept right off their feet by him, and I am happy he is having that experience in whatever time he has left. Another smitten kitten, lit up by his smile. It is clear he brought joy to so many people, and I am so grateful to be one of them.
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