Atlanta

A few weeks ago, three of my fellow students and I traveled to Atlanta for the Atlanta Photojournalism Seminar. We decided to venture onto the Marta and explore Little Five Points, a small section of Atlanta. Here's some of what we saw.

A Man and His Dog

This past weekend I did some freelance work for the St. Augustine Record. My assignment took me to the small town of Hastings, Fla., which has a population of about 600. My job was to shoot the annual Hastings Christmas Parade.

I arrived early and parked my car next to an abandoned Red Cross building, which closely resembled something out of a WWII movie with peeling white paint and busted out windows. I made my way down the surprisingly empty Main Street. What little crowd there was gathered further down at the intersection of Main Street and Highway 207. In front of a small general store, sat a man and his dog, both on top of those plastic food cartons you always see in food markets. I approached them both and the man nudged the dog from his carton, offering me a seat. So I settled down next to him. The man was soft spoken and quiet, but his eyes twinkled with life and humor. The dog sat quietly at his feet. 

We spoke of Hastings and of Gainesville. I listened as he described the burglary and theft that goes on in Hastings. He informed me of the baseball bat he keeps upstairs in case he has to ward off any unwanted visitors. He described the last encounter, when the dog had almost caught the intruder, but had run into the door instead.  He recounted the thousands of dollars he had spent on vet bills to remove the cataracts from the dog's eyes. He recalled how the cataracts came back only a few months later. 

The dog never strayed. "He's always within 10 feet of me," the man said. The dog rolled on his back and flailed around. He rubbed his face and eyes against the man's legs. He popped up and begged to be held. The man bent over and brought the dog up to his chest, rubbing behind his ears and scruffing up his fur. The man put the dog down.

This was the man's first time at the parade, although he had lived in Hastings all of his life. He was a maintenance man, working seven days a week. He had taken off this Saturday just for the parade.

The parade started and was filled with the usual tubas and trumpets, horses and children, candy and Christmas carols. A six-month-old calf wore a Santa hat and walked beside full grown horses and miniature ponies. A Santa with stained dentures and yellowed beard rode down the street in a sidecar attached to a motorcycle. Children yelled out "Merry Christmas!"and horse manure littered the street. The man was on the sidelines, gathering up candy thrown from trucks and men on horseback. He ventured into a side door, bringing his loot upstairs to save for later.

The parade ended and the man stood with his dog. I shook his hand and expressed what a pleasure it had been to spend the hour with him. I took some shots from a short distance away as the man spoke with an acquaintance. He looked up occasionally and commented on how many photos I had taken. I told him he had a nice face.

It was a relaxed face, at ease and unfurrowed. His browned skin spoke of days in the sun and the dirt under his nails was indicative of the work they had seen. He wore a faded baseball cap embroidered with the letter 'A'. His jeans were worn and his shirt was shabby. The occasional fly circled the man and his dog.

And then he smiled, showing chipped and crooked teeth. The lines in his face deepened, telling of the life he had lived and the things he had witnessed. He uttered a muffled laugh and looked out at the empty street. The dog meandered toward me, only after I had whistled and given away my position. He only stopped once he felt my fingers against his wet nose. He strayed from the man only for a moment, before returning to his side. They once again stood together, man and dog.

"Thanks again Ray," I said, promising to visit were I ever again in Hastings. I pet Lucky once more before making my way back to the car. I pulled out of my parallel parking spot, leaving behind the small town,  remnants of a 15-minute-parade and a man and his dog, living in harmony side by side.