Snowman-chicken crucifixion?
#CatholicSchoolHomework
Archive Friday: St. Paul, 2010 by Alec Soth
We’ve wrapped up our shooting in Colorado and are moving back into Midwest airspace (and losing altitude by the mile). We spent our time in the Highest State whipsawing between all sorts of moods, altitudes, and environments, met a host of memorable characters, and covered a lot of hard and…
Grand Junction.
Real events don’t have endings,
Only the stories about them do.
—James Galvin, “The Story of the End of the Story”
(Source: lbmdispatch)
South Saint-Mary Cemetery. Walsenburg.
…These are not like graves in town that no one should forget.
These were meant to be forgotten. Some people never stop wanting to
disappear into the mountains.
James Galvin, from “They Haven’t Heard the West is Over”
(Source: lbmdispatch)
Read my post Popsicle #18: The Zebra Storyteller
Joseph. Walsenburg.
We picked up Joseph as he was hitchhiking in the rain outside of Walsenburg. He is 50 years old and has been on the road since he was 19.
“I wanted to see the world and meet people,” he said. “Since I left home in Texas the longest I’ve been in one place is nine months. My family’s all gone —mom, dad, brother, and sister; I’m the last of the Mohicans. I guess I’m what you’d call a drifter. I drift from one place to another. I’m also a survivalist; put me pretty much anywhere and I’ll get by. I don’t drink or use drugs, and I get by doing odd jobs here and there. I’m not looking for a handout. I just spent three weeks shoveling snow in Helena.”
Joseph has gum disease and no insurance, and has been systematically pulling his teeth with a pliers. “I’ve done ten so far,” he said. “You just grab a hold of them, keep wiggling until they’re loose, and then you yank ‘em.”
In his pack he carries a change of clothes, a map, two goose down sleeping bags (“I’m good for 30-below”), his father’s old Gillette razor, and personal hygiene products, including Axe body spray and deodorant.
“You have to be clean,” he said. “And you have to smell good. This stuff works. People pick me up all the time and say, ‘You don’t stink as bad as most hitchhikers.’”
We asked him what he regarded as the most essential item for life on the road.
“Socks,” he said. “Do not get low on socks. Take care of your feet and they’ll take care of you.”
Mary. Believers Realty. Pueblo.
Mary has been selling real estate in Colorado since 1975, but in 1986, after God spoke to her, she started Believers.
“So often we hear God’s voice and it sounds like our own voice,” Mary said, “but this was different. I was awake, and in the vision I was in an auditorium, which I was viewing from the stage. I could see a big group of people filing into this auditorium, just coming in from every door, and they were all wearing name tags. Then it was like I was looking through binoculars, and I could see that all of the name tags said ‘Believers Realty.’ God said He was looking for people to spread the word through Believers Realty. I said, ‘My goodness, there aren’t that many realtors in Pueblo,’ and He told me that these people were from all over the United States.”
Mary trademarked the Believers name, as well as the company slogan, “We go by the Book.” She still hopes to expand the business beyond Pueblo.
“This isn’t really about business,” she said. “I deal with people who are mad at the church or have been turned away or what have you, but I’m open to people of any faith or no faith at all. This is about my life, and living the way God intended. I don’t force things on people. I just try to serve as an example.”
Archive Friday: Prom, Minnesota. 1996.
A year ago Brad and I photographed prom in Cleveland. We’re currently in Colorado working on a new Dispatch. I hope we find another prom.
Mel “The Dragon Man” Bernstein’s compound. Colorado Springs.
L.H. “Jug” Lowell. Buffalo Bill’s birthday party. Lookout Mountain.
—E.E. Cummings
(Source: lbmdispatch)
Grave of Alferd Packer. Littleton.
Stand up you man-eatin’ son of bitch, stand up. They wuz seven Demmy-crats in Hinsdale County, and you et five of ‘em. I sentence you to be hanged by the neck until you are dead, dead, dead.
—Attributed to Judge M.B. Gerry, 1883, and inscribed on a sidewalk plaque in Denver
Packer, who was accused of cannibalizing five prospectors in Colorado, was not in fact hanged. After his parole in 1901 he went to work as a guard at the Denver Post. According to local lore, he spent his last years as a vegetarian.
(Source: lbmdispatch)