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| Motor home |
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| Inside the bus |
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| Horse trading |
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| Richard Garber |
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| Roger Anderson |
Horses were traded for around $4,000, with an auctioneer that sounded just like those on the movies. And for the same price, you could get a custom-made, hand-tooled and stitched leather saddle. For slightly less (but only slightly less), you could get a pair of Mercedes boots to fit you like a glove. I have to admit that I only spent $8 on getting my current boots shined – a process that takes at least ten minutes, and leaves them gleaming like glass.
On my way back, I passed the Amon Carter Museum in Fort Worth, and remembered a colleague telling me about an exhibition by the recently-deceased photographer Richard Avedon, entitled “In The American West”. It is a collection of portraits, taken over a four-year period in the early eighties, and focuses, not as usual on the more fortunate members of society, but on those closer to the land: farmers, oilfield workers, carnies, coal miners, drifters … (http://www.cartermuseum.org/Exhibitions/avedon/). I remember, some years ago, seeing the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC, and subsequently getting the book “The Wall” (which is mostly pictorial) and being moved to tears by some of the images. The Avedon exhibition moved me similarly – if you can see the picture of Richard Garber (a drifter), read the (very brief) background, and not feel his sense of despair, you’re a better man than I. I immediately bought the book from the museum shop so that I could share the images with others at home. But the exhibition is not about despair, or misfortune – though somehow you can see in the eyes of all the subjects the thought that somehow life has passed them by. What is most scary is that they are so comparatively recent. I remember 1983 very well, and I was probably, at that time, only one pay cheque away from being on the opposite street corner to Richard Garber.
Today, I headed south on Beltline, for no good reason. I came across “Texas Iron Concepts”, a store specializing in decorative ironwork. I stopped by to look, but it was closed. As I pulled away, the owner came to the door, and called me in. He was just “hangin’ out”, and I was welcome to look around. I spent quite a while chatting with Roger, about his work, his store, and his previous life in the oilfields of Oklahoma. He learned that I like flea markets, and directed me to a Mexican market in South Dallas – “Hell, you’ll be the only white boy! D’ya speak Spanish?” When I said I didn’t, he told me: “Cuanto dinero? That’s all you need to know – it means “How much?”. But they know me, and I mostly just say “How much for this piece of crap?””
He was right – I was the only “white boy”. It was pretty safe, I think, though I was careful who I made eye contact with. I was also the only white boy at “Big Bruce’s Texas BBQ” an hour later, though the other faces this time were black. The two patrol cars parked in front reassured me (because they were there for lunch, and not investigating a crime!). Beef plate, potato salad, pinto beans and lemonade. Did I want the small (pint) or the large (quart) size drink? I pointed out that refills were free, so that there wouldn’t be much point in me paying extra for the large size. It seems that they get a lot of truckers, and they can’t be bothered fiddling about with refills. It may also be that they get quite a few people who can’t figure out the difference.
Like I said – contrasts.
