#pulitzer #JohnPatrickShanley #Moonstruck
I stood pilloried as if a 16th century vagrant. I stared down at my feet. I caught a glimpse of myself hidden inside a shard of glass. I realized that not only was I part of the universe. I was the universe. The enveloping folds of the sky moved in time. An aliens’ metronome ticked and tocked. Slowly the galaxies’ stars melded. The Black Hole beckoned.
When I was a young boy I was the only one I knew who went to the Dodger/Yankee World Series.
When I was a young boy, I was the only one I knew who lived with Elsa’s “Born Free” lions.
When I was a young boy I was the only one I knew who rode aside Henry Fonda and stared into Americas’ dilemma: “The Grapes of Wrath”.
When I was a young boy I was the only one I knew who sat on the back of Peter Fonda’s chopper: I mimicked his distant stoic: “America is here”, “Easy Rider”.
When I was a young boy, I was the only one I knew who thought “2001 Space Odyssey” was a true story.
I stood like Chaplin’s “Tramp”with nothing.
I stood like Rocky Graziano with nothing.
I heard my mind sing in falsetto, “When You Wish Upon a Star”.
My father reminded me to read the science-fiction novel “A Canticle for Leibowitz”. The apocalypse happens. I realize I am alone in an unknown universe. My temperature is nearly 104 degrees. My fever is burning what is left of my mind. New York’s summer heat wave tangled with my health. I remind myself that I need to push forward: So many thoughts arise when you think the world’s eyes are querying your every move. The populous of another land seemed ready to pounce on me. I awakened before I died. I could faintly hear the Bronx cheer from Yankee stadium. Silence followed. The door buzzer for the Bronx apartment rang. I heard ”Come on up, third floor”.
John Patrick Shanley
I have photographed a number of famous writers: Joan Didion and Gore Vidal come to mind. But there was something different about John Patrick Shanley. He was young and about to explode on the scene: Hollywood and Broadway were beckoning; A star in the making.
Before Shanley could utter a word I apologized for my appearance. I had this wretched fever,I was clearly a mess. The writer’s heart rescued me. He handed me a glass of water and placed a floor fan in front of my face. If there were words that illustrated my predicament: The fan made me feel like a lion with flowing mane. My fever seemed to singe every hair follicle on my frame.
I immediately launched right into whimsical conversation about his writing, his success: I wanted to know about his movie, “Moonstruck”. I wanted the juice about Cher and Nicholas Cage. I wanted to know about his process. I wanted to know about John the writer. I wanted to know whatever he might share with me.
He was distant. I understood. He was clearly thunderstruck by my appearance. I asked myself, “have you looked in the mirror?”. He prevailed, we prevailed.
After about an hour and change, I knew I had accomplished what I needed. John was clearly exhausted. I think he suffered for me with every move I made. Maybe I am being a bit generous? Maybe he couldn’t wait for me to be finished. But then something funny happened.
He invited me to take a walk around the neighborhood.
I packed up my gear and we reentered what I had initially felt was my first dystopian war zone. We hit the streets. I cannot remember a single word I said. But I can hear his voice. The moment seemed like a Ken Burns’ narrative documentary. A history lesson on the “Fort Washington” neighborhood filled my ears. I was completely mesmerized by his knowledge and appreciation for the history and just about everything that moved.
I took snaps as he spoke. We wandered for blocks. But then like a bad movie, I felt a cool breeze blow though me. I will die on the spot if I am exaggerating: I was healed! My fever was gone. I was suddenly the person I wanted to be from the first. Then I caught John Patrick Shanley reading my mind. He was like a psychic sharing the great truth. Before I could say another word he said.” I think we have had enough for the day, don’t you?”.
My day started out as if I had died ten times over. I finished my day feeling close to something like a spiritual second coming. I shared my gratitude with him. Before I danced my way home, I listened. The Yankee’s stadium Bronx cheer echoed to the four corners of the universe, known as the Bronx. Along the way I felt that I survived a bit of the “Bonfire of the Vanities”, and a bit of “Fort Apache the Bronx”. More importantly I realized that my camera has never stopped seeing the city that is mine, New York.
#JoanDidion #JohnGregoryDunne
#GoreVidal
