As a student at Santa Cruz I approached Rita Bottoms at Special
Collections for suggestions on people to photograph that had something
to do with Santa Cruz and the establishment of the University there.
It was as one of the “Movers and Shakers” that I first called upon Page
Smith with the assignment of making a portrait for the library archive.
I don’t remember what we talked about when we first met but I do remember
how beautiful the rooms were, filled with carpets, artwork and windows
opening to trees and light. I was also taken with Page’s lack of
ego, his quiet warmth, and patience as I was allowed to work and was not
given any limitations in making the photograph. I had made portraits
of N., a writer who declared to be connected to the Zen spirit of self-effacement,
but insisted very specifically on certain conditions before he would allow
a photograph. Page Smith, in contrast, personified my ideal of warmth
and humor, the ability not to take everything so seriously, working steadily
toward a goal.
In 1974 Page invited me to accompany him and his friend Paul Lee on
an adventure to Covelo to visit the Master Gardener Alan Chadwick.
I was warned that I might be in some danger as Mr. Chadwick had the tendency
to throw rocks at photographers, but was included at my own risk.
As I think back to the days spent together traveling up and back, and at
the farm, my first memory is of how much fun Page and Paul were having.
The years of age these two men had acquired did not have any bearing on
their actions or attitude: I was on a road trip with two wild boys who
could have been stand-ins for Tom and Huck. The wind blew through
Page’s hair as he drove with the window rolled down, laughing at stories
shared with his good friend. On our return we stopped at one point to wander
through a field of pumpkins, the sun low and the light golden over the
field of orange globes. Page and Paul were turned loose and laughing,
happily bounding out of the car, wandering like kids on a treasure hunt
who appeared to be adults; giants stepping carefully as if they had to
concentrate before placing each huge shoe on the earth so far below.
The last time we met, Page had called to say that Entertainment Weekly
would write a review of his new chicken book and that they needed a photograph,
if I had one could I send it in. I thought this was an excellent
excuse to visit and make some new photographs of a friend I had not spent
enough time with. My son Ben was five, Oriana my daughter was ten,
and I looked forward to introducing them to someone I admired. It
was also ironic that I had a photograph that I wanted to bring down, and
this would be the perfect opportunity. I make a lot of photographs
of people who exist in the streets. In the tradition of Louis Hine,
Arnold Genthe, and Imogene Cunningham, I have always been drawn to the
citizens of the world, and have thought that people in the future might
be as interested as I am in looking at photographs of real people.
It was on one of my walks through San Francisco that I happened to make
a photograph of a homeless woman in Golden Gate Park, reading a thick book
on a bench with all her possessions piled in a shopping cart beside her.
As I made the photographs I had to notice that she was halfway through
the book, and asked her what it was. I was stunned to see it was
one of the People’s History of the United States written by my friend Page
Smith, and it had his portrait on the back cover. I asked if she
would mind posing with the book turned so the photograph showed clearly,
and thought how happy Page would be that his work reached every level of
citizen. I asked the woman if she had any favorite part of the history,
she turned back through the book to the description of a victory parade
for Abraham Lincoln and told me that she liked to read the descriptions
of the people of the time, and read aloud the passage. I gave a print
to Page and told him the story; he laughed and thought it was wonderful.
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