The Last Apprentice 
Epilogue, Part II
There are a few reasons why now, after 32 years, I pulled out my dusty journals. One was a recent chance meeting with a man named Kevin Brown. Not the Kevin Brown who was my friend during my Berenice Abbott days, but rather an Indian chief who lives on the Pamunkey reservation. (The Pamunkey Reservation in Virginia is the oldest in America.) Meeting him was not only a special experience, but it also made me think of my old friend Kevin Brown, who I lost touch with after one-too-many moves on my part over the years.
This year’s Berenice Abbott Prize contest at The Julia Dean Photo Workshops led my mind to wander back to 1978 again. The BAP is an annual contest with a deadline on July 17th, Berenice’s birthday. I wanted to add something special this year to the meaning of the contest, hence the decision to put the journal entries on our blog day-by-day.
But the major event that caused me to look for the box that held the journals was when I received a letter from Florida. The old-fashioned typewriter written envelope grabbed my attention at the mailbox and I opened it immediately. It was from a 90-year-old man named Rudy Otura, who doubted me as Berenice’s apprentice. One line read, “I doubt if you ever even met her.” He thought that I must be 90 by now too. Though he was wrong, his words hurt my feelings, so I wrote him back, explaining that I was 23 and Berenice 80 at the time that I was her apprentice. I told him that I was there from June 1978 – May 1979, then signed off courteously, without any extra chatter. I wish now that I had asked him how he even learned of me and my association with my mentor.
Rudy wrote to me again after receiving my letter. This time it was hand-written and he apologized for doubting me. It was after his first letter that I pulled out my journals. It took weeks to type everything up and prepare the newly found old negatives (which we are still working on). I wrote to Rudy again, two weeks before the first journal entry was posted on our blog to tell him about the journals.
But his letter came back to me. The sticker read Not Deliverable as addressed. Unable to Forward.
I don’t know what happened to him, which makes me sad, or how he came to find me, which makes me glad. All I know is that he inspired me and I wish I could say thanks.
Epilogue, Part I
That spring day, March 21, 1979, was the last time I wrote about my apprenticeship with Berenice, though I worked with her through May. Had I not kept a journal back then, I feel certain that I would remember very little, as I can’t recall much about those last two months. I don’t even remember moving out. I do remember that Berenice gave me two prints. While we were working one day, I asked her if I could buy an Abbott and an Atget. (I was hoping she would give me a student discount.) She looked me right in the eyes and said flatly, “No.” I’m sure my face fell from disappointment, while she went on to say, with her endearing smirk of a smile, “but I’ll give them to you.”
Berenice was just short of 81 when I left. We remained friends for another 13 years, as she lived to be 93. I saw her several times over the years and kept her abreast of my adventures. I even lived in Maine again for two years a decade later, while teaching full time for the Maine Photo Workshops. It was then that I spent my 33rd birthday with her.
I saw her for the last time in June of 1991. When I arrived at her A-frame house in the middle of the woods on Lake Hebron, she wasn’t back yet from a doctor’s visit, so I stripped down, jumped in the lake and took a private swim in a glorious spot. Once back, Berenice poured us each a glass of white wine and we sat on the porch and talked.
I had my Leica next to me, loaded with TriX. I was determined not to let her say no.
“Berenice, I said, “I’ve been asking to take your picture for 13 years now. Please, may I?”
“Yes, but make it quick,” she said.
I shot off a roll, knowing I hadn’t yet gotten a good shot. When I reached for more film, she said, “Okay, honey, that’s enough.” Like a dutiful apprentice, I stopped, sat down, and resumed our conversation, the one that would become our last.
She died six months later.
Berenice on her front porch, June 1991 ©Julia Dean
March 21, 1979
Today is officially the first day of spring and what a beauty it is. I can hardly stay inside.
At this moment, I am sitting above the river, behind the house. The sun is warming me, the river flowing in and out of snow patches, and the blue sky surrounds me.
I am feeling rather lonely, unable to sort out what’s boggled up in my head. What’s next? Why? What are the reasons for my constant search? Is it because I’ve not found happiness? No. I’m generally very happy wherever I am. Why the search? I’m not content in one place. I must keep going, advancing, learning, doing. Stagnation scares me.
Only one life and a short one at that. A lot to do, places to go. I’d love to share my desires with someone, but so far any relationship that I might have let myself settle into would hold me down.
I’m not sure why I’m such a deviate from the “American Girl,” but the lifestyle doesn’t fit.
March 20, 1979
Last night I experienced a childhood fantasy. Mark, Cully, Kathy and I skated on Moosehead Lake by a tapestry of starlight. The wind was so strong we literally sailed three miles across the lake, with a sheet of plastic as our sail.
All of my childhood dreams are occurring right now. Rivers running behind my house, secret spots to relax, lakes available wherever you look, mountains to climb and enjoy, skiing, ice skating, good people. I am now experiencing these things and am leaving it. Why?
I don’t understand myself sometimes. Always searching. For what I wonder? What happens when I’m 40 and I still haven’t found it? Mark says, “You’ll keep looking.”
March 15, 1979
Hank is here. When he comes, he brings a surge of energy with him, and it tends to rub off. I was so tired today that I could barely stay alert (stayed after hours last night at work!) I was also a bit grouchy. Anyway, despite my mental and physical handicaps, I kept plugging away. Called Kurt at 10:00 tonight. Talking with him revived me and I went up to the darkroom and printed until right this minute. It’s now 2:00 am.
Tomrrow is another full day. Work and work. I’d better get to bed soon.
