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

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