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.

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