The story goes that my last name was inspired by my father’s attire. In the early 80’s my father worked as a Photographers rep and he would show up to a shoot wearing all Black. I have this crazy picture in my head of him walking into a studio wearing a turtleneck, leather pants, a pair of cowboy boots and of all the ridiculous accessories, a thin black cane. He was by every meaning of the word outwardly eccentric and if anyone could pull it off, it was my father. Little seemed to shake his confidence. I admired and adored that quality.
Later in life, my father rediscovered his love for taking pictures. He moved from New York to Florida and started his own photography business. He had been away from the field for a long time and hadn't seriously taken pictures in years but in his fifties, he was determined to make a living as a photographer. I watched him from afar as he taught himself new tricks and worked tirelessly to make a living. I was proud of him. At times, he seemed to have more energy than me. He was always moving from one gig to another- schmoozing with this client or that- never stopping; and he loved it. He loved the work and he loved the people.
Life in Florida, I’d assume, was not like New York in the 1980’s. My father no longer wore his black ensemble. First of all it would have been far too hot and besides, he had left that phase of his life in the past, save the name which he wore with pride. My father still liked to stand out. He would wear flashy Robert Graham designer shirts and faded jeans. As a photographer however, he would become known for his signature Cowboy hat. He wore it everywhere and it looked good on him. Most people would look silly. I looked silly every time I tried it on but for some reason, it fit him. He knew he looked good in that hat and so it became a truth. All it took was confidence.