What I Did On My Summer Vacation - Part 3: Woodstock...

After leaving Long Island, I headed north. I was on my way to Poyntelle, Pennsylvania and had absolutely glorious weather for my drive.

The drive itself was pretty uneventful, as most drives (thankfully) are. The Ford Fusion I rented was kickin' down about 33mpg, the stereo was cranked and I was diggin' the ride.

I'd gotten to a point in the drive where it was the same route I used to take to Poyntelle from my Dad's house in Wallkill, New York. I would often pass this or that and tell myself that I would stop and photograph it the next time I came through. Well, I don't know how many more times I'll have the opportunity to drive through this way, so this was the day. 

This was the day I would stop at the site of the Woodstock Music & Arts Fair.

Interestingly, the festival wasn't actually held in Woodstock. In fact, the originally chosen site was Wallkill, where Dad lived. The town shut that idea down, though, which sent the organizers packin'. They finally  decided on Max Yasgur's farm in the little hamlet of White Lake, in the town of Bethel:

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.com

For those of you keeping score at home, let it be known that the Woodstock festival took place nowhere near Woodstock.

That little fact notwithstanding, there's now an amazing tribute to that festival at Bethel Woods Center For The Arts, located in Bethel, New York. The Center has both a concert venue and a museum. The museum opened in June of 2008 and, while primarily dedicated to the festival, also features special exhibits. The Beatles incursion onto American shores was the special exhibit featured during my visit, so I gave myself a pat on the back (which is more difficult to do as you get older, by the way) for deciding to stop when I did. 

The sign at the entrance to the museum...

Admission to the museum is $15.00 which, initially, I thought was a tad high, but that opinion changed each time I turned a corner and saw a new display. There was so much to see and hear; sensory overload to the nth degree. Here are some of what's on exhibit:

And a ticket for all three days was only $18.00...

I mentioned that they have special exhibits here, and I was lucky enough to see the "America Meets The Beatles" exhibit on the lower level of the museum. Of course, I wasn't nearly old enough to see their American television debut, on The Ed Sullivan Show, on February 9, 1964 but, like many of you, I suspect, I've seen it a thousand times.

The collection of Beatles memorabilia is impressive, and covers the band's entire history:

The entrance to the Beatles exhibit...

Along the far wall was an example of every Beatles record released in the United States...

A recreation of a 1964 living room in mid-America. The television is tuned in to The Ed Sullivan Show...

Paul McCartney's suit...

Figurines from the "Yellow Submarine" era...

Sgt. Pepper...

Another from "Yellow Submarine"...

Of course, it would be a sin to visit this place and not venture over to the actual site of the festival. It's a natural amphitheater, now with pristine grass growing under the same skies that heard Richie Havens playing the first chords of the festival as he opened with "From The Prison". The story goes that no one could decide who would go on first due to so many performers being delayed by the traffic on the Thruway. Havens grabbed his Guild guitar, strode to center stage, sat down and launched into a fiery three hour set which climaxed with "Freedom", arguably one of the most memorable performances of the entire festival. 

As you stand at the Woodstock monument overlooking the festival site, you can see the 400,000-plus music fans dancing in the downpour, and you can hear CSN as they played what was only their third live performance as a group. You can hear the admonition to steer clear of the brown acid and you can hear the opening strains of Jimi Hendrix playing the Star Spangled Banner. You can see the trash left behind, the downed fences which kept out no one and the clothes strewn about by those who decided they simply no longer needed them.

"By the time we got to Woodstock we were half a million strong..."

In short, a visit to this monument, and to the museum, is the only way to truly get a sense of what it was like to be here 45 years ago as Arlo Guthrie proclaimed "The New York State Thruway is closed, man!" You won't feel like you were there, but you'll definitely feel like you wish you had been...

What I Did On My Summer Vacation: Heading North...

I hadn't been to Long Island in a few years, so I decided to go ahead and make a trip up there over the summer. It would be a long trip; some three weeks, but I would get to see friends I hadn't seen in a long time.

During the drive north, I stopped off in Maryland to visit my old friend Mark Acerenza. Mark and I joined the Navy together back in 1981. He got out of the Navy after either four or six years (I don't recall which it was) where I did a 20 year career, so our paths rarely crossed after he got out. The last time I'd seen him was in Charlotte, North Carolina back in 1988 or 1989. I made a point to see him on this trip though, and it was damn good to see him.

The guy's a ridiculously good cook and a tremendous host. Now that we're on the same coast, I think we'll get together a bit more often:

Mark at his backyard grill in Frederick, Maryland...

Even though he's cooking ribs, Mark's inner Italian comes out...

Here's to ya', pal...

I only spent one night in Maryland, heading to Long Island the next day, where I'd be staying at my cousin's house.

While on Long Island, I wanted, of course, to get some shooting in.So, to do that, I met up with another old friend of mine, Stan Balafas. Stan's originally from Mt. Sinai, Long Island, but I met him when I checked on board the USS Chandler (DDG 996) back in 1983. Like me, Stan's long since retired from the Navy, and now lives in southern California. It just so happened that a business trip for him put us on Long Island at the same time.

We decided to venture over to Port Jefferson and some surrounding areas. "Port Jeff" is a great little town of both high-end dining and beat-to-Hell dive bars, but they coexist well. I'd never done any serious shooting in this area before and, to be honest, I still haven't. I would love to spend an entire week shooting Long Island's north shore:

The tug "Resolute" in Port Jeff Harbor...

This is a view out from near Mt. Sinai...

Port Jeff Harbor...

A lone moored sailboat near Mt. Sinai...

I also wanted to make sure that I stopped by the Hauppauge Fire Department while I was on the Island. The Fire Department was a large part of our lives while I was growing up, as both my Dad and my brother were volunteer firemen. Now, though, I was eager to see the 9/11 Memorial they've built in the back of the property:

The 9/11 Memorial at the Hauppauge Fire Department on Rte. 111 in Hauppauge...

Looking back towards the "main house". The steel girder was recovered at Ground Zero...

After spending a few days on Long Island, it was time to head further north. I was going to Pennsylvania to visit the camp where I shot last year, as well as Manhattan and some other locales in Pennsylvania. There was a lot to be shot this trip, and I was just getting started...

What I Did On My Summer Vacation: The New Rig...

Yeah, I get it. 

There's a big chunky block of nothingness smack dab in the middle of my blog. A vast void, filled with emptiness and tales of, well, nothing. One could easily get the impression that, after June, I did nothing of note. The opposite, actually, is true. I had a pretty eventful summer, and I tried to shoot as much of it as I could. In fact, the summer was so busy that I wasn't able to update the blog regularly. So there.

Now, get off my cloud.

I'm going to do my level best to get caught up with the madness that was my summer. There was a lot to see this summer, and I shot a lot of it.

Before embarking on the summer, though, I needed to upgrade my gear. I'd been shooting with the Canon 5D for a few years, and I was becoming less and less enamored with it. Don't get me wrong, it's a fine rig. I was just acutely aware that there were more capable bodies on the market and, seeing as it had been a while since I'd done a gear upgrade, I decided it was time. I vacillated between the 5D MKIII and the 6D (both Canons), and finally opted for the 6D. It's an insane rig, and my research told me that it would handle low light/high ISO shooting like nothing I've ever seen. 

So, I put it to the test.

It started on the 4th of July, on board "Charley's First", which is a 51' Morgan sailboat owned by a friend of mine. We sat in Matanzas Bay and enjoyed the sun and water, waiting for night to fall and skyrockets to fly.

During the day, I used the 6D as it should be used for the first time:

My buddy Cliff, mugging it up for the camera. He's actually "Captain" Cliff, owner of "Charley's First"...

A more normal photo of Cliff, which will be used in a magazine article I'm writing about sailing in St. Augustine...

Fireworks, shot was handheld, on a moving boat, at night. ISO was set at 25,600 for this...

More fireworks fun...

Probably my favorite shot of the fireworks...

It's difficult to put my finger on any one aspect of the new camera that, in my opinion, sets it apart from what I'd been using. Like I said, the 5D was (and remains) a fine rig. But the 6D really does enjoy a number of improvements which make it take center stage in front of the 5D on my photographic stage.

Sunset in St. Augustine...

My friend Tony enjoying the north Florida evening...

After taking a long, hard look at these photos in Photoshop, I came to understand that shooting this summer was going to be very different than what I'd experienced in the past. Yes, the equipment I had prior to this was good. But this was a whole new level, and I found myself eager to get started with the summer...

The Photographer's Perspective...

I'm a photographer. That's what I do. 

I've done other things in my life but, at this point in time, I'm a photographer. I enjoy being one, and I like to think I'm good at what I do.

I've practiced my art and honed my craft so that I can continue to improve. My goal, without exception, is to provide clients with my absolute best. Period. Anything short of that means I'm not only short-changing my client, but I'm being dishonest with myself, and I won't do that.

I've invested in my business. I upgrade my equipment periodically. I try to stay on top of new techniques and processes so that I'm always able to provide my clients with a product they'll enjoy having, and that they will happily pay for.

That's right, I said it: "PAY".

You see, there seems to be this belief amongst those who wish to "hire" photographers that photographers, for some magical reason, don't need to make money. All this time I thought I need to be able to earn a living but, thanks to the eye-opening opinions of potential clients, I've been wrong about that all along. How do I know this? Well, because there seems to be a growing potential client base which believes it should be able to be a client, yet not have to pay for it.

I look for work everywhere; I have to. It's how I make my money. One of the places I routinely check is Craig's List. Some will roll their eyes at that, but the fact of the matter is that two of the best paying gigs I've ever found were found on Craig's List. I'll never be convinced that it's not a viable source.

As I drank my morning coffee today, I came across a listing which was looking for a photographer to shoot a 25 year class reunion. It's about an hour and a half away but, hey, driving has never scared me away from a job. Since they're advertising in my local Craig's List, they must really want a photographer.

So, let's see... Let's read into the ad a bit and... wait, what's this?

"You would need to be available on July 5th in the time window anywhere from 9-2. The only compensations would be a bbq lunch as we do not have large budget."

That's verbatim.

Lunch.

A BBQ lunch for five hours of your time.

Lunch.

I've honed my craft and invested in myself and my business to make sure that I can provide you a professionally produced product; one that, years from now you'll look back on and remember the good times you had, and you'll compensate me with... lunch.

Super.

Look, unless Wolfgang Puck is doing the cooking, I think you need to consider some things. I think that you need to consider the fact that the photographer you're "hiring" (and, really, I think we're using that word in the loosest possible way here) has bills to pay. He has credit cards and rent and groceries to buy. He has to put gas in his car and maintain his equipment. 

He does what he does so that he can have a life he enjoys living.

Despite what you apparently believe, the "photo credit" you give him is not going to put new tires on his car. They're not going to put food in his refrigerator or new shoes on his feet. Photo credits are virtually meaningless. To prove that point, let me ask you a question: Who took the photo that you last saw which contained a by-line. Don't go back and look at it; do this from memory.

You can't. 

Pretty much no one can. That's because no one ever pays attention to a photo credit.  Don't tell me that it'll be good "exposure". I've been doing this a long time. People know my work. My exposure is fine. But, to be honest, people will see my work.

But let's turn the tables for a moment. Let me ask you: What do you do for a living?

Let's say you own a restaurant.

Well, howsabout you come to my house next Friday. I'm having a dinner party and I'm going to need food. You can take all of your equipment and expertise and produce a culinary masterpiece for us. You'll have to bring your own pots and pans because I don't have any. Oh, and you'll need to provide the food, too. I'll tell you what we want to eat, but you'll need to bring it all. You cook up a tasty dinner for me and 30 of my closest friends and, in return, I'll be sure to tell everyone I meet about your yummy food and your great restaurant. 

Hey, it should be worth it, right?

For the "exposure"?

You want me to work five hours on a Saturday? Tell you what: Call a plumber and ask him what he charges per hour on a Saturday. Multiply that by five.

I'll give you five hours for half of that.

Deal?

The reality is that I do shoot for free, and I actually do it pretty often. But, when I do, I'm doing it for friends and family. When I do it, it's because I've decided that I don't need to be paid for whatever it is I'm shooting, because I've decided that there's another value to be found in shooting for free. It's my choice. Don't ever  presume that you're in any position to make that choice for me.

Expecting a photographer to work for nothing (and lunch equates to "nothing") is no different than asking a plumber to work for nothing, or a chef, or a surgeon or a truck driver. All of those people need to acquire a skill set that the general public does not have. Such a skill set has value, which is why you need to expect to pay for it.

So, the next time you find yourself in need of a photographer, truly consider what you're asking him to do if you ask him (or her) to shoot for free. You know as well as I do that you're going to want the best that photographer can provide. You're going to expect the highest quality results for nothing.

That begs the question: Why do you think that's okay?

Happy Father's Day, Dad...

J.P. - July 5, 1933 - February 15, 2014

This is a weird Father's Day for me. For the first time, I have no one to call. I have no one to send a card to.

I'm left only with the memories of my father.

"J.P". was a special guy. In as much as I could be aware of such things as a kid, I never knew anyone to dislike him. He was universally liked. I simply didn't know anyone who didn't want to be his friend.

J.P. was, by all accounts, a good dude.

He'd had a long and full life. That really can't be argued. He joined the Navy during the Korean War, and spent four years an an Aviation Boatswain's Mate. I don't know how far up the promotional ladder he progressed, but I know he enjoyed his time in the service. After he passed away, my brother Greg and I were going through his things. So many of the items we found were from his Navy days; pictures, address books, note pads. It was wild trying to get a glimpse into how a 19 year old Jerry Parr approached his days on board a United States aircraft carrier

Dad, sitting on the wing of a Corsair on board the USS Oriskany (CV 34)...

Tryin' to look like a bad-ass on board the Oriskany...

Dad was probably all of 19 years old in this photo...

Some time after leaving the military, Dad became a New York State Trooper. I don't know how long that lasted, but I know he was stationed up near Buffalo, and he didn't dig it. The only way to get out of there was to leave the Troopers, so that's what he did.

And then everything changed.

Dad married Mom. They bought a house in Hauppauge, Long Island and, over the next couple of years, brought my brother and me into the world. Greg was born in 1959 and I followed in 1962.

Somewhere along the line, Dad became a truck driver, and a damn good one. Our next door neighbor, John Pellegrini, got Dad a job driving for Exxon (well, it was Esso back then). That job would last 28 years. And those 28 years were 28 "accident free" years. Dad was always immensely proud of that. In addition to driving for Exxon, he would drive dump trucks, buses; basically whatever needed to be driven. In all seriousness, I really don't think there was anything he couldn't drive. If it had at least four wheels and a steering wheel, he owned it.

When I was about 12 or 13, Dad would take me out on his Exxon route at night. We would leave the house around 6:00pm, and not get home until two or three in the morning. This is where I learned an appreciation for diners. We would always stop at the Bluebird Diner on Vets Highway. And I'd always get bacon and eggs.

Dad was the first person to teach me to be aware of my surroundings. When we'd be at a station, filling their gas tanks from Dad's 8,000 gallon tanker, he would squat down and look across the parking lot. Almost without exception, there was money to be found. Usually it was a quarter or a nickel that we would see reflected in the lights of the parking lot, but I remember him once finding a twenty dollar bill. At 12 years old, it was the equivalent of hitting the lottery.

Certainly the most lasting memories I will have of my father will be of him as a member of the Hauppauge Volunteer Fire Department. I don't know when he joined, but I remember the Fire Department always being a constant presence. Greg followed Dad into the Department in 1975; as soon as he could, as a 16 year old kid.

All of Mom & Dad's friends were associated, in one way or another, with the Department. Parades, barbeques, fairs; there was always something goin' on over on Route 111 in Hauppauge.

JP in his turnout gear. I have no idea what year this is, but that moustache was epic...

Dad and Greg in our living room on Townline Road in Hauppauge...

Dad and Greg at my going away party before I left for boot camp in 1981. Again with the moustache...

I think I got my love of the water from Dad. Long before I came along, Dad had a boat. He loved boats. While he didn't have one while we were growing up in Hauppauge, my Uncle Vinny did; a sailboat. Dad used to love taking the helm of that thing:

Dad on board Taurus, my Uncle Vinny's first sailboat...

J.P. at the helm of the "10-R-10", on the Long Island Sound. This was probably around 1976 or so...

Dad did buy a boat after moving to upstate New York...

J.P. the fisherman. That's something that didn't rub off on me...

At some point, Mom and Dad decided to split. It was difficult but, in hindsight, it was certainly for the best.  Dad moved upstate to Hopewell Junction, New York which is where my grandparents were living, and he was able to be there with them, and for them, as they edged into their 90's.

My grandfather's funeral, in 2003, was the only time I'd ever seen my father cry.

J.P. could be stubborn. I remember during his one visit to San Diego in 1994, I gave him a Samuel Adams Lager. You'd have thought I tried to give him toilet water. I'd stocked up on Sam Adams for his visit but, only one beer in, we were headed to the grocery store for a case of Budweiser.

He did, however, enjoy the margaritas:

Having lunch with Dad along Avenida Revolucion in Tijuana, Mexico...

Living on opposite coasts made spending time together difficult. Some years after retiring from the Navy, I went to work for Taylor Guitars, and started traveling regularly to Canada, including to Montreal, Quebec. Well, Hell, Montreal was only about a five hour drive from Dad's, so I started to fly into Newburgh, New York and drive up to Montreal. This allowed me to visit him two weekends in a row when I went to Montreal.

Dad loved to shoot pool, and he was good. He was frighteningly good. I remember, growing up, he was the Hauppauge Fire Department champ year after year. He could be beaten, but not very often. And, if you slipped up on your game. It was over. It just was. Get a beer and have a seat, because you're done.

If you were in a pool tournament with J.P., odds are the best you were going to do was 2nd place...

You know, they say everything happens for a reason. In 2012, I left the job that allowed me to travel to visit Dad, and my own marriage hit the rocks later that same year. I ended up taking a job in Portland, Oregon and, while I enjoyed the northwest for its photographic offerings, it just wasn't for me. After only six months, I took a summer job as a photographer in northeastern Pennsylvania. The small town of Poyntelle, Pennsylvania was a mere two hours from Dad's house in Wallkill, New York.

Greg and I had discussed going to Dad's for his birthday. It didn't take long for us to go  from deciding to get together with Dad and some of his friends for his 80th birthday in July to having a fully catered birthday bash for him. It cost us a Helluva lot more than we thought we would spend, and it was worth every single penny. 

It was heartwarming to watch him as he reconnected with my Uncle Vinny, who he'd known when they were kids. They hadn't seen each other in almost 30 years. Vinny cried all afternoon:

Dad and Uncle Vinny at Dad's 80th birthday party...

It was also good to see the two of them with another lifelong friend, Bobby Arendt. Bobby and my Dad would meet twice a week at Gail's Place, a local "gin mill" (which is what my Dad called every bar on the planet) to play Keno. They lost a whole lot more often than they would win, but it was the friendship which was the only thing that mattered.

Lifelong friends: Dad, Uncle Vinny and Bobby...

Dad and his companion of almost 30 years, Judy, at his 80th birthday party in July 2013...

This shot is special to me, as it's the last photograph ever taken of Greg, Dad and me. Of course, we had no way of knowing that at the time. This was at Dad's 80th birthday party in July of 2013...

And what could be a more fitting birthday present? Howsabout a bottle of Old Parr Scotch?

He was, after all, an "old Parr"...

Dad seemed rather healthy and hale at his 80th birthday party, so we never really considered that it would be the last birthday party he would ever have. Sometimes, you just don't want to think about those kinds of things, anyway.

Dad was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer in late December.

Greg and I drove straight through to New York from Florida; 18 hours to be with him, and we spent New Year's Eve with Dad's friends in Plattekill, New York. We stayed for about a week, and returned to Florida only after it had been determined that Dad would be going home from the hospital in a matter of days.

Dad's attitude, despite having this cancer that was destined to kill him, was admirable. "Hey", he would say, "It could be worse. I could have a toothache."

I think about that a lot. It can always be worse.

In February, Dad was back in the hospital, and things were not looking good. He had a host of issues which, each on their own, would've been manageable. But it simply got to be too much. Greg and I, once again, made the drive to New York to see him before the inevitable came to pass.

Dad died at 2:15pm on February 15.

Greg and I were on I-95 North, somewhere in Virginia.

Years ago, before he died, my grandfather (on Mom's side) told me that you can tell a lot about a man by who shows up to his funeral. Well, Dad's funeral certainly told a story of someone who'd touched numerous lives, either directly or indirectly. Different religions, races, creeds; everyone came out to pay their respects to Dad.

I guess it confirmed what I'd really known all along: Everyone loved J.P.

So, while it's with a heavy heart that I write this, it's also with a thankful one. J.P. wasn't perfect. In fact, he was far from it. But if he was perfect, he wouldn't have been the guy who everyone knew and loved. Greg and I are the men we are in no small part because of him.

So, if he's still with you, be sure to tell your Dad that you love him. But, if your Dad has passed on, do what I'll do. Raise your glass in a silent toast, and remember him fondly.

If you knew Dad, you know that you're a richer person for it. If you didn't know him, know that you wish you had.

Happy Father's Day, Dad...