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May 11, 1998
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Most journalists will tell you that getting involved with your
subjects is bad journalism. You lose your edge and objectivity.
But every once in a while, you run across someone while covering
a story that changes your whole life. Someone who is so extraordinary
that your drawn to them. In my journalism career, I have one
of these people and his name was Jack Williams. Jack, you
see, died a few years back of cancer and I, to this day, miss the
conversations and friendship that we had. I consider myself a journalist-
even today, but I also, and above all else, consider myself a human
being who cares about those around him.
I give thought to my friend about the time of the races at Talladega.
Jack lived under a bridge that I regularly travel to get to the
Talladega Superspeedway.
I remember working at the Daily Home
in Talladega, Alabama and while on lunch one day, I read a small
feature story in our sister paper, The Anniston Star
about a man who was dying of cancer and living under the Choccolocco
(pronounced Chalk-O-Lock-O) Creek bridge on Highway 71- about ten
miles from town on the way to the Talladega Superspeedway (home
of 2 yearly NASCAR events). I was immediately intrigued and since
I wasn't busy that day, decided to go down and take a look for myself.
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Jack, on one of the days that he wasn't feeling well. One of
the things that stands out about jack was that regardless of how
he felt, he allowed me total access to his life. I shot all of the
images for these stories in black and white, mostly because the
subject matter screamed for it. Color photography is not always
the maker of good newspaper photography.
Click image to see it full size
© Mark Lent
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There's a large hill that overlooks the bridge as you're driving toward
it and I could see a small plastic-tarped abode on the far left side of
the bridge with a small dirt road running toward it. It was a cold day
and the sky matched the grayness of the tarp. I turned into the
road and was shocked to see 10 cars parked out of sight and began to wonder
what was going on. I walked up without my equipment to a large group of
men and asked if I could speak to Jack Williams. A tall, thin man stood
up and in a raspy voice said "That's Me".
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Jack was presented with a dog early in his adventure at the creek.
"Queen Bee" was to become his constant companion. The
good natured mixed-breed was rarely more that five feet from his
master. You could tell that the dog loved Jack simply by his quiet,
obedient nature.
Click image to see it full size
© Mark Lent
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I have to admit that after seeing Jack and his living
conditions, I felt sorry for him. The story that I had read earlier
in the day was also written sympathetically, so I guess this shouldn't
have surprised me. Jack came up to me and asked all of the usual questions-
what are you going to write about? When will it be in the paper? What
paper do you write for? I answered the last two questions and told
him I didn't know what I'd write about. That was up to him. He shook
my hand and I was amazed at the strength that he gripped me with.
It wasn't something that I had expected from such a frail looking
man. I found out too that most of the trucks belonged to Jack's former
co-workers and friends. Jack was a house painter by trade and was
considered one of the best in Talladega. |
| I went back to the car and got my cameras and tape recorder and
sat down with Jack near the roaring fire. Jack sat across from me
and started the conversation by asking "What do you want to know?".
It was a refreshing remark for a journalist to hear. I immediately
liked the frank, open personality that Jack had. So, for the next
five hours, Jack and I talked. |
Jack had worked hard all of his life and his hands showed this.
Here, he's decorating a "Sugar Plumb Tree" for Christmas.
I always try to shoot detail in my photo essays and I think that
this shot is a good illustration of Jack.
Click image to see it full size
© Mark Lent
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I didn't shoot a single image that first day simply because I was so
intrigued with what I was being told. Jack had been a life-long resident
of Talladega and had served in the U.S. Army as a Quartermaster and supplied
American and British troops along the Burma Trail in World War II. Jack
had also been married and was a widow- his wife and daughter had been
killed by a man who was trying to commit suicide by hitting their vehicle
head-on at 85 miles an hour. They died, but the man lived. While researching
that part of Jack's story in back issues of the Daily Home
I found out that the man had been captured and had somehow acquired a
hammer and began beating himself in the head with it. On a small lonesome
road in Talladega county that runs across that same creek that Jack lived
on, there is a sign dedicated to his wife and child and is a permanent
marker of the accident site.
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Another detail shot that I used to illustrate Jack's personality.
The folder on the left is a Hospice folder, the letter is addressed
to "Jack Williams- Residence under the Choccollocka Creek Bridge,
Lincoln, Alabama" and a National Geographic- one of Jack's
favorite magazines. On the envelope there's a "Return to sender"
stamp, which had been crossed out. The letter was delivered by the
postal service to Jack, under the bridge. It became an "official"
address by the postal service and they would often deliver cards
and letters to him there.
Click image to see it full size
© Mark Lent
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I also found out while researching Jack and his family
that they had a long, distinguished history in Talladega and were
among some of the early leaders in the community. For example, Jack's
great grandfather was Sheriff, started the public library system,
became superintendent of the schools and was also mayor. His reputation
as a sheriff was equal to the very best Wyatt Earp stories- taking
on half a dozen men and capturing all of them without firing so much
as a shot (During this time, Talladega, which literally translates
to "White man's border land" was considered "frontier"
country, only being settled by the toughest people) . One of the more
interesting things that I found out about the great grandfather was
that he had also started the newspaper that I was working for. It
was originally called "The Daily Mountain Home". His two
sons eventually took the company over- one as the publisher the other
as the printer. |
| Jack had cancer in his esophagus and because the cancer had developed
to an advanced stage, Jack wasn't able to eat solid bards. His diet
consisted of "Sustical", beer and various fruit juices.
Beer was the main staple of his diet though and was recommended to
him by his doctor because of the calories, fiber and basically as
an "Anastasia". It didn't hurt that Jack also really liked
beer too. And since he was dying, why not? |
One of jack's favorite activities was going to the VFW in Talladega
and watching the pool games. I like this shot because it symbolizes
Jacks personality and how he could easily blend into the background.
Click image to see it full size
© Mark Lent
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The next day, I went back to see Jack and had a dozen rolls of film.
I had talked to my supervisor, Jim Smothers, about the story and had asked
for a full page for a feature story. One of the nicest things about working
at the Daily Home was working for Jim. I was allowed to work in-depth
stories like this one on a regular basis. Jim would take care of all of
the mundane shoots to give me time to peruse these stories and I am, to
this day, grateful to him for that. It's a class supervisor who gives
you that "go get 'em" attitude- it's a rarity in newspapers.
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Jack would be visited regularly by a doctor and nurse from Birmingham
(sorry, their name fails me now...). Jack didn't have money to pay
them for their help, so he would greet them with a fish that he'd
caught and would have it descaled and cleaned- ready for them to
eat. The doctor always took the fish, but I never did find out if
he actually ate them. Note too the beer can- Milwaukee's Best was
Jack's favorite brand of beer.
Click image to see it full size
© Mark Lent
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I shot images of Jack for the next week- fitting in time whenever
I could while getting back to the business of newspaper journalism.
We published the story the following week and I was surprised that
what I'd written was almost opposite from the one that I had originally
read in the Anniston Star. After talking to Jack at length, I didn't
feel any sorrow for him. Jack loved hunting, fishing and the outdoors.
His last wish was to be surrounded by these things and so, was offered
to "rent" the land that his tent was on for $1 a year-
payable at a later date. Jack you see, was doing exactly what Jack
wanted to do. I came to admire this. Living in Alabama in the winter
time is cold and wet- not an easy way to live, yet this tall frail
looking man embraced it.
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| Jack and I became friends and I started visiting him regularly-
even going down on my off time to sit by the fire and talk. Jack got
progressively worse and ended up in the hospital several times only
to return to his little shack. Returning from one of those trips to
the hospital, Jack had found that someone had come into the home and
stole his car battery (that powered his black and white television
and radio- the only two luxuries that Jack allowed himself). It angered
me that someone would do this and for months after this I blamed myself,
thinking that if I hadn't written those stories about him that someone
may not have known that he was there and thus not stolen his possessions.
So, I did what any self-respecting journalist would do- I wrote a
story about his stolen property. It amazed me that there was such
an outpouring from the community. Immediately, people brought televisions,
generators, heaters, radios and beer- lots of beer. Jack had other
struggles at the site. In the following spring, the rains were particularly
heavy and the little home on the creek became flooded and was totally
submerged in the swollen creek. |
Jack with a very young "Queen Bee". This particular
image has never been published before and is one of those that I
have kept private. Jack felt a lot of uncertainty in his life and
was at times, uneasy about this. During this particular conversation,
Jack had shed a few tears over the future unknowns in his life.
Click image to see it full size
© Mark Lent
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When his house flooded, he came to the paper to tell me. I offered him
a spot on my sofa until he could get back to his home. I drove him to
my apartment on Coffee Street in Talladega- an old Victorian style house
that had been converted into four apartments. Jack got out of the car
and had a strange look on his face. I asked him what was wrong and he
explained to me that he had also lived in this house several years earlier.
He told me he lived in the top right apartment- the same one that I was
living in. It was kind of spooky and I still get shivers thinking about
that. It truly is a small world.
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Jack had few modern conveniences, but did keep a TV and liked
to watch bartball if he could pick up a station carrying a game.
Click image to see it full size
© Mark Lent
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That spring eventually turned into summer and Jack was
still at the creek. This in itself was pretty amazing since nearly
a year before Jack was told that he'd have 6 weeks to live. In July,
I was sitting at my desk when my phone rang. It was the chief photographer
from the Tuscaloosa News. He told me that
he had a job opening and that I had been recommended to him by the
Associated Press in Alabama. He wanted me to visit the paper and talk
to him about working there. I moved to Tuscaloosa and started working
at the Tuscaloosa News on August 6th, 1990-
only 3 days after Kuwait had been invaded by Iraq. I worked the night
shift, so had time during the day and made regular 100 mile trips
to check up on Jack and bring him a case of beer. Eventually, the
rigors of working at the Tuscaloosa News surrounded me and I found
I had less and less time to make the trip to Talladega. Jack died
and I had not had a chance to see him for several months prior to
that. |
I still have many reminders of my friendship with Jack Williams. Jack
was a writer and a poet. He gave me several short stories and poems over
the year that I photographed him- one of which made it to the paper as
a Christmas story. The poem was entitled "Christmas on the Creek"
and was used as the lead for the story. To this day, when I go back to
Talladega, I see old friends who still talk to me about Jack Williams
and "that poem". I also have several short stories that Jack
wrote, a photo that Jim Smothers shot of Jack and I during one of his
many visits to the paper, video and audio from TV stations that did stories
about Jack based on my writing and I still have- most importantly, my
memories. In looking back on all of this. I feel that I got more benefit
out of our friendship then Jack did. I was able to produce great stories,
shoot some very fine images and advance my career partly because of this
man's willingness to share his life with me. I feel that I am truly a
lucky person because of this. It's moments in the career of a photojournalist
such as this one that make the long hours and low pay worthwhile. I sometimes
miss these moments and wonder what I'd be shooting or writing about if
I was still a journalist. Without a doubt though, few if any would match
Jack Williams.
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I think that as a journalist, one of the most important things
that you can do is to be objective. Jack was an excellent example
of this. To look at him from the outside is to see something totally
different from looking deeper into the inside of the person. Jack
was not rich or well educated. But, what made Jack stand out was
his "humanisity" and his love for everything around him.
Jack Williams lived a good life and I hope that as I live my life,
I can be that same kind of person.
Take care,
Mark.
May 11, 1998
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One of the parts of Jack's personality that always impressed
me was his ability to retain information. Jack could tell you about
an article he'd read ten years earlier in great detail. Here, he
was explaining to me how a Wasp nest is made- something that he'd
told me he'd read in National geographic several years prior to
this image being made.
Click image to see it full size
© Mark Lent
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