October_2025
**Selling My Archive_Part Two**
When I pulled up to the Gage Hotel on December 28th 1988 with three trucks of my belongings and a sign in my driver’s side window that read “I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more.” I walked in to the Gage lobby to be met by Jim Bones, who welcomed me to west Texas. Jim was a famous photographer, and his gesture felt like an omen. Like I had made the right decision. Still my mind fought my heart that was telling me this was where I belonged.
Through the week till the new year, the Gage was full of people and celebration. The morning of January 2, as I was standing in the middle of Highway 90 waving goodbye to all my friends, and it was quiet again, the insecurities I kept at bay flashed and I thought, what have I done?
It felt very lonely. But I had a new set of friends to get to know. Giddings Brown and the staff and crew were all good to and for me.
Back then it was crickets till spring break. There were days with not one room was occupied. This gave me the opportunity to learn how to cook the menu. The weekdays were slow, and on the weekends Phil Thomas, the true chef of the place, made brisket and served a buffet. The dining room was to the left of the entrance and there was only a small kitchen. Shirley Rooney baked downstairs where there was also a walk-in refrigerator.
I treated the kitchen like the darkroom, timing how long things took to cook. For example if a steak took seven minutes and broccoli took 5, then the steak went on two minutes ahead. The menu included a chicken fried steak, a fish entree, steaks, a chicken entree and enchiladas. Learning how to use all the heat sources, and paying attention to the orders, you could get into a rhythm with your helpers and chef. It was quite fun. Waitresses control the flow of orders, and I remember once giving my waitress Rose a hard time about something, and she came in with a stack of orders. I never did that again.
On my days off, I would go to the park, or work on the building a darkroom. Floating, taping, and painting. I think I slept outside more than inside the first few years here. I still sleep outside.
I was overwhelmed with the concept of photographing Big Bend and the area. I would hike to a location and stay there all day watching the light. I never took the camera out of the bag for the first six months. I didn’t know how to start.
When I did start I began to make the 30 pictures that everyone takes of the park. Santa Elena, Mule Ears, Grapevine Hills. Giddings allowed me to sell notecards in the Gage lobby. I bought notecard stock, and I would print real darkroom prints, dodging and burning each one, ironing them on to the card stock and selling them for 2 or 3 dollars. It was 10 dollars worth of work for a 2 dollar card. I took a set to Whole Earth Provisions and Jack Jones ordered 300. I printed and mounted each one. Then I took a set to Big Bend Natural History Association and Sarah Bourbon. She said she would sell them, but a park requirement was they had to be informational. Sarah wrote that for me. With her order, and an image card of the Gage Hotel I had them professionally printed. That’s how the notecard business started. I still sell them and have about 50 different images.
Once I got the gallery space completed, I started calling my artist friends to see if I could sell their work in my gallery. I unofficially opened the gallery September 1st 1989. I was still working at the Gage, but my commitment of a year was almost up. I sold pottery from Austin, and artists Bill Montgomery, Margie Crisp, Jeanne Norsworthy, Ken Wilson, Paul Graybeal, Paul Wiggins, Dan Burkholder, Billy Ray Mangham, later George Zupp, Mary Baxter, Bill Wittliff and some I can’t remember.
I started to get assignments from Texas Monthly. Kathy Marcus, Nancy McMillan and D J Stout helped me a lot.
I was really hoping to finish this up, but I procrastinated and there is much more to tell.
I'll finish next month, promise.
**Bess and Mary**
I learned about two beautiful young girls that survived the flood at Camp Mystic, and so I called their parents and asked if I could meet and photograph these amazing people. There are layers and layers of tragedy about this event, and I am truly saddened and sorry for everybody who lost a child or their home or whatever. No one close to it is unaffected. There were also miracles, and this story is two of those.
Bess was swept out of her cabin around 4 in the morning, and washed down the flooding river. She floated by putting logs and pieces of wood under her arms. She would get sucked down, pop up and do it again. She floated for six miles only being able to see by lightning. She floated to a debris pile and was so tired and cold she fell asleep. When she woke up she called for help and was fetched out of the mess by two young woman.
Mary Margot's cabin had almost filled to the top with water. She dove down to a hole in the screen door and swam out. She popped up to land on the back of a camp employee who had one other little girl. They made it to a tree and were there for several hours.
Every time I tell the story I easily well up about it. These two brave, smart and very lucky children survived. I have met and photographed several of my heroes. Dan Rather, Emmett Gowin, Cormac McCarthy, Arnold Newman, to name only a few. None of them compare to meeting these girls for me. I hope I live long enough to see what they accomplish in their lives. It seems they have already passed such a test. It’s not without tragedy. These girls lost close friends. I asked Bess if she felt like she was spared. She seemed acutely aware, and agreed that she felt like God saved her for a reason.
I could never go to the aftermath of a scene like Camp Mystic. I am not the kind of photographer. But to meet these girls and make their image allows me to make a connection and statement about the event. Several years ago there was a bad fire that started in Marfa and burned nearly to Wild Rose Pass near Balmorea. My rancher friend Bobby McKnight suffered terribly. His childhood home burned down, several of his horses were killed and the home he currently lived in burned to the doorstep. I called him and said Bobby this is probably one of the worst weeks of your life, may I document it? He said C’mon. First, I was honored that he would trust me and let me in to his life, and second it was how I could tell a story about what happened.