Hands of Sir Rod

 In 2004 I was taking a class in black and white photography at the downtown TCC campus.  The instructor was a former staff photographer with the Tulsa World & Tribune.  He wasn’t that much younger than I.  I really enjoyed the class and several of the other students were very serious as well as being very talented with unique perspectives.  It was a class of students filled with a variety of ages and experiences that made it interesting to us all.

My dad retired from the paper when they downsized and did away with the Tribune.  The paper settled for the one publication of the Tulsa World.  I think my dad and Mike had known of each other but I don’t think they worked closely together.  My dad died in July of 1999.

There were a series of objectives and the curriculum involved a wide list of subject matters to deal with for the gambit of possibilities.

In October we were given the assignment of using the subject of hands for our photograph. 

I immediately envisioned a series of shots I wanted using my friend, Rod, in Barnsdall, as my model.

Hands are so expressive and have so many stories to tell of a person.  I know that many believe the “eyes” are subjects for expressive model, but I’ve always had respect for what stories lay in viewing a person’s hands.

 I called Rod on the phone and set up a time when I could make the drive to Barnsdall as soon as I could leave campus.

It had been extremely difficult for me to leave Barnsdall back in 2001.  Part of what I was leaving behind me was much needed to be left.  But it wasn’t easy to leave behind the friendship, closeness, and respected concern between the two of us.  We had been a help to each other through the few years I lived in the community.  We both shared many of the same views on life and philosophy.

I remember spending relaxing hours in his garage, listening to music from our pasts, and learning how closely our lives has passed each other in the past without us actually meeting until we both ended up in the small community of Barnsdall.

I knew the area where he grew up near Buffalo, NY. 

After my dad died I convinced Rod to let me drive him back to NY to visit what was left of his family.  He had two sisters who were still living in the area.  One was a retired nun whom we visited just before a beautiful complex was to be constructed.  We toured the old residency that had become a landmark of the area. 

Rod refused to fly and I was more than glad to make the drive.  It was a real adventure for me as it had been several years since I had been in that part of the country.  I got to see an old friend of mine from my Air Force Days whom I hadn't seen in over thirty years, so it was an exciting experience for me.  I guess it was the last traveling experience he made.  I was grateful that he got to see his sisters and extended family members. 

I had been in Amarillo Texas during the same time he was in Amarillo.

There were more things (details) about our lives that had a connection which caused us to feel very comfortable with each other and a feeling as though we had known each other a life time.

I still miss him terribly and think of him often.

It was a briskly chilled late October afternoon, even with the sun poking through the scattered clouds from time to time.  I was concerned that the light would not be strong enough for the shots I wanted to get of his hands.  I had a few ideas of how I wanted to capture those very expressive hands with characteristics of intrigued stories from past experiences that seemed to encase worlds of wisdom.

I felt like I was going home.  You know the feeling.  It had been a very long time since I felt like I was going “home” to anywhere.  After I left my home back in 1968, a year after graduating from High School and after attending some college, my home changed and I never really returned to what I had known as “home” for me, again.  It just happens that way for some of us.  It’s progress, and probably best that some of us don’t return to the way things once were, or we would never get away from them and be able to progress.

After crossing the bridge that is the entrance on State Highway 11 into Barnsdall, I made the right turn, northbound, heading toward the well known Meiler home.  It hadn’t been too many months earlier that a sign on the Mieler yard announced that it was the yard of the month.

Rod always took great pride in his yard, as he did in all aspects of his life.  It was always the highest example of neighborhood adornment with the flowers, plants, and manicured lawn.  He was talented in so many areas.  I always enjoyed the spring when we would trek off to Bartlesville and get blooming plants to locate in the yard around the porch and walkways.  He was always careful with his selections and picked out only the healthiest of plants.

If it was needed we would stop at Poindexter’s Liquor Store on the return route home and get a bottle of Carlos Rossi Rhine and/or Burgundy.

When I turned the last corner I saw Rod sitting on the porch waiting for me.

I parked my car at the curb in front of the house, picked up my cameras and walked up to the porch where Rod was waiting for me.

I had taken my favorite Canon SLR vintage quick load 35mm camera given to me by my brother in law years ago when I was advisor to the year book staff back in Chandler in the late 80’s.  I had also taken an even older camera that had belonged to my dad.  It was a medium format that was really great for getting some distinctive results.  I really wish I had my new Canon automatic back then because I would have more pictures of that day.

This was at a time when I had experienced some changes with my eyesight.  I was displaying some difficulties in my focus with the manual cameras.  I have not gone into retirement because I am able to continue with the new camera that has the automatic focus.

Our eyes met and it was as if none of the time we had been separated in the past couple of years had transpired at all.  I really felt like I was at home again.  Here was my pal, my best friend, the big brother I had searched my lifetime and finally found. 

He didn’t say it, but I know from his smile, that bit of a twinkle in his eye, and his engaging contact that he was glad to see me.  I am convinced that he had been as eager as I to spend time together again.

Between us were the things we had shared with each other, the times we had shared with each other.  The few times of holding differing opinions about something had only resulted in respect toward each other’s differences which somehow made us even more alike.

I will never be able to explain completely to those who have not had the experience of sharing and being so close with another human being, but there was such a relationship between us.

We knew very intimate details about each other that growing up brothers might share, and we had a closeness of knowing many psychological details between each other as well.  I think those things combined were what made the bond we shared even stronger than any other relationship we had ever experienced.  A “different” kind of relationship is what I’m identifying.  I’m not saying that we each didn’t have strong relationships otherwise in our lives.  We certainly did.  But it is the bond we had to which I refer, or attempt to shed some light onto it for you.

He inquired about my current activities and the new house I had moved into during Spring Break.  We exchanged small talk after he poured us both a glass of wine.

I took several pictures of his hands while he went about doing some menial tasks.  He held a cigarette in his hand, picked up his glass and sipped at the wine.  He took out some nail clippers and cut away at his fingernails.  There were many opportunities to snap a shot.

The clouds were scattered so the light on the front porch was not substantial, but I continued to take shots as we continued to visit.  He asked about the things I was doing in school, told me about the latest news in the neighborhood and updates on some of the former students I once had in class.

When the light was not strong enough for some good contrast, we got up and went inside the house and finished our visit.

Those hands continued to intrigue me.  They told so much about a man who had given so much in his lifetime and who was so caring, thoughtful, and truthful of others.  Those hands recorded it all.  They showed the hard work he had endured as a young boy growing up in a very strict German household.  Those hands held untold stories of experiences he endured after he left his home and went to the cold city of New York, New York, with all of the possibilities that befalls upon a young teenager becoming a young man of the world.  He endured and was successful.

There had been so many nights when we would visit and watch a program, or listen to the radio, sipping on a glass of wine, solving the worlds problems and our neighbors.  This would have been our reward for working in the yard during the summer heat, or helping a neighbor with their yard if they needed the help.  Rod was always like that.  If he knew that something needed to be done and someone wasn't able to do it he was there getting it done.

He would bake cheese cakes and take to families in need or for a celebration, or just because he felt like doing something for someone.  It didn't have to be a special reason.

The kids in the neighborhood knew that they could get a frozen treat from him by simply showing up in his yard.  There was an ice box and freezer in the garage that was often his sanctuary.  Many important decisions were reached in that area. 

Everyone knew that if the door was open Rod was ready for business.

Paintings, photographs and decorations were placed all around the garage as if it were a gallery.  It didn't matter that there was a washing machine and dryer there, it was always overlooked when viewing the artworks.

Some of the work was done by clients he had counseled in PA.  Others were from places of his past or from artist friends he had made at previous places where he and Sue had lived.

One story after another could be found in those hands, of the struggles and times of elated fortune as well as happiness in his lifetime.  He felt very rich in the fact that he knew his family loved him very much and he returned the status.  He was so very proud of all in his family.  Sue, who had endured so much from his stubbornness, yet continued to love him, filled a very special part of his heart.  His pride and joy were found in his love he had for his two sons.  He was so very proud of all of their accomplishments.  And he was very happy to have experienced becoming a grandfather. 

He showed such pride on that October day in 2004. 

He showed that he was satisfied his life had been filled with experiences and his responses to life that he was not regretful in any way.  Whatever it might have been, he would have done everything the same way. 

I’m not convinced that most others come to that conclusion about their life’s experience.  But, then, how would I know?

What I do know is that it was not easy for me to leave him on that day.

I had no choice.

This is how it was supposed to be.

Perhaps it was written somewhere that it was to be such.

Whatever!

The time did come that I had to leave.  We both knew it.

I very well could have spent the rest of the night filling our glasses with the wine, visiting, and sharing, but I could tell those times had long past us.  He tried not to show it but I could tell that he was tired and he didn’t want me to see it.  It was too obvious.  But I wanted to respect his wishes so, thinking of what he needed instead of what I wanted. 

We were in the living room.  He showed signs of being in need of some strength.  He stretched out on the couch and I told him it was time for him to take a nap.  I thanked him for letting me intrude on his afternoon, and then I hugged him for the last time before I gathered up my cameras and found my way to the street where my car was parked.

I felt a presence with me as I put my things in the car and sat down.  One tear had already formed before I put the key into the ignition.

I knew I would never see my friend again.  But it was okay.  I knew he was happy with all in his life.

I believe that he too, knew it would be our last encounter.  I was just happy to have been a small part of his experience and one of many people who were recipients of his generous love.

I miss you, Rod.  We all do.

You taught us all much.

Although you were never knighted by any authority, there are many of us who feel you deserve the recognition of being Sir Rod, because you are to us.

I chose this frame to print because of the way the sun came through the trees onto his lap. I received outstanding critiques from those classmates and above perfect grade from the instructor.