Seeing Joseph Riley

I went out in the dark and the rain last night to follow Arachne’s practice of staying in familiar terrain but seeing it differently. I told myself firmly, “No people,” as that’s what usually draws my attention. 

This man saw me taking a picture of empty park benches dripping with rain and wanted to talk. He says he’s a veteran and has been diagnosed with a brain tumor that is giving him horrible pain on the right side of his head, but the physicians at Veterans Hospital say they can’t do surgery to remove the tumor. He has lost the use of one eye and is angry: he’s sure he would get better medical care if he had money, or if some physician believed his life was worth saving. “They don’t care,” he told me. “They see some homeless random old coot like me, and they don’t give a damn.” I sympathized and shared his outrage but resisted the temptation to make a photograph of him, as I was on an assignment to shoot no people. As we were parting he said, “Hey, would you just take a picture of me, so you can remember Joseph Riley was here?” His face softened into a kindly smile that he wants to be remembered by. So here is Joseph Riley. Remember him. Maybe tomorrow I’ll see differently.