Welcome Back Rich
More than four decades ago, when photojournalists still required a darkroom and Kodachrome was my palette of choice, my summers were spent crisscrossing the country, migrating with and documenting what little wildlife was left. After student portfolios were graded and I had recovered from the traditional end of the semester party, I locked my office door in Howell Hall, hooked up a second battery to the DC-powered film and beer fridge in my Chevy Blazer, tested the CB radio (cell phones weren’t practical yet), carefully packed camping supplies onto the roof rack, cameras onto the passenger seat and Donovan, my Old English Sheepdog, into the spacious wayback.
In those days SUVs were working trucks, with locking hubs for four-wheel drive, a full-sized spare tire on a swing-out tailgate rack and manual transmission. With gas costing $.70/gallon, a small tent, a warm sleeping bag and a Coleman stove and lantern, I could stay on the road for months and I often did.
Donovan was an obedience champion sheepdog, with a fancy AKC name: Riches Donovan of Banbury. He was a gift from my parents who had friends who bred sheepdogs. He lived a long life and loved road trips. He experienced more than 40 states and a few Canadian Provinces. I’m not going to say that a large, long-haired dog that requires extensive brushing is an ideal traveling companion for a photographer or that it was easy to keep dog hair off my lenses or that he didn’t get excited at times and frighten off my subjects, but overall we had a lot of fun and it was definitely a great way to spend our summers.
So, why is any of this relevant more than 40 years later? Because, after dozens of projects in dozens of countries, eight deans and millions of frequent flyer miles later, I was heading out on my first cross-country road trip in decades. Cynny rode shotgun, hotel rooms replaced the pup tent that rotted to shreds years ago and our new Ford Escape had more built-in technology than my home computer, but hardly enough ground clearance to allow traversing anything more challenging than a rutted gravel road. The wayback, however, once again was reserved for (wo)man’s best friend.
Kodiak was ten, almost 11 and had only experienced the road when we moved from North Carolina to Florida eight years earlier. He’d probably have preferred to stay home with a sitter, but I wanted him to see the country and have the experience of being a road dog. He needed a fancy step to get into and out of what passed for an SUV those days and he couldn’t go on long hikes anymore, but why grow older at home during the brutal summer heat when you could hang with your people on a cross-country adventure?
When we drove past this sign, on a road I hadn’t driven for decades, everything seemed right with the world. I don’t know who they were welcoming back, but that didn't matter. To me, it was a welcome sign and it was good to be on the road again.
Places That I Love
For the vast majority of my career, my own photography was an afterthought. Very soon after I started working professionally as a photojournalist, I became a full-time academic and for more than 40 years, my students came first. We traveled the world together, but my role was that of an editor and mentor, not a photographer. Rarely would I have time for my own work. Of course, that was of my choosing and it was a gift, not a burden.
Toward the end of my career, my teaching and advising focus shifted from undergraduate to graduate students, who were allowed to travel without a faculty escort. This allowed me time for some personal projects and assignments, and time to travel with family and friends, something I still do today.
This gallery has no thematic or geographic parameters, it’s just a grouping of photographs from places that I love, places that evoke special memories or moments that I enjoyed experiencing.
