From the Notebook

  • Urban Life: Water Towers

    Rooftop water towers on Peachtree Street, Atlanta
    Rooftop water towers on Peachtree Street, Atlanta

    Old water towers—especially rooftop ones—have become such a tired, cliched symbol of urban life that I’m almost embarrassed to publish these images. Almost.

    By now, most U.S. cities have been scrubbed clean of any real grit, thoroughly gutted by cookie-cutter development companies, though their marketing teams often push to keep a few post-industrial vestiges as a simulacrum of character and a unique selling point—they’re anything but unique, of course.

    If there aren’t some old machine gears lying around to refashion into abstract sculpture, preserving a relic water tower is a great way to convince clueless college grads from the burbs that their overpriced loft with quartz countertops and stainless-steel appliances is the epicenter of the new Williamsburg.

    A water tower near Sylvan Road SW, Adair Park, Atlanta
    A water tower near Sylvan Road SW, Adair Park, Atlanta

    In vacuous cities with no tangible identity (see also: Atlanta), a developer can easily build their latest stack of plywood boxes around an old water tower and be praised by sycophantic members of the local press for historic preservation and “placemaking.”

    Hordes of clueless transplants snap pics of the preserved tower to feel some sort of connection to the city—no matter how tenuous—and to lazily flaunt their cosmopolitan lifestyles on social media.

    Meanwhile, their friends and relatives back in Bumfuck just roll their eyes—like rusty old water towers don’t exist in every possum hollow.

    But screw all that. I just like the way old water towers look against a vibrant sky. Deal with it.

    A rooftop water tower on Murphy Avenue SW, Adair Park, Atlanta
    A rooftop water tower on Murphy Avenue SW, Adair Park, Atlanta
  • Northeast Natives: Marginal wood fern

    Marginal wood fern (Dryopteris marginalis)
    Marginal wood fern (Dryopteris marginalis)

    I think that I shall never see
    A poem lovely as a fern

    OK, so that’s not how it goes, but I consider it an improvement.

    There’s just something about ferns that speaks to me: their quiet grace and elegance, and their ability to thrive in the dark, hidden places where most plants could never survive.

    I find the delicate fronds of the marginal wood fern particularly alluring, and it feels nice to run my fingers through them.

    This evergreen fern grows in wooded areas along the Northeast Corridor, which is more forested than I initially thought.

    Hey, I’m here for the small surprises.

  • Mostly Mundane: Tangled Web

    How the hell did we end up in this intricate mess?

    Is this the fate sealed for us?

    Maybe one day, we’ll look back on this time and think,

    “Wow, that was some crazy shit.”

    If we’re lucky.

    And if we’re wise—

    We’ll make sure it never happens again.

    Too bad we’re so fucking stupid.

  • Abbeville County Courthouse (1908) – Abbeville, South Carolina

    W.A. Edwards of Edwards & Walter. Abbeville County Court House. Abbeville, South Carolina.
    W.A. Edwards of Edwards & Walter. Abbeville County Courthouse. Abbeville, South Carolina.1 2 3
    Cornice and frieze on the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Cornice and frieze on the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Second-floor window on the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Second-floor window on the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Second-floor window on the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Second-floor window on the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Ornamental keystone on a second-floor window of the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Ornamental keystone on a second-floor window of the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Scamozzi capitals on the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Scamozzi capitals on the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Triglyph on the base of the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Triglyph on the base of the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Inscription on the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina
    Inscription on the Abbeville County Courthouse, Abbeville, South Carolina

    References

    1. “Contracts Let.” The Abbeville Press and Banner (Abbeville, South Carolina), June 19, 1907, p. 4. ↩︎
    2. “The Finishing Touches.” The Abbeville Press and Banner (Abbeville, South Carolina), September 16, 1908, p. 4. ↩︎
    3. National Register of Historic Places Inventory Nomination Form: Abbeville County Courthouse ↩︎

  • No Dividers

    I just got off the train and had to piss something awful.

    We arrived at the station almost an hour early—which never happens—and the afternoon light was perfect for photography.

    I knew a storm was forecast to roll in within an hour, and I wanted to get pics of a church several blocks away, but my window of opportunity was narrowing fast.

    I booked it out of the station and started marching down the street to the south side of the business district. I still needed to pee.

    As I walked past a nearby park, I thought of a restroom I saw there before. Okay, I thought, I’ll stop by.

    I walked up to the restroom, and the door was wide open. Homeboy was standing beside it, leering at me as he gnawed on a straw.

    I didn’t make eye contact but observed him in my periphery: Shirtless, pants sagging below his ass cheeks, about nine inches of underwear showing. I understood what was happening.

    As I walked into the restroom, I noticed three small urinals on the wall—no dividers.

    Downlow central, I thought.

    Urinals never had partitions when I was a kid, but over the last few decades they’ve become a ubiquitous fixture of men’s rooms. I attribute that to the shrieking moral panic that Americans keep thrusting upon themselves like kinky masochists.

    Overgrown baby men have become terrified of other guys seeing their pee-pees, and women are scared shitless that pedophiles will prey on their crotch droppings, so now we erect little dividers between urinals to protect our precious penises from prying eyes.

    Curiously, many of those people didn’t think twice about electing a pedophile and sexual predator for president, but if nothing else, recent events have proven that most Americans are fucking idiots.

    Anyone who studies history or has a lick of common sense can tell you that restriction and prohibition never work. Period.

    It’s like Whack-a-Mole: tamp something down in one hole, and it pops up in another—harder and faster than ever. That’s the law of balance.

    Homophobia has successfully siloed off men so that they never see each other in the flesh, but I’m convinced it’s also made a large chunk of guys abnormally curious about other men’s dicks and bodies, and what they do with them—to the point of obsession.

    Men see cocks in porn, of course, but those hairless monstrosities aren’t representative of the average dude, and I would hope most men can understand that intellectually.

    There are a lot of stupid bros, though.

    The bigger problem is that without actual guys around to be naked and compare dicks with, men have been stripped of an essential rite of passage. We’re primates, after all, wired to learn about ourselves by observing and engaging with others.

    As a result, I suspect many men feel inadequate and incomplete on a deep, primal level that’s impossible to articulate. And without a healthy way to address it, of course they get weird as shit.

    It doesn’t help when guys’ cunt girlfriends and wives make disparaging comments about their penis size—that’s a frequent-enough complaint online that it seems to be a common tactic women use to emasculate men, which is abhorrent.

    A man’s relationship with his penis is solemn and reverent, and for anyone to belittle his manhood is a violation of the sacred.

    Because urinal dividers have become so common, online spaces now exist where men post pictures of restrooms with open urinals and share location details so other men can visit them.

    That’s how desperate men are to see a real guy’s dick.

    Predictably, restrooms that lack urinal dividers have also become prime cruising spots for downlow men.

    In the old days, a guy could discreetly check out cocks in any public restroom, and it wasn’t a big deal. Now if you walk into a place with open urinals, it’s guaranteed you’re stumbling into a den of creeps.

    I knew that when I stood in front of the center urinal that afternoon. I also wasn’t surprised when homeboy from the entrance quietly walked in and sidled up to my left.

    I hadn’t pissed in hours, so I was blasting a load that felt like it was endless.

    As I stared at the concrete wall, I watched in the corner of my eye as homeboy unzipped his pants and barely trickled into the adjoining urinal.

    Uh huh, I thought. He doesn’t need to pee.

    At a certain point, he began staring at my dick. I said nothing.

    How do I feel about this? I remember thinking.

    The piss kept coming, so what I felt didn’t matter.

    It’s not like I can stop mid-stream.

    His eyes were still fixed on my dick as he tugged his own like he was shaking the last drops of piss. Then he kept tugging.

    Finally, he started rubbing his shaft in deep strokes, turning slightly toward me in case I didn’t know what he wanted.

    I didn’t look at his dick, but could tell from the long motions of his hand that it was a lot bigger than my five-incher.

    Good for him, I thought.

    I considered the situation and realized I didn’t care all that much. I didn’t feel violated or exposed.

    God knows I’ve got plenty of dick pics floating around, and I’m sure homeboy’s seen so many cocks that he forgot mine in five minutes. I certainly don’t remember much about the ones I’ve seen.

    Most men don’t have the balls to admit it, but all dicks run together after a while—even the big ones. None of them are that unique.

    I felt compassion toward the guy, though. He was hard up and hanging out at the park, waiting to get off with someone.

    It just wasn’t gonna be me: I wasn’t attracted to him or interested in joining. I also really wanted to photograph that church—architecture has always interested me more than sex.

    I quickly zipped up my pants and skipped past the sink. No need to prolong the awkwardness by washing my hands while he stroked.

    As I walked toward the door, homeboy stepped in front of me, stopped, and glanced over his shoulder, cruisy style—nothing subtle about that move. I just brushed past him.

    It’s a typical Southern city, so I’m sure he found plenty of downlow bros to play with that afternoon. I also got the pics I wanted.

  • Sibyl Temple (1929) – Vestavia Hills, Alabama

    George B. Ward. Sibyl Temple (1929). Vestavia Hills, Alabama.
    George B. Ward. Sibyl Temple (1929). Vestavia Hills, Alabama.1 2 3
    Column on Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Column on Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Dentilled cornice inside Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Dentilled cornice inside Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Corinthian capital and soffit on Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Corinthian capital and soffit on Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Looking up inside the dome at Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Looking up inside the dome at Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Dentilled cornice, frieze, and architrave on Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Dentilled cornice, frieze, and architrave on Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Marble floor tiles at Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Marble floor tiles at Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Dome on Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama
    Dome on Sibyl Temple, Vestavia Hills, Alabama

    References

    1. “Vestavia Temple echoes hang over valley”. The Birmingham News (Birmingham, Alabama), December 19, 1971, p. C-110. ↩︎
    2. Steverson, Bill. “Temple in Vestavia to be moved”. Birmingham Post-Herald (Birmingham, Alabama), March 30, 1974, p. C4. ↩︎
    3. Goodman, Troy. “Sibyl Temple’s makeover open to public Saturday”. The Birmingham News (Birmingham, Alabama), November 2, 2005, p. S1. ↩︎
  • Kin

    He was a young guy.

    Bet you I was twenty years older than him.

    We were from different backgrounds, too.

    I could tell.

    For one thing, he had a mullet—seriously.

    Thick Alabama accent.

    Smelled of cheap cologne.

    I liked him though.

    He wore black clothes and carried a black backpack out of habit.

    What he kept in there was unclear—I never saw him open it.

    He sported black socks and sneakers, too, even when he was wearing shorts.

    That was a choice.

    I watched him almost daily for over a year.

    Never knew his name—doesn’t really matter.

    Our paths crossed a few times.

    I believe we conversed twice.

    He smiled gently and nodded once.

    Something about him felt so familiar.

    We were of the same tribe—I know it.

    I’ve crossed paths with my kin before.

    They’re usually quiet, cautious, and reserved—at least at first.

    Typically nerdy, mildly handsome, unremarkable to most.

    The outer layer doesn’t matter—they inevitably stand out to me.

    I always detect in them a silent grace, a sense of honor, and, above all, a desire to serve.

    That’s when I know I’ve found another one.

    I’m pretty sure he and I had a moment when our eyes locked, knowingly.

    His head cocked out of curiosity, almost imperceptibly.

    He probably didn’t understand the pattern yet.

    He will.

    Every time I saw him, I prayed for grace over him.

    I didn’t know his mission, but I guarantee he has one.

    For years, I wanted to befriend the kin I found.

    I gave that up a long time ago.

    We’re just so fucking elusive.

    Even to each other.

    So aloof, independent, and all on solitary assignments.

    I’ve come to accept that as the design.

    When I discover another one, though, I hold them in my heart.

    Even after they leave.

    A prayer for them is a prayer for myself.

    And of course, he’s gone now.

    One day he just disappeared.

    May grace accompany us on our separate journeys.

  • First Federal Savings and Loan Association of Manatee County (1974) – Sarasota, Florida

    Jack West of West & Conyers. First Federal Savings and Loan Association of Manatee County (1974). Sarasota, Florida.1 2

    References

    1. “Manatee Federal Sarasota Home”. Sarasota Herald-Tribune (Sarasota, Florida), April 29, 1973, p. 7-C. ↩︎
    2. “First Of Manatee Opens New Office”. Sarasota Herald-Tribune (Sarasota, Florida), April 23, 1974, p. 9-A. ↩︎
  • Scenes from Southwest Georgia

    It’ll take years to publish all my pictures from the Deep South and fully exorcise the place from my memory. Damn it, I’ll make it happen, though.

    Lately, I’ve been digging deep into the archives, and this is about as deep as it goes: All the photographs on this page were taken in and around Albany, Georgia, between 2005 and 2012.

    It’s incredible to think that some of these images are over 20 years old—one was even shot on film and scanned.

    My time in Albany wasn’t pleasant, but I learned to make the best of it, and through a lot of solitary wandering, I came to appreciate the area’s unique natural beauty.

    Canopy of live oaks (Quercus virginiana) on Third Avenue, Albany, Georgia
    Canopy of live oaks (Quercus virginiana) on Third Avenue, Albany, Georgia

    Albany sits on a bed of limestone at the head of the Upper Floridan Aquifer, one of the world’s largest underground water systems.

    Dougherty County and a portion of neighboring Lee County are notable for their karst topography, characterized by sinkholes of varying shapes and sizes that form when the sandy soil collapses into the cavernous limestone underneath.

    Palmyra Springs, Lee County, Georgia
    Palmyra Springs, Lee County, Georgia

    Similarly, “blue holes,” like Palmyra Springs in Lee County, form when the ground sinks into the aquifer, bringing its ancient, crystal-clear water to the earth’s surface.

    The largest blue hole in the Albany area is Radium Springs, which still flowed year-round when I moved there and was one of the most breathtaking places I’ve ever visited.

    Back then, the spring was closed to the public, and you had to crawl through a hole in a chain-link fence to see it, but the trespass was totally worth it.

    Radium Springs, Albany, Georgia
    Radium Springs, Albany, Georgia

    The color of Radium Springs’ water was indescribable: deep blue and emerald green, dappled with every color of the rainbow when the afternoon sunlight hit it at just the right angle.

    For decades, Radium Springs was a popular swimming spot—for Whites anyway—and in the 1920s, a large “casino” was built on its banks, though it never hosted gambling.

    Postcard view of the Casino at Radium Springs, Albany, Georgia
    Postcard view of the Casino at Radium Springs, Albany, Georgia

    The casino was submerged during the 500-year Flood of ’94, and again in a second flood in 1998. There was a lot of local nostalgia for the place, but no one had the money to renovate it, and the State of Georgia ultimately demolished the building in 2003.1

    By the time Dougherty County turned the site into a public park, Radium Springs had begun drying up in the summer months, and on my last visit, it was basically a stagnant mudhole covered in algae.

    Turns out the aquifer’s supply isn’t limitless, and as the region’s farms keep pumping out water to irrigate crops, the blue holes of Southwest Georgia will likely dry up and fade into memory.

    Skywater Creek, Albany, Georgia
    Skywater Creek, Albany, Georgia

    When Radium Springs is active, its water flows into Skywater Creek, which meanders through a grove of giant cypress trees to the nearby Flint River.

    The Flint River is unique because it runs through a limestone channel. The water is brown as shit and crawling with reptiles, but when it’s low, you can walk across the rock shelf and find arrowheads and fossils in the holes.

    Flint River, Albany, Georgia
    Flint River, Albany, Georgia

    One of my favorite spots to explore in East Albany was a giant bend in the river where the city’s settlers dredged the channel to make it navigable for cotton shipping—it didn’t really work.

    I can’t imagine how they did it with 19th-century equipment, but somehow the workers cut the limestone in giant chunks and piled them up on the bank. There are large gaps between the chunks, so you have to leapfrog from one to the next, and God only knows what’s lurking in those cracks.

    On one visit, I nearly stepped on a water moccasin that was at least three feet long—better than a gator, anyway.

    Fossil Sand Dunes, Albany, Georgia
    Fossil Sand Dunes, Albany, Georgia

    Another anomaly in East Albany is a swath of fossil sand dunes that were formed during the last Ice Age.

    The prevailing theory is that when glaciers in the Appalachian Mountains melted, the water carried large quantities of sand downriver and deposited it around present-day Albany. As the waters subsided, high winds blew the sand into a ridge along the riverbank.2

    The sand dunes originally stretched about 30 miles, from Albany south to Baker County. Many of the dunes have been destroyed, and some are covered in trees, so they just look like wooded hills.

    The largest extant dunes are located along Sands Drive near the campus of Albany State University. Some of the peaks there are 30 to 40 feet high, although years of encroaching development, sand mining, and heavy four-wheeler activity had largely decimated them by the time I lived there. I’m sure it’s much worse now.

    Skywater Creek meets the Flint River, Albany, Georgia
    Skywater Creek meets the Flint River, Albany, Georgia

    I was always a passing stranger in Southwest Georgia, and the longer I live, the more Albany feels like a weird blip in my memory.

    I have no family, friends, or attachments there, and I’m glad it’s far behind me. I guess it has its charms, though.

    A cypress pond near Albany, Georgia
    A cypress pond near Albany, Georgia

    References

    1. Radium Springs a different place after the Flood of 1994 – The Albany Herald ↩︎
    2. Sand dunes in southwest Georgia date back to Ice Age – The Albany Herald ↩︎
  • Charles R. Winship Residence (1893) – Atlanta

    Bruce & Morgan. Charles R. Winship Residence (1893). Inman Park, Atlanta.
    Bruce & Morgan. Charles R. Winship Residence (1893). Inman Park, Atlanta.1 2
    Charles R. Winship Residence circa 1901
    Charles R. Winship Residence circa 19013
    Charles R. Winship Residence circa 1903
    Charles R. Winship Residence circa 19034

    References

    1. “City Notes.” The Atlanta Constitution, April 2, 1893, p. 23. ↩︎
    2. “It Is Merry Music”. The Atlanta Constitution, April 23, 1893, p. 16. ↩︎
    3. Photo credit: Atlanta Homes: Attractiveness of Residences in the South’s Chief City. Atlanta: Atlanta Presbyterian Publishing Company (1901). ↩︎
    4. Photo credit: Art Work of Atlanta, Georgia: Published in Nine Parts. Chicago: The Gravure Illustration Company (1903). ↩︎