Peru 1982

In 1970, I met some graduates of the Rhode Island School of Design.  Ed Grazda and the ‘Bleecker Street Irregulars’ began the process of turning me into a photographer.  By the fall of 1982, I knew just enough to be inspired by the work of Martin Chambi, Werner Bishof, Robert Frank and John Cohen.  Having recently lost a leg to bone cancer, I figured it was time to get serious.  Peru seemed just the place to do it.

Paco Grande lived upstairs from Ed on Bleecker Street.  When I mentioned my plan to head south for the rainy season, without a moment’s hesitation Paco offered to come along to keep an eye on me.  He was loosing his eyesight to retinitis pigmentosa and I wondered out loud how we would manage traveling together, the blind and the lame. “Easy,” he replied without missing a beat. “You steer, I’ll push.”

One dark night high in the Andes, we climbed down from the open flatbed truck we’d been on for twelve hours. We were freezing cold, soaking wet, and ankle deep in mud.  Instantly, the driver and everyone on board vanished.  There was only one light visible in the darkness of that tiny village.  Any port in a storm, I thought out loud.

I steered, Paco pushed and somehow we made it with all our gear to that light.  It was late and the bar was empty.  Without being asked the amazed owner fell over himself mobilizing his family to get us hot food and a room upstairs with beds.

Funny, I had no idea how happy I’d be with a crazy blind Spaniard keeping an eye on me.