The casket of Mary Duke Biddle Trent Semans is carried into Duke Chapel, Monday, January 30, 2012.

Adam Sobsey

Mary Semans was the heart of Durham, the heart and soul of Duke (alternately, the godmother of Duke), the mother of the University of [...]]]>

The casket of Mary Duke Biddle Trent Semans is carried into Duke Chapel, Monday, January 30, 2012.

The possible dream: Mary Semans, 1920-2012

Adam Sobsey

Mary Semans was the heart of Durham, the heart and soul of Duke (alternately, the godmother of Duke), the mother of the University of North Carolina School of the Arts. A powerful force for good in Durham and the Carolinas. A woman of valor, the embodiment of unconditional love, an agent of God’s salvation.

All of the above praises were invoked by some of the luminaries who spoke at Mary’s memorial service on Monday afternoon at Duke Chapel, five days after she passed away at age 91: Duke President Richard Brodhead and professor Joel L. Fleishman, faculty chairman of Duke’s Center for Strategic Philanthropy and Civil Society; the philanthropist Thomas S. Kenan III, whose friendship with Mary goes back to his youth; Durham Mayor Bill Bell and former Gov. James B. Hunt, one of a triumvirate of governors in attendance, along with Beverly Perdue and Mike Easley. There was also Charlie Rose, Duke basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski and his wife, Mickie, and both the current president of the University of North Carolina, Tom Ross, and his predecessor, Erskine Bowles.

In other words, Mary moved in some seriously rarefied air. The only missing honorific above, to my ears, is “queen.”

So why do I call Mary Duke Biddle Trent Semans—”commoners do not have five names,” Brodhead quipped on Monday—by her first name?

Two reasons: First, at the reception following Monday’s service, when I told Mary’s daughter, Jenny Semans Koortbojian, that I would be writing about her mother, she smiled and replied: “Make it wry.”

Happy to oblige, but there is a second, much straighter reason why I knew her as Mary: If you knew Mary, that’s how you knew her. It didn’t matter if you were a governor or a bartender. She may have been the Queen of Durham—and, it is easy to imagine, queen of any realm she chose to enter—the great-niece of Duke University’s founder and perhaps our strongest link to the school’s, and thus the city’s, origins; the first woman elected to Durham City Council, six decades ago, and mayor pro tem from 1953–55; the mother of seven children; the primum mobile behind any number of great things in North Carolina. But you called her Mary.

She knew your name, too. “If you knew Mary, then you mattered,” Brodhead said, and it seemed that just about everyone knew her. Mary was the opposite of the reclusive heiress. She met with city and state leaders. She got things done, and got people to do things, good things. She went out to eat.

And that’s mostly how I knew Mary. She and her family were (and will continue to be, surely) regulars at the Durham restaurant where I tend bar. It is the rare occasion—like this one, of Mary’s passing—in which I don’t mind publicly saying that, after spending the day as a writer, I pay for that habit by suiting up with apron and corkscrew, shaking cocktails and taking orders from the Bull City’s upper crust. I can tell you that Mary always drank decaf coffee: You brought it out to her as soon as she sat down, and she always exclaimed “Thank you!” with such sincere, surprised delight at your prescient thoughtfulness that you felt you had made her day—which made your day, too. She nearly always ordered fish, and seldom finished it. Every now and then, you could persuade her to have a scoop of ice cream.

She was a sharp dresser. Brodhead noted the “shocking yellow dress with a shockingly short skirt” that Mary wears in a widely distributed publicity photo. And speaking of wry, when you showed up tableside with Mary’s decaf, you usually found her wig slightly askew on her head. She managed to make that look rather stylish. Once her daughter, Beth, called the restaurant well after closing, wondering if we happened to have found Mary’s hearing aid. We hadn’t, but our sous chef delayed phoning in his order for the next morning, rooted through the dirty linen bag and discovered the earpiece rolled up in the tablecloth on which Mary had eaten dinner. You’d do anything for Mary. A day or two later, we got one of the gracious handwritten notes for which she is famous.

I don’t mind identifying as a bartender because Mary made you feel entirely comfortable with who you were and where you came from (and where you were going, too). “How’s your Mom?” she always wanted to know. They were friends, and in fact my mother lives in a house that Mary herself lived in long ago. That’s the kind of history she is responsible for in Durham: personal history. She endowed not just institutions, but people.

That endowment came less from putting her money where her mouth was than from putting her physical presence there. She not only asked how rehearsals were going for my new play a few years ago, she actually went to Chapel Hill to see it in performance. She was so tickled by one of the repeating lines that, for a few months afterward, every time I went by her table at the restaurant she would beckon me over, somewhat urgently and say: “Adam.” Yes, Mary? “It is what it is.”

I imagine she found those five words a hoot because, for her, they weren’t true. In Mary’s world, it isn’t what it is, it’s what it could be. As Jim Hunt put it on Monday afternoon, Mary made him understand that “North Carolina could only be the state she wanted it to be if we set big goals.” Four students from the School of the Arts gave a stirring performance of “The Impossible Dream” from Man of La Mancha—”To fight for the right / Without question or pause”—which I chose to hear, in Mary’s spirit, as “The Possible Dream.” The stars, for Mary, were reachable. A School of the Arts? The governor of North Carolina, Terry Sanford, as president of Duke University? Equal rights for the disenfranchised? Possible. Reachable.

But how? How did Mary Semans manage to do so much, to be everywhere, to know everyone and reach so deeply—and so lovingly—into our personal stars? That was Mary’s greatness, and greatness is ineffable.

Two hints, though, the first from Mary herself. There she is, wearing a pink polka-dotted blazer, in a 2009 video of the 75th anniversary celebration of Duke Gardens, which she helped sustain: “The more people who come, the better off it is,” she says, a curious thing to say of a place as fragile as a garden. But she meant it. She wanted to embrace the world, and sure enough, strolling through Duke Gardens not long after Monday’s Chapel service, you saw students, foreign visitors snapping pictures, a Latino couple with their kid, joggers: the world in all its variety, stopping to smell the flowers she helped grow.

The second hint came from Jenny Semans Koortbojian at Monday’s reception. Mary had the power to attract multitudes, but she contained multitudes, too. How did she do it? How did she spread herself among us so fully? Note that Jenny’s words are in the present tense, because Mary is still, undeniably, with us.

“There’s enough of Mom to go around,” Jenny said. “She’s a quantum being.”

Excellent show at the funkiest spot for rock in the area — La Salamandra. Thanks Craig!

A token of my appreciation, Mr. Montgomery Morris of the Flesh Wounds:

]]> La Salamandra, Durham, NC

Excellent show at the funkiest spot for rock in the area — La Salamandra. Thanks Craig!

A token of my appreciation, Mr. Montgomery Morris of the Flesh Wounds:

]]> http://www.dlanderson.com/blog/archives/1670/feed 0 http://www.dlanderson.com/blog/archives/1645 http://www.dlanderson.com/blog/archives/1645#comments Thu, 26 Jan 2012 17:59:59 +0000 admin http://www.dlanderson.com/blog/?p=1645

Midtown Dickens performing “Only Brother” live in the Blue Bird school bus at Trekky House.

It’s been wonderful to watch Midtown Dickens grow and evolve into the remarkable band that they are today. I was honred when they asked me to come on out to the Trekky House [...]]]>

Midtown Dickens performing “Only Brother” live in the Blue Bird school bus at Trekky House.

It’s been wonderful to watch Midtown Dickens grow and evolve into the remarkable band that they are today. I was honred when they asked me to come on out to the Trekky House and film them playing live. Then I was a little embarrassed when I accidentally drove to the wrong house many miles in the opposite direction. Thankfully there was still a basket of warm biscuits there for me when I arrived. Mr. Will Hackney, the bearded gentleman seen shredding on the mandolin, shot me devouring a biscuit and the exterior of this wonderful, but slightly damp smelling, school bus. He also mixed everything together for Trekky Records, of which he’s the co-founder and co-manager as well. Gotta love one-take productions, very little editing required.

You should know that Midtown Dickens album “Home” will be out on 04.03.2012 and that you can bide your time until then by downloading or just listening to “Only Brother” here: Only Brother

Back in May of 2011 Catherine, the remarkable vocalist and wordsmith seen laying it all out in the video, asked me if I’d help make some pictures of an old house for the cover of the album. This was not just any old house mind you; it was her Aunt Ivaleen’s place, a long-time Edgerton kin gathering spot, now doomed to be demolished and cleared away for the purpose of constructing a turn lane for a busy stretch of Miami Boulevard that runs in front of the property.

It goes without saying that there’s a lot of history in every home, a whole mess of stories that you’ll never know. In this case however; Catherine did have some vague childhood memories and her dad graciously shared a few more with us. When we finally walked through the empty house, there were strong vibrations even from the second-hand stories we associated with the place. It sparked deep and on-going exploration into the ways one could share the personal and powerful connections we form with a home long-after the people are gone and the place is empty. Though the house is now totally gone, I hope that we can continue the exploration.

The same house in 1945

We shot a lot of film on my old trusty Hasselblad that day and came back a few times afterward. I still remember the morning she called to say the house was finally knocked down. By the time the film was processed and scanned we were not so sure who made what picture, but here are a few other ones that I really enjoyed.

Catherine said her Aunt Ivaleen could remember when Miami Boulevard was a dirt road. Perhaps this thought emboldened her as she set out to take the photo that would end up on the cover.

Catherine is also an incredible visual /mixed media artist, check out more of her work. While we’re on the subject of home here, I thought I’d also include a few photos I made riding through Eastern North Carolina a few years ago. I had recently seen Paul Fusco’s incredible series RFK Funeral Train and was greatly influenced by the sense of motion in his pictures.

Contact me if you’d like a postcard of one of these photos to send home, wherever that may be.

Start out with some fog; read-deal-London thick, low-hanging stuff. Then add in a pinch of mist (or is is Myst?).  Let that simmer in the twilight before mixing with two parts artificial light and some people on the move. This, my friends, is a recipe sure [...]]]> Perkins Library, Duke University

Start out with some fog; read-deal-London thick, low-hanging stuff. Then add in a pinch of mist (or is is Myst?).  Let that simmer in the twilight before mixing with two parts artificial light and some people on the move. This, my friends, is a recipe sure to please any picture-maker.

Over the past two weeks I’ve been setting out on foot to sketch with my camera — sometimes with specific intentions, but most often for the simple motion and response in the old optic chiasm. A healthy exercise for the mind’s eye, sketching is self-prescribed to feed the need for order, exploration and the interpretation of places and people I usually just pass-by on my way to somewhere else. Enough with the reasons though, on with the results from tonight’s walk.

This past year I set out to further my lighting skills with one of my favorite subjects – musicians. A long-time collaborator and wildly imaginative fellow, Justin Robinson, came to me with the idea of re-creating an 18th century French Court for his new [...]]]> Justin Robinson & The Mary Annetts

This past year I set out to further my lighting skills with one of my favorite subjects – musicians. A long-time collaborator and wildly imaginative fellow, Justin Robinson, came to me with the idea of re-creating an 18th century French Court for his new album Bones for Tinder. After scouring the area for a room that would suit such a scene, we came upon the Pink Room on Duke’s East Campus. This remarkable room was created for a wide range of refined activities; insightful lectures, small string quartets and tea time salons. A select group of women or men (in the adjoining Blue Room) would gather among and on a truly impressive collection antique furniture. The Duke representative showing me the room said, “If it looks old and expensive, it’s because it is.” We kept the lighting simple, mimicking the soft and richly textured style of paintings from that time period. The costumes and outlandish hair really does the rest here.

Phil Moore and Beth Tacular wanted to have a more active and kinetic feel for photos promoting their upcoming album The Clearing, an excellent, excellent album due out in March, 2012. “Um, well, we have a trampoline,” said Phil over the phone. They also have a sweet house they built themselves, but yeah, anytime is the best time for a trampoline jump session.

Bowerbirds

The Mountain Goats

Hammer No More The Fingers

Notice the pregnant Mrs. Cook adjusting the eye patch of Fletch, the always-available chihuahua. That’s how the magic happens folks. Okay, sometimes it’s all too easy to blow it out and over the top with a  band photo.

A few of my favorites from the year were done with little else but a nice place to be and some time to spend with righteous folks.

Megafaun

Andrew Weathers

Mandolin Orange

Bon Iver

Smoke bombs are always fun. As is practice for me, I spent the end of the year updating my online portfolio and re-tooling the site(s). View the new edit of musicians and artists in the Creatives gallery.

“Let’s go out and shoot the windmills ma,” and so began my last photo outing of 2011. It was a blistery cold day, overcast and perfect for making pictures of these incredible energy-generating contraptions [...]]]> Installation of a generator atop a 319 foot windmill post outside of Galva, Illinois, December 2011

“Let’s go out and shoot the windmills ma,” and so began my last photo outing of 2011. It was a blistery cold day, overcast and perfect for making pictures of these incredible energy-generating contraptions that now filled the otherwise flat and featureless horizon surrounding my hometown in North-Western Illinois. The deep, dark and fertile soil gathered on our shoes with each step as we tried to get an closer look at the gigantic pieces that make up these towering machines.

My mom was not thrilled with the idea of taking her vehicle down into the mucky muck, so it was a good thing I was driving. In the ten years that I’ve been making pictures, this was the first time I had set out to shoot around with her. She clutched her camera and hopped over the furrowed rows, laughing at the sight of us plodding around. For most of the year crews have been busy sinking posts deep into the fields, pouring tons of concrete to secure them in place. Even more gravel has been poured along the way to ensure that the steady stream of tract-trailers off-loading their cargo could leave when their job was done.

Windmill Blade Detail #4

We scouted out good vantage points, taking in the altered landscape and making pictures together. “The farmer’s that don’t have them in their field have a lot to complain about,” said my mom. “The ones that do have nothing but good things to say.” Apparently there’s a nice annual check for every windmill in your field — green-energy royalties. I put old grocery bags around my mud-caked shoes and we climbed back in the car. It was a wonderful was way to end the year.

A week earlier my colleague, Mr. Lange, and I were looking through our collective takes from 2011. We shared the same sentiment at the end of the long editing session, ”Jeesh. Is that it?”  The process of looking at a year’s take is always a humbling experience, sure to cut down the largest ego of working photographer. We both do a considerable amount of portrait, food and music assignments for the Independent Weekly. Most of it feeds the beast well and carries the day, but it’s really the work that you do for yourself, to satisfy nothing more than your own curiosity, that really calls out to you in the end. We stand by every photo that made it into the edit, but we also thought there would be more to choose from.

In the next post I’ll share some of my personal favorites from 2011 and few projects that I plan to continue in the new year.

From the window of the plane I watched the circuitry of the city glow. We had just left the ground, engines at full tilt, ascending out of the clouds and into a new year, back in the direction of home. It was a brief and wonderful sensation of limitless vision, spurred on by a new perspective after [...]]]>

From the window of the plane I watched the circuitry of the city glow. We had just left the ground, engines at full tilt, ascending out of the clouds and into a new year, back in the direction of home. It was a brief and wonderful sensation of limitless vision, spurred on by a new perspective after weeks of shuttling about on roads and rails down there, on the ground, below. Weeks of collective weight from buttery sweets and idle comfort fell away, no longer beholden to the laws of gravity. Flight. Forward. Far and away.

I leaned back from the window and gave thanks for the comfort of family, old friends, air travel and the promise of tomorrow.

Those checked luggage fees however; well, I could do without.

It’s been a restful few weeks heading into the new year. We spent Christmas in Ohio and we’ll be watching the tide roll in on Lake Michigan for the New Year in Chicago. There’s a lot to look forward to in the upcoming year. For now though, there’s plenty of cookies [...]]]>

It’s been a restful few weeks heading into the new year. We spent Christmas in Ohio and we’ll be watching the tide roll in on Lake Michigan for the New Year in Chicago. There’s a lot to look forward to in the upcoming year. For now though, there’s plenty of cookies from Grandma and a Polish perogi or two on the West Side to keep things cozy into 2012.

Holiday greetings from Ellis Ray, infant virtuoso.

One joy of living in our neighborhood is the annual Our Lady of Guadalupe procession from the nearby catholic church. We really do love a parade and there was mucho amor por la virgen de Guadalupe.

We bought this house in March and moved in not long after. There was a lot [...]]]>

One joy of living in our neighborhood is the annual Our Lady of Guadalupe procession from the nearby catholic church. We really do love a parade and there was mucho amor por la virgen de Guadalupe.

We bought this house in March and moved in not long after. There was a lot of work that needed to be done with even more to go, but it’s beent a blast to live on this street and within walking distance to most everything we need. Over the next few days I’ll be posting about a few projects that stood out looking back at 2011.

View more photos from the procession in 2009.