..July 2006 Beacon, NY in 100 degree heat wave..
I drove past the balmy clouds over the NY skyline and up the spine of the Adirondacks 200 miles from the Canadian border. I could see the Indians camouflaged in the green pines lining the New York State Thruway.
Led Zeppelin 1 screaming out of the 1992 Altima didn’t soothe the ears of the natives. I couldn’t see them hidden in the green pine but arrows pinged off my black hood. Close up the moon roof before I have a stick shooting out my eye. What do they want from me? Sweat filled the pores across the winkles in my forehead. These fuckers mean business. There still fighting the French Indian War up here.
One of those moments of sanity hit me in a time of despair. Rolled down the window, thought “Liberate me. Take me away from Dick Cheney. Please take me!” A barrage of arrows fell across the front end of the car. Ironically the shrieks of Communication Breakdown blew out of the stereo into the ever long green valleys. They didn’t care about my problems.
Two hours later, I steam into the tiny hamlet of Beacon, NY. Main Street was lined with American flags, yellow ribbons, and two elderly folks meandering into a Salvation Army. On the corner Bob’s General Store sported a sign “America: Love it or Leave it.”
Somewhere along the way to my assignment 200 miles outside of New York I stumbled upon the 1950’s except this bizzaro world was in color not in B/W. Bob’s General Store, who lived here Davie Crockett and Ward Cleaver? This is the place where Bush Sr. had to get support 15 years ago. I locked the doors and rolled up the windows. I’m more scared of them than the Indians shooting arrows at me. I came up here to photograph a burlesque dancer and I’ve found Pleasantville.
