A blog by Bill Hess

Running Dog Publications

P.O. Box 872383 Wasilla, Alaska 99687

 

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Wasilla

Wasilla is the place where I have lived for the past 29 years - sort of. The house in which my wife and I raised our family sits here, but I have made my rather odd career as a different sort of photojournalist by continually wandering off to other places to photograph people and gather information, which I have then put together in various publications that have served the Alaska Native Eskimo, Indian and Aleut communities.

Although I did not have a great of free time to devote to this rather strange community, named after a Tanaina Athabascan Indian chief who knew Wasilla in the way that I so impossibly long to, I have still documented it regularly over the past quarter-century plus. In the early days, my Wasilla photographs focused mostly upon my children and the events they participated in - baseball, football, figure skating, hockey, frog catching, fire cracker detonation, Fourth of July parade - that sort of thing. 

In 2002, I purchased my first digital camera and then, whenever I was home, I began to photograph Wasilla upon a daily basis, but not in a conventional way. These were grab shots - whatever caught my eye as I took my many long walks or drove through the town, shooting through the car window at people and scenes that appeared and disappeared before I could even focus and compose in the traditional photographic way.

Thus, the Wasilla portion of this blog will be devoted both to the images that I take as I wander about and those that I have taken in the past. Despite the odd, random, nature of the images, I believe they communicate something powerful about this town that I have never seen expressed anywhere else. 

Wasilla is a sprawling community that has been slapped down hodge-podge upon what was so recently wilderness of the most exquisite beauty. In its design, it is deliberately anti-zoned, anti-planned. In the building of Wasilla, the desire to make a buck has trumped aesthetics and all other considerations. This town, built in the midst of exquisite beauty, has largely become an unsightly, unattractive, mess of urban sprawl. Largely because of this, it often seems to me that Wasilla is a community with no sense of community, a town devoid of town soul.

Yet - Wasilla is my home and if I am lucky it will be until I grow old and die. Despite its horrific failings, it is still made of the stuff of any small city: people; moms and dads, grammas and grampas, teens, children, churches, bars, professionals, laborers, soldiers, missionaries, artists, athletes, geniuses, do-gooders, hoodlums, the wealthy, the homeless, the rational and logical, the slightly insane and the wholly insane - and, yes, as is now obvious to the whole world, politicians, too.

So perhaps, if one were to search hard enough, it might just be possible to find a sense of community here, and a town soul. So, using my skills as a photojournalist and a writer, I hope to do just that. If this place has a sense of community, I will find it. If there is a town soul to Wasilla, I will document it. I won't compete with the newspapers. Hell no! But as time and income allow, it will be fun to wander into the places where the folks described above gather, and then put what I find on this blog.

 

by 300...

Anywhere within a 300 mile radius of Wasilla. This encompasses perhaps the most wild, dramatic, gorgeous, beautiful section of land and sea to be found in any comparable space anywhere on Earth. I can never explore it all, but I will do the best that I can, and will here share what I find and experience with you.  

and then some...

Anywhere else in the world that I happen to get to, such as Point Lay, Alaska; Missoula, Montana; Serenki, Chukotka, Russia; or Bangalore, India. Perhaps even Lagos, Nigeria. I have both a desire and scheme to get me there. It is a long shot. We shall see if I succeed.

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Thursday
May202010

My own little tribute, in black and white

Painful as it is to me, I have realized that I must wait to put the tribute together until after the funeral. I have gathered some good material and I will gather more, but my hands are just too full and will remain so until it is over. So, while I will continue to post something daily, the tribute itself will come after the burial.

Yet, the picture above represents a bit of personal tribute from me to Vincent all in itself. Anyone who knows me knows that I do not wear white shirts, black slacks, and black ties. In fact, I pretty much don't wear ties at all, unless they are bolo and carved by Iñupiat artisans from walrus ivory, ugruk teeth and bowhead baleen.

Before he died, Vincent requested that the males in his family and among his close friends wear black slacks, white shirts, black ties, black socks, black shoes - this to reflect and pay respect to the Mormon part of his heritage.

So today I bought these clothes at J.C. Penney's in the off-reservation border town of Lakeside. I love the man. I respect the man. In his honor, I will wear my new white shirt, my new black tie, my new black slacks, my new black socks and my new black shoes.

And if you could see me, you would notice that my hair is cut short, my beard cut to the trimmest that it has been in years. This, too, I have done out of respect for Vincent Craig.

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Reader Comments (4)

You are a fine man Bill Hess for fulfilling your friend's wishes. ( And it certainly never hurts to have a nice crisp white Van Heusen shirt and a black tie in the closet.) Prayers and best wishes to all of you.

May 20, 2010 | Unregistered Commentermocha

Thinking of you, hoping you and Vincent's family will be fine during the next days. Awaiting your tribute.

May 20, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterMichelle

You are a good man, to honor a friend. Peace be with you.

May 20, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterKathryn Campbell

Honoring the final request of your friend says a great deal about your own character.

May 21, 2010 | Unregistered Commenterdebby

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