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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Sunday
Mar062011

I follow Charlie to a tough Fur Face battle at Miners and Trappers, where I find myself in Wonderland; Miss Rondy Queen; Kalib and Jobe

As I had already made a post on Charlie grabbing the championship at the UAA Winterfest Beard Contest, I knew that I had to follow him into the big-time Anchorage Fur Rendezvous Fur Face competition at the beard contest that took place last night at the Miners and Trappers Ball. Tickets were pricey, so I got myself a press pass.

Miners and Trappers is a costume ball and this year's theme was "Highways in the Sky - A salute to Alaska Aviators." I stuck religiously to the theme and dressed as an Alaskan photographer/aviator who used to fly his little airplane all about Alaska and hopes to get another and do so again in the future.

The ball was held at the Egan Convention Center on Fifth Avenue, so I parked a few blocks away, hiked through the night and entered, looking for Charlie and Melanie, expecting to see tons of people dressed like Alaskan pilots.

Once inside, this was the first costumed person I came upon.

I suddenly knew that I had entered Wonderland.

I walked around looking for Melanie and Charlie, but I could not find them. Shortly, however, I came upon this rugged looking guy - Mr. Kenneth C. Feiber - who would not only be entering the Mr. Fur Face beard contest, but would be competing in the same category as Charlie - the Ptarmagan category, or freestyle.

At the UAA contest, as soon as I saw the competition charlie faced, I was quite certain he would walk away with it.

When I looked into this face, chill dread shook my body. I knew that on this night, here in Wonderland, Charlie was about to face a real battle.

In the restroom, I found Santa Claus, eying himself in the mirror, trying to look tough. Santa, however, would pose no threat to Charlie - at least in the first round - for Santa was entering as a Polar Bear and a Pole Cat and Charlie was neither.

During his round of competition, in answer to a judges question about how it was to have so many women run their fingers through his beard, Santa would answer that it felt normal. Women always run their fingers through Santa's beard.

He would not win first, however, but second.

I searched through all the hallways, the cloak room, the Fur Face room and every room but the ladies restroom and main ballroom, because I could see through the door that it was dark in there and I did not think that people who wanted their beards to be seen would disappear into the dark.

But, since I couldn't find them anywhere else or connect with my phone, I stepped briefly into the ballroom. It was early yet and only a few people had gathered.

I found this fellow on the stage, making music.

I did not find Charlie and Melanie.

And then... I found them! Charlie, the grand winner of the UAA beard contest and his magnificent stylist, my own daughter Melanie.

I could see right away that Charlie was dressed as the moon, his beard pummeled by meteors just as is the surface of the moon. I did not for one moment wonder if perhaps he was supposed to be a bearded baby wearing some kind of strangely designed bonnet, his beard curled by upchucked curdled breast milk.

I did not think this because a baby would never shoes such as this, the right of the pair that Charlie had on his feet, but a moon would wear such shoes.

Here is a better look at Charlie's moon, pocked by craters, and his beard, also pocked by craters.

Oh-oh - it wasn't long before Charlie encountered Fieber. It was tense - just like when Mohammed Ali faced Sonny Liston before going into the ring. They cursed and threatened each other, and insulted each other's mothers.

They did it all in a very jovial manner, smiling, as though the whole world of bearddom was filled with nothing but good will - but beneath the veneer of good humor, the boiling anger, rivalry and tension could be felt.

Karle came only to root for Charlie. He did not intend to enter. However, when he saw that only one other person had entered the black bear category, he signed up, figuring that at the very worst, he would take second place.

Well, he had a surprise coming to him. By the time he stepped in front of the judges, there had been three or four more new entrants.

Now he faced some real competition.

He would not get his second place award.

He would take first.

This left the rest us all shocked, dumbfounded, and awestruck.

Charlie had not intended to enter the Honey Bear category, but somehow found himself being labeled a Honey Bear, onstage with the other Honey Bears.

This is not a battle that he had prepared for.

He gave it his best, subjecting his craters to the exploratory touch of random, pink-haired females, but he did not even make it into the finals.

His friend, however, Todd Davy Crocket, who readers met at the UAA contest, did. And he won second place. This will probably seem most unfair to the first place winner that I have placed Todd's picture here but not his, but, you know, life is not always fair.

Plus, there were all kinds of categories, and all kinds of winners - short ones and tall ones and fat ones and skinny ones, the rude and the erudite, male and female, the debonaire and the debunked and I just cannot picture them all.

So I'm sticking pretty much to those I know, at least a little bit.

I was pretty certain Charlie would be devastated by that loss. In fact, he was - but he was stoic, pulled himself back together, put on the face of good humor, found out that he could still be a ptarmigan.

He resolved that there, he would rise to fight again.

I thought about the guy with the four circles curled into his beard.

Again, that bitter chill shook my body as I thought about the tooth-and-nail, hand-to-hand, beard-to-beard fight that still lay ahead for our good-hearted Charlie.

Well before the Ptarmigans, the Mountain Goats took the stage. I could not believe my eyes when I saw my own nephew, Thos Swallow from Salt Lake City, walk out onto the stage.

Oh, he used an assumed name and denied altogether that he was Thos, but a quick glance at the pictures that I took at Thos's wedding last October prove beyond any doubt that this is Thos.

How in the heck did he grow such a long, mountain-goat beard in less than five months?

And you know what?

He won! Thos won first place in the Mountain Goat division.

I was going to invite him over for dinner, perhaps even to spend the night and save a hotel bill, but he pretended not to know me, so I didn't.

At the back of the room, a gang of beer-drinking nuns and priests called on me to repent. We spoke for a little while. I warned them that if they kept drinking that beer, they might accidently break their oaths of celibacy. They assured me that they would never do such a thing.

They still insisted that I must repent.

I told them I was not Catholic but grew up Mormon.

Their eyes went wide. "YOU REALLY NEED TO REPENT!" they demanded.

Finally, the Ptarmigans stepped before the judges - including Charlie and Kenneth C. Fieber. They both fought hard, standing there, as grimy fingers that had been who knows wherre pawed at their beards all over again.

For many of the categories that preceded them, it had taken the judges quite awhile to settle upon the winner, but in just minutes, the judges announced that they had already chosen the Ptarmigan winners.

First, they announced the second place winner - Kenneth C Fieber.

The emcee put the mic to Fieber's face and asked how he felt to have come in second.

Fieber said he didn't like it. "I should be first," he said.

Let me stress that I am serious. I am not joking. Fieber contended that he should have been first.

But they had announced that he was second.

It was a done deal.

The door was open to Charlie.

Charlie was beaming, waiting to be named first place.

But then a hand rose into the air from the judges table and began to wave frantically.

A message was relayed to the emcee.

She then informed the crowd that a horrible mistake had been made.

Her earlier annoucement was wrong.

Kenneth C. Feiber had not won second place, he had won first!

Charlie won second.

Despite the setback, Charlie continued to beam.

So the contest was over for Charlie. Charlie would not get to enter the final round to battle for the Mr. Fur Face Trophy.

I suppose that if I had been functioning as the serious photojournalist that I am, I would have hung tight to the very end and would have photographed the final Mr. Fur Face, sat him down for an interview and then published his life story, right here on this blog.

But I had left Margie at Jacob and Lavina's and I hoped to get back there in time to see Jobe and Kalib before they went to bed.

I would have rushed straight out, but there was a young woman who I had been keeping my eye out for all evening: Desiree Merculieff, this year's Miss Rondy Queen.

Desiree is Unangan, from the Pribilof Island village of St. George and now lives in Anchorage.

She is the daughter of Sally and Chris Merculief, who still live on the island and who treated Melanie kindly when she spent some time working on a road project there this past summer.

And now, just when it was time to go, Desiree appeared and offered her congratulations to Charlie and Todd for their second place wins.

Sadly, she can only wear her official Miss Rondy Queen regalia when her chaperones are with her.

Although she had never been in sight of my eyes in it, she had worn the regalia to the ball, but her chaperones had grown tired and left, so we found Desiree dressed in street clothes - but still beautiful.

Her parents, Chris and Sally, are in the background with Melanie.

So here she is, Miss Rondy Queen: Desiree Merculieff - the first Alaska Native to wear the crown in 22 years. Everywhere she went, her mother told me, the Native people that saw her - especially the elders - expressed their pride and Joy in the honor that she had earned.

Sometime, before her reign is over, perhaps I can be fortunate enough to catch and photograph Desiree dressed in her full regalia. She must get permission to do an interview, but maybe we can get that permission.

No promise.

I never know what will happen in the future.

But maybe.

I said "goodbye" and headed toward the door. Before I could reach it, I found my path blocked by The Five Amigos. I drew my Canon and shot my way through them.

I stepped from the Fur Face room into the hall and was startled to find the answer to Paul Simon's lingering question, "Where have you gone, Joe Dimaggio?" standing right before me. 

Right here - Joe Dimaggio had come right here, to the Miners and Trappers Ball of the Anchorage Fur Rendezvous!

And he had ressurected Marilyn Monroe - more abundantly endowed than ever - and had brought her to the ball with him.

And me, I had the privileged of snapping the both of them as I walked by.

Think of it - Joe Dimaggio and Marilyn Monroe, together again, photographed by me in the year 2011! I ought to be able to get at least $10 million dollars for this photograph!

Then I will finally have the resource necessary to do this blog the way I want.

I will finally be able to buy another airplane.

But what if it wasn't Marilyn and Joe? What if it was just two Alaskans, dressed in costume? 

Depressed, I stepped out of the Egan Center onto Fifth Avenue only to see this airplane, flying down the sidewalk.

I had my answer! I can build my own airplane - just like this guy did. It won't cost much to build such an airplane and it won't take very long, either.

I could do it in a day.

And then I could fly all over Alaska, just like I started out doing, before I crashed the Running Dog.

It was after 10:30 PM now. I was a bit worried that Kalib and Jobe might have gone to bed already.

But they had waited up, for me.

Jacob had given Kalib one of those green dog biscuits called "Greenies" and had told him to feed it to Muzzy. Instead, Kalib had taken a bite and was eating it himself.

Jobe, as always, was simply thrilled to see his grandpa.

 

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Reader Comments (5)

Thanks Bill, quite a tale of our man in the moon! I wished to be there but my feet are thankful I stayed home ;)

March 6, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterCyndy E

Poor Muzzy, looking hungrily at his biscuit disappearing into Kalib...

March 7, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterKarenJ

sounds like a good time :)

March 7, 2011 | Unregistered Commentertwain12

I'm sure Kalib will always remember eating Muzzy's biscuit. I remember eating my cocker spaniel Rusty's dog biscuits when I was around his age. It was in the days when Friskies made small biscuits with 5 different shapes & colors. They looked so good I simply had to sample them all. They all tasted exactly alike. I still remember the disappointment I felt as I moved from one to another. Rusty was also disappointed as he watched me eating all his treats. When the last one was gone, he chewed my leg off & left me there bleeding on the back stoop. Well, he would have if he thought he could have gotten away with it.

Feiber obviously had the fix in with the judge because Charlie clearly was the magnificent winner especially with his magnificent stylist.

Desiree is adorable and richly deserves being the Queen.

As for Marilyn? Words completely fail me. =)

March 7, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterKat

Cyndy - Sorry about your feet. Glad I could take you there vicariously.

KarenJ - Yep - Muzzy must endure many such frustrations, as Kalib has also been known to eat his hot dogs and his waffles.

Twain - It was fun and it was crazy.

Kat - about those different colors all tasting the same... I remember that, too. In fact, I can still taste it and I cannot understand why one taste was not good enough for Kalib. They did not have greenies then, but I bet they taste just the same.

Of course, the colors are just for people. Dogs don't care about the color. Some say are color blind and can't distinguish color, anyway.

I am not certain that I believe this, but that's what people who study these things and know about cones and color receptacles say.

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