A blog by Bill Hess

Running Dog Publications

P.O. Box 872383 Wasilla, Alaska 99687

 

All photos and text © Bill Hess, unless otherwise noted 
All support is appreciated
Bill Hess's other sites
Search
Navigation
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.

Blog archive
Blog arhive - page view

Entries in Eagle River-Chugiak (2)

Wednesday
Apr282010

On their way to the grotto to pray; Rowdy and Oscar; an iPhone look back at New York - young couple on subway, man down on sidewalk

I had stopped to visit Ron Mancil when Patrick Mahoney, owner of the ranch where Ron works, came out from the back on his motorcycle with Mary Angela Wassillie, who lives near Metro Cafe. Mary's mother was ill and in the hospital. "We're on our way to the grotto to pray," Patrick told me.

I pulled out onto the road and they pulled out behind me.

I drove at turtle speed, so that I could take this snap as they passed me.

They then turned off into the grotto - Grotto Iona - to make their prayers. I thought about stopping, too, to visit a little more there, perhaps take a few more pictures. As I related last summer, on that day that I pedaled my bike past the topless lady and then wound up on my knees before the graves of Patrick's parents, I have given myself the assignment to learn about this grotto and the couple who built it and now lie in it.

But I had just met Patrick and Mary. So I drove on and left them to pray alone. There will be time in the future. 

 

That was two weeks ago, this is yesterday:

I had gone to town for a business meeting and on my way back, I pulled off in Eagle River. Charlie's mom had sent me a Facebook message, asking me to stop sometime when I was passing by. So I stopped in the parking lot by Jitter's coffee shop to call and find out where Jim and Cyndy lived.

As I called, this old car and this young man riding a bike passed by in front of me.

This is Rowdy, ten years old, and those are the hands of Cyndy, Charlie's mom. Rowdy literally smiled at me when we were introduced. I am not kidding. It was a genuine smile. He smiled a few more times and I got my camera out and tried to photograph it, but Rowdy is not named Rowdy for nothing.

He was continually in motion and then he apparently decided that we had known each other long enough and now he didn't need to smile all the time.

So now I have another assignment - to catch Rowdy's smile.

And this is Oscar, their sixteen-year old cat. Not so long ago, Oscar was down to skin and bones and the pigment was gone from his nose. Cyndy and Jim believe it is the homemade food that they began feeding him that has restored him.

That is why they asked me to stop by - Jim had made another batch of food for Royce.

 

Three leftover iPhone images from New York:

This is from what was supposed to be my final night, before I got stranded at JFK. I had just left Chie Sakakibara and my camera battery was dead. I could not resist this couple riding the subway with me, however, so I used my iPhone.

After the couple got up, these people sat down where they had been.

When I came up the stairs that lead from the subway to the street, I found this scene. I was not exactly certain what was happening nor how I should react. I asked if everything was okay. The man who has a grip on the wrist of the one down on sidewalk said it was. He gave me the impression that he was a police officer, said that he had everything under control. He did not try to stop me from taking a picture, which I figured that someone who was up to no good would do.

I walked away. But now I wonder - what if he was not a cop?

Maybe I should have called 911.

Tuesday
Dec012009

Dinner with Diane just before PBS broadcast of For the Rights of All; Lullaby and Goodnight to Kalib; help Ann Strongheart help fight hunger

Last July, while fishing out of Homer with her Iraq war veteran and Wounded Warrior Olympic athlete son, Latseen, and grandson, Gage, Diane Benson caught a 300 pound-plus halibut. After giving us a chance to let the turkey settle down in our systems, Diane invited Margie and I over to eat part of that halibut with her and Tony Vita. Tony has been there for her and Latseen through the bitter, yet triumphant, journey through pain, recovery and politics that they have been on since Latseen lost his legs to a roadside bomb.

As to the halibut... ohhhh... it was delicious! Deep-fried and dipped in Diane's homemade tartar sauce, which just may be the best tartar sauce that I have ever tasted. We also had dried fish dipped in houligan oil, dried seawood, boiled potates and carrots, plus a mix of raw vegetables.

Afterwards, we spent a great deal of time talking about books and the writing of books and about the classes Diane has been teaching at the University of Alaska, Anchorage - in particular the class focusing on the fact that Native women face the highest incidence of rape and sexual abuse of any group in the nation and of ways to defend against it, both at an individual and societal level.

Tonight at 8:00 PM, KAKM public television will broadcast For the Rights of All: Ending Jim Crow in Alaskathe documentary filmed by Jeff Silverman in which Diane reprises her role as Alaska Native civil rights heroine Elizabeth Peratrovich that she originally created for her one-woman play, When My Spirit Raised it's Hands.

Those living in other parts of the US can check their local PBS stations to find out when the documentary will be playing in your town.

I saw it at the Alaska Federation of Natives Convention. It is the most powerful work of its kind that I have yet to see. I would recommend it to all.

Scooter, the character in Diane's arms, was in rough shape when she rescued him a few months back, but now he is doing good.

Last night, I stepped into Jacob, Lavina and Kalib's temporary bedroom to give my little grandson a hug goodnight.

As he moved slowly towards sleep, the tune of Lullaby and Goodnight, played on a harp and woodwind recorder, softly played from the CD player.

It took me back to when I was about his age, in a darkened room lit by a dim light with my own late mother, as she held me and sang that same song to me. My memories of the time are dim, but of that moment strong in the sense of feeling safe, warm, and loved.

And then I remembered when Margie and I first brought Jacob home from the hospital. Mom came to the house, she took him in his arms and began to sing that same song.

I could not keep the tears out of my eyes - then or last night.

I say temporary bedroom because, yesterday, Jacob and Lavina closed on their new house in Anchorage. Very soon they will move into it.

What will Margie, Uncle Caleb and I do then?

 

Speaking of Native issues, the Southwest Alaska village of Nunam Iqua and other villages are facing tough times this winter, due to shortages of food and fuel. I had hoped that Ann Strongheart, who is coordinating efforts to bring aid to the village, would come to Anchorage between now and Christmas so that I might photograph and interview her, but she does not expect to come.

Anyone wishing to help can find out how to do so on her website, Anonymous Bloggers.