| I had to wait for the big man behind the counter at Hunter Salvage to finish his telephone and two-way radio conversations. Feeling a bit of apprehension, I wondered how he would respond to this stranger's request to roam his property and take pictures. I expected some hesitancy on his part, maybe suspicion or even an outright refusal, but I was surprised. "Sure," he told me in a friendly tone, and then initiated a conversation with me about photography, junk, and art. He told me that his name is Tommy Hunter, and in our short chat, he commented to me that although people say it's just junk in his yard, he sees the art among the twisted metal. Tommy and I were on the same page. He directed my gaze to a monitor as he rotated his closed circuit camera around the property, and showed me the best places to go for a good photo. Yes, I discovered art among the crushed cars, broken glass, shattered plastic, deployed airbags, and disemboweled motors. But looking down at my feet, I realized that this place is not a place of joy. I encountered reminders of better times among vehicles that had a violent ending, in some cases ending along with the passengers inside. Among the rubble below I saw a keychain, celebrating fun times in New Orleans. I saw a woman's wallet. And there at my feet was a baby shoe. As I was leaving, I stopped in again to talk to Tommy. He told me about the smashed cars coming in and talked about some (from the police yard) that arrived with bullet holes. My visit here was interesting from an artistic standpoint, and like Tommy I saw the art in some aspects of the wreckage. But when I commented on the nature of his business, he summed up by saying that the metallic inhabitants of his salvage yard all have a story to tell, and many times it's not a pretty one. |
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AuthorI love learning about and interacting with people of different cultures. Words and their origins fascinate me too, and at times I enjoy twisting and turning them to create a laugh. |