It's a late fall evening on the depressing field where two semi-pro teams are squaring off. I've had to sign a waiver both to be on the sidelines and in the dangerously decrepit press box on the roof of the rickety stadium. Smoke from a foundry across the road belches yellow fumes; it stinks right out loud.
Armed with a Rolleicord twin-lens reflex camera and Graflex strobe, I stare down, following the…Continue
There are those who say that "Witch of November" is misspelled. I'm one of them.
It's nearly impossible for anyone who's not seen it to understand what it's like when the Great Lakes get angry. It can be unnerving to look at from the land; on the water,…