Showing posts from May, 2018


The darkness left you to fill in the blanks in your mind about the place. Such it was in the almost deserted Great Asian Central Mall. A giant place framed by an endless parking lot with only a few cars. Greatness had long left this place.

Closed shops with newspaper covered windows sat side by side like forgotten tombstones, only names remained. 

A grocer who put numbers on their carts. Ones no one wanted to steal, nor return to the place. A restaurant in the distant corner with neon sign still working. Neglected floor tiles pale with age ran to it and beyond to dimly lit corners. A nail school with asian women sitting at attention. All hoping for a future that could only be better than here. A shop turned warehouse for boxes full to the ceiling, hiding their purpose.

Pictures and numbers on walls. Lost souls or hopeful wants, left uncalled. I knew stories of all kinds must be here among the gravestones of shops gone, but did not want to know...




A soft mist rose from the Savanah River, as I looked out from the Partridge Inn veranda. A warm sweet day lay before me. Such it was on my low and slow trip to Augusta.
Augusta is famous for one week a year, The Masters, but remains a working town the rest of the year. A perfect stop on what I have grown to favor, small Cities around a couple hundred thousand population. Ones not spoiled by a manufactured persona. Places with little traffic, the patina of old architecture, local shops, genuinely good cuisine, welcoming people and lots of simple wandering.
You don’t have to fly or take freeways to these place. You can take slow back roads instead. Through towns like Chester (the town on the hill), Carlisle (where the trains cross), Newberry (the town Sherman could not bear to burn) and Saluda (the town of river fame). 
Broad Street is the heart of Augusta’s historic district. A crossing train might interrupt your walk but you won’t mind. Here are bookstores, a 100 year old men’s and women…




My camera can never resist the “Parked Art” of aging truck fleets and equipment. The patina of their color and classic lines always draw me. I met Tom Moore while photographing an old truck company lot. The firm was closed, but Tom had stayed on to keep the equipment in order and caretake the yard. Tom is a strong man. Someone who carried a lot of work responsibility on his shoulders.  Work that left him with a legacy formed in working for a small company. This was his church and he had his own relics.
As he explained it, the owners loved the business and poured all their life into it. Even though business had ended, they liked to have the old iron around to remember the best of days and the work they did. For Tom, their long time employee, the legacy fell on him to preserve those memories. 
Beyond the sheer art of the place, meeting Tom reminded me of opportunities that still remain working for some small companies. They are often overlooked in the gig economy. The right ones can often…