My first doubts about the existence of a place with harpists floating on billowy white
clouds came into question when in my teens I wondered if I ever got to heaven
if I would run into my mother. How old would she be? I answered with the idea
that people would see her as they had known her. Her first boyfriend might see
her as a young woman, my father as an older one. And her father who died before
my mother was 8 would have seen her as a young girl.
Fred Latremouille
died today. He was 69. Such deaths put me on guard as I am 72. I wonder why it
is that obituaries mostly show their subjects as they looked shortly before
their death.
I was
the director of photography (a euphemism for Photo Editor) at Vancouver
Magazine for a while in the late 80s. I was asked how I would photograph a few
local hunks for an article (could it been about hunks?). I suggested hiring a
woman photographer who would approach her subjects in the same way we sexist
males would approach the subject of beach babes. I further suggested that
Latremouille (one of the hunks in question) might be shown sitting on a ghetto
blaster at Kits Beach wearing as little clothing as possible.
My
instructions were not followed..
Herewith
you have a photograph I took of Latremouille a few years later at his
backyard which, off camera to the right, you would have seen the Tswwassen Ferry
Terminal.
And yes
Fred was a Hunk with a wonderful voice.