Erie, Day 3

August 20, 2004

0830. I don't know when it is I wake, but I am conscious of extreme unpredictable movement. Very tired and slept very little. The drive last night was unbearable and very long. There are sure signs of mental fatigue and we are only three days in. High activity in the cab with garbled conversation coming from the walkie-talkie. We are on the side streets of Erie. Red smokestacks and old shop fronts pass us by at great speed. This town reminds me of Sheffield in Northern England where manufacturing and industry has also declined dramatically. The night's downfall continues unabated freshening the air. As soon as we arrive everybody instinctively piles in to the YMCA building by the back entrance. This is a grand old building dating from the turn-of-the-century. A huge basketball court is used as a portrait studio and the interviews are organized on the second-floor. The crew visits the showers in shifts. I am eager and appear to be the first in line. By 11 o'clock we are ready to receive our guests. Tensions are high with the crew. I take a walk across the street. The rain is torrential now and there is no one in sight. This is a depressed part of a city going through enormous change. There are few vehicles so crossing the main road is easy. There are many street people; I invite them in out of the storm. They are thankful and make good subjects. As the day moves on it becomes evident that the majority of foot traffic will be teenagers. They are out of work mainly and most share the desire to leave this town. Later in the day a huddle of girls dressed in white stand outside a hairdressers. I stroll over introducing myself; my cameraman and I receive giggles and blushes. They file over one by one during the course of the afternoon. The heavens open making this a dreary day indeed. But there is still something I find intriguing about this place. The annual carnival is sadly rained off all day.

1600 and we decide to finish by six o'clock. The pace increases now. A severely handicapped lady appears at the entrance eager to come in. She is a large lady, some three hundred pounds. Her daughter is quite exquisite and very beautiful, around five or six. She reminds me of my own daughter so much. I follow her around to the back entrance and her husband pushes her heavy cumbersome chair up a steep ramp. Once inside, six flights of steps arrest their progress. Her husband leans over and whispers in my ear.

She doesn't walk no more.'

Before he is finished she has wrenched herself out of her chair and struggles up the flight of chairs clinging on to the railing. I watch in disbelief, as does he before rushing to her rescue. She is adamant; she will be photographed with her daughter. Having struggled for ten minutes she collapses into a chair outside the studio on the third floor.