I Was Bruce Davidson’s Apprentice

In the early 90s I worked with Bruce Davidson, famed for his street-style photo documentaries of the New York City subway, life on E. 100th Street, Central Park and others. This is an excerpt from a journal I kept recording our time together.

New York City, March 18, 1991. Palms sweating, I got off the elevator and stood before Bruce Davidson's door smelling the overwhelming odor of cat urine. Here I found myself before Bruce Davidson’s door; my hero’s door. After sending a desperate letter pleading for him to ‘engage me in some capacity,’ he called to say he was interested in meeting me. "Oh God, I am so lucky to even have the chance to talk to him for a half hour – and he's going to look at my pictures."
As soon as Bruce’s wife opened the door, all of the nervousness left me. Their home is just that—homey, safe and welcoming. The first thing I saw was an oversized photo from the Subway series; on another wall, a 4-foot by 3-foot blow-up of the Verrazano Bridge amidst the fog, a ship passing underneath.

Then Bruce popped his head in—balding; glasses propped on top of his head, the glasses string hanging in front of his head instead of in back; short, and so nice. He wanted to see my work right away. His eyes soaked up my images; he looked through my book several times without comment. Then he carefully suggested ways for me to improve upon the images and the way in which they’d been printed. Should have burned the back of the pig more. Should have focused farther into the car with the three Puerto Rican teens which would have gained me more depth of field. He said I could have used fill flash here to solve the depth of field problem altogether—f11 or f16 with 1/8 to 1/4 fill. First thing he said was he’d take me in the dark room and he’d show me how to print one of my shots better than I had already done. (Unbelievable!)
We talked and talked. He gave me a tour of his apartment and his photos. The couple from E. 100th St., the Hispanic woman sitting on the edge of a pink spread turning around to the camera, the dwarf in a restaurant onlookers jeering and snickering, scenes from Wales, the shot of E. 100th St. itself, the buildings like a wall with a triangle of street in the cover corner, people hanging out the windows.

Overwhelming to see those images that have been dancing in my brain for these past years. If B.D. only knew the number of times I’d taken his books out of the library. The time I’d spent studiously trying to understand what makes his pictures so perfect, so alive and so meaningful. I think him the greatest American photographer. And, here I am in his studio looking at his pictures. He talking ot me as though he’d known me for years—as though he’d been waiting for me.

He had obviously decided to take me on before I came. I took off my jacket and started to work for Bruce Davidson.

First order of business was to organize his 450 contact sheets (in numberical order) from his recently completed four-month assignment to shoot the people of Chicago for National Geographic. What a learning experience to see how B.D. stalks a shoot. How encouraging to see that every frame isn’t perfect, isn’t what he wanted. Sometimes he misses the focus, too.
The final images are so strong. The opening picture is of a black street musician singing up into his microphone, the streets of Chicago passing by him. A Polish woman cutting her husband’s hair with a sister standing by laughing. Flags. Mexican flag waving over a parade held by a Mexican mounted on horseback. Real people doing real things. How does he do it?

B.D. tells me his next assignment from National Geo is Central Park. He’ll take me with him (I’m dying!). A woman in his bilding was formerly involved with the Parks Commission and knows some of its deepest secrets—a man who cultivates honey from honey bees. This would be a great opportunity to work a photojournalistic assignment with ‘The Master’ that I couldn’t share if the location were farther away.

Bruce made us lunch from leftovers of a dinner party they had last night. His wife is apparently a good Mexican chef. Over lunch he quizzed me on what kinds of lenses I have. I told him 50mm, 70-210, 300/doubler and the 28mm I shoot with most. He recommends I buy a 35mm. B.D. shoots with a Canon EOS system; replacing his trusty Leica. I don’t know why, especially since he claims the Canon is so complicated he hasn’t figured it out yet. Think Canon gave him the camera for the promo of him using it.

Later in the afternoon, a potential investor showed up to look at B.D.’s work. He has no idea who B.D. is—his son and B.D.’s daughter were in some high school production of Cabaret and I secretly believe all he wants is copies of the pics B.D. shot of the show. Once the guy came, he wouldn’t go away! He kept asking, ‘what else?’