At some point John realized that I was getting more out of photographing him than he was getting out of being photographed by me. so he started making increasingly bizarre demands. The weirdest was his request that I photograph him in the guise of a celebrity enjoying himself at a New York nightclub, and I was to play the role of a paparazzi photographer interrupting his meal. Overall kind of fun, but I really didn't enjoy the beatings and broken equipment.
We are a baseball family. We all grew up playing in the backyard and at the park, and some of us were steeped in the lore of the game. The old players - Babe Ruth, Christy Mathewson, Van Lingle Mungo - were all household names. John was fascinated by Ty Cobb. He used a hickory bat, imitated Cobb's grip, and one time he went into the stands to beat up a heckler. But there were limits. Mom and Dad drew a line when they found John gluing carpet tacks to the bottom of his rainboots, points out.
John spent a lot of time in front of the TV. This was an era when television was resurrecting old reels (and careers) from studio archives, and Channel 52 introduced The Three Stooges and Little Rascals/Our Gang to a whole generation. John absorbed everything. We didn't realize how well until he suffered an eye injury that required coverings on both eyes. He sat in front of the TV and acted out the physical gags while blindfolded. His ability to recite bits became part of our family shorthand. It was our "Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra."
