Assisting Avedon

In Cold Blood

This text will be in Part II of the finished book.

In Cold Blood

A recent viewing of the 2005 movie “Capote” brought back memories of an odd chapter in Dick Avedon’s career. It was in April 1960 that Dick traveled alone to Garden City, Kansas, for a meeting with author Truman Capote (1924-1984), who was there researching material for a fact-based novel about one of the most savage multiple murders in American history. The final result, published in serial form in The New Yorker magazine in September 1965 and as a book in January 1966, was entitled In Cold Blood. 

Dick’s connection with Truman Capote went back to their early 1959 collaboration on Observations, a handsome book of photography and prose. I was away in the Army at that time, but upon returning to civilian life at the end of the year was given an autographed copy by Dick as we discussed the possibility of my working for him once again, which I did.

Avedon’s role in this strange 1960 undertaking, a self-imposed assignment, was to do portraits of everyone involved, from the police to the murderers themselves (photo, right), and to capture the atmosphere of the crime scene. This he did without assistance using just his Rolleiflex TLR and 35mm Pentax cameras.

How would these strange New Yorkers be received in small town Kansas? Well, Capote was there some four months earlier with fellow writer Harper Lee, so the locals were already used to his eccentricities and had come to accept him. Avedon by contrast was so “normal” that he could almost have passed off as a Kansan himself.

Upon Dick’s return to New York I developed the film and made prints from the negatives. Those images of the two murderers have haunted me ever since. The story goes like this: Two drifters meet in jail and are soon released on probation; they plan to rob an isolated Kansas farmhouse of a rumored fortune in cash, liquidating the entire family to make sure there are no witnesses. The brutal slaughter of the Clutter family was carried out on November 15, 1959. Ironically, there was little money, and the murderers left almost empty handed. In January of 1960 they were apprehended in Las Vegas and brought back to Kansas for trial.

Capote’s interest begins after reading a small article about the crime in the back pages of the New York Times in November 1959.  At first he planned only a short story but after getting to know the jailed murderers decides on a full major work. An agreement with his publisher is reached by April 1960, when he asks his friend Avedon to meet him in Kansas to make a photographic record of the events. 

Dick’s involvement only lasted a few days, but Truman lingered on in hopes of getting critical anecdotal information from the accused for his book. The trial was soon held, resulting in a guilty verdict and a sentence of death by hanging. Capote, by now strangely attracted to one of the murderers, Perry Smith (mug shot, right), funds their appeals — a process that drags on for five years. Finally, all appeals exhausted, on April 14, 1965, both are hanged, with Capote as an official witness.

At last, Capote could complete his book.

Quickly finished, the book gives birth to a new style of literature in which the lines between fact and fabrication are blurred. In Cold Blood is neither reportage nor fiction, but a hybrid in which truth is embellished for dramatic effect.

During the interim Capote, who had little or no knowledge of photography, purchased a Rolleiflex camera identical to the ones Dick favored, and asked him to teach him how to use it. This task was given to me, and I spent a few sessions instructing the author.

By September of 1965 the book had been edited and typeset. Capote dropped off the complete set of the galley proofs at Avedon’s studio and left them there overnight. Fascinated, I stayed there nearly all night long reading the text.

In Cold Blood was serialized in The New Yorker magazine beginning on September 25th, printed as a book later that year, and released in early January 1966. It soon became a best seller and has gone through numerous editions ever since. On January 7, 1966, LIFE magazine published a major article entitled “Horror Spawns a Masterpiece,” illustrated with Avedon’s photos from that trip to Kansas in April 1960.  Some of these same photos later appeared in various museum exhibitions, and in Avedon’s 1994 book Evidence.

The movie version of In Cold Blood opened in 1967 to critical acclaim, but it could not halt Capote’s downward spiral into drug addiction and alcoholism brought on primarily by the emotional stresses of the whole affair. He died in 1984.

In  2003 Avedon helped coach actor Philip Seymour Hoffman in his portrayal of Truman Capote in the movie Capote, mostly in getting the gestures and voice right. Unfortunately, Dick never saw the film as he died in 2004, months before it was completed.

In this film the role of Dick Avedon (photo, above) was not accurately portrayed, the brief role marred by a serious error involving the camera Dick supposedly used, a Hasselblad (photo, right). In fact, Dick never used a Hasselblad until much later in his career. His portraits of the murderers and others involved were all taken with a Rolleiflex 2.8E. Also, the Hasselblad in the film lacks a sunshade, a big no-no, and the model depicted was not yet available at that time. His method of softly manipulating the subjects does seem genuine, however. 

The following year, 2006, Infamous, another film on the same subject as Capote and covering pretty much the same story, was released. Infamous is somewhat more violent and more explicit in the sexual attraction Truman Capote felt for the condemned murderer Perry. Although the 2006 film does not even mention Avedon, it does have actors playing the roles of some of Dick’s closest friends.

Text copyright © 2009 by Earl Steinbicker

Covering the Paris Collections

This text will be in Part II of the finished book.

During four consecutive summers — from 1962 through 1965 — my job as studio manager for fashion photographer Richard Avedon took me on delicious assignments to the City of Light. Here's the little world we lived and worked in throughout those wonderful times, and some of my fondest momories of it.

Avedon photographed the Fall Paris Couture Collections for Harper's Bazaar magazine every year from 1947 through 1965, and for Vogue magazine from 1966 until 1984. 

This is where it all happened (map, above). Between the Champs-Élysées and the Seine River runs the Rue Jean-Goujon, the center of our activities each July through mid-August. Number 1 was the old Harper's Bazaar studio, and number 2 the new. Number 3 was the delightful Hôtel San-Regis, and number 4 was the Hôtel Alma-Marceau where I spent my last days during that fateful summer of 1965.

It began on Bastille Day, July 14th, 1962, as I arrived at Orly Airport on my very first trip to France. Little had changed at the old Harper's Bazaar studio on Rue Jean-Goujon since the 1930s, or even earlier. By 1962 standards it was exceedingly primitive, with old-fashioned tungsten lights and a nightmare of a darkroom. Fortunately, we had anticipated this and shipped most everything needed by air frieight a few weeks in advance, including film, chemicals, and printing paper. The rest I was able to round up from local suppliers. What we did not anticipate was the rear door to the darkroom, which led into the freight elevator. As I was making the first test run of our film processing that door was suddenly opened by the wine delivery man, who was bringing cases of vin ordinaire to keep us happy. 

We were all housed at the Hôtel San-Regis (photo, right), a charming Old World place where the ancient open-cage elevator descended right into the middle of the lobby. Every room was furnished with antiques, there was a good restaurant, and the service was unusually attentive. No wonder the Harper's Bazaar crowd always made it their Paris home.

The hotel always sent breakfast to our rooms, but for lunch and dinner we went to local cafés and restaurants. My favorites were on the nearby Rue Marbeuf, especially Chez André, which I believe is still there. After the 1964 move to the new studio the magazine hired a cook to make most of our meals right on the spot. This had the advantage of being a free lunch, and the disadvantage of having to face an awful lot of Lapin, or rabbit. At one point we had a wine strike, refusing to drink the swill served until they got something better. This they did.

Every year we hired young trainee-assistants from various European countries. Those who performed exceptionally well were offered jobs at Avedon's New York studio. Among those who got this offer, and then came to America, were guys from Ireland, Sweden, Germany, and Israel. Training them was part of my job, along with making sure that everything was done correctly and on time. They all spoke English, so that was not a problem.

Now, I never had the slightest interest in fashion, and still don't. But I had a burning passion for photography in all its aspects, from studio lighting to darkroom printing. Twice during those four years, however, I was recruited to fill a seat at fashion showings when one of the magazine editors couldn't make it. The first of these was at Dior on the Avenue Montaigne, practically next door to the studio. I tried valiantly to remain attentive, and was happy when it was over and we went to a great café in the same block. 

The other time was at Chanel, when I was given a surprise honor. The salon, at 31 Rue Cambon near Place Vendome, in which the showings were held, had a grand open staircase near the top of which Coco Chanel herself sat observing the audience. She always invited someone in the crowd to sit with her, and this time it was me! I still wonder whether this was a deliberate snub at Dick, who had previously published a quite unflattering photo of her calling attention to her wartime collaboration with Nazi spies. She was never tried for this crime owing to intervention by the British Royal Family, who were fans of her couture designs.

The 1962 sessions were the most interesting and fun to work on. Some of these depicted scenes in a fictitious story of two celebrites dashing around Paris while escaping the pursuing paparazzi, photographed in a journalistic style. To play the lead parts Avedon brought along two of his friends, model (and later movie star) Suzy Parker, and stage-and-film director Mike Nichols. Suzy wore the fashions while Mike was her adoring companion. To get a more authentic look, Avedon used a 35mm SLR camera with a long telephoto lens, along with his usual Rolleiflex TLR. I had to rent some of the lenses from a Paris camera store as he rarely worked in 35mm. For a climactic scene in Maxim's restaurant he wanted one of the "reporters" to have an old-fashioned Speed Graphic camera, which I couldn't find locally — so I called our New York supplier and had one shipped over the next day.

In 1964 he decided on a completely different approach, using only an 8x10 Deardorff view camera in a rented ballroom that was later transformed into Harper's Bazaar's new Paris office and studio. We were still using the old darkrooms, which lacked an enlarger that could handle the 8x10 negatives. To solve this problem, we rented a professional color lab on the Rue des Martyrs in Montmartre — which was closed at that time for vacation. I made all of the "finish" prints there myself during the days, while the shooting was all done at night.

Photography of the Collections always had to be done at night as the fashions were one-of-a-kind creations, not yet in production, and were needed during the day for showings in the salons for the press and prospective buyers. This meant that we got very little sleep during the peak two weeks.

Towards the end of the 1964 session Marianne, the head of the Paris office, asked me to design a darkroom and production complex above their new studio. For this I engaged the help of Dick Balli, whose Balcar company manufactured and distributed the most advanced equipment available in Europe at that time.

The design I came up with is shown above in an article I wrote for Photographic Product News in 1965.

By the end of 1964 the new darkroom facilities were finished and equipped with as-yet-untested state-of-the-art gear. Since I was in London in January 1965 helping Avedon photograph some members of a new rock group called the "Beatles," I hopped over to Paris to give the new facilities a test run. Little did I know that they were already in use by another fashion photographer who was covering the Spring Callections. When I walked into the print room he cursed me because nothing worked properly. Of course it didn't — I hadn't made the adjustments yet and he wasn't supposed to be using it.

Later that year, in July 1965, we began work on what was to be Avedon's last Collection for Harper's Bazaar; by the next year he was working for rival Vogue magazine. The new studio and darkrooms were functioning smoothly, and this time the whole business of preparing the issue for the printer was done right there in the studio instead of weeks later back in New York. This put an extra large burden on the crew, made up of one Israeli, one Fenchman, one Italian, and two Swedes, plus myself. Overseeing everything meant long, long hours and precious little sleep. A few days before the end I collapsed and was put under a doctor's care, then made the fateful decision to leave and start my own studio. 

Copyright © 2009 by Earl Steinbicker

Nothing Personal

This text will be in Part II of the finished book.

In 1963 we began work on the second of Richard Avedon’s dozen or so books of photographs, this one titled Nothing Personal. It presented, photographically, along with a few exceptions and a text by James Baldwin, his views on the condition of American society circa 1964. Whether he succeeded  in this is debatable, but the stunning images remain a powerful reflection of life in the U.S.A. during that time frame.

One of the first sittings done especially for the book was not in America, and not of an American. This exception was a portrait of the British philosopher Bertrand Russell (1872-1970), who at least had a lot to say about America. For it we traveled in the beginning of 1963 to the very northwest corner of Wales. Avedon engaged the services of a young Englishman who had connections as well as a luxurious Bentley motorcar. They picked me up at Brown’s Hotel in London and made a stop at the DeVere photo equipment hire office on Fleet Street to load up on a few studio lights. That night we got as far as Shrewsbury, where we stayed at an old inn. Of course, this was the middle of winter and the Brits had not yet discovered the concept of central heating, so we kept feeding shillings into the electric space heaters in each room.

In the morning we headed into nearby Wales, crossing the Menai Bridge near Bangor, and headed west into a windswept land whose main feature was a huge nuclear generating plant. It was near here that the man who so hated anything nuclear made his home. I wonder if he enjoyed the irony.

When I started to set up the lights I made a horrible discovery. The lights had no plugs — just bare wires. It seems that in those days Britain had many different plug configurations, so you always had to provide your own. I looked at the wall outlets and noticed that they had three holes each. The cords had two wires in them. Which to stick in where? I just prayed as I shoved the bare wire ends into the holes that yielded 240 volts. It worked! The sitting went off fine and I learned, once again, to always check everything before starting out.

Nearly two years earlier, back in New York, Dick had photographed a cross-section of ordinary Americans for Harper's Bazaar, which were again used in the Nothing Personal book. Between late April and early June of 1961 we set up shop in the city’s Municipal Building — in its Marriage Bureau to be exact. It was here that couples could get married in a civil ceremony that took only a few minutes and cost only a few dollars. To each couple he offered free wedding photographs in exchange for their permission to use the results in the book. Over a period of several days there were many who accepted, and seven eventually wound up in the book. The images are quite striking, and filled with love and respect.

The other photos done in New York included both ordinary folks and celebs. Among the latter were Congressman Adam Clayton Powell, which was done on location in his Harlem office on March 8, 1964; a young Lew Alcindor (later NBA star Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) on a school basketball court in the Inwood section of Manhattan on May 2, 1963; perennial presidential candidate on the Socialist ticket Norman Thomas on February 2, 1964; and Black Nationalist leader Malcolm X on March 27, 1963. For this one Avedon purposely jerked the camera to get a blurred, sinister, high-contrast effect. I felt a bit nervous during this sitting, but the subject was actually quite friendly. Another unusual shot was a “portrait” of just the fist of heavyweight boxer Joe Louis, taken on October 3, 1963.

Among those photographed in Washington, D.C. for the book were evangelist Billy Graham on February 4, 1964; and labor leader John L. Lewis the next day.

Avedon also arranged to do a portrait of Dr. Linus Pauling, who had recently won his second Nobel Prize and was active in the anti-war movement. This had to be shot at Idlewild Airport (now J.F.K.) on May 1, 1963 as he was between flights. We arranged for a private room there, and set out to meet him. Of course, neither of us had any idea of what he looked like. In frustration, we were about to have him paged when I spotted a figure that was the spitting image of a “mad scientist.” I approached this man and said “pardon me, are you Doctor Pauling?” He answered yes, so we went to the room and Avedon took the picture. As it turned out, the photo was not up to Dick’s standards, so some eight months later, on January 13, 1964, Dr. Pauling was asked to come to the studio for a reshoot. It must be noted that at that time I was still a smoker, and noticing the pipe stuck in my rear pocket he commented jokingly to the effect that instead of lung cancer I’d probably perish of cancer of the tongue. Anyway, the photo of him is stunning, easily one of the best in the book.

On October 15, 1963 we made a quick trip to Washington D.C. for two pictures. The first was in nearby Arlington, Virginia, at the national headquarters of the American Nazi Party. Yes, there really was one, and it was located in a two-story farmhouse at 6150 Wilson Boulevard atop what later became known as "Hatemonger Hill!" George Lincoln Rockwell (who was later murdered) was its commander. For the photo Dick had four of Rockwell’s uniformed stormtroopers, complete with swastika armbands, shown giving him the Hitler salute. The whole experience seemed like a very low-budget, bad remake of Chaplin’s film The Great Dictator. The way the picture was used in the book was hilarious — directly opposite a full-page shot of the notorious poet Allen Ginsberg in full frontal nudity (discreetly cropped, of course).

Then we drove into downtown Washington, to the Mayflower Hotel, where the Daughters of the American Revolution (D.A.R.) were having a convention. Now, Avedon had no more love for these people than for the Nazis. While he was busy arranging a group shot of about ten of their generals, on his instruction I pretended to be adjusting and testing the cameras, all the while actually shooting photos. One of these became the choice for the book, and made them look like sad, pathetic throwbacks to an earlier time. Dinosaurs, really. 

A more serious trip was made to Atlanta on March 22, 1963, where Avedon photographed the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. This was later used elsewhere, but for the book a photo of King’s young son taken at the same time was considered more interesting. The following day we gathered members of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (S.N.C.C.) together along a closed section of highway for a formal group portrait. Their leader, in the center of the photo, was Julian Bond, who is now Chairman of the Board of the N.A.A.C.P. During the middle of the shot we were visited by the state police, who tried to confiscate our film. What they got were blanks as I had safely hidden the exposed sheets from the 8x10 Deardorff view camera. They then ordered us to leave town, and followed us to the airport. Fortunately, the deed had already been done, and we had the film.

From Atlanta we flew to New Orleans, checked into a hotel and had dinner in the French Quarter. The next day we drove across the Mississippi River to Algiers, where Dick photographed a most unusual man, William Casby. Well over a hundred years old and still strong, he was born into slavery before the Civil War. 

Our last trip deserves mention here. This was to Palm Springs, California in January 1964. The subject was none other than Former President Dwight D. Eisenhower. Arriving a few days early, we stayed at the prestigious Racquet Club in order to impress our Republican hosts. Finally, the photo session was made on the patio of the home that the Eisenhowers were staying at, which was on a golf course. Both he and his wife Mamie were extremely gracious, and the whole experience enjoyable. The chosen photo shows him in a thoughtful, slightly pensive mood. If you look carefully, you can see a reflection of me in his eyes.

There were other subjects of course, both famous and unknown.

Besides assisting Avedon on most of these shots, I also made all of the finish prints. Some of these took quite a bit of work, especially the Atlanta group scene described above, which I made look as though it was taken at dusk, and inserted the “Downtown Atlanta” traffic sign from another photo. Artistic License. Today, it would be a cinch with Photoshop, but using chemicals in a darkroom was much trickier. 

The supreme challenges were the first and next-to-last photos, which Avedon had taken by himself on a California beach (Santa Monica or Venice), using a Pentax 35mm SLR camera, in the last light of the day. The developed films had absolutely no visible image on them, they were so badly underexposed. This is why he seldom worked without an assistant. He insisted that there was something there, and if you held the film up to a narrow beam of reflected light you could make out the faintest images. So I spent days in the darkroom using every trick in the book, and finally coaxed these two photos out of hiding. Actually, had they been properly exposed they would not be nearly as effective as the ghostly likenesses they are.

The prints were finished, but where was the text? James Baldwin had agreed to do this, but so far had delivered nothing. He was, in fact, engaged on another project in Helsinki, Finland. Upon hearing this, Avedon dropped everything, grabbed his portable Olivetti typewriter and took the next flight to confront the wayward author. A few days later, in late June, 1964, he was back — manuscript in hand.

The book was laid out by Marvin Israel, formerly the Art Director of Harper’s Bazaar, and sent to C.J. Bucher in Luzern, Switzerland for engraving and manufacturing. It was in bookstores in time for Christmas, 1964.

The reviews were generally mixed, but none quite so devastating as the one by Robert Brustein in the New York Review of Books. He accused Avedon of being an affluent fashion photographer who exploited the American desire for self-denigration by distorting reality for the sole purpose of making money. Nonsense. Avedon never made a penny on this book, and could not have even if it was a best seller. The expenses in producing it were just too great to allow that. This was done purely as a way of expressing his personal opinions and ideas. The book was quickly remaindered, but today copies of are collector’s treasures, difficult to find and very expensive. 

The experience of producing Nothing Personal and the cool reception it got turned Avedon off portraiture for a few years during which time he concentrated on fashion until well after I left the studio.

Text copyright © 2009 by Earl Steinbicker.

You can see several of the best pictures from the book by clicking here. Navigate through the pages by clicking at the site's lower right corner.

On Being an Assistant Photographer

This text will be part of the Appendix section of the finished book, under Careers.

Elsewhere in this book I discussed points to consider when hiring an assistant photographer. Now I’d like to put in my two cents about what it takes to become one. Especially as a learning experience with a photographer as talented as Avedon, and as an apprenticeship before heading out on your own.

The first, and most important point, is to choose your mentor carefully. It must be someone whose work you really admire, and from whom you can learn. To assist the wrong photographer can just be time wasted. Preferably it should also be someone located in a major city that is home to various media (magazines, ad agencies, etc.) — Americans should think New York or Los Angeles, Europeans London, Paris, Milan, or Berlin. Places that are hotbeds of creative activity.

The first lesson, therefore, is: Determine who you want to work for and pursue them. Relentlessly.

A second consideration is to make a list of ways in which you can make yourself most useful to the photographer. Some obvious ones are:

• Hardworking.
• Dependable.
• Willing to take direction.
• A strong body that can lift stuff.
• A good, safe driver. A clean record helps here.
• Handiness with tools, paintbrushes, etc.
• Ability to do minor repairs.

Some valuable traits are:

• A well-rounded education, especially with some knowledge of the arts and philosophy.
• Ability to anticipate needs and act without having to be told what to do.
• Ability to live within your means, without becoming a burden. Face it, you’re not going to make much until you acquire real skills.
• A good appearance. You are representing the boss. Look it.
• Good language skills, especially English. A smattering of foreign tongues wouldn’t hurt, either.
• A good conversationalist.
• Computer savvy.
• Curiosity about the world around you.
• Lastly, a burning passion for photography; a real fire in the belly.

Notice that I said nothing about being a talented photographer. You’re there to learn and to assist the photographer, not to take the pictures. In the past, darkroom experience would have been a valuable asset; today it would most certainly help to be at least familiar with Adobe Photoshop. 

And if you get the job, Don’t Blow It!

The worst case of missed opportunities I ever heard of actually happened in Avedon’s studio back in 1965. An international service club had a program of finding trainee jobs for talented but impoverished minority youth. Avedon agreed to take on a young guy from an underprivileged background and train him in studio ways, paying him a modest wage. He showed up the first day full of enthusiasm and really tried hard to please. We were quite happy with him. The next day, however, he never came to work. Concerned that something might have happened to him, we called his mother. She answered that he just didn’t feel like working today, so that was the end of his brief employment.

Another one occurred in 1960 when a trainee decided that a weekend social engagement was more important than assisting on a sudden, unexpected weekend photo assignment. He was told not to return. As long as you are a junior assistant you are expected to be available at any time.

Some other things that could nip a career in the bud are:

• Displays of personal drama. Be cool. And be invisible at times.
• Contradicting the boss in front of clients. They won’t have much confidence in him if even his assistant thinks he’s wrong.
• Allowing your cell phone to ring during jobs. Turn it off.
• Asking stars and VIPs for autographs.
• Being a pest.
• Ordering the most expensive food and drink when dining with the boss and/or clients.
• Taking your own photos while the boss is taking his.

IS THIS ASKING TOO MUCH? If you think so, you may be better off pursuing a different career.

The top photo is of me assisting Avedon in 1955.

Copyright © 2009 Earl Steinbicker.

RETURN to Appendix.

A Milestone Is Reached

This text will be in Part I of the finished book.

It was in the Summer of 1955. I was not quite 21 yet, but have now advanced to become second assistant to Richard Avedon. Although I had not yet handled a really major job by myself, somehow Dick decided to take me along on this assignment with no other help. Why I don’t know, as I nearly screwed up royally. 

The job was a dream for all concerned. We were to travel to San Francisco, spend almost a week there taking exactly one photo, then meet with the movie director Stanley Donen and travel with him to the Hearst Castle at San Simeon where they would discuss making a musical loosely (very loosely) based on Avedon’s photo career. My role was to drive, to keep the client away from the boss, and to do the technical work of making it all happen.

I flew out before them, carrying a monster 8x10 camera, film, lights, stands, and other stuff. This was before jets, and the only flight I could get was to Burbank on a DC-7, then the latest airliner in service. Along the way, just before the crack of dawn and flying over either Nevada or New Mexico, I was startled by a blinding flash of greater intensity than I had ever known. For a moment I thought that the sun had exploded, but then the pilot announced that we had just witnessed an atomic bomb test. Wow! From Burbank I took a bus to Los Angeles International and another piston plane to San Francisco. 

Checking in at the Fairmont Hotel, I just dumped everything in the room without checking it first. Big mistake.

The next few days were spent acclimating ourselves to the city by riding cable cars and eating at places like the Blue Fox. Every night I entertained the client by being his drinking companion at pubs all over town. The whole lot of us even hit the original Trader Vic’s in nearby Oakland, devouring Mai Tais and the Tiki culture. After that experience, Dick always wanted to dine at the local Trader Vics if there was one.

Finally, the day for shooting. The assignment was for a photo of Dave Brubeck and his quartet with model Susz Parker for a joint promotion by Helena Rubinstein cosmetics and Columbia Records. His new LP record, Jazz Red Hot — and Cool, was given away with a purchase of both the lipstick and nail polish of the same name. It was shot at the hungry i, a hip nightclub, and depicted Susy in a red gown, smoking and leaning over an open piano while Brubeck looks at her while playing. The ad appeared, among other places, on page 23 of the November 1955 issue of Harper's Bazaar. 

Now about that monumental screwup. Being young and stupid, I neglected to check the equipment and just left it in the hotel room. The only preparation I did was to load the 8x10 film holders in a darkened closet. When I arrived at the hungry i a few hours before the rest, I began setting up and noticed that the rear of the huge camera was smashed in. In near panic, I checked the Yellow Pages for a camera repair place, hurried to it, and pleaded with the guy to do it immediately.  He took pity on me, and I was back at the club with everything ready — and no one was the wiser.

(Suzy Parker, Dave Brubeck, Avedon, photo above)

Photography took place that afternoon, using the hastily-repaired 8x10 Deardorff camera with what was probably a 12” Goerz-Dagor lens, mounted on a Majestic tripod. The film was Ektachrome Type B, and the lighting was by a single Saltzman 1,500-watt flood lamp balanced at 3,200° Kelvin plus ambient room lights. I determined the exposure with a Norwood Director meter. The resultant photo was used as both the cosmetic ad and the album cover.

Next on the agenda was the movie. Paramount Pictures wanted to do a musical inspired by Avedon’s career, to star Audrey Hepburn as a model and Fred Astaire as the fashion photographer, called Dick Avery in the film. Stanley Donen was to direct Funny Face, as it was called, but there were details to work out first. Since Avedon was closely associated with the Hearst Corporation, he wangled an invitation to use the Hearst Castle at San Simeon for the conference on the pretext of making a photographic record of the estate for posterity. We actually took some photos of the buildings, which was totally not his thing. Nine of these appeared in the July, 1955 issue of Harper's Bazaar, a Hearst publication. William Randolph Hearst was already dead, and the family only occasionally used the place, and later gave it to the State of California for use as a tourist attraction. 

I drove the whole party, Avedon and his wife Evie plus Donen and his wife, all crowded into a rented convertible, along the coastal road with a detour through the Monterey Peninsula. A sidetrip was made down the famous 17-Mile Drive through Pebble Beach, with a stop at the landmark Lone Cypress, where Dick took a few pictures of me — which I still treasure (contact strip, left). We had lunch in the artsy village of Carmel, then continued on Route 1 past Point Lobos and Big Sur for about 70 miles or so to San Simeon.

Once off the public road we came to the fenced-in estate, with a gate (photo, right) bearing a sign that read “DANGER – WILD ANIMALS – UNSAFE FOR PEDESTRIANS.” One of our party opened the barrier while I drove through; then we began the long climb up to the castle that was hardly visible in the distance. As we approached, Dick commented on the many, many statues surrounding the main buildings by referring to them as “alabaster asses,” quoting what I think was a passage from Huxley’s 1939 novel After Many a Summer Dies the Swan — which was a thinly-veiled attack on Hearst and is regarded as the inspiration for Orson Welles’ infamous movie.

(Me, Avedon, Evelyn, photo above)

The estate, about the size of an entire county at some 2,500 square miles, looked like a scene right out of Citizen Kane. This 1941 film by Welles was, of course, all about Hearst, who threatened to either sue or pay the studio to destroy all existing prints of it. In fact, it went largely unseen until the late 1950s. Stanley Donen was extremely curious about the film and thought that there might, perversely, be a copy in the castle’s movie theater. So we snuck into the projection booth and searched but, alas, no such luck. Neither did we find the charred remains of “Rosebud.”

(Avedon, me, Mrs. Donen, photo above)

The main building is a copy of a 16th-century Spanish cathedral, with a confessional booth that was actually an elevator to the upstairs living quarters. We had fun riding this as we ascended to inspect Hearst’s private rooms. An ancient Roman temple brought over from Italy faces the gigantic outdoor swimming pool, while the indoor one was modeled after classic Roman baths and is lined with gold tiles. In the estate’s heyday a steady stream of guests arrived by private railroad or by air at the estate’s own airfield, occupying the 56 bedrooms and busying themselves with a vast choice of activities. In the evening they were expected to dress formally for dinner with Hearst himself. 

Funny Face got made the next year, and was released in 1957. While I was away in Army Basic Training I received a letter from the studio inviting me to a private screening in New York, but the only way I could do that was to go AWOL, so I declined. I finally saw it on TV a few years later, and now have it on DVD. An entertaining flick, but any resemblance between the story and the real events was, as they say, purely coincidental. 

From San Simeon I drove them to Bel Air, then stayed a short while in Beverly Hills during which time I got stopped by the local police for walking down a sidewalk, a very suspicious activity in a land completely dominated by automobiles. They probably thought I was casing the place, or was too poor to own a car. But I was well dressed and had proper ID, so they let me go. The next day I returned to New York on another DC-7.

The only other great location job before my military service was for almost a week in Jamaica, during which time we did exactly one photo, again an ad for Helena Rubinstein Cosmetics. Our group included Avedon, the model, the Art Director and his wife, and myself. We all flew down on an AVIANCA Constellation, where we had a private first-class cabin set off from the rest of the plane and played Scrabble all the way to Montego Bay. 

Our base was at Round Hill, begun in 1953 as a private community of stars and shakers in the entertainment world such as Noel Coward, Adele Astaire, Oscar Hammerstein, and the like. Now one of the world’s premier resorts, Round Hill occupies a 100-acre peninsula jutting out into the Caribbean that was once a sugar-and-coconut plantation. This was a perfect vacation spot for celebrities, a place where they could be with friends, have privacy, and totally avoid gawking, autograph-happy tourists. Its cottages are still privately owned, but rented out when the owners are not in residence. Since this was in an off-season and the place was not crowded, we each had our own cottage overlooking Montego Bay. There is also a small, Colonial-style hotel, a restaurant, and other resort amenities.

The “cottage” that we used as a photo location belonged to William Paley, the founder and CEO of CBS. He was a friend of the boss. Photography was done with the same 8x10 Deardorff camera and lens that we had used in San Francisco, but this time there were no lights to drag along. When finished, Avedon stayed on vacation and I was to go to New York with the film. On the last night we had dinner with the British Governor of Jamaica (still a colony at the time), who offered to pick me up in the morning for the drive to the airport as he was also flying. So I flew with His Excellency, first to Cuba (pre-Castro) and then to Miami, from which I got a flight to New York.

Photos from California were taken by Stanley Donen except the contact strip was by Avedon, those in Jamaica were by me.

Copyright © 2009 Earl Steinbicker.

RETURN to Part I.

CHECK OUT the movie and the Brubeck album by clicking on their titles in the boxes below, or on the Buy buttons to purchase:

The Job Begins

This text will be in Part I of the finished book.

Monday morning, September 8, 1952. Richard Avedon’s studio was located at 640 Madison Avenue, between 59th and 60th streets. Only two stories high but a block long, this building (1930's photo, below) was of a type called a “taxpayer” — erected during the Great Depression as a way of retaining title to the land and paying taxes on it while waiting for prosperity to return and a larger structure put in its place. His second-floor suite was obviously designed as a photo studio, complete with a large skylight, and had previously been used by another well-known fashion photographer, George Platt Lynes. 

Entering the door, I was introduced to the staff. What a group they made! Here’s some of them, and that’s me on the floor. This was the set for one of the first jobs after I started, a part of the “I Dreamt I Was A (Whatever) In My Maidenform Bra” advertising campaign. Avedon is on the right with Polly, his secretary. Peeking from behind is George Thompson, the studio manager, and Marty, the first assistant. I was low guy on the totem pole, but we all have to start somewhere.  

He must have decided that I could be trusted because before that day was over I was presented with a set of keys to both the studio and the building entrance. Although this was primarily so that I would not have to wait outside every morning until he opened for business, it was soon made clear that I could, within reason, make use of the studio and its darkrooms for my own work in the off-hours. I could also help myself to a reasonable amount of leftover film that was opened for a job but not used. Dick never used film that had previously been removed from its packaging as he wanted to be certain that all film on a job was from the same emulsion batch. This made only the slightest difference, but happily for me, he was a perfectionist. I could also use his retired cameras, which included a nice Leica. On Election Eve, 1952, I took this first to Times Square to photograph the joyful mobs, then to the Commodore Hotel where I joined the Victory Celebration by taking lots of pictures. Although I was only barely 18 at the time and not old enough to vote, I considered myself a Republican and a strong supporter of President Eisenhower. Avedon was a Democrat, but that was cool.

Dick's relationships with his assistants varied quite a bit. Some were treated as hired help and others almost as members of the family. Perhaps it was my youth at the time, or maybe my eagerness to learn, but I quickly fell into the latter category and remained there right up until I left in 1965.

Neither I nor any of the other staff members were present on the following Saturday, September 13, when Avedon took one of his most famous photographs. Charlie Chaplin had called him at home, asking him to take a “Farewell to America” picture just before sailing to England in political exile. The famous actor, a British citizen, was the subject of a witch-hunt by reactionary politicians who labeled him a communist sympathizer during the infamous McCarthy era. Shortly before the voyage, FBI chief J. Edgar Hoover had his re-entry permit revoked as an undesirable alien. The resultant photograph, taken simply under the studio’s skylight, captured an exuberant gesture of defiance.

In the weeks that followed, I learned their darkroom procedures, ran errands, kept the place tidy, and got to meet some major celebrities. I soon realized just how unsophisticated this 18-year-old boy from Allentown really was. My appearance was all wrong, I knew nothing about art, and my knowledge of photography was nowhere near their level. So I had to learn. The first problem was soon fixed with visits to Madison Avenue clothing stores (the Ivy League Look was all the rage at the time), but the second was more difficult. The boss suggested that I take evening courses in art history so I would know a Picasso from a Rembrandt. Thus began a series of non-credit courses at New York University, covering both art and philosophy. 

One of my odder tasks was the "taping of the shoes" routine. When fashion models walked out onto the set their shoes often made marks on the white paper floor, which had to be retouched. So I was assigned to apply masking tape to the soles and heels of their shoes, then carefully trim the edges just before they entered the set.

My experiences in photography had been limited to 35mm cameras and a 4x5 Speed Graphic. Avedon did nearly all of his fashion and commercial work with an 8x10 Deardorff, and his personality portraits with a Rolleiflex TLR (Twin Lens Reflex). He had no use for 35mm. The Rollei I could cope with, and soon acquired one myself. But that massive wooden Deardorff was intimidating (photo, left). I had to learn how to put those large sheets of film in the holders, how to whip these in and out of the camera as fast as he could shoot, and how to then unload the films into special processing tanks — in total darkness, of course. And then dry and number the negatives, and make contact prints. Enlargements were left to the senior staff, as no one on Earth was fussier about his finish prints than Avedon.

Remember, I was not then a regular employee, but rather a sort of apprentice or trainee, being paid only a token amount until I learned enough to be of value. In the meantime he was my mentor, teaching me more than I could ever have learned had I chosen college instead. In a way this was advantageous, as the informal relationship allowed me an inside glimpse into the personal life of a great master.

In the Fall of 1952 Dick happened to mention to me that he had paid a great deal of money for a custom hi-fi sound system and that it never worked well (or at all), and that the guy who sold it to him had vanished. I immediately volunteered my services since I had built a component system myself a year or so earlier while still in high school. So I was invited over to his townhouse on Beekman Place to check the thing out.

What a place that was! He, his wife Evelyn, and infant son John occupied the most exquisite home I had ever seen. The first floor had a large kitchen (the domain of their cook), an entrance hall with a spiral staircase, a formal dining room, and an opening into a rear garden. All of this on a low hill at the end of East 50th Street, overlooking the East River, just up from the United Nations. 

Up the spiral staircase was another gathering room, and to the front a fabulous living room filled with original art. Picassos. Braques. And others. He explained to me that he had learned his sense of taste from Diana Vreeland, then the fashion editor of Harper’s Bazaar, later with Vogue, and finally a division head at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. 

In the library beyond this was the recalcitrant hi-fi. After a quick test, I decided that it was hopeless. Only the speakers were of any value. So with his money I purchased a good amplifier and a Garrard record changer. Problem solved, and brownie points for me.

In the summer of 1953 he had rented a country home in Connecticut in addition to the Manhattan townhouse. Since I was a good driver and he was a truly awful one, I got to take him there and help set the place up. The biggest problem was with the five-foot-high statue of a dancing Etruscan nude by Marino Marini that resided in the Beekman Place garden. He wanted to plant it in the country garden. Well, the two of us wrestled it into the back of a station wagon and luckily got it there in one piece. Later that night he drove me to the Westport train station so I could return to the city. Two days later I returned by train and drove him back to the Madison Avenue studio. This was repeated a few times until he left for the Paris Collections in July. Incidentally, as far as I know he never again tried living the country life — except for the Hamptons, which is hardly country.

At first, of course, I did not earn much, but my meager pay was sometimes supplemented by posing in advertising photos (Revlon ad, above). Besides Revlon’s Cherries in the Snow ad in which a luscious model fed me cherries, in other fashion ads I appeared as a bullfighter, a juggler, and other oddities standing next to the famous model Dovima. The strangest one was a fashion ad in which I, wearing a gorilla suit, was shown carrying away a gorgeous model, as King Kong did with Fay Wray in the original 1933 flick. This appeared in the August 1953 issue of Harper’s Bazaar. Another of my enjoyable duties (we won’t mention mopping the floor) was to support lovely models as they got “put together” by the fashion stylists. [insert photo] (photo, left). She had a warm back. The lady on the left is D.D. Ryan (1928-2007), who had previously been an assistant to Avedon but was now a fashion editor at Harper’s Bazaar. of my enjoyable duties (we won’t mention mopping the floor) was to support lovely models as they got “put together” by the fashion stylists (photo, left). She had a warm back. The lady on the left is D.D. Ryan (1928-2007), who had previously been an assistant to Avedon but was now a fashion editor at Harper's Bazaar.

Location shots were a joy, especially outdoor where I didn’t have to lug lights along. And these were usually done with the much smaller Rollei TLR cameras. Here (photo, below) I watch as he works on a puzzle while the model, some kid, and the stylist wait. This was at a horse farm in Westchester County. The first location job on which I was the only assistant was in Washington, D.C. We flew down early in the morning — my first ever flight on a commercial airliner — and rented a car at National (now Reagan) Airport. This I drove to the first job, a portrait of a society hostess, followed by one of labor leader John L. Lewis at the UMWA headquarters in downtown Washington. Lewis gave me a cigar, which I treasured until it disintegrated. I must have passed the test, as both sittings were successful.

It was Avedon’s celebrity portraits that made him one of the most acclaimed photographers of all time. The first one of these that I worked on was of actor Buster Keaton, taken on Thursday, September 18th , 1952. Others that faced his lens in 1953 included Italian actress Anna Magnani (who the next day sent me a small gift), actor Humphrey Bogart, comedian Jimmy Durante, actress Hermione Gingold, and photographer Cecil Beaton. Some of the stars in 1954 were socialite Gloria Vanderbilt, comedian Fred Allen, authoress Janet Flanner, and sex symbol Mae West — who was photographed with one of her muscle men in a Times Square night club. I was the only assistant on that last job, and Avedon kindly allowed me to bring along a visiting friend to watch us work.

Avedon, always the gentleman, almost invariably took the trouble of introducing me to his subjects, so that I felt myself to be part of the action. He also insisted that I call him “Dick,” not “Mr. Avedon.”

Every year, the studio was closed from early July until just after Labor Day in September. This was because Avedon was in Paris covering the Fall Collections for Harper’s Bazaar at that time, and there was really nothing for the rest of us to do except take a vacation. Upon returning in September 1953 he discovered that the studio manager had disappeared and could not be found. In George’s place he quickly hired Frank Finocchio (photo, left), a thoroughly professional assistant with years of experience who at the time was working for another fashion studio. Not only was Frank completely competent and a good social mix, he was also just about the world’s best black-and-white darkroom printer. He remained with Avedon until 1962, but that’s getting ahead of the story. 

At the same time the second assistant, Marty, was replaced with another fresh face named Lenny.

It was around this time that I was hurt at the studio while stupidly bringing some prop lumber up on the freight elevator. The long boards had to stick through the top of the lift, and my job was to hold them upright during the ascent. I failed at this, the lumber hit the side of the elevator shaft, split, and badly injured my arm. Dick called for a doctor, who put it in a cast and a sling, after which I took a train home to Pennsylvania to recuperate.

One day in the early Spring of 1954 we received an unexpected visit from theater, TV, and later film director Sidney Lumet, who was a friend of Avedon’s and lived nearby. He had an urgent request. He and his wife, actress Rita Gam, were entertaining a new starlet by taking her to a performance of the Three Penny Opera at the Theatre d’Lys on Christopher Street in Greenwich Village. They had arranged a date for her, but at the last moment the guy was unable to make it. Could Avedon fill in for him?  No, but Dick suggested me. Lumet said okay, I’d do, and gave me his address in the sixties just off Madison Avenue. I rushed home, got dressed, and hurried over. Our first stop was at a Spanish restaurant near the theater, where we had dinner outside on the sidewalk. The show was fantastic. It was pouring down rain as we left the theater, so we took the IRT subway, changing at Times Square to the BMT and getting off at the Fifth Avenue stop. 

A short time later, on May 10th,  Avedon did a portrait of the show’s star, Lotte Lenya (photo, left), for Harper’s Bazaar. She had previously been married to the show’s composer, Kurt Weill. This was done on location at Café Nicholson, a wonderfully strange and idiosyncratic place behind 323 East 58th Street.

Marilyn Monroe was exceptionally nice to this drooling teenager, and autographed a large mounting board with the words “To Earl, Love and Kisses, Marilyn Monroe.” To this I affixed a print from the session . A news picture taken during the sitting showed her with me right behind — this image was later used in a fan magazine entitled Marilyn Monroe as The Girl — The Candid Picture Story of the Making of “The Seven Year  Itch.” Published in 1955 as a Ballantine Mass Market paperback, it sold on newsstands for the princely sum of 35¢ and is now a collector’s item worth hundreds of dollars. The session was on Tuesday, September 14, 1954, and included film director Billy Wilder who at the time was directing her in that film. Avedon’s portraiture style was still rather theatrical and had not yet evolved into the stark simplicity that marked his later work, such as the more famous picture of a sad Marilyn Monroe taken in 1957.

Unlike other photographers of stars, Avedon’s portraits were not always flattering, and sometimes downright brutal. He always tried to capture the true soul of his subjects, and strip away the veneer. So why did they subject themselves to his penetrating lens? Masochism perhaps? Or just the notion that bad publicity is better than no publicity? 

Sometime in late 1954 or early 1955 the building’s owners decided that the time had come to replace the two-story structure with a high rise. So, the Avedon Studio had to find a new home, described in Chapter 00.

In coming chapters I’ll discuss how his talents evolved over those years, and relate the stories behind much of his work. Historical data and technical information will be in the Appendix, starting on page 000.

Text copyright © 2009 Earl Steinbicker.

RETURN to Part I.

ASSISTING AVEDON

This blog is about a book that is nearing completion. As I finish portions I am posting a few of them here so readers can follow my progress and correct me when I go astray.

My name is Earl Steinbicker and I have a story to tell about Richard Avedon (1923-2004), one of the Twentieth Century's most creative and perhaps best known photographers, as his creativity matured during the 1950s and 1960s. It was my good fortune to have assisted him during this period.  

My planned outline for the book Assisting Avedon is:

• Introduction
  
• Prologue — a brief account of Avedon’s early life and his development as a photographer.
  
• Part I — 1952 through 1956. Anecdotes, personalities, stories behind the photos.
  
• Interlude — What happened at the Avedon studio while I was away in the Army.
  
• Part II — 1959 through 1965. More stories behind the photos.
  
• Epilogue — a short summary of what happened after I left.
  
• The Avedon Paradox — Who and What he was, and how he operated.
• Darkness and Light — the 90-minute PBS special about Avedon.
• A walking tour of Avedon's Manhattan, with a map.
• Appendix — Technical information, personnel, studios, cameras, techniques, etc. Followed by an essay On Being An Assistant Photographer, and ending with Lists! Lists! Lists!, alphabetical listings of celebrities he photographed, locations he used, media he worked for, products he advertised, and more. 
  
• Index 
  

I hope that doing it this way will goad me on to completion, and will allow your kind comments to influence my work. 

Postings of a few selected sample chapters will be made as they near completion, not in sequential order. They will later be assembled into book form along with other material. Since this is a blog, the latest postings always go to the top, right under this Introduction. As more are added, the earlier ones go into the archives, but you can always access them through the Categories list in the left column.

More material about Avedon, Travel, Photography, and much more can be seen on my personal blog, www.lifeslittleadventures.typepad.com.

Thank you.

Avedon's Books

This text will be part of the Appendix section of the finished book.

During his lifetime and beyond, Richard Avedon has authored or otherwise been responsible for some twenty large books full of great photographs. The first two, Observations (1959) and Nothing Personal (1964) were done during the time that I was associated with him and in which I had a hand in producing. The others came later and are still coming. Most of these are of exceptional quality, beautifully designed in large format and printed on heavy paper by skilled craftsmen. These are truly coffee table books worth buying a coffee table for. Here's a slightly incomplete list in chronological order:

Observations (with Truman Capote) (1959)

Nothing Personal (with James Baldwin) (1964)

Alice in Wonderland (with Doon Arbus & Ruth Ansel) (1973, very rare)

Portraits (1977)

Richard Avedon Photographs 1947-1977 (1978)

In the American West (1985, reissued 2005, paperbacks 1994 and 2001)

An Autobiography (1993)

Evidence 1944-1974 (1994, paperback 1996)

Versace: The Naked and the Dressed (1998)

Avedon: The Sixties (with Doon Arbus) (1999)

Richard Avedon: Made in France (2001)

Richard Avedon Portraits (2002)

Posthumous List:

Woman in the Mirror: 1945-2004 ( 2005)

Richard Avedon Photographs 1946-2004 (2007)

The Kennedys: Portrait of a Family (2007)

Performance (with John Lahr) (2008)

Richard Avedon Portraits of Power (with Renata Adler) (2008)

Avedon Fashion 1944-2000 (with Carol Squiers) (2009)

About Avedon:

Avedon at Work: In the American West  (by Laura Wilson) (2003)

Videos:

Richard Avedon: Darkness and Light (PBS American Masters) (2002)

Funny Face (musical comedy with Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn) (1957)

____________________________________________

To find out more about these — and read both good and bad reviews — click on the underlined book title in the boxes below; to purchase click on the Buy button. The 2002 PBS American Masters DVD video about him is near the end. In 2009 a new, improved DVD release was made of Funny Face, the 1957 musical comedy film based loosely on Avedon's life, which he helped produce. As you can see, some of these have appreciated greatly in value over the years and are now collectors' treasures.