Travertine

The Brewvies












Company








The Berkeley Pit, Butte, MT one of the most toxic bodies of water in the U.S.

Charlene Willit with friends





Fearless bridge jumpers, Missoula, MT

The Vortex

Conley at the edge.

All I can say is that things got worse before they got better. I found new lonely corners and textures to the general feeling of being lost and adrift.

But when things did get better, they did so with such pinache that it all but wiped out my week of despair.

As soon as I pulled into the town of Hot Springs, Montana, I knew I had reached some kind of archetypal homeland. My digital camera was unfortunately out of batteries, but somehow pencil seems the better way to translate the few days I spent there anyway.

Frank, or "Conley Edge". Told me Hot Springs is in a vortex.

I woke up later than I wanted to, my van growing hotter by the minute, and heard Leroy's truck coming down the gravel drive. He called out "Jennifer" and rapped firmly on the side of the van. I popped up, charged with that guilty feeling of having overslept and scurried for some clothes. I decided on a white linen dress completely out of sync with my normal fashion sense, but cool and easy and fast. When I emerged into the bright daylight squinting Leroy was standing there, his truck running with the door ajar.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go down to the Symes Hotel and I'll drink some coffee while you eat food."

I couldn't really refuse the oddly worded invitation, spoken in his charmingly rounded Koutenai accent that seemed created to deliver goofy one liners then laugh at itself, so I agreed and proceeded to help lift some dirty old cushions into one of his log cabins. "Are you going to wear that dress?" he asked. When I replied yes, he informed me that it looked like a nightgown. "All right, I'll change then," I said laughing. As he drove off, he turned back and yelled," Hey what was that guy's name again? The Russian?"

"Rasputin!" I called back.


Leroy O'Bennick

We had been shooting the shit the night before while I soaked in his hot spring pool made of smooth cement and he sat and smoked cigarettes. I can't remember how we got on the topic of Rasputin, but he was wondering what the name of this Russian upstart with a big beard and wild looking hair was and I came up with it. He kept forgetting and I would have to tell him again and we did that over and over throughout the conversation.

I cleaned up the van, changed and reclined in my doorway for a while, waiting for Leroy to come back. When he did, he was all excited and wound up "get your camera! the Guru is standing on his head! Get your camera! You're going to shoot the guru!" I grabbed my camera, baffled, and followed him as he lumbered up the gravel drive toward his pool, where we found a tiny man peacefully soaking in the crystal clear water. "Guru," Leroy called out urgently, "She's gonna shoot you. Come out and stand on your head." The man smiled, hoisted his nimble body effortlessly out of the water and glided toward us on legs spry and skinny as pins. Every time Leroy said the word "shoot" I winced a bit, especially looking into the peaceful eyes of this man from Nepal and shaking his hand, but Leroy was obviously getting a huge kick out of the whole thing so I just went with it. "Where should we do it?" The Guru said smiling, completely unphased. I suggested the top of a grassy knoll by the mud baths.

I was surprised to find a small group of older folks hanging out there; a woman with fiery red hair was perched naked on the edge of a fiberglass hot tub, one leg up. Another gray haired lady stood in a hole in the ground, lathering herself with mud, and another man with luminescent white skin, gentle faced and tall and skinny as a bean pole was looking upon the scene, arms akimbo.

The Guru started getting into all of these wild pretzel-like poses and me and a third woman in a bathing suit just started snapping away from all angles. It really felt like some absurd dream. After each pose, he would look at us and say sweetly, "another one?" then slide deftly into another gravity defying position.

When we were done shooting I sat by the rest of the group and the red head piped in, "Those photos aren't free, you know. If you're going to use them you're going to have to pay. And if you're not going to use them, you need to delete them." I looked at her bewildered. "There was nothing like that established before I started taking the pictures," I replied. "Well," she said. "This is America. Nothing is for free." I looked around as the odd little collection of people came into focus and tried to let that one soak in for a second, but it didn't get far.

In the meantime the Guru had sat down next to me, looking a bit embarrased. She must have been his hostess or something, taking him around and possibly making some money. He wrote down his contact info in my little notebook and whispered, "don't worry" to me quietly.


Everyone started gathering around and talking animatedly, and the white haired woman, now rinsed of mud and clothed in a bandeau bikini top stood close and asked me about a million questions. Someone, I can't remember who, asked me if I eat meat. When I replied, "Yes," the red-haired woman piped in again, "You know eating animals makes you more animal-like, more aggressive." I wanted to reply, "Well you must eat a lot of meat then," but I refrained.

Leroy's Commandments

"the Guru"

Guest Book

Leroy's Teepee@night