🔗 Share this article

For thirty years, I operated a taxi through the streets of NYC. Throughout those rides, I encountered inspiring people—writers, performers, and countless more. It brought me satisfaction, so I began shooting their portraits, sometimes featuring myself as well. I used multiple devices and regularly secured my flash to the visor using a elastic.

This particular night back in 1990, a acquaintance told me about a literary gathering nearby. I decided to take a look. Inside was crowded. I noticed Allen Ginsberg and walked over to him. He seemed intense, perhaps a bit preoccupied, so I held into the conversation. I requested if he might contribute an foreword for my upcoming book, called In My Taxi. But, he had other commitments.

Once leaving, I got into my taxi and drove off. But then I had an idea: “Maybe drive around again.” Attendees were exiting the building, and there he was. Perhaps he remembered me—or maybe I was just a nuisance to him. Regardless, he came over and got in my taxi. That became a genuinely special experience.

I shot pictures of him by himself too, but my main idea was to include myself in the image. I wanted to infuse emotion into that picture.

I pulled over at the Bowery to drop him off. He looked at the taximeter and the receipt tape coming out from it. He said, “Hand me the tape.” I tore it off and gave it to him. He looked down—I wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but I let him take his time. A little more moments with Allen. Later I learned he was writing a verse about me, which I still have.

I don’t call myself an artist, I leave the audience to judge. I attended college in California, then pursued postgraduate studies at UC Berkeley, studying printmaking and photography. I arrived to NYC in 1980. Rent was high, but no obstacle was going to stop me. I saw some unusual places—one tenant was bathing in the kitchen sink—but eventually I found an ad in the paper for a low-rent place. I went and was greeted by a jovial, heavyset man. The ground was bare, and the room was tiny. I was shocked, but it felt like fate: my darkroom fit perfectly into the east corner, right up to the pane, so I had fresh air each time I needed it.

A further stroke of destiny was my neighbor who worked as a taxi driver. Each time he heard me opening my entrance, he’d open his door and we’d chat. One day, he said, “How about you come along in the cab this evening?” I said, “Absolutely, I’d love to.” That experience started it all. I applied for a taxi permit soon after.

My taxi portraits began with a Hispanic man in a black derby hat. He exuded a calm aura. Anxious, I asked to photograph him—my first time carrying my gear along. He said yes. That was the start, and from there, things escalated. Opportunities surrounded—riders, street scenes, ads forming perfect shots. Occasionally, if my flash failed, I’d hand it to the passenger and instruct, “When you hear the click, activate the flash.” It became a collaboration.

With Allen Ginsberg in my cab, I captured shots of him alone, but my vision was to include the photo with him. I wanted to romanticize that image, to express my feelings into it. I titled it Allen Ginsberg, Giving Me a Fortune Cookie.

Regarding the Photographer

Born: Oklahoma, 1941
Training: California College of Arts & Crafts
Inspirations: William Klein and Ansel Adams
Career Highlight: Receiving my debut write-up in a prominent publication
Difficulty: Spending long hours on the road, yet still meeting compelling people
Advice: Visit exhibitions, take part in classes, explore multiple art forms such as drawing or lithography