The Other Paul

In 1963, Paul Berriff was a 16 year old kid with a Rollie camera and the ambition to be a professional photographer.

He talked his way into gaining access to a young Liverpool band in hopes of gaining media credentials. Over the next two years, Berriff captured a series of incredible, intimate portraits of John, Paul, George and Ringo. 

Not much was made of the pictures in the early 1960s. The negatives were stored in a tin box and forgotten about until their rediscovery in 2009. The best of those pictures are currently hanging in the Beatles Hidden Gallery in Liverpool. And if you ever have a chance to see them, do it.

At the time Berriff didn't know that the Beatles would become pop legends. But he did know they were popular enough in Liverpool to warrant attention. This is how some photographers become famous.

In his case, it's a combination of fearlessness, initiative, skill, and luck. We don't have any control over the fourth component, but the first three are often characteristics of successful artists. You could say the same about the Beatles, right?

My day in Liverpool was inspiring. The journey of the Beatles, Brian Epstein, and George Martin demonstrates how art and business can come together. 

I didn't discover the work of Paul Berriff until the end of the day. What a finishing touch. A 16 year old kid talks his way backstage, shoots existing light with Tri-X and a Rollie, and created some of the most memorable portraits of the Beatles that I've ever seen.

Two great stories.

One day in Liverpool.

-Derrick

Richie the Delivery Man

I met Richie about half way through my Americano at O'Briens.

My table was next to the window looking out on to the busy street. I saw his reflection in the glass as he approached the door. I couldn't believe my eyes.

He was balancing a square board on his head with eight loaves of bread on top. This is how Richie transported his merchandise from the truck. As soon as he crossed the threshold of O'Briens, he popped the board off his head and set it on a table.

"That's amazing," I said to him. The girl behind the counter smiled and said, "That's Richie."

"Can I take your photo?" I asked.

He popped the board back atop his head and asked, "Ready?"

I grabbed my compact Canon and quickly fired off one shot. I knew that's all I'd get. He set the bread back on the table.

The girl counted the loaves and signed Richie's pad.

He turned back to me. "Where you from?"

"Northern California."

"I met another American who liked to take pictures," Richie said as he walked over to my table. "We were talking and he told me he was looking for information about his father who lived here in Dublin."

I shifted my weight to get comfortable while maintaining eye contact.

"As it turned out, I had been given a picture of his father. I had never known who the gent was, but I liked the photo. But when his son told me his name, I knew I had heard it somewhere. I took the picture over to his hotel and gave it to him. He was so happy."

"What are the odds?" I asked.

"Yes, imagine that," Richie said.

He then turned on his heels and headed back to his truck.

"Thanks for the picture," I called out.

I paid for the coffee and left O'Briens. It was 10am.

And Richie had already made my day.

-Derrick

The Gold Ring

We stopped for breakfast before disembarking for Paris.

Four of us sat at a large round table. After a few minutes, a couple was seated with us. They had visited Paris a few times before, and were eager to share their experiences.

The told us a story about the gold ring. It's a popular con designed for tourists. Someone had shared the tale with them five years ago, before their first visit to the city. Later that very day, they saw it for themselves. They were so tickled they had to share it with us. It goes like this.

A passerby discovers a gold ring on the ground nearby. They admire it and remark how beautiful it is. 

"But I have no need for such a luxury. Would you like to have it? they ask."

The unsuspecting tourist didn't see the passerby quietly drop the ring on the ground before discovering it.

"Are your sure? It's such a nice looking ring. You really don't want it?"

"How about you give me 50 Euros for it? You get a ring worth much more than that, and I receive a little compensation for my good fortune."

Of course the ring isn't gold, and it didn't cost more than a Euro in a costume jewelry store.

We were entertained by their story, and the fact that it actually happened to them shortly after they heard this cautionary tale.

We then parted ways. They were off to Normandy, and we took a bus to Paris.

Our day was amazing and without danger. No pickpockets, cons, or rude locals. Around 4pm we split-up for a bit. I wanted to take pictures around the palace. Theresa headed off to the Louve. 

I had found a lovely spot to shoot and was seated in the shade along a busy boulevard. A stranger walked by, paused, then held up a gold ring.

"Look what I just found. It's beautiful!"

I laughed to myself, then waved the stranger away. Five years later the con was still going strong. I couldn't wait to tell Theresa that the story we had just heard this morning, came to life on the streets of Paris - just like it did for the couple that shared it with us.

Not long after, we met at the bus. Following our greetings, Theresa said, "You'll never guess what just happened to me?"

"The gold ring?" I asked.

"Yes! How did you know?"

-Derrick

Paris

The French are right. 

There's really nothing that compares to Paris.  

We just spent a day along the river, seeing the sites, exploring the backstreets. Paris fits together better than any city I've visited.  

History, shopping, food, diversity, danger, and a sense of style - this city has it all. It's exceedingly photogenic too. 

I packed my Olympus OM-D E-M10 in the Nimble Photographer Shoulder Bag, a couple lenses, an iPad mini, and an unlocked iPhone 4S with a UK SIM card. That's all I needed for the day. 

My feet are tired. And I'm still not totally confident what time it is. But I enjoyed photographing the city so much...

I don't care. 

-Derrick

London

It's not fair that I always seem to be in an altered state while visiting London.

Or is it?  

Of course there's the sleep deprivation. That's at the root of it. But what really sent me was the one hour car ride from the airport to the hotel - a herky-jerky, diesel fumed nightmare that still turns me green thinking about it. 

I made the mistake of sitting in the backwards seat facing the rear window. Our car felt like a dazed boxer blindly jabbing at the traffic. For a guy that never gets car sick, I was a wreck. 

After our arrival, I sat motionless in the hotel lobby for 30 minutes. It took an alka seltzer and a breath of air conditioning before I was able to resume the day. 

We then headed toward Kensington Gardens on foot (cars were out of the question). London was pleasantly going about its business on a warm spring day. Everything was a bit soft around the edges. 

I photographed Royal Albert Hall (and posted on Instagram), sipped a fruit juice at a street-side cafe, and watched the locals comfortably spread out through the park like a Georges Seurat painting.

As I look back on it now, London was a gentle, friendly shelter where I could recover from a long journey, with many miles still to go.

I guess that's not so bad after all. 

-Derrick