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Okay, nice and quiet.

All right, let's roll sound.

- Roll camera.
- Scene one, take one.

Roll it.

Set.

And set.

I guess a phone call
wakes me up.

Oh, the alarm didn't go off?

I think I just slept
through the alarm.

I set it for 8:30,
because at 9:00

Jacqueline de Mornay
from Elle Magazine was coming.

She was staying
at the Chelsea,

and her English
was not too good.

And she was coming
for pictures of Lauren Hutton.

So it's 9:00 and the phone rings

and it's Jacqueline,
and she says,

"Is it okay to come
in 20 minutes?"

And I say, "Yes, it's perfect."
And I hop out of bed.

I put the coffee water on and,
and the phone rings again

and it was Susan Sontag.

She said, "Are you awake?"

And then she heard the radio
and said, "Oh yeah."

She said, "I want to go
see your show today."

She said, "I'm sure it's good."

That she couldn't imagine it
not being.

And that she was going
to Paris either today

or tomorrow
and she might not make it

to the show.

So I told her about the guy
from the gallery calling

and asking,
did I know Max Kozlov

or Susan Sontag?

Why?

Actually, what I told her
was a lie.

I'll tell you
the other version.

It was only a slight altering,
but it did reveal something.

You-- you mean he didn't
mention her name?

Mm-mm.

No, I guess I found myself
namedropping with him.

Like uh, he called and said,
did I know Max Kozlov?

And I said,
"No, I know who he is."

And he said, "Do you know
how to get in touch with him?"

And I said, "No."

He's doing um, a photo magazine
and he wants somebody

to write an introduction
or something.

And I said,
"Well, I don't know Max Kozlov.

Why don't you ask Susan Sontag?"

And he said, "Oh, you know her?"
And I said, "Yes."

That's what happened.
That's the way it happened.

I don't uh-- I didn't want
to say that to Susan.

Uh, and she said,
"No, I don't want to do it.

I only write what I have to
or for friends."

You're not a friend?

Well, this wasn't for me.
This was for this magazine.

She said it very sweetly.

And I said,

"Well, I wanted you to know,
because if you go

to the gallery today
and this guy approaches you,

I didn't bother calling you."

And she said,
"I'm glad you didn't."

And then she said a big kiss.

There was no beginning
to that sentence.

She said, I think sometimes
she even might have called me

"darling", like a big kiss
and then a space

and then darling.

Goodbye.

And then I get my coffee
and I go sit at my desk

and it's not even 20 minutes
and there's a knock on the door

and it's the Elle girl.

Now somehow in this time
I've had the fantasy

of being seduced
by the Elle girl.

Had you met her?

No, but that she was gonna
come in

and it would be like
in a French movie

and she would walk in
and be right

in the middle of the floor.

Hm.

And she'd be very raunchy
and reach for my buttons.

That was just one
of the fantasies I had.

I thought it might be terrific
right then in the morning.

Very French.

So she comes in
and she's short.

She's wearing this long cape
and she's very sort

of that French chic,
not arty, but sort of almost.

Mmhmm.

And she comes in and she says,
"Hello, I'm Jacqueline."

And uh, I say, "Hi, come in."

And she says,
"Oh, you live here?

Ooh, this is your studio, too?
Very nice."

Because somehow
she liked the place.

Sometimes people come in
and say, "Did you just move in?"

Or uh, "It'll be nice once
you get it fixed up."

You want something to drink?

No, and I say, "It is fixed up."

And then I said,

"These are the pictures
of Lauren Hutton."

And she says,
"Oh, they're wonderful.

They're not like
those of Avedon."

Because Lauren Hutton
is beautiful,

but she looks like a boy,
you know,

in her Levi's and sneakers.

And I say, "How much
are they going to pay?"

And she said,
"Oh, I don't know."

The article's gonna be
four pages

and she doesn't know
whether they're gonna use

one picture or four pictures.

So I said,
"Well, what's your page rate?"

And she doesn't know.
I almost got suspicious.

I thought this could be some--
some fan of Lauren Hutton's

who's doing this great scheme
to steal pictures

of Lauren Hutton.

What was she supposed to be,
an editor?

Yeah.

I wouldn't mind losing pictures
to someone who would...

But I'd love to get money.
Four pages.

Yeah.
That should be quite a lot.

Could be a lot of money.

Yeah, well, she should know
how much.

Yeah, I would have thought
as an editor

she should know how much,
especially as she was sent

for the pictures.

I'm really trying very hard

to be a businessman
to some degree at least.

I think you have every right
to know

before you give her
the pictures.

Yeah.

I used to go
to the other extreme.

And I would give them
the pictures

and they would leave with them
and I wouldn't say anything

about money.

And I would hope

that I would get a check or--
but I did ask her

and she didn't know.

And she said that she'd be back

on the 7th of January
and that she'd call me.

Where was she going?

Back to France.

On Susan's plane?

I don't know.

Yeah, the same plane.

So then she took the pictures
and I said, "Okay",

and she also.

And then I said,
"Let me just write your name."

And I got the name
as D-E capital M.

And she said,
"No, not the big M."

So then I put the pictures
in an envelope

and she said goodbye,
and I said goodbye,

and then she left.

Never to be heard from again.

I almost feel like
she was there less time

than it took me
to tell the story.

So I'm having my coffee
and I decided to figure out

how much money is owed me,
because it's getting fuzzy.

So I added up all the definites
that I know that I'm getting.

300 for this restaurant job,
but I apparently will get 450.

So in one column I put
absolutely definite 300

and in the other I put $450.

Hopeful.

It's very possible.

And it came out to,
absolutely definite was $825.

And that's not including
the Village Voice piece,

but that still
could possibly happen.

-I mean, it's due next week.
-Well, that is definite.

Yeah.

I mean, a week from today.

Yeah, the next issue.

How much of the tape
is gone already?

Uh, a third.

I don't know whether
to give more or less detail.

It's good.

Okay.

So is it boring or?

No, it's not boring to me.

So then Bob Mony calls.

He does indexing.

But he's a piano player.
He plays the harpsichord.

He's really so good.

He does it like
six hours a day.

He asks if I know Lily.

Who?

Lily, who used
to be Clydine Malleck.

Oh, right.

Paul gave her the name of Lily.

-Paul did it?
-Hmm.

I didn't know Paul did it.

I thought some
great master did it.

Oh no, this was no great master.

I went there
for a gay men's weekend,

and really,
it's an IBM modern religion.

Did you see the ad they put
in the Voice with all bodies

piled one on top of the other?

All done in this kind
of Design Research way.

It's really quite chic
with these beautiful brown rugs,

no, green rugs
and brown walls,

and uh,
these great bean bag chairs,

and Design Research furniture,

and nice tables,
and it's really quite affluent.

I mean, it's not
in the least bit poor.

-It's tacky.
-What?

Tacky.

It might be tacky
on a certain level.

But it's affluent.

In the sense
that they have money.

We are about money.

We are modern.

Anyway, he wants to know
if I have Lily's phone number.

Because Lily is going
to Rome to meet Paul.

And she wanted
to go to Paul's house.

Bob Mony is
a neighbor of Paul's.

In New York?

Yeah, his New York apartment.

Alan Lloyd lives
across the hall

from Bob Mony's apartment.

Yeah, I knew Alan was in there.

Alan Lloyd has the keys
to Paul's apartment.

Don't know where Alan was.

Bob Mony thought that Alan was
at his Aunt Phoebe's.

-I've heard that name before.
-Phoebe Lloyd.

Yeah, I told you the weird
thing about that, didn't I?

That-- that Linda Lloyd,
if she had a girl,

she was gonna name
her Phoebe Lloyd.

Anyway.

I give him her home number
and her Arrica phone number.

And how are things,
see ya, goodbye.

At this point, my plan
is to go back to bed.

What time is it about?

About 10:15.

I wanted to get rid
of that girl.

And go back to sleep
until 11:30.

Then Ed Baynard called.

Did you go back to sleep?

No, I was just about to.

It was 10:15
and Ed Baynard calls.

And he says, "Are you busy?"

I say, "Yes."

And he says, "Call me back."

And I say,
"No, I have a minute."

And he says, "Call me back."

And I say,
"Now is the best time."

And he says,
"We're not getting through

to each other."

And I say, "No, I am busy, Ed.

But I will be
much busier later."

And he says, "Are you working
in the darkroom?"

And I say, "Yes."

Oh, oh, oh,

now I know every time
I call and you say--

No, I really cannot stand
to talk to Ed Baynard.

I can't get off the phone,
no one can.

He won't let you off,
he's the master of it.

And he also doesn't listen.
He's totally insane.

If this ever gets printed,
I hope it's printed

with his name.

What do you mean if? When.

I mean this part.

I really want you
to use real names.

And he said, "Anyway,
well, three things."

Does he always have a list?

No, I guess he concised it.

"Fred McDarrah is reviewing

the gallery and I'm not
reviewing your show."

You mean if Fred
was doing it instead?

Yeah.

And I said, "Oh."

And he said, "I think he's doing
it more reviewing the gallery."

And I said, "Too bad,
'cause Ed Baynard was gonna

review the show and not mention
Christopher Makos",

which I thought was terrific.

But I guess it is his show.

Did I tell you they offered me
another show in January?

She called me and said,
"Can you get a show together?"

-And I said, "No."
-Oh, yeah?

I don't want
to let any shit out.

Well, you-- you have to decide,
you have to look around.

I mean, in terms
of like a gallery,

if I have a show,
I want it to be like,

like the group of pictures.

Which was, I think,
quite together.

Whatever I do,
I think that was the best

of what I do now.

There wasn't a bad
photograph in there.

Right.

Quite reputable.

Extremely.

So I was annoyed,
but I said, "Oh, well."

Cool.

What else could I say?

He said, "Second
I quit the Voice."

Why?

'Cause Ed wrote an article
about Lilo and her photography,

but they didn't want Ed
to use his name,

but to publish
under Allie Anderson's name

as the editor of the centerfold,
because she said

it was getting too inbred.

And he said,
"Inbred, white bread."

Really good.

Somehow, I didn't really think
it mattered.

I mean, so what
if your name's not on it?

Third on the list
was Christmas Day.

He said, "What are you doing?"
I said, "I don't know yet."

And he said, "Well,
we're having a thing here,

and it'll be just people."

And I said, "Oh."

With no geese, no ducks.

He said,
"Well, Bill Elliot, Lilo."

Yeah, the same old inbred crowd.

I think he meant,
like the real people.

It just does.

And I said, "Well, I have
to get back

to the darkroom now."

And-- and I go back to bed
with my clothes on.

I had made the bed earlier

for Jacqueline de Mornay
to be neat.

I wanted to appear neat.

So I just slipped

under the blanket
with my clothes on.

You fall asleep so easily.

Well, I was tired, yeah.

Obviously.

I set the clock for 11:30
and I fall right asleep.

What a life.

I stay in bed till 11:45,
and then I put my clothes on.

I thought you hadn't
taken them off.

Oh.

I guess I didn't.
I just lied.

Well, you--
you must have taken something.

Maybe your shoes.

I guess I put my shoes back on.
Something.

Anyway, I go
and make another cup of coffee

and two pieces of toast
with raspberry jelly.

And now I'm going to call
Allen Ginsberg at exactly noon.

Because he does
his meditations.

And they told me to call him

either after 11:00 at night
or at 12:00.

So it's exactly 12:00,
and I call him.

It's busy.

So I put my red jacket on,

and I go downstairs
to buy cigarettes.

And I break a $10 bill,
and I give her also a penny,

because the cigarettes
are 56 cents.

God, they are?

I come back up,
and I call Allen Ginsberg,

and it's still busy.

Then at about 12:20,

I finally get through
and a male voice answers.

And I say,
"Is Allen Ginsberg there?"

And he says, "Who's calling?"
And I say, "It's Peter Hujar.

And I'm supposed
to take pictures

of Allen Ginsberg
for The Times."

And the male voice says,
"It's Peter Hujar

from The Times, Allen."

And Allen comes
to the phone and says, "Hi."

And I say, "Hello."
And he says, "Who's this?"

And I say, "It's Peter Hujar.
And I leave out the part

about The Times,
because he knows that already.

And I say, "I'm supposed
to photograph you."

And he says, "Fine."

And I say, "What about today?"

And he says, "Good. Today."

And I say, "When?"

And he says, "This afternoon."

And I say,
"How about in an hour?"

And he says, "Fine.

Or even three quarters
of an hour.

I'm just gonna
get something to eat."

And I mentioned something
about a portrait.

And he carries on about,
it's just like them, portraits,

he didn't say old-fashioned,
but some word that made it sound

like they were really,
these people are still doing

portraits in the paper.

The whole tone
was very unpleasant.

And I said, "Well,"
and he said, "Well,

you better call The Times
and tell them we can't do that."

And I said, "Well,
let's not worry about it.

Let's just do what we can.

And you don't have to do
anything you don't want to do.

As long as you're
in the picture, we'll do it."

And he said, "No.
You better call The Times."

And I think I got really tough.

I said, "Look,
it's very strange."

What are you worrying about?"
I said, "Don't worry about it.

We'll just do it
how you want to do it.

It's okay."

And he says,
"I just want to make it clear."

And I said, "Look,
it really doesn't matter.

They just want a picture.
There are no orders.

You have to do a portrait."

So I said, "Okay,
I'll see you in an hour."

Does he still live
on the Lower East Side?

Yeah, and he gives me
the address,

which was 10th Street
between C and D.

And he says,
you know where that's at?

And I say, "Yeah,
I know where that's at.

I live down here, too."
And he says, "Oh, where?

And I say, 2nd Avenue
and 12th Street",

which suddenly
doesn't quite make it.

It feels like
the Upper East Side.

The guy's up there
in a fancy neighborhood.

So I get
my camera stuff together,

and I have to decide
what coat to wear

to the Lower East Side.

And somehow,

I think I'll wear my long,
whatever it is, coat.

And I leave with that,
but then I decide,

"No, it's wrong."

And I don't quite know
what the criterion is here,

but it just didn't feel the coat

to wear to the Lower East Side
to meet Allen Ginsberg.

I also had a flash
that there was something sort

of bohemian poet about it,
and I'd be much snazzier

in my red ski jacket.

Oh, good choice, yeah.

I just think it's more
like Lower East Side.

Oh, before I leave,
I water the plants.

And at this point,

I'm not exactly sure
what time he called me.

Who called?

Allen Ginsberg.

But I talked to Allen Ginsberg.

So that hour of getting ready,
I couldn't quite remember

when that was.

But anyway, I watered the plants
before I left.

Do you have a watering can?

No.

The coffee pot,
which I fill up in the tub,

because the pressure
is much quicker.

Then I walked
to Allen Ginsberg's,

down 2nd Avenue
and straight across 10th Street,

past Fred and Simona Tuten's
and those other people,

that writer critic?

- John Gruen?
- Yeah.

But Ginsberg's
like two more blocks

further down where it
really gets to looking dismal.

And this Puerto Rican
had yellow paint

all over his hands,
really thick

smeared down his nose

like he'd sprayed himself
with chrome spray paint,

orange, yellow.

And his shirt

and his hands were just all--
and on the face

it was much lighter,
it was a little more spread out.

So it was like this glow
on his face.

But then he wiped his nose
and there was this streak.

Was he just standing
on the street?

Uh, he came out
of the building

and he looked at me
almost like nasty.

And I thought, "Oh,
he can tell, an alien."

I almost felt fancy down there.

The neighborhood intimidates me
way in there.

It's very frightening,
so rundown and dreary.

Yeah, it's like the Bronx
where my Aunt Pauline lives.

I don't have any real fear,
but it's very uncomfortable

to go down there.

Anyway, I get to his house
and I go to apartment 4C

and I knock three times
on the door.

He told you to?

No, I just-- I just did.

And uh, Peter Orlovsky opens
the door wearing his tam,

and his hair is still
down the back of his neck.

And he's really like,
45 years old,

like an old Polish man.

And I don't know
whether he had it before,

but you know those moles

that are skin-colored
with hair.

Hmm.

Like old people have
on their faces?

He's got two of them
on his cheek.

And he's uh, he's heavier.

It's not really like it's fat.

It's like it's--

Looks like he's getting older.

Yeah, there's a lot
of gray in his beard.

And he says,
"Allen's on the phone.

Sit down."

And I don't know what I expected
of Allen Ginsberg's apartment,

but it was really the most
rundown tenement

with uh, tenement furniture,

linoleum,
a few sort of Indian things,

a mattress on the floor,
Bob Dylan poster on the wall,

Rolling Stones.

Oh, there was
some guitars around.

And oh, and there was
a girl there

with a very New York accent,
around 22.

She was just sitting around?

Uh, they were addressing
Christmas cards.

Oh.

And they went back
to addressing Christmas cards.

She was helping them do theirs?

Mm.

Allen was on the phone.

You're assuming something
that we don't know.

Whether she lived
with them or I couldn't tell.

I think they were
involved somehow.

I also had the feeling
that Allen actually lives more

in the country
and that Peter lives there

with this girl.

That was my guess.

He's on the phone
talking about Ellsberg.

Oh, what was he saying?

I really wasn't
that interested somehow.

I could have listened,
but I didn't bother.

And then he got off the phone
and he said,

"Hi, want some tea?"

And then he said,
"No, let's go right now",

before I had the chance.

And I said, "No, look,
you want a cup of tea?

I'd like one",
because I didn't want

to go right out to the site.

So we have a cup of coffee
and Hibiscus calls

and he says, "Hello, Hibiscus."

And when he gets off the phone,
he's being very cool

and uh, suspicious.

Does he have a big beard
and everything?

Yeah, it's like an Indian,
really out like this

and he's bald on top.

He has these glasses
with wire rims.

He used to have
those dark glasses.

Yeah, I have a nice picture
of him with Gregory

that Gregory gave me.

I'd like to see it.

And then I asked him
something like,

"What's with Hibiscus?"
And he asked him.

You know Hibiscus?

Yeah.

"Oh, show, where, when,

how's your love life?

Good. The same one? Goodbye."

And uh, and then I said uh,

"Does he still have
the same boyfriend?"

And he said, he still does.

And uh, then he said,

"I was in an angel show
in San Francisco."

And I said, "I was
in an Angel show here.

I was Mother Goose
and I looked like Vivian Leigh",

but he doesn't respond at all.

I almost feel like everything
I'm saying wasn't even heard.

And then we go out
and go to this

burned out building
where he was mugged

and he stands there
and he points at the door.

Is he wearing an Indian robe?

No, Levi's.

Oh, he says he has
the same clothes

as when he was mugged.

And I said, "I don't think
it really matters."

And he says something
about something I forget.

So we go there and I say,
"It looks like something

out of an Italian comic book",
pointing that way.

I couldn't remember fumetti,
but it somehow had that look.

I say, "You really want to look
that way in the New York Times?"

And he says,
"I want the people to see."

And he somehow ties it up
with all these

burned-out buildings,
boarded-up windows

and people still living there.

It's very desolate and strange.

Right in his neighborhood.

Yeah.

And the buildings
are burned out, whole floors,

like these people
are being burned out.

And he points at a building
and says,

"Tuli Kupferberg lives there."

And I didn't quite know
what to say to that.

I thought,
"I guess I should tell him

I photographed Tuli Kupferberg,
but I don't really want to."

But I do.

I say, "Oh, I photographed him
when he was with The Fugs."

Then he points
at the butcher's shop

and says, "That was
the Peace Eye bookstore.

You can take a picture
of me in it, so I can send it

to Ed Sanders."

So I do that.

And he says,
"Can you get all this stuff in

that's charred?"

And I say, "Sure, sure."

Is-- is he still suspicious
or has he warmed up?

No.

And I say,
"Oh, it looks real arty."

Standing in the burned out
butcher's shop window

with his arms crossed, chanting.

Yeah. Om.

Yeah.

He kept doing the
om, om, om, pum, tum.

And then we go to the doorway
across the street.

And he sits down
in the lotus position

looking very Buddha,

right in the doorway,
and he starts to chant.

And I really think, "Well,
I can't interrupt God."

I can't say,
"Can you please stop that?

Do you really want
a picture sitting

in the doorway?"

-Yeah, he does, though.
-He does, though.

And uh, then this girl
and Peter walk by

and he waves and says,
"Come have your picture taken.

We haven't had a picture
together in a long time."

So I think it's just gonna
be the two of them,

but then the girl gets in, too,
so it's the three.

I somehow thought it might
be interesting to have a picture

of one of the longest marriages.

Oh, when I had my coffee,
this goes back,

the girl said,
"There's no sugar."

But then she did find
a single sugar pack,

because she said,
"Honey is so awful in coffee."

Ouch.

I like it. It's good.

And we finished taking pictures
on the street

and I don't really know
what else to do there.

And at one point I said,
"You're talking to me

like I'm the New York Times
and I'm not",

because he kept throwing
in things

about the ownership
of The Times' connections

with the oil interests,
and I just couldn't care less.

I mean, the details
are like something

out of a soap opera
that's not very interesting.

And he said,
"But you work for The Times."

And I said, "No, this is the
first job I've gotten

for The Times."

And suddenly,
that's much better.

And I asked to take
some portraits of him

at home just for me,
and he said, "Sure."

What, to do right then
and there?

Yeah.

And we walked back to his house
and stopped at a vegetable store

on the corner of Avenue C.

And a car crashed
into the back of a truck.

And it turns out, the story,

that the guy who crashed
into the truck

was going the wrong way.

He doesn't have
a license or anything.

It's probably a stolen car,
and the police took him to jail.

He buys three persimmons.

And he says,
"Have you ever eaten these?"

And I say, "Yeah,
I don't like the way

they feel in my mouth.

They have that awful
chalky feeling."

And he says,

"Oh, I just really got into them
only a couple months ago",

something about vitamin C
or something.

And I say, "Have you ever
seen them on a tree?

They were on the tree
after all the leaves fall off."

And he's not listening
to this at all.

"Let me go upstairs."

And I say, "Why don't
you sit over there?"

And he sits down
in a lotus position

and starts chanting.

Oh, he's a compulsive chanter.

Looking with this kind
of nowhere look.

He doesn't see me at all.
He's just focused into...

Um-land.

And then I say,
"I don't like that background."

So I move him.

Just to move him,
just against another wall.

And then I say, "Why don't you
pay attention to me?

Check me out."

And he starts to do that,
but then he gets into listing

like who really runs the country
and the top 10 corporations

and oil.

And then we're interrupted
by a call

and it's all talk
about William Burroughs.

And I think...

Here's my chance.

I just throw this in,
which I somehow did.

But I find it hard not to be.

It's almost as if

I felt I better show
some credentials.

So I said, "I'm photographing
him tomorrow."

And he said, "Oh, how come?"

It's almost as if
everything I said...

"I met him at lunch."

"Where?"
"Felicity Mason's."

"When?"
"Three weeks ago."

What, did he approve?

No.

Sounds horrible.

And then he said,
"Oh, you can get

some interesting pictures
out of Bill."

And I said, "Oh, really?"

And he said,
"Yeah, suck his cock."

And I said, "It would be better
if I brought him

a prep school boy."

And he said,
"Oh, you could do that.

As Burroughs loves

those prep school waspy boys
with the neckties."

I thought it was strange,
out of nowhere.

What, the sucking the cock?

Yeah.

It's different
from his chanting image.

He took a certain relish
in like, being naughty

or something.

Almost felt like
it had an edge of, come on.

He said, "You could go
to bed with Bill."

And I said, "I don't think
it would be that impossible.

He's not that unattractive."
Which he isn't.

There's something--
he was very friendly.

-He was nice-looking.
-Hm. I like his face.

It's not repellent.

Mm. He's the opposite of Allen.

I mean, like,
he'll age very well.

Ginsberg will just be
a fat old Jewish man.

He's always been very ugly.

I forgot what else
was said there.

Oh, he said he might
come by tomorrow.

'Cause he'd already
got more time.

What, at your place?

No, Burroughs.
At 3:00.

Did you tell him not to?

No.

No, I thought about that,
but then I thought

maybe it might be interesting.

Burroughs and Ginsberg
together on a picture.

I'd still get Burroughs.

And then I left.

Was it a friendly farewell?

Yeah.

He said he'd like
to see the pictures,

to tell him what picture
was used in The Times,

and in the end,
he really didn't care

if I used a portrait
of him or not.

You won him over.

He said he was just being hard,

and he was trying
to protect himself.

And I walked home.

What time is it about?

I don't know.

It's still light.

Maybe 4:00.

Then what?

Then I take out
this Oscar Mayer Braunschweiger.

Oh, I used to love that.

Is it still cheap?

No.

It's 89 cents for a little--
It's expensive.

But I was hungry,
and I splurged.

I make a sandwich
on that Pepperidge Farm,

that delicious bread.

It's wheat bread, but it's--

The sprouted wheat?

It's sprouted wheat!

And I have some Pep-up,
that's left.

What is that?

That's the Adelle Davis drink
with yeast and stuff.

And as soon as I finished that,
which I ate fairly quickly,

I go right into the darkroom,
and I set up

for developing film.

And the phone rings,
and it's Steve Pisney,

who is some number
who likes to talk tough.

He used to be in the Marines.

He's actually very sweet.

But he has this whole
comic book edge to him.

He says, "Hey, man,
I'm really hot tonight.

I was just jacking off."

And I say,
"Well, I've got people here."

You lie all day long.

Yeah, I do.
It's amazing.

I don't think you realize
half the time.

You do.
I know when I lie.

I don't know why I do them,
but each lie is--

I wish I could do it more.

I mean, you didn't want
to talk to him, right?

You wanted to work.

He wanted me to come over
to his house.

I said, "Okay, well,
catch you later."

-Yeah. He's not a New Yorker.
-No.

So then I go
into the dark room,

and I develop
two rolls of film first,

because there
are eight altogether.

And this is the Ginsbergs.

And that's in the hypo.

And Linda calls.

And she tells me
to write this all out.

But you hadn't written anything
before this?

- No.
- Oh my God.

I said, "I don't know
that I can remember it all."

Turns out...

'Cause I really began to think,
"Well, I didn't do anything."

I photographed Ginsberg,
that woman from Elle.

She came in the morning.
That's it.

Isn't it interesting?

It really is.

Because as soon as I started,
like all this--

Yes.
It's like a whole novel already.

Yeah. All this stuff came.

So I write it all down.

It takes me a bit of time.

I thought it would
take a minute.

It takes like 12 minutes.

Then I go into the dark room,
and I develop

the other eight rolls of film
when Glenn O'Brien calls.

And he says,
"Will you be home at 8:30?"

And I say, "Oh, I don't know.

I'm pretty sure I will be
because I'm at work.

I should work.

but like,
I really don't want to,

I might go out or something.

I don't want
to commit myself right now."

You said this to him
or you just thought about it?

I thought about it.

I don't want to commit
myself right now.

And I know
I probably will work.

And if I say, "Yes, 8:30..."

Well, he was gonna
call you back at 8:30?

No, he was going to be
down in the neighborhood.

He wants to know
if I would give him

the negatives of, um...

He's starting this

rock and roll group
called "the Conelrad".

He can't sing
or play an instrument.

None of them can.

Nikki, the guy that did
those anal paintings.

Oh, I was just reading
about him today.

Yeah, he did something
Saturday night.

He's the drummer
in this group.

With his ass?

Yeah, I photographed them.

Because it's almost like
they're doing this hype.

I don't know
if it's half serious.

Well, does any music come out?

No.

They haven't made any music.

Glenn can't sing or play.

And they get publicity.

Like they got Lisa Robinson
from Rock Scenes

to do a picture of them.

And Fran Lebowitz
to do an interview.

And it's totally made up.

They're Korean war brats
and they got together in Korea.

What, they really are?

Mm-mm.

No, they made up the story.

They talk about it
as if it were real.

So I photographed them
for Lisa.

And I said, "Yeah, I have
no need for the negatives."

And I hang up the negatives
and Vince calls.

No.

I hang up the negatives
and I take a nap.

Of course.

'Cause I needed a nap.
Does it sound like too many?

What, two naps a day?

- Yeah.
- Yeah.

Well, the first one
wasn't a nap.

It was a continuation
of my sleep.

And I needed an hour more.

And uh, then Vince called.

And uh, he wanted to know
if he could come over

to take a shower at my place,
'cause he had no hot water.

And he was really hoping
that there was someone

that he knew that he could call
to take a shower with.

But he wished that he had
some friend,

you know, some trick.

You should have given him
the other guy's number,

the one that was hot.

I should have done.

But they wouldn't get along.

Vince wouldn't let him
do his number.

Sometimes when I've made
it with him, he calls me

"buddy".

Great.

♪ Hold me tight, my baby ♪

♪ Hold me tight tonight ♪

♪ Hold me tight, my baby ♪

♪ Everything's all right ♪

♪ Hold me tight ♪

♪ Hold me tight ♪

♪ I don't care about tomorrow ♪

♪ But hold me tight tonight ♪

Danced all night

♪ Come on and let's have fun ♪

♪ Hold me tight, hold me tight ♪

♪ I don't care about tomorrow ♪

♪ Hold me tight tonight ♪

♪ Hold me tight, my baby ♪

♪ Hold me tight tonight ♪

♪ Hold me tight, my baby ♪

♪ Everything's all right ♪

♪ Hold me tight, hold me tight ♪

♪ I don't care about tomorrow ♪

♪ Hold me tight tonight ♪

♪ I don't care about tomorrow ♪

♪ Hold me tight tonight ♪

Oh, one of the details
of the Glenn O'Brien

conversation that I forgot
was he wrote an article

for Italian Vogue
about Bob Wilson

and they used one
of my pictures.

So I said, "Hey Glenn,
did you ever get paid for that?"

And he said, "No."

I said, "I want to get
some money out of them.

Do you have an issue around,
because I want to send them

the bill", 'cause this is like,
June-July '74.

Yeah. A picture of what?

Bob Wilson.

Did you get a credit?

Yeah.

So Vince says he'll be over
in a few minutes

when he gets
his equipment together.

What, for a shower?

Yeah.

Did he bring his own towel?

No.

Soap?

Well, he brought his shampoo,
his hair dryer.

Last time he came,
he brought a washcloth.

So I go to the store
and I buy tuna fish noodles,

Progresso, and yogurt, plain.

And I come back up,

I do 27 push-ups,
and then I turn

the television on.

The evening's
entertainment commences.

Then I decide to cook.
But then I think, "Oh, Vince."

Because it had been my plan
before he called.

So I think maybe I'll ask him
if he wants to eat.

So he arrives and I ask.
I say, "I'm not gonna put

any vegetables in or anything.

I just don't feel like even
frying an onion,

but I'll just whip that up."

And he said, "Oh, I thought

that we could send out
for Chinese food.

I'll treat."

So I said, "Terrific."

Yeah, save the tuna
for another day.

So he's in the shower,
and he says,

"I'll go down soon."

And I think it's silly
to wait here

while he's washing
and drying himself

to go get the food.

So I go down while he's still
in the shower.

And then what do I do?

Then I went
to the Chinese restaurant

and ordered the stuff.

I go to the Chinese
and there's a guy there.

Hmm.

Who looks sort of fat.

But he has a very nice face.

There's something sort
of lonely and strange.

He seems very much
like an unmarried man.

Uh, straight, 35.

And he takes one of
the mountain,

Jade Mountain card,
the calling cards.

Mmhmm.

And he takes out a felt-tip pen
and he starts to draw on it.

He makes these sort of squares.

Is he waiting for an order?

Yeah.

Yeah, which was
chicken chow mein.

Oh, good luck.

And the waiter comes out
and says, "Your order's ready."

And he sort of nods
and then continues drawing.

And enough time has passed
and he's still drawing

these boxes.

Was this
on the little tiny card?

Yeah, and he's really into it.

And then the waiter stands there
sort of perplexed.

And then he walks back
over to him, and he says,

"Your order's ready."
And he says, "Oh."

And it came to $3.45.

For chicken chow mein?

For his stuff.
And then he leaves.

Mine is-- takes
a few more minutes,

and it's $7.30.

It's 7.30, but you only had 7.

7.4-- 7.43

Yeah, but you only had 7.

I had 7,
and I paid the difference.

Big spender.

And also,
I had to get Vince a Coke.

So I go to the store,
a Greek place.

- Hm.
- I get the Coke.

It's 32 ounces,
which is 65 cents.

And I go back up.

And he's dressed
and he's drying his hair.

Oh, the guy, the Chinese,

the guy from the
Chinese restaurant, the artist.

Mmhmm.

He bought something
in that store.

I don't know what he bought,
but he bought something.

- In the Greek store?
- In the Greek store.

And he asked for the slip,

and he didn't pay for it
in the Greek store.

He just took the sales receipt,
and he wrote Schmidt

on the back of it.

And um, and he's,
without saying a word, he left.

Well, you should
try that sometime.

That's a good trick.

I bet it would work up
in this neighborhood

up in Yorkville.

So I come back up,
and I open the containers.

And I get out the plates,
and we sit down, and we eat.

I have the sweet and sour,
and Vince has--

You don't share?

Um, a little bit, but mostly
I don't really like

moo goo gai pan.

Vince didn't eat much of it.
I ate all of mine.

And there wasn't enough rice.

And then I said, "Why don't you
take the Coke home?

Because I still have
the last one here,

it's flat,
since you were here."

He lives on Coke.

Yeah, that's why his skin
is so great.

He does not eat good, Vincent.

He really loves junk food.

We were out one night
with Fran Lebowitz

and Craig Karpel,
going to an Italian restaurant.

And Vincent insisted on getting
out of the car,

so that he could go
to McDonald's.

And he said that
he would meet us there

at the restaurant
for coffee.

Well, that's crazy.

Maybe it's because
he grew up on Italian food.

No, but I mean,
when you're with people.

I mean, he had
to have McDonald's.

Yeah, get a fix.

I can't remember
what we talked about.

I told him
about Allen Ginsberg.

Oh, I read him the beginning
of this list.

I said, "It's amazing."

I had the feeling

that I'd done nothing
but gotten up,

photographed Allen Ginsberg,
developed the film,

and that was it.

You know, I often have a feeling
that in my day,

nothing much happens,
that I've wasted it.

Well, now you know.

I've wasted another day.

All I did is I spent
two hours with Ginsberg.

This takes a day.

That's why
I'm doing this, actually.

To find out how people
fill up their days,

because I myself feel like
I don't do much

of anything all day.

You should do it.

I'm going to.

Anyway, there's a knock
at the door,

and it's Glenn O'Brien wearing
one of those coats like Joseph

used to wear with the fur
collar, beige, gray.

-What, a storm coat?
-With the belt, yeah.

Mmhmm. Like suburban.

And he comes in
and he doesn't take it off,

and he says,
"I'm going to jam with Bruce."

And I say, "Oh, come on.
How do you jam?

What do you do?
You don't play an instrument."

And he says,
"We listen to records,

and we say we want
to do it like that."

And I say, "You should get
Topaz Caucasian for your band."

Well, she doesn't play
anything either.

She-- Oh, she plays the trumpet,
but she doesn't exist.

She's fictitious.

She's a woman that was made up
by Pat Costello,

part of Wartoke Music
Publicity Group.

They do the publicity
for Stevie Wonder.

They took me on tour
with Rod Stewart,

and they drop out the name
occasionally, Topaz Caucasian.

She was at Miami Pop Festival
or whatever it was,

Newport Festival,
or she made a brief appearance

on stage with Miles Davis,
and they put this in the paper.

Topaz Caucasian is supposed
to be a 6-foot,

red-haired mulatto,
and she actually got

into all the papers.

I would be with people

who would swear that they
had seen Topaz Caucasian.

Wait.

How did you know
that she was made up?

Because I was there
when she was made up.

Oh.

Did Glenn O'Brien
know she was made up?

No, I told him the story
of Topaz, that she was made up,

and I said that she could be
just perfect to say

that you're considering
Topaz Caucasian,

and he said, "Yeah."

He knew about Topaz.

He said that,
"If someone dared come out

and say, 'I am Topaz Caucasian',
that they could be heard,"

that they could make a record,
at least cut a demo,

because people were saying,
"Who is she? Who's she with?"

There's something
like they're doing it real.

I think that they might
start collecting musicians.

-They just might.
-Yeah.

I have a feeling
that Suzi Quatro did that.

Well, now what happens?

Glenn's there,
stays for about 10 minutes,

and then he leaves,
so it's just me and Vince.

And I say I have to go back
to work,

and Glenn says
he's going to go home.

I mentioned your book
during this thing,

and they're like,
"Patrick says it would be great

to have a sofa."

And I say,
"It would really change my life.

And we discussed this
during the dinner,

the make-out possibilities
and how difficult--

You know, in his apartment,

he has a bed
and straight chairs,

so they either have to go
to the bedroom

and watch the television,
do it that way

or if they get on the bed,
he keeps the bed

in the living room,

and he keeps all these
magazines and letters.

He has to move all these.

Yeah. Well, a couch,
a couch would be in between.

You can do it on the couch.

You can sleep on the couch.

You can stretch out
and read on the couch.

It's really a rather
wonderful thing.

And one day, it'll be yours.

Okay, so Vincent leaves,
and I go back to the dark room.

This is about 10:00?

Probably somewhere in there,
not watching the clock,

and I think about making
the restaurant enlargements.

The restaurant job I did,
the interior of the restaurant.

I just hate printing it.

You know there's like,
14 different prints

and the contacts

are in the dryer already
of Ginsberg.

What's your reaction?

There's very little there.

There's no contact.

Hm.

So then I make
the restaurant pictures,

and when I'm looking at them,
I was really exhausted.

I just wanted to go
to bed again.

But when I start working,
I kind of wake up.

Did you have lunch?

I had the liverwurst sandwich.

Hm. I think you're malnourished.

Do you eat enough vegetables?

Sometimes, but like yesterday,
that's all I had.

Well, that is not enough.
Not for a big man.

Really.

I guess not.

That is why you're tired.

I'm not that tired.

It's just certain things

like Allen Ginsberg
got me tired.

So I uh, make the blow-up
of the restaurant,

and after I've made
half a dozen,

I realize this is quite
an incredibly good job.

It looks very professional.

And I got all these pictures
of one restaurant,

portrait of the owner for $450.

That's really a steal,
a good price.

I thought, "Oh, it's really too
much", because I was there

a couple of hours,
and I did these pictures.

And it looks
just like the place.

And Fran calls, and uh, I say,
"I'm at work."

And she says,
"Okay, go back to work.

I'll talk to you tomorrow.

And she says goodbye.

And I finish up

the restaurant things,
and I wash them,

and I realize, I better not soak
them overnight,

because that polycontrast paper
starts to peel at the edges,

and I want it to look very
presentable and neat.

To get my money
so I wash them,

and the heat is off.

The heat had gone off

about 7:30 when Vince
was taking a shower.

It's getting very cold.

Does this happen every night?

It's very peculiar.

The night before, it had been on
all night long.

It was so hot.

It was on until 7:00
and it was off until 2:00.

It's on some kind
of automatic thing.

It's very weird.

But I knew it was okay
to leave the prints

to dry out in the air,
because if it was cold,

I could leave them
out overnight,

and they would dry slower
and flatter.

And then I remembered
that I have to go

to Tina tomorrow,
and I have to bring her

the Janet Flanner pictures.

She's buying two
to trade for sessions.

So I pick out two
that are kind of matched,

and I realized that
the print that I had made,

the one that you have,
was really so much better.

And I hadn't really seen
that before.

Felicity had said,
"I want that print today.

These people
are here for this party."

"I've been doing something
all morning,

so I got home at 3:00",
and I said, "Well,

I can make it in an hour,
and if you give me

50 bucks for it",

I might as well
make the ones for Tina, too.

And I thought
that they were good.

But I realized that
to do good work,

I have to like have the time

to really look at it,
really see what I'm doing.

Sometimes I just stand
and stare at it,

and it's even
rather pleasurable.

It really takes time
to get to know it.

That almost sounds corny.

Anyway, I hadn't realized
till then

that they were
really ordinary prints.

They were good,
but they were ordinary.

Like, that one had those
really strange whites, black.

So I signed them.

My pen wasn't writing good,
so the P in Peter

was just looking awful.

So once you put pen

and India ink on the face
of a print, it just looked puny.

I thought, "I can't get
too tight with the E-T-E-R,

but at least I can keep it
in the same scale

but give it some zip
because it becomes like part

of the image."

And the pen
just wouldn't write boldly.

It wanted to go slow.

So anyway, I signed them,
and I thought, "Oh, well."

Oh, before that,
there were two little spots

that I took out.

I spotted the print...

and I went through
my photographs

to try and find the picture
of Frank Lima's daughter,

for Tina, who likes it.

I couldn't remember
whether I had it printed,

but I knew

there was one mounted one,
so I found the mounted one.

And uh, it was peeling
off the cardboard,

the mounting paste
was coming loose.

So I thought, "I'll try ironing
it back, see if it sticks."

So I went and got the iron.
This is now like 2:30.

And I got a sheet of paper
and I pressed it down.

And I got it all back
on the mount.

And I thought, "The edges
are a little bit messy,

but I can say, 'Oh,
but it's the original print."

I mean, it was still nice,
but the edges

were a little bit, you know.

I never thought,

I usually like things
to be very crisp.

I somehow thought it was funny
even to have that thought.

This is the original.

And you never had
that thought before?

I don't know whether
it's good or not.

-It's not bad.
-I know.

It's like getting caught in--

Oh, you wouldn't let yourself
get caught into it too much.

As a look,
I like it to be neat.

There's something
that bothers me about it.

Oh.

So I unplugged the iron.

And I noticed
a few little spots.

And there was one spot

that I really was amazed
that I had gone

around the print.

And there was like a hair mark.

I used to be really good
at spotting.

Now I find I can't see as good.

Really?

Up close,
is that far or near-sighted?

Far-sighted.

I find that I have
to look at things like this.

Yeah, me too.

And with spotting,
which I used to love to do,

like see these tiny little spots
and with the brush,

to be able to put these
pinpoints of dye on it,

I could do it for hours.

It was very satisfying.

I was very good at it.

Now it's like
a physical unpleasantness.

Not that it hurts,
but it's not right.

I can't see it.

All the pleasure is gone.

Well, when you get your glasses.

It's just--
I have to get glasses. Yeah.

Do you need them for distance?

No.

Just up close.

When I first noticed

that I was getting far-sighted
was when Maurice Hogenboom,

who was a Dutch photographer,
living with Caterin Milinaire,

came over to my house.

I went to Phoebe's.

And he showed me
a picture of himself.

He's quite beautiful.

I pulled out this picture.

I said, "Look at this."

And he put it about a foot away
from my face.

I mean, not too close.

And I had to back off.

It was annoying.

I had to take it in my hand
and put it out there

and say, "Oh."

That was when I realized,
it's strange.

I used to be able
to look at things that close.

Didn't you think
we'd just be exempt

from all these things?

I never gave it a thought.

Yeah, I never thought
these things would happen.

In a way, I thought--
I mean, yes.

I had that feeling that none
of those old-age things.

Arthritis, bursitis,
rheumatism.

-Hon!
-No, I've got bursitis.

That was the last time
I saw Maurice Hogenboom.

He didn't want anything
to do with you, old guys.

No. No.

He went to Brazil
and he was photographing

and he stepped
backwards off a cliff.

There were some
thousands of feet.

See what happens
when you step back.

All hangs together.

So, you were spotting.

I was spotting, yeah.

And then I got
an envelope and a cardboard.

I didn't have a cardboard.
I did.

But I didn't want to use it.

So I used a mounted print
instead, 'cause I'm getting

really low on cardboard.

And I put it by the front door,
so that I wouldn't forget it.

And the contacts that I dried

in the electric dryer
were already dry.

So I looked through
this first good look

through my viewer,
so I could really see the face

and they were not good.

Were they good enough
for The Times?

Probably.

But he gave out nothing.

It's not that
he didn't give out.

It's that we didn't connect.

He was so hostile though.

Yeah, it does reflect
in a way on me somehow.

No, he-- he certainly made it
difficult though.

Yeah, but like
had he been attracted to me.

Because men often take
very different pictures

from women of each other,
because I've seen pictures

of men that women have taken.

They're sometimes so charming
and such a come on.

Like some of Shayla's pictures
of men are just wonderful

and touching.

Like there she is,
this beautiful woman out there

on the streets
and she aims her camera

at a construction worker.

I'm getting off track.

I can't even remember
what the track was.

You were-- you were looking
at the Ginsberg.

Yeah.

And it really didn't have much.

Actually, I hated it
the first look.

Second look, I thought,
"Well, it's possible.

I mean, it's not
uninteresting."

But I did think

in my snobby way
it would be great to have

Ginsberg and Burroughs
in a book, in my book.

Like when Susan said, only
for her friends, I was thinking,

"Would Susan Sontag
write an introduction

to my book?

Or should I have
Vince Aletti write it?

Or Frank could write
something funny."

The publisher would probably
have something to say

about that anyhow.

Oh, he'd probably love it.
She'd probably help sell books.

I mean, wouldn't you be
more likely to pick up

a photography book?

If-- I mean, I'm sure

it would help sales
than by Vince Aletti.

I would really love
to make money off of it.

Also have it get around.

You know, I've always had
a star thing.

Wanting to be
some kind of a star or a star.

I would like my work
to stand above that.

I would like my work
to stand about that.

That my work could stand
so all by itself

without a single star in it.

Well, it could.

I mean, I find the star thing
very superfluous.

But they're not
your everyday stars.

Like to me,
those were stars in the show.

Hm.

It's-- it's a different thing.

You know, these people
are very accessible.

Like Joan Crawford.

It's like the same thing.

Like-- like Joan Crawford.

I mean, wouldn't you go
out of your way

to see Joan Crawford?

She's not one
that interests me that much.

If she was around the corner,
you would see her.

No, I'm telling you,
I'm very blasé about stars.

What about an evening
with Joan Crawford?

I think it would be
gigantically boring.

You're probably right.
I'd still be very curious.

Yeah,
I'd rather meet Bette Davis.

Well, there are
other people that--

I mean, I just picked
Joan Crawford,

because Vince showed me a book

and on the cover
there was a scene

from, I think it was King Kong
in New York, some movie

where New York floods
and you see these big waves

coming down the street
and it was Herald Square

with Crawford.

Where was I?

I put them in the envelope
over by the door

and I look at the Ginsbergs
and I don't like them.

But I said, "Well,

there are one or two
that aren't really that bad.

And I'm sure if I really print
it incredibly..."

Printing can sometimes...

What? Bring out things?

Yeah.

I mean,
even in the quality of the face.

Like in one print the person
looks completely different.

It's like adding something
or uh, forcing something

to happen, which is
interesting.

And I uh, started to write down

my last notes of this.

And say, "I'm going to bed."

But then I got up
once I'd done that

and I went inside
the harpsichord

and I run through part
of the Bach thing that I know.

And make a few mistakes,
but I do it over

until I play it nicely
and it sounds good.

And I turn out the lights
and first I set the clock

and brush my teeth.

You hadn't eaten
this whole time since dinner.

I would've eaten
six things by now.

Actually, I was feeling bloated.

I don't know why,

whether it was tension
or why does one feel bloated?

What is that a sign of?

Because I didn't eat much

for dinner but I felt like
the food was in my stomach

for hours.

Well, it was probably
shitty food.

I think your stomach is shrunk.
That's what it is.

No, it's actually sticking out.

No, I-- I think your stomach
has gotten so small

from not eating
that a little food

can stick it out.

After one
and a half liverwurst sandwiches

my stomach
was actually popping out.

I think it really has something
to do with smoking and tension.

You put a lot of energy
into smoking

that you could be using
in other ways.

It's no good, I know.

It upsets me.

It really does.

I wish I could stop.

But I don't feel good.

I have smokers hangover
all day long.

And then the harpsichord,
brush my teeth,

set the clock for 10:00 a.m.
and I go to bed.

I fall asleep
almost immediately.

And then within a few minutes
uh,

I wake up, because the whores
are out on the street outside.

They have this conversation.

They talk so loud

with closed windows
I can hear every word

they're saying.

What are they talking about?
About the trade?

Yeah.

Just shop talk?

Yeah.

Do they keep you awake
for a while?

No.

I got up.

And I looked out the window.

I watched them to see
what they looked like.

One was putting on makeup
in the dark

in the mirror of a car,

outside mirror.

Actually, it wasn't a car.

It was that blue truck

that comes from the junkies'
detention center up the block.

They have this blue truck
with tinted windows

and it has a small,
rectangular mirror.

And then I went back
to bed and fell asleep.

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