Observations

Lost in the rushes of everyday, we find quiet and comfort in those who are part of us.

A man on a cell phone walking down the street during a snow storm:
"Can you hear me God?
God can you hear me? Can you hear me?
God, I need your help!"

          --S.4th St.
             Philadelphia

Along 95, by the Black River, the car in front of me displays a pro-life sticker.
As I pass, I glance to the side, the driver looks 90 and ready to die.

          --Upstate New York


September 11, 2006

Monday morning...
My head feels like loose pipes in the back of a truck.
The planes seem louder than usual today.

          --Philadelphia


July 15, 2005

Those bibles in hotel rooms
the ones you thought would keep you safe.
Bombs are exploding on the streets of London
no prayers will save you from this place.

          --Great Neck, NY

© 2010 Peter Tobia

Tables Turned

For ten years I would pass George almost everyday on my way to work. Sometimes I would roll down my window and give him spare change or maybe a dollar or two. Sometimes I'd give him food left over from a Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. If I caught the light we would chat and he would ask how the family was doing. Then he would tell me he was trying to get enough money so he could visit his mother in Tampa, FL or that the cops threw out all his belongings from his home under the Interstate 95 viaduct. He said once the cops threw him in the back of a police van, gave him the "nickel ride" and dropped him off in the middle of the night by the stadiums in South Philadelphia hoping to get rid of him. It worked for a about a week, but George would find his way back to Columbus Blvd. walking along the railroad tracks collecting change from passing motorists.  

In December of 2008 I stopped at the light and George came over. He asked me how I was doing and I told him I had just lost my job at the newspaper. A surprised look came over his face and he said, "That's tough." Then he asked me what I was going to do. I said I didn't know at the moment but would figure something out. Suddenly his empathy turned to concern when he bluntly responded, "Don't come out here."

April 20, 2010

© 2010 Peter Tobia

Nice Introduction

On a fall afternoon, I headed to northeast Philadelphia to photograph the singer/songwriter Carole King who was campaigning for John Kerry in his run for president in 2004. I waited outside for her arrival as people gathered inside a local politician's headquarters. King finally showed up and entered the building to greet the locals who were there for the fundraiser and rally. 

As five area politicians hovered around King, looking like awkward teenage boys with silly smiles on their faces, one introduced himself, shook her hand and blurted out, "I can't tell you how many times I got laid in the back seat of my car listening to your music."

April 17, 2010

© 2010 Peter Tobia

Stopping for Petro

Arriving in Conakry, Guinea, two workers with the International Rescue Committee greeted me at the airport and welcomed me to West Africa. After clearing customs, we drove to the hotel to drop off luggage and equipment and then head to a refugee camp on the border with Sierra Leone. Rebels with the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) had overthrown the government in Sierra Leone in May 1997 and people were fleeing the country for safe haven.

Sierra Leone was not getting rave reviews as one of the top ten destinations for tourists or even a quick get-away for a long weekend. Of course, if you were seeking intimidation and fear, well, this was the place to be. I mean where else could you get choices like  the rebels gave innocent people cowering in their homes: "If you come out we will shoot you. If you stay in, we will burn your house to the ground." Not your everyday "welcome to the neighborhood" greeting. As we left the hotel it occurred to me, "why did I always seem to be in places most people were trying to avoid?"

The next thing I realized was we had pulled into a gas station before making the two hour ride which would take us four. Rule of thumb in Africa: Double the time you think it will take. The attendant, a kid in his late teens, came up to the truck and was asked to fill it up. It seemed like it took him an eternity to start pumping the gas. I sat in silence looking at my cameras and thinking about the 12 hour flight.

As we sat there, the three of us noticed the strong smell of gasoline. I opened the passenger door and saw the nozzle of the pump in the gas tank of the truck with gas spilling all over the ground. I quickly got out of the truck and yelled, "What are you doing?"
The attendant calmly replied: "I'm evening the numbers."

April 11, 2010

© 2010 Peter Tobia

On Being a Journalist

I miss what was
   not what is
But it will be in my blood
   for as long as I live.
           -30-

April 10, 2010

© 2010 Peter Tobia