About a decade or so ago, I was at an art opening, invited by a guy I very briefly dated. He claimed he could read palms, and because I was curious I went out with him, hoping I'd at least get a free reading.
Amazingly "palm reading" was not a euphemism, and he really did claim to predict the future from looking at the lines in your hands. Believe it or not.
He read my palm one day....and claimed it said that he and I "were meant to be together forever"...and...uh...that's when I was certain he was as full of bullshit as I'd suspected all along.
I don't read palms, but I'm kinda psychic like that.
But I digress....
Anyway, he'd invited me to an art opening one night, and having nothing better to do, I went.
I always seem to find myself at places where I know no one, not even the person who brought me there. But I digress again....
Most of that night I stood, bored, with a plastic cup of diet coke in my hand, while my date mingled with his friends.
While I was looking at the art, an older gentleman with beard and an expensive camera
took pity on me came up to me, and chatted. He was self effacing and friendly. He asked me about myself, mentioned his love for New Orleans. We chatted about the artwork and the city. He took my photograph and moved on.
Later that night I learned that he was none other than Herman Leonard, the great jazz photographer.
During Katrina his home and his negatives were destroyed by the floods. I guess too heartbroken to return, he moved his family to Los Angeles.
And that's where he died this past Saturday.