That Time A Photographer From New York Shows Up

"I want to come back down and do your portrait." "Really?" "Yes, I want to pitch an article to GQ or at the least, Inc. Magazine." "Ok"

That was Wesley Mann, a world famous photographer.

Wesley had done portraits of Presidents of the US, famous athletes, the most famous celebrities, and yes, even a few common people like me.

I was just a marketing guy.

Wesley had come across the RYC somehow while living in Brooklyn. Might have seen us on the Travel Channel, or Destination, or A&E, who knows. But he thought coming down and taking pictures of the place and the people who come would make either 1 of two things:

1. A good book - like a coffee table type thing,

2. A good gallery showing (that's what it became)

While he was down the first time I was able to drive him around a some, just to give him the lay of the land and make sure he knew some landmarks to look for.

Believe it or not, I've personally been lost and turned around in the back trails - not knowing my north from south or east from west (and I've driven to San Diego from LA after leaving my written down directions on the nightstand -before gps).

Being a red headed (I think Irish) kid from New York City, he had obviously never seen anything like it in his life.

It's a lot like NASCAR, you can see it on TV but to really know what it's like, you have to be there.

Thousands of people roaming all about on their buggies and ATV's - big trucks everywhere. Girls flashing, beads flying, and people getting muddy.

That's what it's all about (when I wasn't trying to make it a marketing company).

So he and I and his assistant are riding around and getting to know each other and the lay of the land when we started talking business. His, mine, what he'd done, what I had done.

Turns out he's a grinder. Just goes out and grinds it out. Like myself.

I drop them off and they start walking and taking photos.

I have work to do too.

Throughout the day I would see them over here or over there. The place was 2 miles long and a mile side to side - but they were getting around.

I've never seen a professional photographer work in the field. It was a strange process to me.

He would sometimes stand still and take a photo as his assistant Tobi ran with a light thing at people in a stabbing motion. Sometimes they would both run at the person or object - him snapping away, her stabbing the light thing.

Think about being an assistant that has to carry the big light thing around all day? They also have to carry some 40 pounds of batteries and lenses and all kinds of stuff.

It's a tough gig.

At the end of the day, the sun was going down and I found them by the stage. Sunburnt.

They must have walked a thousand miles (he told me later that riding around didn't provide the opportunity for the shots he wanted to get).

Here was this redheaded freckled Irish kid from New York, a creative, a soft hearted guy with a wife back home, who wouldn't harm a flea if it came down to it.

He might not be able to defend himself out of a paper bag. Maybe in Manhattan, but not at a place called the Redneck Yacht Club with thousands of them from all over the world roaming around.

And yet he's taking picture after picture and no one's stolen his camera or beaten him up.

In fact, he got along with everyone.

Amazing.

He spent the entire next day doing the same - and most of Sunday. Finally I carried them back to the car.

"My biggest regret was I didn't get a shot of you. I can't believe what I saw. What you've helped build. I've got to pitch a story about you."

A few weeks later, at our next event, he was back (I should mention, he paid in full for both his trips - flight, hotel, rental, food - everything. Coming from a guy that got used to being constantly asked by media types to pay for something, I've never seen anything like it).

Once again the place was crazy busy and once again he took a lot of photos for his gallery exhibit. But this time, when the end had come and the alligators had come back, we found some time to take mine.

It was an honor. A privilege. Something I will never forget.

And it's the best picture I've ever had taken of myself.

I only wish GQ would have done that article. That would have been pretty awesome.