There is a vacant lot in the Wynwood District of Miami that I frequently drive past on my quests for my next encounter. The half asphalt, half grassy lot covers the full width of the block. Next to it is an old, l-shaped white building in which a Cuban sandwich shop is the only operating business. I was immediately seduced by this crumbling, gritty scene, when one day I saw an old man standing in this lot with a young boy, who I guessed to be his grandson. Even though that happened to be a day that I did not have my camera with me (because I was just leaving work), I nearly slammed on my breaks to soak in the marvelous scene, and I knew I would have to return another day.
…And return I did, in mid-May. I was excited when I saw the old man and the boy standing outside the sandwich shop again, this time with a woman and a girl. So, I practically dove head-first from my Jeep, medium-format camera in hand, so as not to miss this opportunity. Though the little boy was exceedingly adorable, I had my photographic sights set only on the old man.
His name is Pancho, and he is Cuban. He's lived in Miami for 30 years and speaks sparse English - about as much as I know Spanish. The woman who owns the shop is the mother of the two children. I originally assumed that Pancho was the grandfather and the woman his daughter for as familial as they all seemed (but more on that later).
Pancho seemed to be a bit ornery, muttering in Spanish, probably wondering why I was taking his picture and why the woman and her daughter were making him do it. Yet, he did it anyway and allowed me to take as many as I wished. I even dare say he cracked a half smile or two in the midst of it all. To save him the wonder, I counted down: "Dos mas," "uno mas," until I'd used the last of the roll.
As I thanked them all and started to leave, I didn't feel like I'd had my fill of that building and lot. I wasn't done with it…and I'm glad I listened to that little voice in my head that insisted I go back…
Three days later, during another excursionary drive about town, I once again found myself in the neighborhood of that old building, so I thought I'd drive by to see if anyone was there.
It was almost noon, and the sandwich shop was closed. Then, there I saw him, crossing the street, holding a shirt in his hand, apparently about to put it on. Although he was leaving, I just knew he would have to return, so I decided to wait. I made a u-turn to park in front of the building, and in doing so I stopped my Jeep to allow a small dog without a collar to cross the street, heading in the same direction that Pancho had just gone. It wasn't the busiest of main streets, but I still felt a twinge of worry for the little dog, who obviously must have been a stray. Relieved to see him make it safely across, I resumed the duties of my stakeout.
As anticipated, several minutes later I saw Pancho crossing the street again (in the same outfit of three days prior), walking with another man. The two of them paused in the middle of the street to allow the approaching cars to pass, and I saw Pancho turn to see the same collarless little dog in the middle of the street behind them. He bent down and grabbed the dog by the scruff of his neck, causing him to stand on his hind tip-toes. He held him like this until the cars passed, deli bag in one hand, dog in the other. When it was safe, they all crossed the street, landing safely onto the half gravel-strewn, half grassy lot, at which point Pancho began waving his arm demonstratively at the other man (in the same manner of expression as he did the day when the woman jocularly prompted him to pose for the camera) as if to say, "Ackh!" in response to whatever the man had said.
Then, as if cued by a director in a movie, I saw the woman and the two children walking towards the sandwich shop. I waited until she unlocked the back door and went in before I decided it was time to make my move. I announced my presence at the back door, and through limited Spanish and pantomime, I informed the woman that I was back to see if I could take more photos of Pancho.
While this was happening, Pancho and the man were sitting on some stools across the lot, under a lofty tree. The grassy field where they were lounging had accumulated with garbage and debris, most of which was piled off to the side against a chain-link fence. Their grassy domain was decorated with some wooden dining table chairs and bar stools, and a plastic bag full of clothes hanging from a tree branch. Upon seeing me and hearing the woman and girl's beckoning, Pancho placed his deli bag in a cooler (which also contained cans of cold beer), gesticulated and yelled something in Spanish, and then hastened over to us. I then gave him five bucks as a way to thank him for agreeing to participate twice, to which he smiled and gladly accepted. This day he was quite obliging to be photographed and even wanted to introduce me to the dog that I initially took for a stray. He kept saying, "Pooch-o!" calling to the dog, while gesturing to my camera.
I ended up staying there quite a while that day and also photographed the man who'd accompanied Pancho across the street…
I was satisfied that I would leave with some good exposures of Pancho, and it must have been evident that I was wrapping it up, because "the man" approached and spoke only the following sentence in English during our entire encounter: "You only take pictures of him?" He said it jokingly as he gestured to Pancho, arm stretched out, palm up. I knew I had plenty of rolls of film in my car, so I obliged his jovial request thinking, "Why not?!"
His name was Juan, and he was Pancho's friend. He suggested in Spanish that he sit on the benches, and he placed himself in his own poses and seemed quite comfortable doing so. From the moment he walked over to me, he was warm and friendly, and when he posed, he cocked his chin high up in the air as if to say, "What's up?!" to the camera or pending viewer.
Then, I met another man, who probably came out to inspect the source of the unfamiliar voice speaking in halting, toddler level Spanish. This third man spoke English, and as it turned out, it was a ripe day for encounters.
Daniel, 53 years old, is a Native American of the Apache Tribe (direct lineage through his father and grandfather) and has lived in Miami his entire life. He's been drawing since he was 16 years old and has several paintings, which he mounts on copper board.
As it turned out, Daniel was the official owner of the little dog, who I initially assumed to be a stray. Daniel took a couple pictures with his dog, after having chased him around the lot, but when "Pooch-o" (Pucho) decided he'd had enough, Daniel brought out one of his chalk pastel paintings of a woman he was interested in years ago. He told me that he painted her the way he felt about her at the time: he painted her like a goddess of serenity.
While Daniel was inside his house, searching for the painting of his past love, I decided to ask the girl about the three gents' situation. The girl told me that Pancho lived with Daniel in the house adjacent to the lot, which was in need of maintenance and manicure, and Juan lived in his own place.
There was a gap in the chain-link fence that Pucho always escaped through, there was debris in the field, and garbage piled against the fence, yet, the little, feisty dog, Pucho, seemed to enjoy his existence as much as they all did - together in the shade, nestled in their private domain.
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