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Following Ryan
Off the Wall
March 24, 2011
He had just come
off the elevator of the Pittsburgh Incline and his movements
sent me into gear. I knew I wasn't an official paparazzi, but
nevertheless, I knew I had to do my job photograph the
one true rock star from New Zealand. It so happened, he was on
tour throughout the eastern part of the United States and decided
to drop in on the Volkmann family in Latrobe.
Ryan Marshall, along with his band, Battle Circus, found himself
living in their agent's house in New Jersey. They had just finished
entertaining a group of people in Boston that Thursday night.
It was back to "Jersey" in the wee hours of Friday
morning where the group would catch up on some much needed sleep.
The next day Marshall would rent a car and head over to the Commonwealth
to visit yours truly, my wife, Teri, and son, Aaron.
So there I was, grasping my camera, trying to get as close as
I could to the lad, all the time walking backwards not knowing,
or even caring, what was behind me. I kept hearing faint sounds
of "Watch out, you are going to trip," but those words
didn't even phase me. I knew I had a job to do and I had a mindset
to do it.
Finally, I positioned myself just so and looked through the viewfinder
and got the
"snapshot" I was waiting for, and if I don't mind saying
so, it was perfecto.
The four of us then strolled up to the little shops and the buildings
of Mt. Washington. Introducing a part of the city to an out-of-towner
is always special, but to see the sights that were new to me
were also a much needed treat, for I always enjoy taking in new
surroundings I hadn't seen that would provide me with a much
wanted education.
As we made our way up the graded sidewalk we noticed a quaint
little coffee shop. It was though someone had turned on a vacuum
cleaner and the three of them were sucked into the nozzle depositing
them inside the tight little quarters. Not a coffee drinker,
I parked myself by the doorway, watching as the three ordered
specialty items of brew and then we all squeezed around a small
little table.
Shortly thereafter, it was back to the incline, ready for the
decline to the main street. I could tell Ryan was well pleased
with the beginnings of our little tour as were the three of us
as well.
Staying to the Southside of Pittsburgh, Aaron had an idea. Since
he learned that Ryan was of German descent, he suggested we go
to the German pub. Unfortunately, it was so jam-crammed, there
was no way we could get in. We then tried the Irish pub across
the street. No dice. I met a family standing on the corner and
asked, "I'm trying to show a New Zealand rock star around
Pittsburgh and can't seem to get in any of the restaurants. Do
you have any ideas?" The first comment I got was, "How
did you meet him?" I told them we had met before. A teenager
just looked at me and finally said, "Wow" as his eyes
got bigger and bigger and his mouth opened with the accompanied
motion. They had no suggestion. We ended up at The Wine Loft
that was a perfect place to top off the evening.
It wouldn't be unlike me to get into a philosophical conversation
at best. "Ryan, why is it, do you suppose, that when you
order a glass of water that ice cubes come with it?" Fifteen
minutes of suppositions followed.
We then departed, dropping our son off at his house and headed
back to Latrobe.
As we motored along the many highways, this very cordial and
fine mannered man hinted, "Do you suppose we could stop
at a Dunkin' Donut and pick up some donuts." He seemed to
have a sweet tooth for these pastries. In the course of our conversation,
we had learned, much to my surprise, his countrymen have not
mastered the skills of making such "delicacies," something
I believe we take for granted here in the States.
Upon rising Sunday morning, I decided to set the table in such
a fashion like none other before. After all, I was doing so for
a rock star of New Zealand and how often does that occur, now
tell me? Everything was present that he liked eggs, bread,
jelly, orange juice, coffee with half and half and even hot dogs.
One thing was missing, though donuts. Unbeknownst to him,
Teri sneaked out of the house earlier and got him a large box.
To see him light up with the biggest smile on his face filled
us all with equal amount of joy. He ate two and told us he would
save the rest for his trip back to New Jersey.
There is something I didn't tell you. Ryan is my sister's eldest
son, my nephew.
Paul J. Volkmann
Written: March 4, 2011
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