MARIO
Mario, 2018, Renato Rampolla
In the summer of 2017, I was driving a short-cut through Ybor City, a historic district in Tampa, Florida. As I drove a side street, which I normally didn’t travel, I saw him. Sitting on one of two plastic lawn chairs arranged facing each other with a plastic end table in between them, a jar of pickled pigs feet next to him, a warm six pack of beer and pretty much all of the luxuries of a living room save electricity, as he smoked his Black and Mild.
His build was lanky but even sitting down I could tell that he was at least six feet tall. His beard, a birds nest of twisted grey hairs as it rested on his chest. Silvery hair, long and frizzly contrasts with his receding hair line. He looked relaxed and content but his clothes were covered with dirt.
I parked my truck and introduced myself. He offered me a seat in his living room on the sidewalk. He spent his days living on the side walk, walking around town and at night he slept between a hedge of azaleas and a wooden privacy fence. He was happy. He was one of the few that were in this situation by choice. He had a couple issues but addiction or mental illness wasn’t amongst them. He knew this was a temporary situation.
Mario and I would get together periodically and walk the streets just north of downtown. He knew everyone in the neighborhood and they knew him. Often he would visit friends, many whom he introduced to me. He told me never to be concerned with my safety or the safety of my camera because he would be my bodyguard. Even though long in the tooth, his body was slow and a bit frail, everyone knew him and no one gave us any trouble.
There is a certain charisma about him. He looks you directly in the eye and measures his words carefully. At first I thought he paused before he spoke because his English is not as good as his Spanish. Before he articulates something, he thinks about it and anticipates your reaction before he says it much like a chess player moving a piece.
On our walks he carried a trash bag and a Grabber Tool that allowed him to pick up aluminum cans without bending over, and I had my camera. We walked all over the parts of the city tourists don’t travel. He collected cans and I collected images as we said hello and had a brief conversation with whoever we encountered. I earned my reputation on the street as the Camera Man.
Mario II, 2018, Renato Rampolla
Mario was actually in my first book and later in my revised (2020) book. I have taken many photos of Mario through the years. During summer and winter, with long hair and the time he chopped it all off. I would always point the camera at him during our conversations and he never once asked me to stop pointing the camera at him.
In my first book, I changed peoples names for their own protection. This turned out to be unnecessary, but I didn’t know that at the time. In fact, when I gave Mario the book just off the press and showed him his photo, he was a little upset that I changed his name. He told me he is proud of who he is and that I shouldn’t have changed his name. I told him I would fix that in the future and he was good with that.
There are so many stories to tell about Mario but they go beyond the scope of a short blog.
Mario is doing well and is no longer living on the streets. He is about a two hours drive north to the country and is doing well. We talk every couple of weeks by phone and I have intentions of visiting him again soon.
