The Naked Doll on Trade Street

A self-assignment, and the day I found my voice as a photographer

"Within that naked doll I placed on the street, lay my emotions, dozens of unknown people sidestepping around this blonde bushy-haired and bespeckled boy with a Nikon in front of his face, hiding behind the camera — the camera both a shield and a confession."

Davidson College had an in-house News Bureau with a staff of a half dozen student photographers. I was a new recruit, anxious to prove my worth. Joining the news bureau, in addition to financial considerations, provided access to a small studio and darkroom, buried in the basement directly below the president’s office. The News Bureau became my home away from home, and my source of income to support my growing obsession with photography. Every spare dollar bought new lenses and more film. A young man named Buck Lawrimore, less than 15 years my senior, ran the News Bureau with the firm hand of a commander and the warmth of a mentor. Buck brought out the best in his photographers, critiquing angles, exposures, and compositions with his editorial eye. Unbeknownst to us, the future of the News Bureau and its funding, was in the combined efforts to deliver much needed editorial photography to bring Davidson’s story to not only the Davidson community but to the world.

“Ron,” he said, “your pictures don’t have any emotion.”

One day, I was in Buck’s office, my latest prints laid out on his desk. His critique started as I leaned forward in my chair, anxious to learn from my mentor. His words commented on a few basics, composition, how to use a higher shutter speed to stop the motion when he stopped talking. Buck leaned back in his chair, took a slow breath, and looked straight at me. “Ron,” he said, “your pictures don’t have any emotion.” I froze in my chair, barely comprehending his words, an unsettled discomfort enveloping my body. He continued critiquing my images for the basics, the remainder of his words barely registering. I left the meeting, walking across campus, simultaneously trying to hold back the tears while a deep-seated anger started to well up within me. Under my breath, I said “Buck, I’ll show you” as the fall leaves blew across the sidewalk, the fresh fall breeze drying the tears.

Scared to death, I threw the naked doll on the sidewalk of Trade Street, in downtown Charlotte, North Carolina photographing people as they walked around me and the doll. I only shot six frames. Fall 1976.

The next week I found a discarded doll at the local Salvation Army, and headed to downtown Charlotte. Carrying Buck’s words “Your pictures have no emotion” with me, I parked the car near the center of the city, near the busy intersection of Trade and Tryon streets. I stripped the clothes off the doll, throwing them on the floor of my Toyota Corona, and grabbed my Nikon with a wide angle lens and a fresh roll of film. Possessed with a combination of intent and mental focus, I first put the doll halfway in a trash can right at the epicenter of the second largest city in the south. Click, click, two frames. I started feeling alive and in control of my world. I turned the corner to encounter a steady flow of pedestrians, all on private missions of their own. Laying the doll on the concrete sidewalk, I crouched down on my knees forcing dozens of people to walk around me. After shooting 6 frames, I picked up the doll and headed back to the car. My heart pounding, my brain exploding with a new confidence and a fear that I was on a new journey, being pulled inexplicably along an unexplored path.

I couldn’t wait to process the film. Driving straight back to Davidson, I parked at my dorm and walked with purpose to the darkroom. Within hours I had a contact sheet, hardly believing my eyes at the images in front of me. There was one frame, haunting in its simplicity yet imbued with complex conflicting emotions. I made an 8x10 black and white, waiting anxiously for the print to dry. I didn’t want to leave the print alone, without me, in the darkroom for fear that anyone else would see my insanity, my emotion, my soul exposed on the silver halide grain.

Another frame of the doll, this time in an alleyway, a safer place where no one would need to step over me. Fall 1976.

Buck was in a meeting, his secretary asked me to wait in one of the deeply upholstered chairs outside his office. Finally, he was available. I entered with fear and trepidation, yet confident. Leaning forward over his large wooden desk, prints and manuscripts stacked high, I nervously handed Buck a manilla envelope with a single print inside. As he pulled the print from the envelope, time slowed to a crawl. He looked at the print for a long minute, raised his head looking me in the eye with a knowing smile, said “you got it” and handed the print back to me.

From that moment on, assignments flowed my way, I took more chances, trusting my gut, shooting on auto-pilot, connecting to a subconscious energy. I was on fire, finding a creative spirit, a new freedom that drove both my private introspection and public awareness, that naked doll on a downtown street never far from my mind, a passion that earned Emmy and Pulitzer awards throughout my years as a visual artist.

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Thank you Buck Lawrimore! Buck and I continue to stay in touch. You can read his Substack at this link: ultimatelifesuccess.substack.com