Entry #11, 25th August - Extended family

Billboard outside of Fenway Park, Boston, MA.

We have left Boston. We're on the road.

Something significant happened that i left out of my last entry. I think because it needs more attention than just a quick sentence. So, as i said when i was with Jed, he told me of Donnie O'Duggan, whom i believe is my great, great uncle - aged eighty-five. Donnie would be the best person to speak to as he was old enough to remember what happened. Jed also said that he had been interested in our family's history and knew a lot about it. An added bonus is that his daughter, Kathy, has embarked on an extensive genealogy research project about the Duggan family history. It's not completely relevant to this project, but it would be interesting to hear what her research has turned up. I wouldn't be surprised if all of my family actually traces back to Ireland. With surnames like Duggan and O'Donnell, and the fact that Boston is so densely populated with the Irish, it seems pretty likely.

On Friday afternoon, i finally got hold of Donnie. After two days of ringing, and ringing, and leaving voicemails, i had almost given up. I told Jed that i hadn't been getting through, so he forwarded me his mobile number. After so many attempts on the other line, i was pretty shocked and unprepared as Donnie picked up immediately this time. I garbled my way through who i was, my reason for ringing and what i was doing. I was not tremendously clear, which seemed to set a tone of confusion for the rest of the call. He told me that he wasn't in Boston at that moment, he was in Cape Cod, in hospital. For what exactly, i'm unsure, i thought it would be too invasive to ask but made sure that he was okay. Donnie told me that he had been in for a while but was to be released tomorrow.

The confusion continues when i asked him if i could visit.
'No'. '
No?', i thought, panicked. Is he not interested in meeting me? I want so much to meet my American relatives and he seemingly doesn't want to. Donnie then explained that he couldn't drive back due to his condition, so he was unsure when he would be back in Boston. I never clarified, but i think this was his reason for saying we couldn't meet. I hope it is. I said my goodbyes and told him i would ring him another time when he was home.

A few days later, when we had arrived in New York City (don't worry, quick diary catch up to follow!) i received an email out of the blue from Anne Marie (Duggan? I still don't know), the sister of Jed. He had told her about me and she was excited to get in touch. The email was headed 'Joey O'Donnell', she said they had been pretty close. Unfortunately though, we had already left Boston where she lived. We didn't have time to go back and she wasn't available for when we stop over on the way home. Instead, we organised a time to speak on the phone later in the week. I'm pretty nervous for this, as i was about Jed. First impressions are stressful. But i'm also anxious to find out more about Joey's life from someone who knew him better. Hopefully she can fill in some of the gaps in my knowledge about his later life. She had also spoken to Donnie, whom had said he was interested to speak to me. Phew, that seemed to confirm my thoughts about our conversation.

I guess in leaving Boston, i should speak a little about my experience there. It wasn't quite the city i had pictured, i'd built it up to be this happening, lively city. I imagined it to be a city that never stopped moving, to be edgy and possibly a little cold. Instead, it welcomed me with a warm hug and a toothy smile. The pace of life seemed slow, easy to get into the rhythm of. It's people had manners like none other - strangers on train platforms rescued us from our transport confusion, people stopped in the street to chat with us. Everything seemed wholesome, almost child-friendly, even the bars. The streets were completely clean, almost sterile. I felt bad smoking in the city, as though i was smoking in a stranger's house. In no way is this a negative comment, it's just that i couldn't imagine Joey ever living there. Perhaps that's why he left for Reno. It is quite possible that the city was much different many years ago, but it seems hard to imagine. I felt at home there, in a strange way. I bought myself a Boston Red Sox t-shirt before we left.

Entry #10, 22nd August - A bit of bippity-bopp.

A girl sits at a bar in Wally's Jazz Bar, Boston MA.

I don't want this journal to play out as a simple tour diary – cataloguing the minutiae of each day, but I fear that if I don't write it down then I will completely lose huge chunks of what we have done due to my crappy memory. Just in the simple act of trying to bullet point the past few day's activities, I completely forgot about Thursday.

Photography has been utterly relentless. I have been putting myself under an awful amount of stress, this trip is a hugely loaded one. I know that I really need to deliver on this as it's the opportunity i've been dreaming of. We've yet to really relax, using every available minute to either photograph, video or write in my journal. I've also been tearing my brain apart with constant evaluation of whether I am tackling this in the best way that I possibly can. It's been pretty tough, but i'm fairly confident that i'm ticking the right boxes.

Due to this stress, myself and Bekky decided that we should have our first alcoholic beverage in the continent; this still wasn't an opportunity to set my camera down though. We found ourselves at Kenmore Square in the midst of Red Sox fans (Boston baseball team) – pushing agains the flow, our attention was directed to a cheap looking bar/restaurant on the side of the road. The beer was cold and so was the food, but it was still enjoyable. Following this we went with the flow, sitting down at the bar of The Cask & Flaggon, a sports bar heavily biased to Red Sox fans. I've rarely been as confused as I was in here. I always thought that I 'got' baseball, I knew that you hit the ball and ran around the bases. Turns out I 'get' rounders, the scoring system made no sense to me. Also with that, no one had explained to us about the American system of tipping at bars, so we spent a good fifteen minutes trying to figure out what to sign and how much to tip. We settled on 10% and hoped that would be enough.

Thursday came and with it was the desire to explore downtown. The suburbia of yesterday had been great but we needed the hum of the city. 'Boston is an incredibly clean city' I thought as we stepped off the 57 bus; there was literally no litter anywhere, not even a cigarette dimp in sight. It's buildings glinted in the sun, stretching up into the clouds – I craned my neck to see the top of them. I had never really seen so many tall buldings in such a dense area. This sparked excitement about how tall the buildings in NYC would be. Hunger eventually took us to The Barking Crab, a waterside seafood restaurant under a huge gazebo. We both ordered a platter of fried fish each – containing the most beautifully fresh tasting scallops, haddock and shrimp.

So far on our trip, we had walked to most of our destinations, figuring that we're most likely to see America as it is if we leave well trodden routes. Only, on this occasion this may not have been the best idea. Our next destination was a flat my Gran used to live in, the one Joey burst into, singing 'I am the Duke of Earl'. However, as romantic as this little story is, the area is far from it. Getting there, we had entered Boston's 'edgelands', going through empty industrial estate after empty industrial estate and also stepping out of our comfort zone. Nothing untoward happened to us at any point, but it wasn't what we had prepared for – both of us looking incredibly english, cameras hanging around our necks. We arrived at the front door, I took the photos I needed and we bailed on an Uber back to downtown. In hindsight, we were overly paranoid but if heading to somewhere different it's always better to blend in than stick out. I though it bizarre to imagine my Gran in such an area though, it's always strange to think of your family as being a young, care free person at one time. I struggle to picture her living anywhere outside of Cheshire.

After last night's experience of Red Sox fans, we decided we would try and catch a game to see if we could understand the sport any further. This plan was temporarily scuppered when we found out that it was $37 dollars for a ticket in the bleachers, but was later saved when we stumbled into The Bleacher Bar. One of it's walls was a floor to ceiling meshed window that looked straight out onto the field. You don't get that in premier league football. All of our ticket money was instead spent on beer & rum, a very nice trade off indeed. We made friends with an American who shared my name as well as my views on western politics; men in pubs solving the worlds problems once again.

With Friday came a small hangover and Boston's Freedom Trail – a pre-destined route around Boston's landmarks. I figured this would be a good way of navigating the city for some street photography whilst also seeing some culturally significant spots. The trail took us to vast parts of Boston that we previously hadn't seen, crossing over cobbled streets, through farmers markets and eventually to the Bunker Hill monument that concluded the route.

Before our trip, I decided to book myself and Bekky in for a tattoo by an artist I like at Boston Tattoo Convention. This was Bekky's first tattoo, so she was pretty nervous. Both of them are themed on commemorating our trip: mine a cartoon landscape of the kind of land we will find in western America and Bekky's a simple mountain horizon.

The night then took us to Wally's jazz bar, a small dive not far from Newbury Street. Climbing up onto the bar stools, we opened a tab and swivelled around to watch the musicians. The band was made up of four young artists, a trumpet, a saxophone, a double bass, a guitarist and a drummer all played along to the beat – taking turns to indulge themselves in a solo. The double bass took us down, swaying between slow notes and deep beats before the trumpet player rose us up through the ceiling; singing a song through his instrument. I had checked out the clubs' website previously and loved their ethos, they run a programme of educating kids about music, hoping to get them to pick up instruments instead of guns.

Part of my mission in America is to visit as many Jazz bars as I can. I had only ever visited one previously when I was in the UK so I was anxious to get into the scene, to allow myself to be consumed by the music and understand what is so romantic about jazz. After all, jazz had played such a huge part of my fabrication of Joey, I wanted to discover what it was all about. I tried photographing the musicians in here, but I wasn't really sure how to deal with this in order to show anything about the scene more than 'here is the musician playing, here is a live music shot'. Some of the shots are okay but I found that turning the camera on the customers was more fruitful in portraying the environment. As I progress, I will carry on shooting both but I feel that the significant images will be the people watching on, lost in the music.

Anyway, that brings us to today. We kicked it all off with a visit to some local thrift stores – one, a pop up shop in a church and the other, an impeccably organised, colour co-ordinated-superstore of a thrift shop. Bargains were had: discount tshirts, brand new shirts and a scruffy, stuffed dog that we've named Frank.

We spent the day hitting up a few of my Gran's favourite spots in Boston – the Public Gardens, Boston Common and Beacon Hill. Here, we encountered the swan boats she had described to me, they float so delicately through the water. We mingled within a cosplay convention and watched a newly married couple have their photographs taken. We walked narrow streets, holding hands the same way that Joey & Grace would have done all those years ago.

The night ended with a trip over to The Beehive, the other jazz bar I had my eye on. Earlier in the day I had been granted permission to photograph the evening's show. The Beehive is a bit more upmarket than Wally's, and as such my photographs from it are a little more stale. If I had let myself be carried away with photographing it's patrons i'm sure I would have been thrown out as my permission was to shoot the band. However, due to better lighting I managed to steal a few frames of the guitarist that seemed to express my idea of the jazz scene. As of yet i'm unsure how this will be incorporated into the rest of my work, but I believe it's important that I find a way.

Entry #9, 19th August - Meeting Jed

My great uncle, Jed, in his office. Carlisle Engineering, Jamaica Plane, Boston MA.

So, i guess i will pick up straight after my last entry. We landed with quite a thud, but i didn't care too much as i was too excited about the prospect of being on American soil. It felt pretty surreal. We waddled slowly down the aisles of the plane, snaked through clinical airport corridors and eventually reached passport control. Due to travelling on different books, myself and Bekky had to split up at this point - meeting again at baggage reclaim. Unfortunately, i didn't get the 'welcome home' i had been hoping for as i stepped into the country. Boohoo. 

We were greeted with a bast of humidity and heat however, as we squeezed our luggage out through the electric doors of the airport. The shapes of everything we could see were so oddly familiar, having watched so many American films and TV it was easy to get a feeling of Deja Vu, to feel that we have been here before somehow. Everything felt like a film set, it didn't feel quite real. 

We consulted Citymapper for a hand with how to find our accommodation, navigating a few buses and trains to finally arrive in Boston, MA. The house was incredible, as were all the other houses on the avenue. However, this one had a different kind of character to the rest. The drive was taken over by two forgotten cars, one reminiscent of Robert Frank's image of the covered car (only with more leaves and bracken) and the other had been completely consumed in fallen foliage. The front porch contained an eclectic mix of bric-a-brac; we quickly discovered that the house was much the same. Deborah (our host) greeted us with open arms and a huge smile before escorting us on a tour of the house, talking about all of our careers and lives. Deborah writes plays, her current one is about an artist that draws male nudes, called 'Too many willies'.

Our evening was not productive. Having been up for nearly twenty-four hours (also bare in mind the five hour time difference), i don't think our heads were functioning properly. We headed into Downtown Boston to find food, but i stupidly lead us into the financial district. Everything was obviously closed at 9pm at night there. After a couple of hours of ambling around in search of a nice restaurant, we settled on a Five Guys and bailed.

Wait! I've forgotten an important part of the day!

So yeah, on my way to Deborah's i received an email from Jed (John) Duggan, my great uncle. I had emailed him previously about my project, with my Gran chasing it up by calling his office. The email simply contained the word 'cell' and his number. I called him on our way back into Boston, anxious about how he would receive my request to meet. Honestly, i can't remember much of how it went, but i knew that he seemed slightly suspicious - asking a few questions possibly to verify who i was. Apart from that though, he was welcoming and happy to arrange a meeting with us the next day at 9am.

The next day we woke up incredibly early to make sure that we were prepped to meet him. Arriving at his office i knocked on, awkwardly asking the man who answered the door 'I'm here to see Jed Duggan?' to which he replied 'that's me.' We walked through the building and sat down in his office, on an incredibly comfy corner sofa. We began by sharing a few stories and having a flick through the photos of Joey, my Gran and my Mum. Jed then helped me plot a family tree of the Duggan side of the family. One particular branch lead to Donnell/Donnie O'Duggan (the 'O' was added for reasons i can't completely remember, but was to do with his profession of fitting stained glass windows in churches). Jed told me that he had been very young at the time of Grace & Joey, so his memories were hazy - not even remembering Grace at all. He said for me to contact Donnie, he would know much more of the story. 

Jed could remember Joey's personality though, that he would come bursting into a room and completely take it over. He would explode into song at any given moment. Joey used to work at the company as an engineer, fitting sprinkler systems. One of the addresses i had for Joey & my Gran was in Jamaica Plane. I told Jed of this and he remembered the house - it was just a minute away from his office, it was likely that Joey moved here to be close to the company. Jed told me that it was a boarding house though - meaning that it was a pay-weekly affair with no contract. This kind of suggests that even at this time, Joey's finances may have not been in the best shape.

Then Jed began telling us about his life. He said that he had the 'Duggan gene' of the wandering eye and addictive lifestyle. He grew up revelling in excess through much of his younger years. The difference between him and Joey though was that he was able to control the rest of his life at the same time. He ran a successful company throughout this time as well as starting up a popular restaurant on Boylston Avenue. In his own words though, Jed described himself as being lucky to have ditched this lifestyle at the beginning of his 40s. Joey didn't have the same luck. 'Some people just make bad choices, and unfortunately Joey was unable to see that his choices were bad ones'. He went on to say that Joey was the kind of guy that had no enemies, his only enemy was the bottle. We spoke of how when Joey's parents had passed away, Joey inherited their house. This was not a cheap place, intact it was a beautiful house in Brighton, MA. Instead of moving in, he sold the house. Instead of investing the money, he picked up everyone's tab at the bar. 'Those were a fun two years' he would say to people after the money had dried up.

One of the last things we chatted about was Joey's dad, Joseph. Jed described him as a man in stark contrast to Joey. He would never be seen out of a suit, impeccably dressed, and would only ever speak in proverbs.

As we left, Jed pointed us towards the boarding house, shaking our hands firmly as we said our goodbyes. The house was actually really pretty, not what i had been expecting after hearing that it was a pay-weekly. I was gearing myself to knock on the door when an angry-looking lady appeared at the window, shaking her head aggressively. With this, we left and headed to the house in Allston. Here, we were again greeted with a beautiful, panelled house on a friendly looking road. I picked up the courage to knock, but received no reply. Then i noticed a sign, this was also a boarding house.

Entry #8, 18th August - Disasters with fine line pens

Photo by Bekky Lonsdale

Never before have i ever had such a disaster with a finalise pen. I think changes in the air pressure must force all of the ink out through the nib - creating an incredible mess across these pages (this blog is written up out of my hand written journal).

But oh yes, why the change in air pressure, i hear you all desperately asking? You just simply need to know.

Well, turns out that i am writing this whilst sat on an aeroplane with the lovely Bekky Lonsdale. We are currently 34,031 feet above the Atlantic Ocean, travelling at 547 mph and approximately three hours and fourteen minutes away from landing in the United States of America. It's yet to hit me, it seems all too sudden and surreal. The day so far has consisted of waking up on the living room sofa, just about maintaining consciousness on the tube and then plunging into sleep on the plane.

I guess i should recap on some of my thought of the past few days. I began to seriously consider the ethics of embarking on this project, whether it is fair to stir such memories and emotions within my Mum & Gran. There have been a few moments where i have been worried that i have been pushing too far. As i have spoken about before, it is much easier for me to tackle this story than it is them as i never met Joey. I'm distanced, they're not.

It is also a very different experience for my Mum than it is for my Gran. Since my Mum didn't know Joey as well as she would have liked, she can get wrapped up in the excitement of asking questions that she has wondered about for all of her life, to hopefully have them answered by my research. However, it also saddens her to read through his old letters to both herself and my Gran. They're hard letters to read as well, letters from a lonely man - a man full of regret. My Mum often tells me that she blames herself, that she neglected her Father because she had a lot going on in her life at the time. She shouldn't blame herself though, it couldn't be further from her fault. She also raised a concern that really struck me, stunted me for a large period of time. The worry was about how public this project is, concerned that if Joey knew about this, would he be happy for me to be describing his flaws for the world to see? Probably not. This really threw me. In my past entries i have talked of how he cheated on my Gran, became dependent on alcohol, hung out with the wrong people and how i personally disagree with his love of guns. I now feel guilty for this as without more context, this appears like an attack on his character, which i don't think is what i had intended. I hope it wasn't. Yes, i had been quite disappointed in the fading of the Joseph O'Donnell that i thought i knew, but only i am to blame for this.

I appreciate that this is just as hard - if not harder, for my Gran to recall it all. From the way she talks about Joey, excusing his actions due to his youth, i don't think she ever fell out of love with him. Although, i believe that he hurt her too much to gain her forgiveness. There are huge portions of the story that i think Grace honestly managed to forget. On a few occasions we have discovered something that she must have known at one time, only to find out that she has no recollection of it. I don't like to push my Gran for the answers, i can see that the wounds still hurt.

This fear of exploitation, attack & defamation of character put me in an awkward place.
Could i carry on? Would it be fair to do so?

It was only when i visited Bekky's Auntie's a few days later that i had a small realisation. Jonte, a family friend, had come around to say hi. This was the first time i had met him - he was a tall, skinny guy with lengthy, messy hair. He was in his forties and bursting with energy, enthused about mine and Bekky's trip. I explained what we were doing there and why, mentioning nothing about my current dilemma. The conversation moved on, chatting away for thirty minutes more or so. As Jonte picked himself up to go, heading towards the door he turned over his shoulder - 'Make him look good!' 'Make him look good?' i thought. Such a simple sentence that when applied to this story, had such a complexity to it. 'Make him look good' i thought again. I kept playing it over in my head. I didn't want to portray Joey as a 2d, amazing man and dismiss the bedsides of his story and his personality. To do so would be offensive in itself and would pacify my need for some truth. To do so would be to give up and give in to my childhood fantasy. Then it dawned on me, i don't need to ignore the bad times to make him look good. Instead, i just need to show sincere compassion and understanding for Joey - for himself and for his life. I need to celebrate his successes, not just dwell on the failings. I want to celebrate the character traits that i identify myself with. After all, he is still my American hero - my connection to the nation. It just so happens that he was not an archetype, but a real human being.

Oh, and here is one other thing that i need to let go of. No longer am i going to use him as a metaphor for my cultural understanding of America. Previously, i had thought my fictional/factual stories could act as a metaphor for the fantastical vs the real. Thinking this through though, to do so would be to make him a symbol - forcing him to represent ideas, facts & everything else that he may or may not have had anything to do with. To do this would be to reduce him to less than a person, to remove all personality and human complexities in order to make him fit my argument. This is similar to a lecture we had at LCC. We analysed a picture by W Eugene Smith of a woman holding a disabled child in a bath. The image suggests ideas of the Christian Madonna and Child, signifying motherhood and religion whilst becoming a symbol for an issue. In becoming a symbol, the image is no longer about the specific problems of the individuals in the photograph, but about the connotations that we place on it - often leading to the viewer caring less about the individuals. This process is incredibly reductive. So, instead of Joey acting as a symbol of my America, i plan to negotiate my identity independently from him.

Photo by W Eugene Smith, Tomoko Uemura in her bath.

One hour and fifty minutes to go. Time to put on a crappy film and have snooze.

Entry #7, 13th August - Five days until we fly.

Joey

Five days until we fly.

A lot has happened since my last entry. The death certificate arrived. It came much quicker than expected and was quite the shock. I'm not sure i was ready for it.

Opening the package, the first thing i noticed was the age Joey died. Forty eight. This is no age to die. I hadn't realised previously that he was so young. It must be an incredibly sad feeling for my Mum to know she has already out-survived him.

The next thing my eyes flicked to was the address on the certificate. This confirmed that his last place of residence was in Clarkson with Francis Stone - she was also the informant. My eyes scanned the page nervously, knowing that i was about to discover what my family had not known for many years. Then i saw it, Cirrhosis, his cause of death. It was as we had expected, his lifetime abuse of alcohol was the cause. Cirrhosis is the long term scarring of the liver through consistent alcohol consumption. The truth hadn't been so far removed from my fantasy after all. The difference is important though - unlike my over-the-top, romanticised end, a portrait of a man who had control of his drinking habits and chose to consume his life away; the reality suggests a man who had lost control. Joey was battling his habits and lost. Maybe he found solace in the bottle, maybe he didn't. I don't want to suggest anything for definite as since i can't ask him, i would only be creating a second fantasy, a second fiction. But then again, to what extent could my view of him ever be truly objective and real? Perhaps every view that we form on anyone is to some extent fictitious. It's impossible to spend every minute with everyone and also impossible to get into their heads, so we fill the gaps. It's human to imagine, it's only natural to assume things.

I have began thinking about this new information practically. I can now visit the last place he lived/died. This information haunts me a little but i know it's something i need to do. Although, it will be a strange request to whoever is living there now.

The certificate also confirms where he was laid to rest, giving the trip it's logical conclusion. I was about to file away the paper, but giving it one last read through i noticed a box i hadn't noticed previously. 'Was the decedent ever in the military? Yes'. Military? Joey? I had never heard the slightest mention of this. At what point in his life could this have happened? I guess this explains his love of guns, but i hadn't pictured him as being the military type.

Ringing up my mum, i informed her of the arrival of the certificate. She echoed some of the thoughts i had, that he was far too young and that we had suspected alcohol to be the cause. She was also equally surprised about the discovery of his being in the military, telling me she would dig through her's and my gran's old letters to see what she could find.

A few days later, i found myself in Cheshire. My Mum had amassed a huge amount of new information on Joey's life. Firstly, was that he had been in the navy, although we still didn't know when. In the letters, he talks about how he sometimes wished that he could re-enlist. He served on the Kitty Hawk - a famous USS supercharger named after the site of the first powered aeroplane flight. He spoke of his friendship with some of the jump jet pilots.

Secondly, and i was incredibly excited to find this out - he did in fact play jazz music!!! When living in Reno, he played the saxophone and trumpet. There's no evidence that this was ever professional or even with a full band, but he did talk about how he used to jam with one of the drummers from Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons (he doesn't say which one and there were quite a few, so i'm unsure who exactly).

Entry #6, 9th August - i have a family.

Joey with what i assume are his horses, Clarkston.

In stark contrast to my last entry, i now have an incredible amount of focus and information to go on. On wednesday, i made my way back up north to meet my Mum and Gran again. With my new microphone with me, i was ready to interview them again.

Over the period of the two days, i filmed them whilst we spoke of Joey & America. I asked my Gran about her first impressions as she stepped off the plane in Boston - 'everything was so brown' and my Mum's first childhood memories. We talked about the music that had been important to them both during their time in the states and also whether they believed in The American Dream. We spoke of Joey - his love of guns, his childhood his personality (both the good and the bad), his life after my Gran and his capability as a Father. It was pretty emotional and touchy at times - i felt pretty bad about pushing too hard. I think there's still a lot to be learned from them both, so i reckon i'll perform a few more interviews when i return.

However, it wasn't the interviews that gave me the focus i needed, but rather it was going through my Mum's old keepsakes box; in it were postcards, letters, photographs and other sentimental belongings. She read through some of the letters for me. One in particular stung pretty hard. The bulk of the letter spoke of how lonely Joey had been, describing how losing Grace was the biggest mistake of his life - she was the only woman he had ever loved. My Mum then came to a document that she didn't recognise. It stated the location of my Grandfather's burial - in Clarkston, WA. Now, Clarkston is a five hour drive away from Seattle. This prompted the memory of my Gran, who told me that this was where he had been living last - with a woman many years his senior, Francis Stone. This relationship had apparently been plutonic but we don't really understand at this point why he had been living with her. 

In my Mum's interview, she told of how her Father hadn't had many life ambitions, preferring to 'live-in-the-now'; however, he had always dreamed of having his own horses. Moving to Clarkston and in with Francis would have allowed him to realise this, so possibly this was the motive. Or maybe it was to escape a life of partying and excess in Reno. I can't be sure. My Gran still had her address - this meant that my trip now had a logical end, instead of just floating around Seattle. I finally knew his resting place (although still not his cause of death) and where he had been living previously. Clarkston is a pretty small town, so hopefully it will be easy to locate people that knew him.

What happened next was an equally exciting discovery. Attached to the document was a letter from a Mr Stephen Duggan, writing to notify my Gran of Joey's burial. I asked my gran who Stephen was - turns out that he was the brother of Joey's Mother - so his uncle and my great, great uncle. My Gran told me that his son, Jed, had sons and ran a family business called Carlysle Engineering. A quick Google search found out that unfortunately Stephen had passed away in the 90s, but the company was still family ran. 

I have family in Boston. I can't believe it. I have family in America. 

I really cannot wait to hopefully meet them, to talk about our family's ancient & modern history and to find out what the American experience has meant to them. Hopefully they may have some further information about Joey's life. 

As i said previously, Stephen has written to my Gran to notify her of Joey's burial, telling of the exact plot where he was laid to rest. I'm not sure how my Gran must have forgotten about this, but i guess loss can be an incomprehensible thing to deal with. Also in the letter, Stephen sent his best wishes to my Mum (she obviously had not been going through the best time) and invited them to visit. I came across another letter - the reply from my Gran to Stephen. It was dated a few years later. She wrote about me, about how i reminded her of Joey in a way and how she wanted to introduce me to Stephen and everyone in Boston. There was no reply letter to this as unfortunately it was sent just after Stephen's passing. On discovering this i actually began to cry - the first time that i have been emotionally overwhelmed by this story. It is incredibly upsetting how disconnected everyone was within it.

Joey's cause of death is still unknown to us. I have just ordered a copy of the death certificate from Washington State, so hopefully that will arrive before i leave.

Entry #5, 29th July - A period of panic

Joey, Kathi (my Mum as a child) and Grace's shadow.

Today has been a complete day of panic. For so long now, i thought i had been sure about my vision for this. A few hours ago, it struck me just how ambitious this project is. The drive alone is 100 hours. That's huge.

I began researching jazz bars to visit in each of the cities and began thinking 'how am i going to photograph these? Will i be taking portraits of the musicians? Crowd shots of people within the jazz scene? Or, empty interiors maybe?'. This is a pretty achievable thing to think through, but it lit up a bigger problem with big, fat, killing-the-world floodlights. How am i going to present my fantastical idea of America? Or the apparent truth of it? What am i going to look for? Who am i going to photograph? Is this even possible? So many questions. My heart decided that it was going to try and escape my throat.

Writing down these thoughts has calmed me though. I tend to find i can think clearer when my thoughts are in text. Although due to this, i have a huge pile of to-do lists just from the last week that i need to sort through.

I'm beginning to think that maybe i'm trying to plan too much. In my tutorial with Lewis Bush, he suggested that a big part of this project is the uncertainty, and if i research too much into the supposedly real America, i could distort my fantasy before i get there. I think this needs to be a bit more fluid, about spontaneous discoveries and experiences instead of a rigid schedule.

Entry #4, 28th July - Reno.

Joey

Time is ticking away at a pace that i'm struggling to keep up with. I can't believe how close we are now to actually leaving. I've had my entire life to prepare for this trip, but it has only been in within the last few weeks that the story has really begun to develop, grow and produce even more questions to be answered. It's funny how easy it is to go your entire life believing something – filling in the gaps yourself.

Whilst at my Mum's, I discovered a brand new (to me) chapter in Joey's life. Before moving to Seattle, he relocated to Reno, where he lived in a trailer. Again, I'm unsure on the exact specifics but I know that this was where he was in communication with my Mother for the longest period of time. From what she said, he was incredibly social here; partying a lot and mixing with probably-not-the-right-crowd. I hope that when I visit Reno, there is a good chance of finding someone who knew him.

My Mum showed me a collection of photographs that he sent her from this period. They showed him posing with rifles and beautiful, boxy, American cars up at Lake Tahoe. This again confused me a little as my view of him as my idea of him as an American hero clashes with his idea of himself as an American man. His poses are conquering and powerful; displaying himself as this American hunter archetype. I don't look negatively on this, as it is ingrained into a lot of American culture, but it is different to my own dreamings. As far as I can remember, I have always been against the use and possession of guns – I think I must have mirrored my own morals and ideals into him, painting Joey as the personification of what I believe in. It's a strange thing.  

Entry #3, 24th July - Don't you think i have too?

Joey

Today has so far unfolded with a fair few emotional discoveries - quite deep parts of the story which contort and confuse my previous understandings of the story. Little bits (and quite substantial bits) of information keep coming to light that make my fantasy feel stupid, possibly even offensive. I feel like i should have realised earlier on in my life how shallow it was - completely lacking in detail.

We started to talk about music today, about the musical tastes of Joey, my Mum and my Gran. I have started to compile a playlist of relevant music, starting out by adding Sam Cooke - one of my Gran's favourites. This lead to my Mum pulling out her old singles record collection, the majority had been sent to her by Joey. Music had been one of their main ways of bonding, even despite the ocean between them. They shared a love of lyrics. My Mum asked me to play a couple of the ones she picked out.

The first track was Mike Douglas' 'The men in my little girl's life'. The song is a spoken narrative of a Father speaking about his daughter as she grows up. Each verse is a different episode in time where she asks her Father's permission to spend time with a boy outside the house. At first she asks permission to play in the back garden with a boy from down the road. Next it's to walk her to school, then to take her to the prom. Finally it's to get married (i skipped a few stages). The upsetting part about this song is that unlike the Father in the song, Joey wasn't there for my Mum to ask his permission.

Next, Anne Murray's 'Broken Hearted'. My Mum told me about how Joey had written a label on this record saying 'played 1,000,000,000 times'. He had told her about how he listened to this whilst thinking of my Gran - regretting his choices and wishing he could change how things played out. The song itself is about wanting someone back, about regretting your actions. At this point, my Gran came into the conservatory and sat down on the end of the sofa. She remained there, still, staring out through the rain soaked double-glazing. Kathi, my Mum, leant over and showed Grace, my Gran, the record - pointing out the label. Grace replied with 'don't you think i have too?.

I don't think she ever fell out of love with Joey.

Before i abandoned the interview yesterday due to bad sound recording, she was telling me how hard it is to be bringing this all back up. This made me worry if i was exploiting her - and i think i would potentially be if i wasn't family. Because i am though, i feel that because i'm so emotionally invested in this story also, i think it is fair to probe into what my Grandfather was actually like. She made excuses for his behaviour - masking big sections of their lives together by saying 'that was a bad time of my life' but forgiving him with statements like 'but he was very young'.

I found out that he hadn't been as excited as he could have been about finding out my Gran was pregnant. He wasn't ready to accept the responsibilities that went along with this and wanted to continue on his teenage adventure. I also found out that he had an accident at work - a shard of metal had flown into his eye, hospitalising and blinding him for three weeks. When he was discharged the first thing he did was grab their new car and make a round of Boston's bars. This was the beginning of his problem with drink. This behaviour carried on and this was the period where he met Jane, the woman my Gran later found him cheating on her with.

Later on though, Grace sat down with me for a chat about him and his background. My details on this are a little vague as my head was elsewhere with work stress, but essentially he didn't have a great childhood; despite being born into a wealthy family. I know that this is never an excuse for bad behaviour, but it is a reason i guess. I need to go a bit deeper into this though and find out full details.

All of this is leading to a much more complex understanding of my Grandfather. My mum showed me photos of him posing with guns. This isn't something i approve of, or had thought he would have subscribed to - but i can't blame him as guns are a big part of American culture.

In a way, i'm upset and disappointed that my fantasy was so far from the reality. But then again, it's reassuring to know he was human.

Entry #2, 23rd July - In so far.

A still from the first interview with Grace.

Twenty-six days to go.

This is crazy. It does not feel real. Time is racing.

I guess I should play catch up and log what has happened so far – just so that I can stop worrying about not having recorded it. I can then start worrying about everything I still have to do. Woop.

As i've said many times now, this project has been on my mind for a long time. When I applied for my MA place, I actually wrote a proposal for this project in regards to a bursary that they were offering. Unfortunately, the bursary application was unsuccessful, but I couldn't complain as I was accepted onto the course and given a scholarship. I ended up shelving the project, believing I wouldn't be able to afford it this year.

It was only about two to three weeks ago that I thought this was possible – there was a very slim chance of it working and I thought 'screw it, let's go'. This happened at my final tutorial before my MA group split up for the summer. Pretty much the entire class had turned up for the session, so there wasn't much time for everyone to speak in depth. One by one, each person took their turn to explain their project in three minutes. 'I'm going to Belarus', 'I'm going to Japan', 'I'm going to North Carolina'. Most people's projects started either with them going off to an far-flung place, or following an idea that they've been dreaming of. As it neared my turn, I started to ponder why I was choosing the easy, sensible option. My project idea previously had been to stay at home and to document Whitechapel – an area that's currently in the grips of social & economic change in the lead up to the Crossrail development. By staying at home, I figured that I would get more time to research and work on the project – also saving money for America. It was my turn. 'I'm going to America...'. That's it, I had decided, I knew that it was a now or never situation. If I didn't use the push of university to force me to go over then I would keep putting it off. Money would be an issue, but I thought i'll figure it out or get by somehow. The next problem was – would Bekky be able to come with me?

I started to feel bad. Bekky had done me the incredible favour of leaving her job in Manchester as a junior stylist, her friends in cheshire and the north in general, so as to join me in London. It had taken her a while to adjust, taking her a couple of months to find a job – but she was settling in now, progressing within her company. And there I was, dangling America in front of her, knowing that she wouldn't want to pass up on the trip but likely she would have to quit her job to do so. Somehow though, luckily, this all worked out for the best. She approached her manager about it, who directed her to the store manager; whom was incredibly supportive and invited her out for drinks to talk about it. She told Bekky that she didn't want to lose her, so she would re-hire her as soon as she was back. To make matters even better, she began training Bekky to be a manager. This seems to show that sometimes it's important to show your employer that you have a life outside of work.

So we booked our plane tickets. Oh yes. We booked the plane tickets. I sat with my eyes wide, mouth gaping, as I gazed – bewildered, at the booking confirmation. It was an especially bizarre feeling to see evidence that I would actually be in America in less than two months.

First thing on my list was to renew my American Passport. I've been putting this off for so long that I needed to prove in photographs how my face had changed over the past fourteen years. The main reason for this is I knew it was going to be an incredible faff. You see, my surname on my last American passport is Blagborough. Christopher Martin Blagborough. When I last had my passport renewed, my Mum had remarried; I had been really close to him and had asked to take his surname. Since then, they divorced and I returned to my Father's name, Bethell. As far as I was aware, I did not have any of the certificates showing my change of name, so it was going to be annoying to prove this at the embassy. My Mum sent me over a big file of information – birth certificates, social security number, old passports, etc and I booked my appointment. Friday morning, 10^th July 2015, 9.30am.

I woke up, blinded by the sun through my window, in a complete daze. But I guess that's how I wake up every morning so nothing too special there. Getting up, I headed to my wardrobe and started to completely overthink my outfit for the day – what would make me look more American? Should I dig out my old trucker caps? Luckily I sobered up from this ridiculous thought and dressed as usual. I dragged myself out of the flat, onto the network of London's tubes and to the front gate of the Embassy where I was greeted by a large statue of Kennedy and the giant, American flags, trickling in the wind. I chuckled in my head as I walked past the ever-increasing line of people applying for visas, walking straight to 'American Citizen Services'. Here, I had to sign my name, date of birth and confirm that I didn't have any of the prohibited items listed on a sheet that I was given. Any other time, I wouldn't have thought twice about this, but this time I scrolled down through the list. 'Glass Bottles', no. 'Knives', nope. 'Weapons', no way. 'Explosives'..... I panicked. A week previous to this I had been using this bag to carry smoke bombs around Rendlesham Forest. Would there still be any residue from these? Would it be picked up? Luckily, nothing of the sort happened. I was being paranoid as usual. Giving the guards what I hope was a smile, I continued on into the embassy. I won't go into all the details as frankly, it's pretty full, but there was a bit of back and forth about my name change, I had to write a statement and declare an oath that it was true. My mum had also included a photocopy of some document that I clearly was not meant to have as all of the officials I spoke to were not happy about me having it. They took it off me, asked me to pay for my passport and let me go on my way.

So that pretty much bring us up to speed. There is still a ridiculous amount of stuff to organise, but at least i've begun journaling. I've just come back up to Cheshire to interview my Gran & Mum, although we have a few problems that have set us back. The main one being that the sound quality of the inbuilt mic on my camcorder is not clear enough, so i've had to order a RODE external mic. Another problem is that I have absolutely zero energy as this weekend killed me – and it has nothing to do with alcohol/being hungover. I worked 42 hours in three days for Lovebox/Citadel Festivals, including their seven after parties. I threw myself at every hour I could get in order to raise money for this trip. My Mum also had a blood vessel pop in her eye, so she wasn't happy to be filmed – meaning we have to postpone until i'm next up in two weeks.

It's a shame about the sound quality as the interview with my Gran was beginning to get deep. I appreciate how difficult it must be for her to bring up these memories, some happy and some painful. It was amazing to see her talk about her relationship with Joe as it's something she's never really opened up about before. I'm excited to do this properly on my next trip.

One thing that I need to figure out is how to phrase questions so as to prompt answers that make sense once my question is edited out of the clip. So that the interviewee repeats the context of the question. I found this to be quite hard in my last attempt.

Entry #1, 22nd July 2015 - Finding Joseph O'Donnell.

The following blog posts will be write ups from the physical journals that i have been/will be keeping. Therefore the dates are slightly in the past.

Joey & Grace

So i'm finally doing it. I can't quite believe it.

For the past twenty-six years (i'm twenty six - okay, well for as long as i can remember) i have dreamed about going to the United States of America. You see, i'm a dual-national - half British and half American. The only thing is that i have never been to the USA.

I grew up as an english kid in an english town, attended an english school, doing english things with english friends. Despite this, i always identified myself as being American. My Mum was American as she was born in Boston to an American father, Joseph Leo O'Donnell. My dual-nationality therefore came from her, so i received citizenship when i was born. We never visited America during my childhood. I think because of this, i became obsessed with the states - wrapping myself up in the fantasy of it and consuming anything American that came my way. I told every kid i met that i was American - often even lying and telling people that i was born in Boston. This could be down to insecurities, but i reckon it's just because i wanted to believe it myself.

A big part of this story is my Grandfather - Joe. I never met him, unfortunately he died when i was three years old and he was still in America. As i grew up, my Mum told me details of his life and a few stories. I would spend some of my evenings dreaming about what his life was like - i held this heroic notion of him. I had believed that in his early years he had formed a jazz band with a few friends. They toured around the north of the west coast, playing small venues in Boston and New York, before being scouted. A record label signed them before sending them off across the nation. His band (i need to see if i can find out their name) became successful, selling out shows across the states. Following the tour, the band returned to Boston. This was when Joe and my Grandmother, Grace, met.

Grace had just arrived from Ireland. She had ventured over the pacific ocean in search of new people, places and adventures. She fell in love with Joe, the exciting jazz singer, instantly. He fell in love with Grace equally fast, deciding to quit the band to settle down with her when she fell pregnant. By the way, i realise that this is a very long story short, but you'll see why in a few minutes, i promise. They didn't stay settled for long though as Joe became frustrated with marital life.

Joe turned to alcohol. This didn't help ease his frustrations though, and he eventually left his family for a life on the road once again. He formed another band and set off west - spending a lot of time in San Francisco. My Gran moved my Mum and herself back to Ireland. Joe's second attempt at music was unsuccessful. The band collapsed, so he moved out to Las Vegas. This would be where he lived out the rest of his life - committing himself to liquor.

Now, the thing about this tale is that most of it is not true. Most of what i've said so far has been a complete fabrication, a delusion that i believed up until about four years ago.

At the beginning of my studies of photography, i recognised that i could realise my obsession of America within a photographic project. I decided that i would sit down with my Gran to find out the specifics of her's and Joe's story. You can imagine how shocked i was to find out that although hints of the truth are contained within my version of the story, most of it had never happened. We talked through how he had grown up, what he had done in his twenties, what brought them together.... And then i left the project for a while. I wasn't sure what to do with it, with this new information. Joseph O'Donnell hadn't been this American archetype that i had always imagined, but instead just a normal guy. He had been in a band when he was younger, but was an engineer in his later life. He left my Gran for a woman called Jane and moved to Seattle. He died in 1991, possibly due to alcohol abuse, but his death is currently a mystery that we need to solve by applying for his death certificate.

I began to think about this story a little more objectively and realised that it's a far more interesting tale than my original story. It was now a story about the conflicting ideas of the American dream, about the the seeping of American culture into Britain through the media and also of the complexities of a family. I had romanticised my Grandad to the point that i created a story that could be scripted for Hollywood. I realised that my view on Joe was a metaphor for my view on America as a whole.

I started to think about how our memories are constantly warped - that we only recall something in a similar way to the last time we remembered it. Memory is an incredibly loose thing that can be shifted radically by perspective or information. I want to discover the truth behind Joe's life, to trace the facts that sparked my imagination and fill the blanks of everything i don't know. In this process, i think i will uncover what America really is to me.

A few weeks ago, i thought 'screw it' and booked the flight to America. I knew that this was something i had been trying to get around to for a couple of years now and the excuse of it being my MA project was too valuable. This has given me a deadline to work to. My plan is to research as much about Joe as i can before i leave. I will be interviewing my Mum & Gran over the next few weeks about their memories, experiences and emotions regarding Joe & America. I'll be trying to locate any specific locations that are significant to both stories. However, i will not only be fact finding - but i will also be completely indulging myself in the cliches and imaginations that i have held onto for so long.

I will be flying to Boston where i will be spending a week, hoping to couch surf in order to meet people who live here who can show me around. This is the city where both stories originate and also my Mother's place of birth. I'll be looking for the places my Grandad used to hang around as well as places that my imagination would have placed him.

We then pick up a car and leave for a road trip across the country - hitting up New York, Chicago, Cheyenne, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Reno, Portland and ending in Seattle. This is a mixture of true and imagined locations significant to the story. Seattle is where Joe passed away, so it will be quite a sobering end to the trip.

I need your help.

Joseph Leo O'Donnell

My Grandfather

Myself and Bekky (my girlfriend) need your help. We're looking to couch surf as much as possible whilst on our trip due to a lack of finances, but also because we would rather meet people living in the places we're visiting. It would be great to be shown around all of the places we're visiting by their residents; talking about what America means to them.

Because of this, i'm reaching out to see if anyone can help us find accommodation and people to meet! Here is our schedule of when/where we plan to be everywhere. We would HUGELY appreciate any help at all, even if it's just to sleep on a floor for one night. 

Boston

18th - 23rd August

(Five nights)

New York

23rd - 26th August

(Three nights)

Chicago

28th - 30th August

(Two nights)

Cheyenne

1st - 3rd September

(Two nights)

Las Vegas

7th - 10th September

(Three nights)

Los Angeles

10th - 12th September

(Two nights)

San Francisco

13th - 16th September

(Three nights)

Reno
18th - 20th September
(Two nights)

Portland

20th - 22nd September

(Two nights)

Seattle

24th - 30th September

(Five nights)

A few friends have already pointed me in a few directions, but nothing solid yet.

Thank you!