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!