Robert Kegler, 84

Robert Kegler, 84, died on September 12 at his home in Charleston, at the edge of the Mississippi Delta. For the last 45 years he struggled to discover the facts of his mother's death. Birdia Kegler, a Civil Rights veteran, died in a one-car crash on the evening of January 12, 1966, returning from a meeting with Robert F. Kennedy in Jackson. She was 58.

Photographed on February 15, 2010, in Charleston, Miss.

More about Birdia Kegler.

A handful of portraits from the Overlook, May 13

John Atkins

Dan Prince

Jeff Carr

Fanny Haynes

Terry Dugan

David Brooks

Ferrell Alman and Ferrell Alman

Almans Ferrell, Ferrell, Mom & Olivia

Joan, Jim's niece

John Egerton

Libby and Stephen Bolt

Hunter Kay

Karen and Tom Jurkovich


I meant to take more, but eating, drinking and visiting got in the way. 

James Leeson, 1930-2010

Jim Leeson and Pete, photographed on October 10, 2008

From Alex Heard:

My friend Jim Leeson—to whom The Eyes of Willie McGee is dedicated—died earlier this week, in a manner that left hundreds of people who knew and loved him shocked and saddened but not completely surprised. Jim took his own life, and his body was found in the countryside close to where he lived, in a beautiful home he’d designed and built himself on a woodsy ridge south of Nashville, Tennessee. Part of Jim’s famously independent nature was a dread of becoming an invalid, of having to be taken care of and losing control of his own fate. He’d been suffering various health problems for a while, and he had a nagging sense that his memory was eroding, so he obviously decided the time was now. Many people who knew him assumed he might go out this way at some point. We just didn’t think it would be so heartbreakingly soon. . . .


From E. Tom Wood: 

If you've never heard of James T. Leeson Jr., that's just how he wanted things.

Ask him about his role in the Civil Rights Movement, and he would steer the conversation from his own activities to the tragicomic foibles of people on all sides of it, white and black. Ask him about the neurotics, cranks, paupers and princes he mentored in Vanderbilt's Sarratt Tunnel as adult supervisor of the university's student journalists, and he could cite an instance when just about every one of them had shown his or her (usually his) ass. . . .