The Case of the Smoking Chimney

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More frequently than they realize, authors are inspired by outstanding individuals whom they meet. Two years ago in New Orleans I met a little old chap who has as much bounce as a rubber ball, whose eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, whose white hair shaggles down around his shoulders. His name is Wood Whitesell.

Some men live for power, some live for money, some for social prestige. Whitesell lives to enjoy life in his own way and to make photographic studies which bring out the true character of his subjects.

He cares nothing for money, would cheerfully insult his best customer if that customer infringed upon the professional prerogatives of the photographer. He is always working on some new experiment upon which he will expatiate with bubbling enthusiasm. He trots around his studio, trying to crowd all of the things he wants to do in the twenty-four hours which are allotted to any one day. He has no regular mealtimes, is usually too busy to think of food. When he finally realizes he’s hungry, he’ll dash across the street to the Bourbon House, grab a piece of pie, gulp down a hurried cup of coffee, and rush back to his studio. When he needs a special light, he solders a piece of tin around an electric light, and makes exactly what he wants. His studio is filled with home-made contraptions that do the work just as well as would the most expensive equipment.

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