A few years ago I photographed a young man who called himself Doobie. He was entertaining and was obviously loved by his fellow travelers.

Venice Beach is a fertile ground for all kinds of t-shirt wearers. I find that the most up to the minute messages occur there and then six months later I see those messages on the streets of New York. They are bi-coastal. When I returned the following year to the boardwalk I was met with the news that Doobie had passed away. His “group” was in mourning and I saw their pain. The story changed from telling to telling but the gist of it was he was trying to help someone in trouble and he himself was stabbed. I don’t know where this happened or when but his buddies remembered that I had photographed him. I found his picture and had some copies made and we decided to have a memorial for him one evening at sunset on the beach. There were a few of his friends who took the lead but the majority of the people on the beach that night didn’t even know him but took part in our ceremony. Some told stories about him and it was oddly very much like a wake you might attend for a relative. It was clear no one knew much about him but there was a solidarity of spirit and purpose they all shared. They took care of each other. There were boundaries you never crossed. Where you were from or where you were going was never discussed at the least by me. I found that when each of them introduced themselves they mostly had nicknames. But when I was alone with them, photographing them many would tell me their given name which I kept to myself and tried to forget.

On Venice Beach in California there is a large population of homeless teens and runaways. Gabe came up to me one day wearing a t-shirt that said “Fuck You You Fucking little Fuck.” He was very young and very skinny, was shy but was very curious about what I was up to. I took his picture but he seemed to hang around for awhile which was unusual. Sometimes if one of my models looks hungry I will offer them some money for their efforts. Most of the time they will immediately go to the boardwalk and get some food. But not Gabe. He stayed and seemed to want to talk. It was nice because he was very interested in what I was doing. He explained he was named for the angel Gabriel and did I know about him. He gave me a detailed account of how Gabriel is a “messenger” but he he said is still not sure what his message was. He was very philosophical about his life. The following day he came with another shirt he said he got at Good Will and could he pose. I explained this project was about “Identity” and how I don’t show the same person more than once. So we talked about all kinds of things including how he ended up sleeping on the boardwalk but that was his business and I won’t repeat it here except to say it broke my heart. Each day Gabe came to visit even sometimes bringing me a sandwich from the shelter (we shared it) and then he asked me what kind of coffee I like. Then came a Starbucks I know he had to pay a couple of dollars for so I told him I had quit drinking coffee so he wouldn’t waste his money on it. Each day he had a different outfit on and although I couldn’t use it I took his picture. But then one day the truth came out and as I suspected he said that I reminded him of his Mother and that he missed her. I was crying inside but I said I am sure she misses you too. He said that was probably true.