Herman Leonard, R.I.P

[ClairJordan]

HERMAND LEONARD R.I.P
www.hermanleonard.com
Yesterday, a brilliant Fall day in New Orleans, we paid tribute to the life of my friend, photographer Herman Leonard. The eclectic, eccentric group of family and friends spoke volumes of how Herman collected those who share his creative energy and zest for life, wherever his many adventures took him. It was a true celebration of a long and glorious life. Herman was 87 when he passed, and never stopped growing, creating, laughing and sharing. "Dodge and burn, baby, dodge and burn," was his mantra.

I met Herman in New Orleans in January 2003, when in town for a Television Executive convention. We were dining at Maximo's on Decatur St. where Herman's magnificent, historical photos from the early jazz scene decorated the walls. In walked the man himself. Jason, the proprietor, called Herman over to our table and we expressed our admiration for his work. Then Herman went to dine by himself. My host and I exchanged glances and he said "Go get him."

I saw Herman every day while I was there. On my final evening he asked if he could take me to dinner. I ditched the media moguls and Herman picked me up in his white Toyota pickup. I knew he was months away from his 80th birthday and it was with awe that I watched him strut across the park lot to open the door for me. "He may be pushing 80, but this guy's vibe is 35, hands down," I thought.

He took me to a lovely restaurant in an old house where they gave us a private room. As he told me the story of his incredible life, individuals would appear in the doorway and Herman would kindly motion them in. They expressed their admiration for his work and told him how much they appreciated him being a part o the New Orleans community. "I'm with a friggin rock star," I thought. The awe grew. After dinner we went to Tipatina's where he and one of his young, female assistants took photos of a band in from New York. I sat back stage while he worked, his groupie of the evening.

Herman told me he was raised in Allentown and went to college for photography after serving during World War II. He knocked on the door of Yousuf Karsh, the celebrated portrait photographer of the day best known for his portraits of Winston Churchill, and became his apprentice. He moved to New York where Jazz musicians became Herman's subject of choice. He captured the people and the ambiance of the early years of a growing art form, raw and wild and real. His signature style depicts the hazy, smoky atmosphere which was a part of the scene.

In the mid 50s he went to Paris and became a fashion photographer, where he roomed with Quincy Jones. "I hated that Quincy got all the girls," Herman said. "I had to take his cast-offs." By the early 60s he was partying so much with the beatniks that he retreated to Ibiza, then a quiet fishing island.
"Then, I went back to Paris and became the European photographer for Playboy," he told me. My jaw was starting to drop. When Hugh wanted photos of the women behind the iron curtain, Herman snuck in and obliged.
When he turned 70 he returned to the States to prepare for the final stage of his life. He moved to LA but wasn't inspired. He began touring the country with an exhibition of his work. The moment he got to New Orleans, he knew he was home.

Katrina broke his heart. He salvaged as much of his masters as possible, although he lost over 1000 shots, and went back to LA, where he lived with his youngest daughter. He searched nationwide until he finally found a photographer and printer who saw through the lens with a vision similar to his, and they spent these past few post Katrina years repairing his rescued masters and printing from his extensive and historic body of work. He signed prints to be sold for the care of his family but he never stopped shooting, he never stopped burning and dodging, baby. His last celebrity shoot was with Sharon Stone. Rumor has it she was one of his last lovers. As I stood in the back of the memorial service, Bloody Mary in hand from the bar set up as per his request, Ms. Stone appeared beside me. She also felt the need to pay tribute to an amazing man who obviously touched her life.

I have two regrets as to my relationship with Herman. He repeatedly invited to me attend his 80th birthday party but I was too wrapped up with my production company to attend. He asked if I would pose for what turned out to be his last photo series set in New Orleans , a remake of the Storyville brothels. Again, I declined, due to obligations. Big mistakes. When the Master beckons, you come.

Herman was diagnosed with leukemia in early 2010. The doctors gave him six months. Every two weeks he would go into the hospital for a blood transfusion. He would pop back to life and go-go-go, grabbing each day, each minute and squeezing as much life from it as he possibly could. In August he went in and never came out. He had three days of difficulty and then was gone. In his wake he left a large, inspired group of people he will always be a part of, and an incredibly important body of work which will be appreciated for hundreds of years to come. It can be viewed in the Smithsonian, in fine art galleries nationwide, and on the walls of Bill Clinton's home.

As we danced through the streets of the French Quarter during Herman's Second Line we knew he was with us, smiling and enjoying. The biggest thing Herman taught us was 'There is no finish line'. You go as long as you draw breath, creating and growing and sharing and laughing.

Amazing to know you, Herman. R.I.P.