Americans Anonymous is a road trip across the United States after the election of Donald Trump. From East to West by way of the Deep South, the photographs of Barry Delaney accompanied by the poems of John O’Donnell record the lives of ordinary people at an extraordinary time. Here Barry Delaney and John O’Donnell explain the how the book came to be made, and the stories behind some of the photographs and poems.
BD: I emigrated to New York in the 1980s. My grandmother gave me a Minolta camera as a parting gift which accompanied me as I travelled across America, odd-jobbing and singing in a punk/ska band. On my return to Dublin I put the camera away until 2003, when my life turned upside down and I picked up the camera again. My first project was a social documentary study of Dublin that became the book Stars and Souls of the Liffey. In 2014 I decided to return to the US, and began a road trip across America by Greyhound bus, commencing in New York and ending in the Tenderloin in San Francisco. As the Trump election fanfare began, I felt America was at a turning point: what was happening to its people, the ordinary folk living ordinary lives, needed to be recorded.
JOD: I’d known Barry since we were eight; we’d been in school together. I’d been impressed by his Stars and Souls collection, and when he mentioned at an exhibition of his American pictures that he was thinking of making them into a book, I wondered if he’d consider allowing the pictures to be accompanied by poems. Barry graciously agreed. Over the next two years he sent me various photographs and I would respond with drafts of poems. The poems were short; we agreed to keep them to four lines only, partly to maintain the illusion that we can capture an essence in a snapshot moment, and partly also not to distract unduly from the striking images.
Election Night, Times Square, New York
BD: I was in Times Square on Election night. Initially the mood was celebratory. But around midnight the mood dipped sharply as swing states began to fall and the unthinkable began to unfold. By 2am Trump had won. Throngs of New Yorkers became mute in despair. Around 3am the eerie silence was broken by a jubilant noisy posse of dancing, joyous supporters – Blacks for Trump. A strange, defining night was over.
JOD: When I saw this picture I was surprised by the idea that such a group would even exist; how could they support someone whose pronouncements occasionally were borderline-racist? But maybe they admired something we didn’t see.
'Walls of fear,' the others say, 'and hatred,
lies: the truth "fake news."' But here's a guy
who won't back down; a street-fighter who'll fight
for me. And what have I got to lose?
Bristol, Virginia
BD: I took a series of Greyhound buses around the Rust Belt; coal-mining towns decimated by unemployment, despair and opiates, and the heartland of where Trump’s election happened. On one occasion a bus pulled into Bristol, Virginia. We alighted for a cigarette, and during our break an anonymous traveller began waving his American flag. Was this an act of defiance or support?
JOD: While visiting Colorado in 2017 I saw a Vietnam vet wearing a T-shirt the slogan of which objected to the practice of black NFL footballers ‘taking the knee’. The shadows and angles in this picture now seemed particularly ominous, and the presence of the suitcase felt like a warning.
Here we stand for the flag, and kneel
only for the Lord. So take your suitcase
while you can: that outstretched arm
might be the shadow of a scaffold.
Shades of Grace, Kingsport, Tennessee
BD: While looking for a taxi on Kingsport’s run-down streets, I met a large suited man. He was Pastor Shewey of the Shades of Grace Church; he was about to preside over a funeral, but if I waited, someone would give me a lift afterwards. I sat at the back of the church hall (a former shop). The service commenced with a Springsteen song. The deceased’s life was celebrated; jail was mentioned, as was a lover, and a child. Afterwards three mourners stood outside smoking. In conversation I learned the real story: the deceased had been murdered – a drug deal gone wrong. There was no money for a funeral or a burial, so Shades of Grace stepped in.
JOD: The quiet dignity of the three mourners seemed to reflect the pastor’s tireless care for those whose lives had been devastated by addiction; an experience all too common in the many broken towns of mid-America.
Leaves pile up each morning at Pastor Shewey's door.
Their brittle, worn-out lives; their faded papery skin.
He scoops them up, carries them inside: in this town
it's always fall. And each night Pastor Shewey prays for spring.
Reflection, The Tenderloin, San Francisco
BD: Right bang in the centre of San Francisco, a stone’s throw from the shopping hub of Union Square, is the Tenderloin. Amidst the liberal, affluent chic of San Fran is an oasis of the Wild West, riddled with sirens, drugs, soup kitchens, fashion and vice; crackheads yelling incoherent mantras.
JOD: This was the first picture Barry showed me. I loved the detail: the hairclips, the pink glasses, the forbidding look that says ‘Don’t mess with me’. And the ghostly figure standing behind the woman put me in mind of the dichotomy Barry has identified about The Tenderloin; the lawless wildness side by side with the so-called urban sophistication.
About to light this coffin-nail while her back's turned
on the far side of the glass. More than this pane
between us. And you want to know is her world
daisy-chained, rose-tinted too? Don't ask.
Americans Anonymous is available to order direct from Hi Tone Books, price €25.
