Sutton by J. R. Moehringer Page B

you born kid?
    Nineteen forty-three .
    Hm. Eventful year for me. Shit, they were all eventful. Where were you born?
    Roslyn, Long Island .
    You go to college?
    Yeah .
    Which one?
    I went to Princeton, Photographer says sheepishly .
    No kidding? Good school. I took a walk around the campus one morning. What did you study?
    History. I was going to be a professor, an academic, but sophomore year my parents made the fatal mistake of buying me a camera for Christmas. That was all she wrote. The only thing I cared about from then on was taking pictures. I wanted to capture history instead of reading about it .
    I’ll bet your folks were thrilled .
    Oh yeah. My father didn’t speak to me for about three months .
    What do you like so much about taking pictures?
    You say life’s all about Money and Love? I say it’s all about experiences .
    Is that so?
    And this camera helps me have all different kinds of experiences. This Leica gets me through locked doors, past police tape, over walls, barbed wire, barricades. It shows me the world, brother. Helps me bear witness .
    Witness. Is that so .
    Also, Willie, I dig telling the truth. Words can be twisted but a photo never lies .
    Sutton laughs .
    What’s funny? Photographer says .
    Nothing. Except—that’s pure horseshit kid. I can’t think of anything that lies more than a photo. In fact every photo is a dirty stinking lie because it’s a frozen moment—and time can’t be frozen. Some of the biggest lies I’ve ever run across have been photos. Some of them were of me .
    Photographer faces straight ahead, a slightly miffed look on his face. Willie, he says, all I know is, this camera took me to the bloodbath in Hue City. Tet Offensive—those aren’t just words in a book to me. It took me to Mexico City to see Tommie Smith and John Carlos raise their fists. It took me to Memphis to see the chaos and the coverup after they shot King. No other way I would’ve gotten to see all those things. This camera lets me see, brother .
    Sutton looks at Reporter. How about you kid?
    How about me?
    Did you always want to be a reporter?
    Yes .
    How come?
    I’m a yeshiva student from the Bronx—in what other job would I get to spend the day with America’s greatest bank robber?
    FBI agent .
    I don’t like guns .
    Me neither .
    I admit, Mr. Sutton, some days I don’t love this job. No one reads anymore .
    I do nothing but read .
    You’re the exception. TV is going to make us all extinct. Also, a newsroom isn’t exactly the happiest place on earth. It’s sort of a snake pit. Politics, backstabbing, jealousy .
    That’s one nice thing about crooks, Sutton says. No professional jealousy. A crook reads about another crook making off with millions, he’s happy for the guy. Crooks root for each other .
    Except when they kill each other .
    True .
    Tell him about editors, Photographer says to Reporter .
    What about them? Sutton says .
    They can be a real pain in the ass, Reporter says into his lap .
    Sutton lights a Chesterfield. What about your editor? In what way is he a pain in the ass?
    He says I have a face that begs to be lied to .
    Ouch. And what did he say when he sent you off to spend the day with Willie?
    Photographer laughs, looks out his window. Reporter looks out his .
    Go on kid. You can tell me .
    My editor said I had three jobs today, Mr. Sutton. Get you on the record about Arnold Schuster. Don’t let another reporter or photographer near you. And don’t lose you .
    Sutton blows a cloud of smoke over Reporter’s head. Then you’re fucked kid .
    Why?
    You’ve already lost me. I’m back in 1917 .
    Willie standing in the vault. It’s larger than his bedroom on Thirteenth Street, and it’s filled, floor to ceiling, with money. He gazes at the tightly wrapped bills, the strongboxes of gold coins, the racks of gleaming silver. He inhales—better than a candy store. He never realized how much he loved money. He couldn’t afford to realize.
    He loads a wheeled cart with cash