23 May 2011  Sam Castan 12 May 1935 - 21 May 1966      A grand
Kowloon hotel. A hedge of red hibiscus. A tiled pool. A masseuse
who pressed fragrant oil of almond into my body in the full heat
of the sun. Elsewhere, northeast of Saigon, a man beheld you,
and fired.  At the undertaker's you were all made up and your
hair was parted wrong, so I smoothed it the way you would have
liked. Someone shouted Stop, as if we were caught making love on
the couch in my father's house. God knows  what they feared.
Unfamiliar streaks in your hair must have paled at the moment of
terror and grown longer in the time since, eerie as strands of
ticker tape still printing. Such dark hair shocked white. How
afraid you were. All I could do was hold you.   Oyster Guy
said...  Thank you for this. I was not cognizant of either
Castan's work but will be making up for that.  Tin-tin's
phred/dad said...  Sam Castan was a most excellent photographer
and, technically a noncombatant, died a heroic death with a
borrowed pistol in hand in th