Gould's possessions

[Kristen Immoor <kimmoor@mindspring.com>]

     I've been rereading Friedrich's book lately, and some of the more
unimportant details have been jumping out at me... no pun intended. You
see, I've just noticed that Friedrich mentions a copy of Philippe Halsman's
_Jump Book_ as having been among Glenn's possessions.
     Jump Book, for those who are unfamiliar, is a collection of
photographs (both published and unpublished) by famed LIFE photographer
Philippe Halsman. A prolific and popular photographer during the mid
fifties and early sixties, Halsmann developed and made vogue the concept of
"jumpology." During photo sessions that were usually arranged to collect
visuals for magazine interviews with "important people," Halsman began,
slowly at first, to collect odd and spontaneous photographs of his subjects
frozen in mid-air. It began in a session with the wife of one of America's
famous autobarons.
     "May I take a picture of you jumping?" Halsman asked Mrs. Edsel Ford
after a particularly exhausting photo session. Surprising for Philippe,
Mrs. Ford (a genteel grandmother and refined millionairess,) kicked off her
high heels and agreed. More amazing was that a few moments later Mrs. Henry
Ford asked if she, too, might jump a few times for the camera. Word of
Halsman's new technique traveled quickly, and soon the most staid and
unlikely public figures were flailing their arms and leaving the earth for
Halsman's waiting camera lens. Halsman enjoyed wide popularity for his jump
photos, many subjects requesting of their own volition that they be allowed
have a go. His models included Presidents, CEOs, actors and starlets,
comedians and Royalty. He shot Marilyn Monroe, President Nixon and Adlai
Stevenson, Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin, Groucho Marx, Audrey Hepburn and
Salvador Dali, Robert Oppenheimer and the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. Very
few subjects refused, and, oddly enough, concert pianist Van Cliburn was
among them. Cliburn refused even to explain his refusal. Hands behind his
back, chin held high, he told  Halsman, "There is no need for
explanations." On instinct, Philippe snapped the shutter, and Cliburn's
precise moment of refusal is in the preface of the reprint edition of Jump
Book.
     Halsman's results were fabulous, often revealing more about the
individual, IMHO, than the magazine articles themselves. Halsman noticed
this as well, and after assembling a large portfolio of jump photos he
developed a theory of behavioral study he termed "jumpology." He became a
self-professed expert at interpreting people's jumps; analyzing the angle
of the arms, and the reach; the height of the jump, the bend of the knees
or the expression on the face. He showed us the little girl that lived
inside the starlet's shell, the confident boy scout who grew to fill the
CEO's shoes; he brought our idols closer to us all by making them joyful
and human.
     This silly and fashionable book was in Glenn's apartment when he died.
I wonder, did Glenn dream of being photographed by Halsman? Did he have a
secret and unfulfilled desire to be caught for an eternity in an
uncharacteristic display of mid-air effervescence? Was he a wishful student
of jumpology? Perhaps he bought the book out of admiration for Van Cliburn,
who, with his stubborn refusal, resisted peer pressure and defied fashion.
Or maybe Gould though Cliburn a spoilsport with no sense of humor. There is
always the chance that the book was a gift, an unappreciated coffee table
accessory that was never cracked at the binding, but I don't like to
imagine that. I prefer to think of Gould all alone on some bizarre evening,
record album playing on the stereo as he practices his high jump.
     If opportunity ever finds me at the NLC, picking over the possessions
of Glenn, I'll be sure to examine the Jump Book for tell-tale signs of wear.

Just a thought.  :-)
Kristen

____________________________________________________________________________

"I believe a musical performance is not a contest but a love affair and
that love affairs must be conducted in private."
                                         -- Puritan, David Young's "Glenn"