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| Artist's Statement |
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Along many American highways, descansos stand as symbols of the cycle of life, death and most important remembrance.
Descansos, from the Spanish word meaning rest or relief, were used to mark the place where a coffin was temporarily set down by weary pallbearers traveling on foot to a cemetery. The descansos were created to remind people to pray for the deceased. Early American settlers used descansos to mark the sites where pioneers died in Indian ambushes.
Traditionally, people traveling the country side, whether on foot or horseback stopped at each descanso to pray. However early church officials discouraged parishioners from installing descansos. The priests thought that crosses made the devout easy targets for Indian raids.
Although the practice of carrying the deceased to the gravesite on foot is now unusual, today mourners create the decorated crosses for roadside shrines.
Constructed as memorials to people killed in automobile accidents, descansos are maintained by family and friends of the deceased. The descansos not only represents the death of a loved one, but also the life and memories of the victim.
To some, descansos are a form of art, a personal manifestation of grief. They are a vernacular expression of a horrible accident and the most personal level of art because it is a tribute to someone in which you loved.
I had been passing the memorials for quite some time before I actually got out of the car and photographed one. Every time I passed one of the homemade shrines, my mind would return to that same place, and the feeling would creep through my body. Who was this person? What happened there? What went wrong? Whose family received that dreaded late night call we've all thought about at one time or another?
I spent many hours dwelling on how I would approach this documentation. It was like nothing else I had ever undertaken. I needed to do more than just take a photograph. I needed to explain to the unaware what happened. Who were these sons, these fathers, these daughters? I needed to know more!
Made from everything from Styrofoam to PVC piping, roadside memorials now blanket our highways. Most are simple white crosses that say little. Others, huge 8x8 wood beams that tell the story. Some leave poems, others photographs. Although most seem to be children in the prime of life, age has not been prejudice. Devastating, unsuspecting death is the only common denominator.
The cause is not the purpose of this photographic documentation. It really does not matter why it happened, it happened. This is not a project for seatbelt awareness. Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) cannot hang their hat on this. Please don't take me wrong. You drink, you drive, you kill, everyone suffers! And, if you get into a car without putting on a seatbelt, you're just not thinking. This documentation is not about political issues, it's about death, and what is left behind. Young wives without husbands, parents without a child, children without parents.
The first call came very early one morning. It was a collect call from Ireland. The unexpected voice explained that she had visited her husbands memorial and found my notice. That is how I met Margaret Doran. The second, from an old grade school chum. The voice on the other end of the phone asked if this is the Bill Sampson from St. Sebastian. After confirming his question, he introduced himself. I had not seen Mike
Fedel in over twenty-five years. Mike's explanation for the call forced me to sit. He had found my notice on his
eight year old daughter Amy's memorial. I had just returned from a trip to Detroit. I must have photographed at least six memorials on this drive. The last one, Interstate 75 just north of mile marker 319 was the first memorial where I actually sat and cried. I could not reason why this particular simple white PVC cross made such an emotional impact. Maybe it was the words left there. Small colorful sticker-letters spelling out the name, "AMY," her birth and death date (I could see that she had just turned
eight years old) and "GIRL POWER." This was also the first time I thought that, emotionally, I may have bitten off more than I could chew!
My correspondence with Nancy Fishwick, the mother Jason Porter, or Deborah Allen, the wife of Tom Allen, or Bob Tarsi, the father of Michelle Tarsi, all tell a different story with the same ending. All had taken things for granted, never expecting the story to end the way it did.
Both family and viewer responses to this photographic documentation has been startling. For some families it may be to soon to react, and for others, closer towards closure. All families, some with initial hesitation, have responded favorably and look forward to the outcome.
My quest to find out what impact the memorials have on everyday drivers is intriguing. Most drivers find themselves asking the same questions as me. And like me, some drivers find themselves driving safer, less hurried and hopefully a little more courteous.
To date I have photographed over 100 "Roadside Memorials." The family responses trickle in slowly. For this project to have the impact it deserves I need their input, therefore, patience must prevail.
I had taken a class my junior year in college, "The History of the Automobile." At one point the professor made a comment about the roads being war zones. I took exception to this statement. She had obviously never been in a war zone! No matter how bad it was out on the highway, it did not come close to a battle field. Well, I think differently now, a lot differently.
Another very exciting aspect of this project came unexpectedly. After talking with many of the families, I discovered they all were suffering in pretty much the same way. So I began to wonder if a support group would make dealing with their loss any easier. Being the nucleus of the project, I was able to exchange information between families. I do not know what level this support group has achieved but I do know that they all now know who their peers are.
In this country there are over 50,000 travel-related deaths annually. This is the equivalent to a fully loaded 747 crashing every other day. Or, the total number killed on the battle fields of Vietnam.
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