Dudley Edmondson is a photographer, videographer, writer, and a proponent of the great outdoors. This week in Selective Focus, he talks about what drives him to dig into a project, and some of the special projects he has worked on.
DE: I like to think of myself as working in many mediums from video, still imagery, written and spoken word. Media is my medium. I have always been a visual learner though. It’s very obvious to me that my brain translates a lot of things I hear or read into images for me to be able to fully understand and comprehend. I particularly like good writers (Ernest Hemingway, Kurt Vonnegut) who can create visuals in my brain with their writing style. Unfortunately I don’t think I have that gift yet but I am always working on it.
This postcard offers a view of Steinle Nursuries on Miller Trunk Highway. Not much is known about the business or the location. The back of the postcard offers no details, other than that it was published by Duluth Photo Engraving Company and could be mailed domestically for a penny.
During the open phone segment, Steves chats with “Brad” from Portland, Ore., who has done ten “home exchanges.” That means Brad and his family have traded houses with other families while traveling. The discussion quickly turns to the notion of convincing someone from Paris to exchange a home with someone who lives in … “no offense … Duluth.”
In tribute to actress Dorothy Arnold — born Dorothy Arnoldine Olson in Duluth 100 years ago today (Nov. 21, 1917) — a gallery or glamorous promotional and press photos. Click any image to see it full size instead of as a thumbnail.
With an abundance of local craft fairs and new shops featuring local artists and products, supporting and buying local seems to be getting easier and easier in Duluth. With that in mind we bring you the annual PDD Gift Guide, a list of ideas with a local connection. As in previous years, we’ll kick it off with 15 suggestions. If you have your own ideas, or if you’re a local maker, feel free to add products and links in the comments.
Update: The Duluth Police Department reports Todd Sarkela has been located and is safe.
The Duluth Police Department is seeking the public’s help in locating Todd Sarkela. He is a 55-year-old white male described as 5-foot 9-inches tall, 120 lbs., with hazel eyes and sandy hair. He was reported missing on Nov. 19. His family last had contact with him on Nov. 16.
Here’s what is known about this photo: It was shot prior to 1997 and was part of the Budgeteer Press photo collection that was disposed of just before the name of the weekly paper changed to Budgeteer News.
WEBC 610 AM is the oldest radio station in the Duluth-Superior market, dating back to 1924. These days it feeds the 106.5 FM translator branded as “Sasquatch 106.5.”
The audio clip above includes commercials broadcast between songs on Nov 18, 1967. In addition to station promos, the clip includes spots for Ski Hut, WEBC / Jeno’s Pizza Battle of the Bands, and the Big Bash with Dave Gordon and the Expressmen.
When I let the brown-leather Wilson basketball fly — when I ended a slow three-or-four-step run-up more elegantly than you might expect from an oafish 6’2”, 210-lb., 21-year-old boy-man by lightly springing off my left foot, driving my right knee up and out, and launching the ball into its arc with two hands — I wasn’t sure it was going to go in.
I’d taken a lot of half-court shots since my teens: before and after 10th-grade practice at Rochester John Marshall High; while skipping class to play noon ball in Romano Gym with my UMD football buddies; alone, ill-equipped for identifying anything better to do, just shooting around on various playground or gym courts. Sometimes you know, from the moment it leaves your hand, what’s going to happen. Muscle and brain memory and senses I don’t know how to name tell you everything from how you planted your foot to how your fingertips were in relationship with the ball’s seams to which snippet of which song was looping through your head add up to a swish, brick, or something else.
But in that moment in November 1993, in the College of St. Scholastica gym at halftime of a Saints’ women’s game against an opponent I can’t remember, when I sprung off my left foot from just behind the royal-blue half-court stripe laid on blonde hardwood, I didn’t know what the ball was going to do. At least I don’t think I knew. Honestly, I never know what I know or knew. I’ve been admonished a few times recently (with both warmth and contempt) for wantonly admitting what and when I don’t know. For expressing uncertainty and self-doubt and regret instead of [long pause] whatever other state of mind it would be more attractive and credible — and more comfortable to other people — for me to claim. For asking annoying questions about obvious and hypocritical contradictions.