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Red Christmas
On Christmas day, from the boardwalk in PB, I saw set up on the beach a one-man camp punctuated by an American flag that snapped in the wind. Sitting beneath a tattered umbrella was a man clad in a Santa cap. Dozens of pigeons and seagulls surrounded him as he fed them bread.
“Merry Christmas,” I said. “May I photograph you?”
“Sure, come on over,” said the 59-year-old who introduced himself as Paul Gardner. “Everybody knows me as Red,” he added, then lifted his cap to display a thick mane of red hair.
When I asked Gardner what he was doing out there on the beach, he said, “I’ve been comin’ out here every day for the past five years...see, I wear my Chargers colors.” He pointed at his blue-and-gold Seau T-shirt. “And my military colors,” he said, pointing toward the American flag. “I’m a Vietnam veteran...Navy, 1972...second-class machinist’s mate on the USS Dubuque...we all have to stand up for who we are.”
Music blared from a large boom box on the sand beside him. When I asked what his favorite music was, he said, “The ’50s, ’60s, ’80s, ’90s”. “You skipped the ’70s...why?” I watched the smile leave his face. “Oh, I was on a ship in the ’70s...lonely...the music reminds me.” Then, after a silent moment, Gardner tossed more bread to the birds and said, “Wanna play horseshoes?”
Here's something you might be interested in.
Red Christmas
Red Christmas
On Christmas day, from the boardwalk in PB, I saw set up on the beach a one-man camp punctuated by an American flag that snapped in the wind. Sitting beneath a tattered umbrella was a man clad in a Santa cap. Dozens of pigeons and seagulls surrounded him as he fed them bread.
“Merry Christmas,” I said. “May I photograph you?”
“Sure, come on over,” said the 59-year-old who introduced himself as Paul Gardner. “Everybody knows me as Red,” he added, then lifted his cap to display a thick mane of red hair.
When I asked Gardner what he was doing out there on the beach, he said, “I’ve been comin’ out here every day for the past five years...see, I wear my Chargers colors.” He pointed at his blue-and-gold Seau T-shirt. “And my military colors,” he said, pointing toward the American flag. “I’m a Vietnam veteran...Navy, 1972...second-class machinist’s mate on the USS Dubuque...we all have to stand up for who we are.”
Music blared from a large boom box on the sand beside him. When I asked what his favorite music was, he said, “The ’50s, ’60s, ’80s, ’90s”. “You skipped the ’70s...why?” I watched the smile leave his face. “Oh, I was on a ship in the ’70s...lonely...the music reminds me.” Then, after a silent moment, Gardner tossed more bread to the birds and said, “Wanna play horseshoes?”
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