Column Archives - Tony Ward

Bob Shell: Censorship is Alive and Well in Virginia

Cover of Bob Shell book on Bondage Photography censorship in Virginia article — Cover of Bob Shell book on Bondage Photography.

Censorship is Alive and Well in Virginia

In Virginia, prison inmates do not have Internet. I am on my seventeenth year as a prisoner of the Virginia Department of Corrections (VDOC), so I have gone over sixteen years without Internet. I have “email,” sort of, through a company called JPay. Each email costs me 25¢ and it costs the same for people to write to me. It can take a week to get to the recipient!

In my institutional job I make a princely sum of $ 32.40 a month! Just over a dollar a day. That would have been good pay in the 1860s! It’s less than I made in my first high school summer job back in the 1960s!

As most of you already know, I’m a professional photographer/writer. I can say that I am a professional because from the mid-1970s I’ve been published in a number of magazines and newspapers, with over 1,000 magazine articles to my credit. Since 1986 I’ve authored/coauthored/ghosted more than two dozen books. My books and articles have been published in German, French, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, Chinese, Russian, Serbian, etc. I’ve written for several websites and this blog. I’ve worked as an editor of magazines and books, and as a fact checking consultant for National Geographic Books and Eastman Kodak Company.

Until 2007 I made a very good living from my writing and photography. My capsule biography was included in ‘Who’s Who in the World’ and in ‘American Artists’ since 1981. I write under Bob Shell and my main pseudonym, Edward Lee.

In 2003 my comfortable life was destroyed by a false arrest for a crime that never occurred. I wasn’t tried and convicted until 2007. The Innocence Project has taken my case, but it’s slow going because they have so many cases.

I’ve continued writing from prison, contributing op-ed articles for The Roanoke Star newspaper and articles about dinosaurs for Prehistoric Times magazine, and in 2019 I self-published the book ‘Cosmic Dance,’ which has sold reasonably well worldwide via Amazon despite having no promotional budget. Like most books, sales dropped off after the initial surge, and I only sell one or two a month now.

Most of my writing prior to my imprisonment had been nonfiction. In 2021 I began working on my first novel, ‘The Adventure of the Abducted Actress,’ a genre detective story featuring the Harley Stone Detective Agency (HSDA). I invented the HSDA and most of its cast of unusual characters in 1973. A few short stories I wrote about the HSDA were published in limited-circulation “fanzines.”

This first HSDA novel was completed in September of 2023 and sent to the company that assembled my first self-published book. In early November they mailed me a bound author’s proof. I didn’t get it. In mid-November I was transferred to a different prison.

When the proof never came, the company emailed the proof to my attorney as a PDF file. He had it printed and sent a printout of the proof to me as legal mail because we cannot receive PDF files. On arrival that proof was read and confiscated. (Violating attorney-client confidentiality as well as VDOC operating procedure.) Then in August of this year the bound proof mailed last November finally showed up here. But it was immediately confiscated.

To add insult to injury, that proof had been sent to the VDOC’s Publication Review Committee. They’d put it on their Disapproved Publications Listing. (I am in good company. Dr. Anthony Fauci’s latest book is on there.)

The Disapproved Publications Listing contains hundreds of books and magazine. The very existence of the Publication Review Committee and Disapproved Publications Listing are unconstitutional censorship.

Yes, my book has sex scenes, but there is nothing in my book beyond what’s in dozens of books in the institutional library here.

The librarian said if he had to remove every book with scenes like mine, he’d empty out the library.

I have argued until I’m blue in the face that an unpublished manuscript is not a publication by their own definition (An item that can be purchased from a vendor or subscribed to). They have given me nonsense responses to my grievances, even claiming that the book had been for sale since 2019! It is not on sale anywhere because it has not been published due to their interference.

I will not allow the book to be published until I have had a chance to correct the proof, so, by refusing to give me my author’s proof, the VDOC has blocked me from publishing my book. I am losing money every day the book is not for sale.

The Grievance Coordinator says I must take the matter into court. I don’t have the money to hire a lawyer to push this case. I need help! If anyone reading this knows of an organization or group that would help me defend my constitutional rights, please let me know.

Article One, Section Twelve, of the Virginia Constitution says “Any citizen may freely speak, write, and publish his sentiments on all subjects.” I may be in prison, but I am still a citizen! ?

The VDOC is violating my constitutional rights under the Virginia Constitution and the First Amendment to the United States Constitution.

I haven’t joined any authors’ organizations because my institutional job pays me so little. It barely covers essentials at our grossly inflated commissary prices.

I hope someone can offer me help or direct me to someone who will help.

Thank you!

Mail address:

Robert E. L. Shell # 1201280

Dillwyn Correctional Center

P. O. Box 670

Dillwyn, VA 23936-0670

Mail address for legal mail:

Robert E. L. Shell # 1201280

Dillwyn Correctional Center

C/O: VDOC Centralized Mail Distribution Unit

3521 Woods Way

State Farm, VA 23160

You can email me by signing up at http://jpay.comusing my name, Robert Shell and state ID number, 1201280

About The Author: Bob Shell is a professional photographer, author, former editor in chief of Shutterbug Magazine and veteran contributor to this blog. He is currently serving a 35 year sentence for involuntary manslaughter for the death of Marion Franklin, one of his former models. He is serving the 17th year of his sentence at Pocahontas State Correctional Facility, Virginia.

On September 16, 2024 Shell’s release date got moved up six years due to new “mixed charges” law to February 2, 2030. It was 2036.

To read additional articles by Bob Shell link here: https://tonyward.com/bob-shell-oklahoma-youre-not-ok/

Kitchie Ohh: Trust Your Gut

Attractive woman lounging in lingerie in a 1950's style apartment — Kitchie Ohh. Photo: Michael Bann, Copyright 2024

Trust Your Gut

I have written multiple posts here about my professional life. The summary if you’re new here, and to my ramblings, is that I have a lengthy nonprofit fundraising background. In 2019, I landed what seemed to be my dream job. But just like an actual dream sometimes does, after a while if became more like a nightmare. I landed on my feet, in a position where I’m doing great things, being valued for who I am, what I bring to the organization and being fairly compensated for it all. However, again, just like flashes of nightmares rear their ugly heads during waking hours, my old job pops in to haunt me every now and then.

When I left my previous role, I can count on one hand – actually, one finger – the number of people I chose to give permission to contact me personally. We occasionally send messages to check in, say hello, catch up. It had been months since I last heard from them. Until a few weeks ago. “Kat, I miss you. There is so much to tell you, can I call you after work today?” You bet I cleared my plans for the rest of the night to take that call. I am so glad I did.

Let me back up quite a few paces to when I was still working for the previous organization. In many companies, a change in leadership often leads to some staffing changes, people leave, new people start, positions change, structure changes, policies changes. It’s not at all unusual. However, when the changes start to feel heavy and unnecessary, and good people are forced out, it’s hard to stay positive. That’s what happened to my dream job. The chosen replacement for the individual who hired me, encouraged and trusted me, and built an incredible team of passionate talented people, was abruptly removed from the position.

Shortly after the beginning of that end, one of the newer members of my team suddenly took an interest in me and my role. They often came to my desk to talk about my work, my workload, and unprompted by any of my words or actions, expressed that I must be stressed and overwhelmed with it all. That became the frequent theme of conversation; and it was odd. Something about it, just wasn’t sitting right. I kept asking myself, are they trying to make me feel stressed? Should I be responding to my job in a way other than I am? What is the point of this repeated conversation? It was enough for me to keep them at a distance and stay wary, while still working together as needed.

It was right around this strange time when the new boss was announced to replace the one I had built such a wonderful working relationship with. I tried to stay open minded. Within the first few weeks, each person was scheduled for a one-on-one introductory meeting. Mine was the last on the agenda. I came prepared with everything about what I did on a daily basis, prepared for any questions they might have. We had an hour. The first question I was asked threw me for a bit of a loop. It was about the organization I worked in prior to this one, and one person in particular from that team. The tone of the question made it feel like my answer would set the stage for not only the rest of this meeting, but my position with the team. I carefully acknowledged, yes, I knew that person, but we never worked very closely and they left before I did. I left out my feelings relating to the absolutely unhinged series of accusations and comments lodged at me by this person regarding someone else’s inappropriate behavior toward me! I also watched in absolute horror as the indicators on my new boss’s smart watch flashed over a dozen new text messages from the very same person. Yikes, not a good start.

Life over the next few months in and out of the office wasn’t great. Home repairs and family stress on top of increased pressure and unvoiced expectations from my new boss were making me ill. The colleague I had kept at arms length had been given a wildly unexpected promotion within our department. It was abundantly clear that the role was by far outside of their scope of experience. It wasn’t my call but I congratulated them all the same. Work that had been done by the person in that role previously, though, suddenly was finding its way onto my desk with no instruction on how to complete it or the technical access needed to do so. I made it clear that this had never been a function of my role. I would be happy to learn it and eventually adopt it, but needed time to learn and understand it. That statement was met with the ultimatum of do it now or don’t work here anymore. By the time I walked the dozen or so steps from the boss’ office to my shared cubicle space, there was an email message to HR summarizing and documenting the discussion about my failure to meet the expectations of my job. There was nothing constructive, there were no official action steps, progress improvement plans, or even consequences stated. I was in panic mode. I pressed the newly-promoted colleague for assistance as the new to me tasks were formerly theirs. I got very little help directly. I found out quickly that they couldn’t help because they didn’t know how; which explained how it got onto my desk in the first place. A consultant eventually provided the solution and I carried on with my newly assigned work.

I wish I could say that was the end of it and I continued happy along with just an increased workload. But sadly, that’s not even close. Human Resources never even acknowledged receipt of the “failure to perform” email. I had no follow up meetings about it. In fact, it was never again mentioned. Meetings with my boss were rare, and rarely longer than five minutes unless the boss had strong feelings about a project, and by that I mean absolutely disagreed with everything I had done and demanded it be redone. I felt ignored and unsupported unless I was being reprimanded. Yet, every project I led was successful, raising literal millions of dollars. I was confused and stressed, preparing every day to be fired. The only upside was that the strange conversations stopped. My concerned colleague was ignoring me too, but was always in the boss’ office. My gut was screaming at me that something wasn’t right. People all around us were resigning, often being escorted out of the building instead of working out their two weeks’ notice.

I confided in the one trusted person I mentioned previously. They absolutely agreed with me that something had shifted. We commiserated daily about how much of a downhill slide morale had taken and took every opportunity to make one another laugh through the frustrations. When even those laughs weren’t enough, I began to look for a new position and soon I announced my resignation. The sheer relief on the boss’ face that day was off-putting, I had never seen them so happy. The joyful congratulations given to me by the other colleague I was wary of was equally disturbing. They were chatting animatedly, and very quietly and privately, for a good portion of that day. They even arranged my farewell happy hour, strangely insisting on a particular place I had never been and couldn’t enjoy much offered on their menu due to dietary restrictions. I went, and was for the most part ignored by them which was fine by me. I made it out. And very shortly after that boss was gone too, though I didn’t much care.

Back to present day. When the phone rang that night, I immediately picked up. After exchanging all the normal pleasantries one would expect of former colleagues who haven’t spoken in months, we dove right into it. The colleague I was wary of resigned but not before letting slip something extremely interesting. Back when that ‘new’ boss had been announced, this colleague reached out to them on a professional networking channel to unofficially welcome them to the organization. They met for dinner prior to the official start date informing and inviting no one else from the department. They discussed, at length, the weaknesses of the team. Guess who topped that list? Guess who, coincidentally, thought they would be great at the job if given the chance? I suppose this person felt a sense of “what are they going to do fire me?” once their resignation was tendered especially since neither I nor that boss were working there any longer. They held this knowledge in for nearly three years. I wonder if it was relief or pride they felt in finally expressing it to someone else.

I sat on the phone absolutely dumbfounded for a minute after the story (and a few intersecting stories, because you know a proper catch up session is never a linear occurrence!) ended. And then it all just came spilling out in an expletive filled rant that I can sum up in four words: I F*CKING KNEW IT.

From the first strange conversation, to the introductory meeting centering on my relationship with a previous colleague, to the already drafted email that went to HR immediately after an unplanned meeting about my failure to perform tasks that were never mine, my gut was warning something wasn’t right. As paranoid as it seemed, I felt as if there was a plot brewing against me. Every day the feeling progressively grew, intentionally fostered by two other people, until I had to remove myself from the situation. And I wasn’t paranoid or crazy. I was right. My gut was right, I am so glad I trusted it. I can’t imagine that I wouldn’t have been fired if I didn’t leave on my own. They were actively setting me up to fail. I don’t have to imagine to what end. One person believed another’s made up claims about me and I was in the other’s way.

I never wish ill on anyone. I just hope that one day, the way they treated – and mistreated – others in the act of self-service is delivered back to them and they get everything they deserve, nothing less. Do unto others and all that…

Portrait of contributing writer to Tony Ward Studio Kitchie Ohh wearing lingerie — Kitchie Ohh. Photo: Michael Bann, Copyright 2024

Kitchie Ohh is a full-time professional fundraiser who has worked with a number of health and human services nonprofits in the Philadelphia area over the last 20 years. She found her passion for modeling after a pinup-style photoshoot in 2013. Since then, she has worked with many talented photographers, stylists, hair and makeup artists in a variety of styles. She has been featured in- and on the covers of – multiple print and digital publications. Over the years, she has branched out from pinup studio modeling to serve as a figure model for live sketching, walked a runway, and was part of two campaigns for Philadelphia designer K. Vaughn.

In addition to her philanthropy-focused career, she has volunteered with art, historical, and community organizations, and even the events team of a local brewery for a while, pre-pandemic.

You’re just as likely to find her whipping up something deliciously plant-based in her kitchen or knitting a sweater as you are to find her on a photography set. Her motto is “be both.” The model and the homemaker, sultry and sweet, serious and silly. All the things, all at once. To access additional articles by Kitchie Ohh, link here: https://tonyward.com/kitchie-ohh-overwhelmed/

Kitchie Ohh: Overwhelmed

Overwhelmed

Hello, again. I’m not sure you even noticed, but last month’s blog contained no spillage from my brain onto your screen. I literally lost track of the days, they blurred together. I lost track of time, and, if I’m honest, myself. Did August even happen?

It wasn’t just last month. This entire year has been difficult to say the least. Sure it had it’s absolutely wonderful moments, but for someone like me who lives for balance, the scale seems to have, so far, been tipped entirely in the favor of the not so great. From starting the year with an emergency phone call about an injured parent to multiple stressful shifts in my professional life, an entirely unexpected death that I am still processing, and the sudden and steadily declining mental and physical state of my only living grandparent, the zillion other things resulting from these events, and so many additional things on top of it all with more to come, 2024 has steadily provided me with more things to worry and overthink about than I’ve ever experienced.

The worst part about all of it, for me, it twofold. First, knowing I have absolutely zero control over anything that has taken place. Being fully aware of that but unable to stop myself from the “what if” thoughts can be almost paralyzing at times. Second, I have a near-daily battle with myself that I shouldn’t be stressed or complaining about anything because other people have it so much worse than I do. While the second thought started as a way to psych myself OUT of oncoming downward emotional spirals, it has turned into yet another weapon to beat myself up with. Instead of shaking me out of the funk with thinking about all the good, it has been driving me deeper. I find myself feeling guilty for, well, feeling. Trust me, I realize how ridiculous that sounds.

Ok, maybe the issue is threefold. I have always found it incredibly difficult to express big emotions, or to ask for help when I’m stressed and overwhelmed. I would rather take everything on myself rather than show that I’m struggling. I’m fine. This is fine. Everything is fine. I got this. My go-to self-preservation act is to pull back into myself and away from everyone the second I don’t have to be “on” anymore; after work or family engagements, I’d say social activities too, but if I’m being honest here, they haven’t been a thing for me in ages. I realized, just recently, why that is: keeping up the appearance, the expectation that Kat’s great, she can handle anything, is absolutely exhausting. My brain feels like an ancient overheating desktop computer with dial-up internet and too many browser tabs open and I can’t tell which one is playing that annoying music. It’s no wonder I can’t recall a single day in the past few months that I was awake beyond 830pm, or that I got up as soon as my alarm went off to start the day instead of hitting snooze at least three times. I handle the bare minimum of what’s expected of me, with smile plastered on my face, and sometimes accomplishing that is even a stretch.

I think the most important thing to come from the chaos of this past year, is some solid reminders that despite all my best efforts to convince the world I’m perfectly fine, a handful of people still see through my bullshit. They catch me off guard with expressions of love and support, seeming to know exactly when I need them. They force me to accept help that I refused to ask for but desperately needed. They listen when I vent, or allow me to sit in absolute silence without expecting me to say a thing because I just need to not be alone with my thoughts. They don’t judge or tell me I shouldn’t feel what I’m feeling because others have it worse – they know I do enough of that to myself. Most importantly, they don’t make a big deal out of being there for me. It’s just between us, not a demonstration or unveiling of all I’ve been hiding from the world. They also accept my grumbled words of appreciation that come paired with variations of “you did’t have to” and “this is my mess, not yours” type statements and sarcastic, self-deprecating comments on my own mental and emotional state. Because they know, they really know, what I mean and how hard it would be for me to say any other way.

There’s a lot that I have to process and more to come, that’s just how life works. I’m alive. I’m grateful. I’m loved. I’m not exactly fine, but I will be.

In addition to her philanthropy-focused career, she has volunteered with art, historical, and community organizations, and even the events team of a local brewery for a while, pre-pandemic.

Bob Shell: Oklahoma, You’re Not Ok

Illustration of the Oklahoma landscape by A.I. — Illustration of the Oklahoma Landscape created by a Conversation With A.I.

Oklahoma, You’re Not Ok

I just learned that the government of Oklahoma has mandated the teaching of the Bible in public schools.

My first question: Which Bible? There are many different translations, some of which differ substantially from others. It is well known among biblical scholars that the King James Version (KJV) contains many mistakes and mistranslations. Just one example, Jesus (Yeshua) was said to have stated that it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven.

Actually, the word mistranslated as camel really means a hawser, a thick rope. The correct translation makes a lot more sense.

In 324 AD, the counsel of Nicea was held by church elders to determine which of the many gospels were to be included in the official New Testament. Many books that were just as valid as those chosen were excluded, books such as The Gospel of Thomas, The Gospel of Mary, The Gospel of Judas, and many others were excluded for purely political reasons having nothing to do with religion.

The Jesus who appears in The Gospel of Thomas speaks not of sin and salvation, but of illusion and enlightenment. Instead of coming to save us from sin, he comes as a guide who opens access to spiritual understanding. Once the disciple attains enlightenment, Jesus no longer serves as a spiritual master; the two have become equal — even identical.

“Jesus said, ‘I am not your master. Because you have drunk, you have become drunk from the bubbling spring which I have measured out … He who will drink from my mouth will become as I am: I myself shall become he, and the things that are hidden will be revealed to him.'” — The Gospel of Thomas.

He is practically Buddhist in his philosophy. Of course, the teachings of the Buddha had reached the community of Hellenized Jews living in Palestine where Jesus lived long before Jesus, and he seems to have been exposed to Eastern thought early in his life.

I have used the name ‘Jesus’ here for convenience, although his actual Aramaic name was Yeshua. Elsewhere in the Bible that name is translated as Joshua. Jesus is what the Romans called him, because their alphabet had no Y letter and replaced it with J, and in Latin most proper names end in us. So Yeshua was transliterated into Jesus.

Jesus was also familiar with the Cabalah. The prayer usually translated as “For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever, amen,” is actually the Cabalistic Cross: “Ateh Malkuth, veh Geburah,veh Gedula, le olam, amen,” in Aramaic. It refers to the sephira on the Cabalistic Tree of Life. A better translation is: “Unto you, the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, unto the Aeons, it is finished.”

It is well-known that the supposed last words of Jesus on the cross: “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabach thenai,” are not Aramaic or Hebrew, or even Latin or Greek. Colonel James Churchward, an expert on the Mayan language, said they were Mayan. They mean, “I am fading, I am fading, darkness covers my face.”

For what it’s worth, the Mormons have always believed that Jesus voyaged to the New World and preached to the native population. Perhaps that’s true. Many people were crossing the Atlantic Ocean in those times.

We know as well that many biblical tales are simply retelling of much older stories from the Sumerians, such as the story of Noah’s flood. That was borrowed completely from The Epic of Gilgamesh, written centuries earlier.

The dying and resurrected god is a common thread in many mythologies. Osiris of Egypt is one example.

The Bible, Old Testament and New, is, quite simply, a collection of myths mixed with a bit of history, many of its stories regurgitated from older civilizations. Anyone believing otherwise is a fool. The texts contradict themselves over and over, although less so in the Old Testament, some of which appears to be accurate history.

But a far more important question than which Bible is whether other sacred books like the Quran, Torah, Hindu scriptures, Buddhist scriptures, Jain scriptures, Norse Eddas, etc., etc. will also be taught in Oklahoma schools and given the equal time and credence they deserve.

I believe it would be appropriate to teach the Bible in public schools in the context of a course in comparative religions or one in comparative mythology. But teaching it as fact is criminal.

Biblical literalists simply do not understand what they are talking about. It can’t all be true.

Legitimate biblical scholars have concluded that Mark is the oldest gospel, written around 60 – 80 AD, and that the other three synoptic gospels were based on it and a lost scripture they’ve called Q. That’s from the German word Quelle, which means ‘Source.’ Why German? Because the scholars who did the research are German. Much important biblical scholarship has only been published in German.

I went into all of this and much more in my 2019 book COSMIC DANCE.

The founders of the United States recognized the dangers of an establishment religion like those they’d seen back in England and Europe. They wisely incorporated separation of church and state in our constitution. Oklahoma would seek to overturn that important principle of our country.

I am reasonably certain that courts will rule that Oklahoma’s idea is unconstitutional, but with the current Supreme Court nothing is certain.

Kitchie Ohh: A Muse in Grief

Portrait of Kitchie Ohh in front of an antique car — Kitchie Ohh. First Shoot. Photo: Michael Bann aka Victor Devilbliss. Copyright 2024

In Memorium

A Muse in Grief

“Sometimes, you meet someone and, in an instant, you connect with them and know no matter what your relationship becomes, you will be forever comforted by their mere existence.”

It’s true. The man who said that would know, of course. I think for as much as he felt it about anyone, more people than he realized felt that way about him. Who is he, you wonder? Musician, writer, photographer extraordinaire, and my friend, Micael F. Bann. Quite a few of my previous posts here include photos taken by him under his alias of Victor Devilbliss.

My very first photoshoot occurred in 2013. I hadn’t planned on doing more, or doing anything with the resulting photos. But something just clicked and I wanted more. It took me a while to work up the nerve. The first first step came unexpectedly. Social media served me up an ad for a retro-themed magazine called Retro Lovely. I began following it, loving the posts and images. I wanted to be among them, but didn’t think I was good enough. Then, I saw a call for submissions for a spinoff of this main magazine called Kat Club. I decided I would go for it. With the permission of the photographer from that first shoot, I sent in a few images. On April 24, 2015 my picture was promoted as being included in the latest issue. Sadly, just before going to print, the entire Retro Lovely line folded. At the time, all issues were being traditionally printed and sold through mail order. The cost and effort just was not feasible, long-term, for a one-man operation. I was bummed but so proud of myself for doing it!

I went on to do three more shoots before stepping onto a set with the incredible Michael Bann, a.k.a. Victor Devilbliss, creator of the Retro Lovely Magazine line, in October 2017. Looking back, what’s incredibly funny is that I booked that photoshoot due to being a huge fan of the artist scheduled to provide hair and makeup, figuring it was probably the one chance I would ever have to work with her. The legendary photographer was secondary in my decision. Funny how that shook out. I never worked with that artist again but developed a close friendship with Michael and shot with him seven more times in his studio, his home, and other awesome locations requiring significant road tripping. I submitted our photos to various publications and was always excited to share when accepted.

Somewhere in the middle of that friendship and photography, Retro Lovely Magazine found new life. It was reborn in mid 2018, through a more cost-effective print-on-demand platform but with the same meticulously curated content for which the original publication was known. I was trusted with the news before the relaunch, assisting with proofreading the website copy and submission forms before they went live. I was excited for him. We had discussed at length how much he loved it and how devastated he was when he had to give it up. While it was a project he enjoyed and poured himself into, it came with pitfalls of course. He had developed quite the aversion to models and photographers who begged and bargained to appear on covers; who contacted him with horror stories about others to persuade him not to accept submissions or work with them; and so much more. He navigated it all without ever compromising who he was. I was extremely honored, and incredibly humbled when he messaged one day with a “so I was thinking…” and then a few minutes pause, which was a very Michael thing to do. I was expecting a novel-length message to follow about some crazy thing he experienced or an idea he had and wanted to bounce off me. Instead, it was a photo from that first time we worked together, mocked up for the cover of his magazine. I had barely grasped what it was he was showing me before several more messages came through pointing out how the set was perfect because he was able to shoot wide and the picture lined up for a wraparound cover. I finally understood and Retro Lovely Magazine No. 14 published in August 2018. He shocked me further by later telling me that he also sent a few photos from this set to a ‘hot rod’ magazine. They had chosen one to include in their upcoming issue. It was a publication that was a regularly mailed subscription and was also available in retail stores and newsstands. When it was released, he sent me a video of him entering the local Wal-Mart, finding the magazine on the shelf, flipping to our page, and purchasing it. He surprised me one more time after that, in April 2022. After our final spontaneous road-trip, destination photoshoot, I found myself once again, unexpectedly, on the cover of a Retro Lovely publication, this time it was Cassandra which had a very glamorous, opulent kind of feel to the images it contained. He made sure that I recognized that the title of the magazine was made to look like the glittery surface of the table in the photo. Of course it did. That was the kind of detail he just loved, the small things that made huge difference if you took the time to notice.

On set for photoshoots and in between, we often talked about life in general; family, work, relationships, anything, everything, and absolutely nothing, because sometimes you just need to talk nonsense and laugh. He was really good at that; at listening, remembering details, and making people feel at ease. It didn’t matter if you knew him for decades or days, he left an impression. Michael accepted people for who they were, brought out the best in them and and captured that in his photography. There are countless people who would say the same and then some. In fact, many of them poured good thoughts, prayers and energy out to him when he announced in early June that needed to take a brief break from everything – photos, music, Retro Lovely – due to a medical issue. Shortly after that announcement, he shared the gravity of the situation with all of us. He was diagnosed with a large mass on the back of his brain. It would require near-immediate surgery to remove it. Despite the seriousness, Michael posted with all the irreverence and humor we loved about him right up until that surgery. And never posted again.

Technically, he made it through the procedure. Complications afterward proved fatal.

He entered the hospital on June 7, and left this world June 21. It won’t ever be the same. I don’t just mean that for me. I don’t think he would have ever, in life, acknowledged the impact he had. I hope he knew it was enormous and reached so far. I still have not wrapped my head around the fact that he is gone.

How do you say goodbye to someone so much larger than life itself? You don’t, really. You remember, fondly. You cry, you laugh, you create, you keep them alive through you. I’ll close this the way I opened, with words from my friend, Michael Bann, who will be missed more than any words can ever express.

“The days after my last, think of me with peace. Recall a smile I drew from you, though new ones will have ceased. The weeks after my last, remember love I gave you, forgive the times I let you down, it was not my wish to do so. The years after my last, let my memory hold you. Know you meant the world to me, though I’m unable to console you.”

Photos shared here are from our first shoot and our last shoot.

In loving memory of Michael F. Bann, March 25, 1965-June 21, 2024.

Portrait of glam model Kitchie Ohh — Kitchie Ohh. Last Shoot. Photo: Michael Bann aka Victor Devilbliss, Copyright 2024

In addition to her philanthropy-focused career, she has volunteered with art, historical, and community organizations, and even the events team of a local brewery for a while, pre-pandemic.