Old Man Ocean

(More photos after story, as well as on Instagram: lindsbrunsman. Click on photos for higher resolution view.)

This is a man I’ve always known as Old Man Ocean. Five years ago I was going through the School of Photography at the University of the Nations in Kona, Hawaii. My class and I often encountered this man wandering around town, and one thing he made clear to everyone was that he never wanted his photo taken.

One particular day, I was walking around town with my camera, turned a corner around the back of a building, and there he was. As I approached, I held up my camera asking if I could take his photo. He unexpectedly motioned me towards him and communicated that I could snap shots of him. While doing so, I carried on in a short conversation with him, and remembered him telling me how he had once lived in Texas. The photographs I captured that day remain very valuable to me, and I have sporadically wondered about him, his life story, and how he got to where he is now.

This time while in Kona, I took a day away from the beaches to walk around town with my camera. Old Man Ocean had been on my mind, and I wondered if he was still around. Just as soon as that thought came and went, I happened upon him. Astonished, I exclaimed, “Hey, Old Man Ocean! You let me take your photo five years ago…” He replied, “How much did you pay me to do so?” I answered back, “Nothing, you let me take your photo for free!” We exchanged a few more words, then parted ways.

I immediately felt burdened with a strong desire to talk with him more, but felt awkward to just run up to him and start talking… so I followed him a bit, and got to a point where I caught up with him, and looked over and said, “Hello again!” This sparked our journey walking around town and exchanging stories.

I asked him what his actual name was, his response, “I have many names.” 
I followed with questioning which he preferred, and he told me that he doesn’t like any of them because they put a label on him. I thought out loud, “The man with no name!” He retorted with a smile, “That’s a label.” I quickly evaluated his response, then agreed. Our conversation jumped around from questions of him asking me things like, “What river are you?” Confused, “I’m sorry, what? I don’t understand… what river would you say that I am?” With a smile and glitter in his eyes he responded, “You would be the river of purity and perfection!” Taken by surprise, “…Wow, thank you!… that’s a compliment…” 

He shared with me stories of how he hears voices, and of one particular time when he was scuba diving off the coast of California, he heard a loud voice command him to stay out of the water. We talked more about water, and he informed me that we can all live without water… that it’s not really a necessity. We exchanged thoughts about marijuana after he asked my views on it. He also instructed me to always think positive thoughts and never allow negativity to come near me, and he shared how many people who come near him are full of negativity and he has nothing to do with them.

His eyes… they are such a crystal clear blue. I affirmed to him that his eyes captivated me, and every time he smiled they would light up and twinkle. I followed with asking if it would be possible to capture more photos of him, and focus on his eyes. He agreed, so we walked to a spot where there weren’t as many people walking around. We neared upon a sweet lady, that for the life of me, I can’t remember her name, but her smile was warming and inviting. She waved and exclaimed, “Freddy!”, so we walked over to join her company. As I prepared settings on my camera, she lit up a joint and kindly asked if I smoked then proceeded to offer a drag. I politely declined, then informed that I was ready to take photos. Old Man Ocean started out playfully engaging with the camera with different poses, but then seemed to transition into being camera shy.

He asked me as he pointed to his hair, “Do you know what I call these? What would you name them?” Nothing came to mind, “Uhhh…I’m not sure what I would name them… I just know them as dreadlocks…” “They are warlocks.” he educated me. He shared that many years ago a man came up to him with a knife and slashed him from his ear to across his face, and that the blood that gushed from his infliction is how his warlocks were birthed.

At the end of our time spent together, the man I will continue to know and label as Old Man Ocean rested both his hands upon my shoulders, leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek goodbye, then wandered off idly roaming through town.