
So how did two suave, handsome and genial history buffs end up producing a book like
Then and Now – Wheeling?Iron butts to sort through photos, fingers that refused to get frostbitten and (in the photographer's case) memorizing every decent gas station exit on Kentucky highways.
Paul: I've long been fascinated by my hometown, which technically is Martins Ferry, but I think that if you're from anywhere in the Valley, you're from The Valley.
I guess what got this started was The LaBelle Nail Works, located where W.Va. 2 hits Interstate 470 in south Wheeling. I passed it on one of my return visits home, and I got to thinking –
how many of these factories and plants litter both sides of the Ohio River from Steubenville down to Moundsville? How many are active? What's happened to them? What do they look like inside?I had no idea that LaBelle was still active, or that I'd get a chance to see inside the venerable plant. At the time, I thought "I've got to photograph that." And of course the next thing I thought was "I wonder if Duffy could do all the hard work for me and yet let me take half the credit." And thus the book was born.
Sean: I knew Paul would try to grab credit for the idea. The truth is I launched his photography career. When I noticed his intriguing digital closeups of fruit and toenails and such, I said, "Paul, you have a gift. Don't waste it like you wasted your talent for ..."
I got stuck at this point. He suggested "football." I started laughing.
"No, seriously, you should take pretty pictures and charge people money," I told him. Next thing I know, he thinks he's Annie Leibovitz. But he really is good.
Take a look at his website if you don't believe me.
Anyway, I then came up with the idea for this project independently of Paul's little factory idea. What we soon discovered, unfortunately, is that there's not a lot of room for creativity when you have to stand in exactly the same place as some guy did in 1890 and photograph a parking lot where a nice building used to be. I think this frustrated Paul. But he was a trooper.
Paul: When I saw the final version of the book (
buy one here if you're so inclined, and I pray you're so inclined), I realized just how creative the project really was, because you had to pay homage to artists from the past. That was hard work, and I think the final result shows a great respect for Wheeling.
Sean: We harbor no delusions about the importance of this book. It's not an academic history. Neither of us are professional historians. But I am a professional researcher and Paul is a professional photographer, and we took the initiative to get this done. What we've created is a tribute to our hometown; an ode to what we once had but lost; a celebration of what has been saved; and hopefully, something that will inspire a few people to treasure and preserve what is still standing, but endangered. Finally, we've captured a few moments in time so that future generations might have a glimpse of what Wheeling looked like circa 2009-2010 through the eyes and cameras of two caffeine-addled, largely unhealthy, middle-aged men with limited talent partially mitigated by an unlimited passion for the subject.
Paul: "Caffeine addled" pretty much nails it. And the opportunity to work with Sean? That was nice, too, I guess ...
In all honesty: Sean's passion for local history is unrivaled. It was quite a lot of fun to work with him, because I learned so much about Wheeling, and I very much admire his tenacity in deciphering those unknown old locations. And I'd never have eaten at the Lebanon Bakery had it not been for him. I honestly am upset that I didn't learn about that place until long after I'd left the Valley.
I mean, I worked two blocks away from the bakery and had no idea it was even there. The chocolate pistachio baklava might be Duffy's lasting legacy of Wheeling: Then and Now.
Sean: Yes, Lebanon Bakery Does Rule. Excellent spinach pies and unrivalled pita bread.
What I liked most about working with Paul was his car. I drove a 93 Subaru Legacy whose most luxurious feature was an FM radio. Paul drove some kind of car that a Saudia Arabian dictator might drive through the desert. I think parts of it were made of gold. It featured a rearview parking camera, hands free Star Trek communication system, and religion-changing seat-warming technology. Loved that car. Hated getting out of that car to hold copies of old photographs while Paul took thousands of pictures in the bitter cold and rain, but I loved that car.
If I ever do another book, I hope Paul will agree to drive.