Wearing khakis, white shirts and pith helmets that seemed to be robbed from Jack Hanna' wardrobe, photographer Bud Lee added an interesting and amusing distraction from our routine when he came to visit for news and feature photo assignments at the Weekly Planet offices (the mid-1990s-to-early 2000s incarnation of Creative Loafing, as many of you recall). Earnest, friendly and always armed with an unbelievable anecdote, Lee's pop-ins were a highlight of CL's indie years.
Local writer and former Weekly Planet staffer Lynn Waddell helped CL compile the memories of five of our former co-workers, who offer their personal take on the lovable, iconic photographer who died last week in Plant City. —JG
Susan Edwards, editor: “From the minute I first saw Bud Lee’s photos in the early 1980s, I wanted to work with him. It took me years to persuade him, but eventually we got to do some pretty cool things together. Getting a packet of proofs from a Bud shoot was like breaking open a piñata. You never knew what was going to come out, but you had no doubt it would be thrilling and delicious. Bud knew how to capture the soul of people and places with a sense of irony and poignance that could pierce you right through the heart.”
Dave Jasper, staff writer: “Bud and I worked together on quite a few stories my last few years there in Tampa. What stuck with me about Bud over the years is that he was one of the more gently articulate and openhearted guys around. He was also one of the few fathers I've ever known who spoke sweetly and openly about his adult kids. He missed his babies all the time, he said. After my daughter was born he told me to hold her as much as I could. "You can't love them enough," he said more than once.”
Todd Bates, art director: “Back when I was the Art Director at the Weekly Planet, I was always excited whenever we had an upcoming photo essay we could assign to Bud. He had such a unique view of the world and could make friends with anyone. The photos he would deliver were always special, they had the mark of genius. When I look back at the images from throughout Bud’s career, I think it’s safe to say he’s right up there with likes of Mary Ellen Mark and Diane Arbus.”
Susan Cooper Eastman, staff writer: “Miami in 2001. I’m 5’11” and 200 pounds of second-guessing and FEAR. Bud likes photographing fat. He’ll bring wigs, costumes, makeup. Terror pounding. Not for the little pretty I allow the world to see, but because Bud sees. I’m afraid for the hideous rotting mess of flesh and revulsion that’s me. Bud: To hear life ticking, and drop everything to be there. To say, yes. I change the subject. He’s disabled. Now he’s dead. Oh, to have been seen by Bud Lee. Ask Andy Warhol stuffed or the glamorous black woman in full-on strut across a gas station parking lot in New Orleans. I said, no. Still, a couple of shards from Bud Lee’s sparkathon hit me. I know he wants a fire, I do.”
Susan Dix Lyons, editor/publisher: “Early in my job as an editor I invited Bud to do a photo essay for us. I knew of his reputation, had seen his work, and considered him a genius. I was nervous about asking him. I even rehearsed before I picked up the phone. Before I got out a couple of sentences, Bud said, "I'd love to." He ended up doing beautiful work for us. Bud was one of the most giving people I knew. He even flew to Ohio to photograph my wedding in 2001, just two months after 9/11. I loved the man. His heart was pure light.”
This article appears in Jun 11-17, 2015.