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Photographs pay tribute to 'honorable people'
By Laura Lane-Hoosier Times-June 22,2003
SHOALS
Bill Whorrall drives a beat-up car. His camera is old. He owns a television, but never watches it.
And he has an understanding of the Amish way of life, cultivated from being among them almost every day over three years, researching his seventh book, The Amish Community in Daviess County, Indiana: A Photodocumentation.
With his car, camera and respect for a simple way of life, Whorrall photographed and learned the lifestyle of the Amish people of Daviess County, who harness energy from the sun and wind to heat water and operate equipment.
He dedicated the book to them.
"They knew I was not there to steal photographs of them," the 59-year-old art teacher said. "I treated them like the honorable people that they are."
Whorrall's vision is fading. But as it gets worse, he's noticing that the visual images in his mind's eye have become stronger.
"I use the camera as an art tool," he explained. "It doesn't matter what kind I have, as long as it's auto focus. The camera is just a light box. You have to be in the right place, at the right time. With the right attitude."
Whorrall was born in East Chicago and grew up near Gary. After graduating from college, he had two teaching job offers: one in Indianapolis, the other in Washington County.
"When I came down and saw this country and met some of these people, I knew the place for me was here," he said.
His first book, Woven Hills and Quilted Rocks: Folk Artists in Martin County, was published in 1991. All of his books focus on aspects of the world that surrounds him in southern Indiana.
He conceived the idea of the Amish book about a decade ago. It just took some time to get started.
"I have never gotten used to walking up to complete strangers and being nosy about what they are doing," Whorrall writes in the book. "As a person with a camera in this community, it is doubly difficult. But it was the only way I could break the ice with folks. I had to be upfront and honest about what I was doing."
He carried out his mission alone.
"In the beginning, there were times I was pretty lonely. I sometimes drove for 20 or 30 miles having no idea who to talk to or where to stop."
Over time, he became a regular sight among the Amish. "They allowed me to be there because they understood this project was important to me and they were kind enough to accommodate me.
"I will never forget that kindness."
The Amish-Hidden away in Daviess County
By Laura Lane-Hoosier Times-June 22,2003
MONTGOMERY
Bill Whorrall and his well-used Nikon infiltrated the lives of the Amish in Daviess County and emerged to produce a book of 700 black-and-white photographs documenting the everyday lives of simple-living people.
He ate squash pie with his hands, assisted with a burial, picked corn and made friends along the way, never alienating his subjects by taking pictures where he wasn't welcome.
And while his visual acuity isn't what it once was, the 59-year-old Shoals art teacher captured the essence of the Amish.
"My method, if it is a method, is to follow my instincts," Whorrall wrote on page 19 of his latest book, The Amish Community in Daviess County, Indiana: A Photodocumentation. "I am a person who respects other people first and is a photographer second. In the long run, this attitude has allowed me to take more pictures of Amish folks than if I had sneaked around.
"I am not a hit-and-run photographer. I spent many, many hours visiting with families without taking a picture," he wrote. xxx"This is not an objective or scholarly view of a culture or community. This book reflects a personal experience with people I respect."
He said he found "all levels of acceptability" when it came to his camera. Some Amish shied away from it, others allowed themselves to be photographed, but never in a way they could be identified. About 750 families live in Daviess County's Amish country. Whorrall figures he knows about 30 extended families, 10 of them well.
"I've never met a group of people, a community, more generous with their time," he said. "I came out here and really fell in love with these people. Being plain does not mean being unsophisticated."
Just weeks after his book's debut, Whorrall traveled the dirt roads he's come to know so well, checking in with families he met over three years of research and picture taking, and asking if they have seen the book. Many say they have; one woman sends a child into house to get money to purchase one out of Whorrall's trunk.
"We never make it around to where they have them for sale," she said. "We've been wanting to get one."
Whorrall sold the book at a discount, then crossed the road to talk with a man and 14-year-old boy raking hay behind a team of horses. Later, he pulled into a driveway and talked a bit with a man and his two sons, just arriving home in the family buggy. The conversation was slow, unhurried and turned to talk of foals and concern that West Nile virus might be affecting the equine fertility rate.
Whorrall came to be accepted by the Amish. He talked to them about their lives. Ate supper with them. Helped them work. Joked with their children. Appreciated their way of life.
"I didn't know where this road went, or what I would find," he said. "No one introduced me to these people. Always in the back of my mind was, 'Could I do it?' What if I got out there and realized that they didn't want me there?"
It all began with a picture Whorrall shot, from the rear, of an Amish farmer for his book called Martin County, Indiana, USA. The man said Whorrall could take pictures, but to be careful not to show his face. Whorrall ran out of film, but wasn't ready to leave.
"I asked if I could pick corn with him, and then I watched and noticed how the horses pulling the wagon stomped down the corn stalks, occasionally eating a corn nubbin or two along the way," he described. "No one said anything to the horse. Everything, this process of picking corn by hand, was automatic. Because I took the time to be in this guy's world for a little while, I learned. That's what I did throughout this project."
He also discovered that as the Amish community grows, the amount of land available for farming shrinks — sons grow and marry, inheriting their own piece of ground to start a new life. Some young men leave the farm in vans each day to work on construction crews in Bloomington or Evansville. Young women sometimes work in nearby Amish-style restaurants in Montgomery or Odon.
Farmers often diversify. In the heart of Daviess County's Amish country is Raber's Wheel & Buggy Works, which since 1979 has manufactured — by hand — wooden-wheeled carriages that end up in places such as New York City's Central Park. They are fancy and plush, nothing like the simple three-sided wooden pony carts that barefoot Amish children trot up and down gravel lanes.
"People who sit on these seats will never know that people living without television and electricity made these with their hands," Whorrall said, stroking deep burgundy velvet covering a carriage bench.
One Amish farmer raises earthworms for sale to organic farmers. He also has a contract with the U.S. Army, which uses worms to clean up toxic waste sites.
Another farmer breeds rabbits sold exclusively to a New York restaurant.
Don't even suggest that this all happens in the middle of nowhere. "What this is is somebody's precious somewhere, and I tried to show that in my book," Whorrall said. "You can see a pretty sunset with an Amish buggy, but you don't know anything about the culture of their lives. It's not that I don't appreciate the beauty, but I realize there is so much more beneath that."
Take the sausage-making experience, for instance. As many as 10 Amish families work together to slaughter the hogs and process the meat. Whorrall's book shows it all, from the hog getting shot between the eyes to the meat being stuffed into casings.
"If someone is going to eat sausage, they should be aware the someone shot the hog for them," he said. "This book is not a romanticized version of Amish life. It's more educational."
Driving along the roads that weave through the countryside, the Amish influence is clear. A ballfield with bedsprings as a backstop. Weed-free, thriving gardens. Windmills that power electric fences. Solar water-heating devices mounted on rooftops to supply a household with hot water. A machine shop specializing in compressed air-powered motors. Bonnets, zipperless trousers and the plainest of dresses drying on clotheslines. Tall martin houses. Wooden roadside telephone booths outside businesses.
Whorrall still returns to Amish country, even though the book is finished. He found a simplicity, a quiet, that draws him back. He understands the community's loyalty to God and to having control over their families and lifestyle. He also knows that the Amish he spent time with are not immune to the troubles that afflict other cultures, but are content to live their lives separate from contemporary society.
Nearing the end of a dirt road on a recent afternoon, he slowed his car and turned off the ignition. "Listen," he said. Birds squawked and chirped and the wind blew. But mostly, there was silence.
"I think that's the way the world used to sound," Whorrall said. "Some people never hear this."
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