The picture from Davies Lake features a can of Pepsi, a Spaulding and my sneaker. But Dad didn't care about snapping those things, he thought it was hilarious to frame this shot focusing on Mom's ass. You can see my father crouched down so his camera was practically level with Mom's butt.
When Mom saw this photo (Dad was hiding it), she threw a black plastic Copacabana ash tray at his head (Mom had slipped the ashtray into her pocketbook on the way out of the Vic Damone show). The ash tray nearly missed the bird cage on it's way towards the open window, passing through clean, it plummeted four stories into our 83rd Street backyard.
Lots of stuff went out our windows. Pillows, balls, my grandfather's guitar, our toys, and Dad's expensive shoes when Mom was in a special mood. Dad had an agreement with Mrs. Hauser on the first floor in our building, if her family wasn't having dinner she'd let Dad come in and climb out her back window and let himself down into the backyard so he could pick up the Pryor stuff laying around.
Dad took many other self described hysterical photos. Mom never did kill him, but she wanted to, more than most kids want a pony. If she had killed him, you know who she would have called, "Can I speak to Mr. Perry Mason? It's urgent!"
If you like my work check out my memoir, "I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood." Available at Logos Book Store or online at Amazon or Barnes & Noble.
The book has 125 Amazon five star reviews out of 125 total reviews posted. We're pitching a perfect game. My old world echoes TV's "The Wonder Years" ~ just add taverns, subways and Checker cabs. You can also purchase my photography portfolio, "River to River - New York Scenes From a Bicycle" on Amazon.