The Case of the Smoking Chimney

Foreword

More frequently than they realize, authors are inspired by outstanding individuals whom they meet. Two years ago in New Orleans I met a little old chap who has as much bounce as a rubber ball, whose eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, whose white hair shaggles down around his shoulders. His name is Wood Whitesell.

Some men live for power, some live for money, some for social prestige. Whitesell lives to enjoy life in his own way and to make photographic studies which bring out the true character of his subjects.

He cares nothing for money, would cheerfully insult his best customer if that customer infringed upon the professional prerogatives of the photographer. He is always working on some new experiment upon which he will expatiate with bubbling enthusiasm. He trots around his studio, trying to crowd all of the things he wants to do in the twenty-four hours which are allotted to any one day. He has no regular mealtimes, is usually too busy to think of food. When he finally realizes he’s hungry, he’ll dash across the street to the Bourbon House, grab a piece of pie, gulp down a hurried cup of coffee, and rush back to his studio. When he needs a special light, he solders a piece of tin around an electric light, and makes exactly what he wants. His studio is filled with home-made contraptions that do the work just as well as would the most expensive equipment.

Whitesell and Gramp Wiggins are, of course, two distinct entities, although they have numerous points in common. To what extent Gramps was inspired by Whitesell even I don’t know. All I know is that after a winter in New Orleans during which I became well acquainted with Whitesell, Gramp Wiggins walked into my consciousness one day and demanded to be set down on paper. As I began to portray Gramps, I realized how very much in common he had with Wood Whitesell.

I don’t know how old Whitesell is, but he has an ageless enthusiasm, a zestful desire to crowd innumerable activities into his waking hours, and an individuality which bristles like a porcupine the minute you try to dictate to it.

Like Gramp Wiggins, his expectancy of life may not be as great as that of a younger man, but you can gamble one thing about both of them: as long as they live they’ll be very much alive, and they’ll keep on living until they die.

So with this book I make a bow to Wood Whitesell and an acknowledgement that — but no, Gramp Wiggins won’t let me say anything that will detract from his personality.

E. S. G.