Larry Major was by all accounts Charlotte’s most famous homeless character. It’s favorite alcoholic. All around the Queen city, he was known as Chilly Willy. I met him in October. Passed him heading into Moore Place to photograph some people who had been chronically homeless but were now on their way to getting their life straight. Larry was outside railing against something or somebody or both. Cussing and angry, and so off the tracks you knew it was a good idea to keep going. He was probably a little drunk. We kept going. On the way out he was where we left him, and still fuming. I wanted to stop, if for no other reason than to just look him over. His long salt and pepper hair and beard framed a face with a lot of mileage, a faded Harley wings tattoo stretched across his forehead. We kept walking.
The next day, at the same place, a different guy showed up. Sober and sweet, he sauntered up and said hello. He’d seen me shooting and he was curious. I asked if I could take his picture, and he said yes as I knew he would. I shot a handful of images while he entertained all, talking about music, tattoos, photography, the street. I don’t remember all.
I loved Larry’s face and story, though I’d been told we couldn’t use him for the portrait project (“He likes the spotlight a little too much,” I was told). He was happy and entertaining and thanked us all for spending time with him.
Two days later, in a hotel room in a different town, there was a text. Larry was dead. Stepped in front of a car. Like that he was gone. A big crowd from all walks of life showed up for his funeral I’m told. Business leaders, regular folk, homeless friends. There were a lot of stories, and now I had my own along with a handful of photos, Larry and a peace sign.
We put him in the show. He didn’t need the spotlight now. We just wanted him around.
