I LOST MY MIND AT OLD FRIEND PHOTOBOOTH IN NEW YORK CITY by Larry Baumhor

Down Goes Baumhor:

Street Photographer Knocked Out by a Homeless Guy on 6th Ave in NYC

by Larry Baumhor

(Copyright 2023)

   It was just another day. I was walking East on 25th Street near 6th Ave to the Chelsea Flea Market when I shot a photo of two homeless men in front of a shelter, diagonally across the street where I sold vintage photography at The Garage Antique Flea Market for fifteen years. The Garage was razed in June 2014, knocked out by a real estate developer who built two luxurious hotels, back-to-back on 24th and 25th Streets.
   I often shot photos of homeless people from this shelter. I mean who has not taken a photo with their cell phone of a homeless person? Although I have a Sony camera with a strap around my neck, a little more obvious than a cell phone.
   After I shot the photo of the two homeless guys in front of the shelter, an African-American well-built slender man in his twenties looking disheveled, (I assume he was homeless) follows me East on 25th Street saying, “delete the photo.”

   “The Supreme Court has ruled I have the right to take photos of people in public under the First Amendment.” A putz, right? Well, that’s what I’ve been saying for fifteen years when someone confronts me about deleting the photo, rarely will I oblige.
   You can also photograph law enforcement. “In sum, under the First Amendment’s right of access to information the public has the commensurate right to record— photograph, film, or audio record—police officers conducting official police activity in public areas.    

   “As a form of expression, photography is protected in the U.S. by the First Amendment to the Constitution. But photographers are often forced to defend their right to take pictures (and record video) in public places.

   “Taking photographs and video of things that are plainly visible in public spaces is a constitutional right—and that includes transportation facilities, the outside of federal buildings, and police and other government officials carrying out their duties.
   “Unfortunately, law enforcement officers have been known to ask people to stop taking photographs of public places. Those who fail to comply have sometimes been harassed, detained, and arrested. Other people have ended up in FBI databases for taking innocuous photographs of public places.”

Street Photography and The Law (in New York)

 

   “There seems to be some misinformation out there about the constraints the law places on street photography. I am here hopefully to clear some of them up, particularly as the law relates to photography and New York. As a general matter, you do not need any permission to take anyone’s photograph with a normal camera so long as you are in a public place that you have authority and permission to be in. This means in plain English that if you’re on the street, and your subject is on the street, it’s fair game.”

Pursuant to the detective at the NYPD this is not the man who attacked me. The detective informed me that this man did not cross 6th Ave on the video he watched.

   The man in the above photo was drunk and fell down or passed out after I snapped his picture, according to the detective. I thought he was the guy yelling, “Delete the photo.” But the assailant was down the street following me, out of sight as shown in the video.
   Interestingly, the man who assaulted me was in his twenties and has an arrest record, mostly for drugs with some assaults. But he’s noted in the system for drugs. The detective has a video of the assailant hitting me from the blindside on 25th Street. The video on 6th Ave of this man knocking me out is not clear. There was a Pepsi truck blocking part of the view. My mazel! However, the detective knows the man’s name who hit me. He’s sending a crew out to arrest him. They have a video, his name and they’re gonna find this bastard. The detective who was very professional and diplomatic about the assailant stated, “He has a substance problem.”
   But now the detective is going to arrest him for Felony Assault. The detective will contact the Assistant District Attorney to confirm the charges. Everything is hush-hush. I’m not allowed to see a photo of the assailant until the case is closed.

Photo I shot in front of the homeless shelter. The assailant is behind this man in the video footage obtained by the detective. 

 

 

   I turn around to take a photo of the homeless guy following me. And then I thought it was over. I walk across 6th Ave on 25th Street heading towards the Chelsea Flea Market. I stop almost in front of the Showplace on 25th Street facing southbound and out of nowhere a homeless guy wallops me on my cheek. Stunned wasn’t the word!
I didn’t know what happened and I turned around and saw the homeless guy running towards 6th Ave. Even as a kid, I never remember getting hit like that. And for a split second, I felt pride. Someone hit me, I thought. Subconsciously I thought, I must be important. After all, Marlon Brando broke Ron Galella’s jaw.

Ron Galella with helmet and Marlon Brando by Paul Schmulbach bought by Ron Galella. 

 

 
   I told my friend to call the police and ran after the homeless man, on 6th Ave yelling “Police, police, police!” And down went Baumhor! The guy stopped running came back towards me and gave me a shot to my face that knocked me out unconscious in the middle of 6th Avenue. Not one car stopped as if I was an animal. I’m just as upset about no one stopping as I am at the monster who knocked me out. And let me ask you this: What 69-year-old who does not know how to fight, is on dialysis waiting for a kidney transplant, had a massive heart attack four months ago with three stents placed in his right artery, and double bypass open heart surgery in August of 2022, would chase a twenty-something-year-old homeless guy who just hit you on 6th Avenue.

   There’s something wrong with me. I know. No more non-deletion of photos. If someone wants their photo deleted, my response is YES! And no more Supreme Court First Amendment arguments. Like these street degenerates whom I sometimes photograph know anything about this.
   I get up wobbling not knowing where I’m at, my face and eye swollen like a balloon. Walking to where I don’t know. I had enough sense to call 911. Four police cars with about eight officers arrive, a fire truck, and an ambulance. The FDNY and NYPD were very kind and attentive. I sat in the ambulance with an icepack on my face while a guy from the FDNY took my vital signs. The officer wanted me to go to the hospital for further evaluation. Once a putz always a putz. I refused. I have a horrible fear of hospitals, a little neurotic too. Thank you NYPD and FDNY!

 

 

 

   I walked to the Chelsea Flea Market and my friend gave me her chair and icepack. And like you know what (the P word) I start taking photos again while sitting down with an icepack on my face. I felt my face blowing up.



   And then like you know what, that P word again. I stand up and leave the flea market, not to go home to Philly to go to a hospital but rather to walk the streets of NYC taking photos of strangers.  

   P!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was dazed, confused, and delirious. And my eye started turning purple and closing shut. Big deal, I’ve got one eye to take photos of strangers no less. Beyond passion, I have some kind of mental problem and it’s beyond the P word. I’ll deal with that another time.
   I looked like a Zombie and I’m stopping strangers on the street asking them to take photos of me. P. I met Faith and her boyfriend from California sitting on a street corner begging for money. Of course, I took photos. And Faith and I had our photo taken by her boyfriend.

Larry and Faith in the street of NYC, shot by Faith’s boyfriend

   

   Faith plays the guitar and sings like she did the day before in a NYC coffee house. I told her she’d earn more money if she played and sang on the streets of NYC. I gave them about ten bucks, my photo business card, and asked, “Do you wanna be my friend on Facebook?” What am I, a ten-year-old?
   I was dazed, confused, and delirious when I came upon Street Dancers. With my mouth open I stood there bewildered thinking it was a fantasy, a dream, not knowing if this was real. Automatically like a Pavlovian dog, I began snapping pictures.

Street Dancers in NYC, by Larry Baumhor. 

 

 

   Upon posting a few photos on my Facebook page of my monstrous face and a comment here’s one of the hundreds of responses:

A simulated photo of a Larry-like guy taking a photo of Larry knocked out in a NYC street. Photographing on the Bowery, NY, April 1977 by Meryl Meisler, represented by CLAMP, New York City...

 

Gerry Yaum
Haha, glad your humor is intact!

 
Gerry Yaum 

Yup. Larry is demonstrating that best and most eternal survivor’s go-to when dealing with tsuris of the most extreme kind. DNA stuff?

David Noh
Altho knock wood nothing close to what happened to You has ever happened to me. I also attract nut jobs like flies to shit. A friend of mine who has also been attacked theorizes that a sick impulse is born in some that even could be considered “sane” when they spot joie de vivre. Simple maybe hard won but nonetheless evident happiness exuding from someone on the street which only reminds them of their own misery and makes them want to immediately destroy that feeling in that person physically. I saw it happen to Edward as well but again as in my case never with such truly hurtful and lasting results. I guess we have to be ever more vigilantly wary as we Asians - forever anticipating that other shoe to drop (on my head and commence stomping) - had to be during the first and worst outbreak of Covid. Watching our backs and veering away from anyone with the potential for harm. 

 
Larry Baumhor  Wow

 
David Noh 

This is an interesting profound theory of the human psyche!

Larry Baumhor 

Freudenschaft carried to an ugly beyond - you don’t even have to know the person to hate them for their happiness. A hideously burgeoning phenomenon I’m afraid. Joyful beings used to naturally attract others in a positive way. But now that attraction is comprised of darkness.

David Noh 

You are now called the Professor!

Leonard Finger
Larry, thank God it was not worse. A few weeks ago, my friend who was a presence at the Garage, Jon Mann, was hit in the head by a homeless man with a brick while walking across the Manhattan Bridge. He died. And nothing has been written about his attack in the newspapers.

 

   After walking the NY streets not knowing I was brain damaged I took a cab to Penn Station to Trenton, NJ., where I grabbed a cab that drove me to my apartment in Philadelphia. My eye was getting worse. On Sunday, September 3, I had a cab take me to the local hospital where they gave me a CAT scan. The doctor came into the room and said a blood vessel in your brain is slightly bleeding. I looked at her like she was nuts. “What are you talking about,” I said scared out of my mind.

   “We want to keep you overnight for observation and take another CAT scan tomorrow.” 

   “No, no, no, no,” I responded firmly. “I have a fear of hospitals and cannot stay overnight. I live nearby and I’ll come tomorrow.”

   “This is serious Mr. Baumhor; you can get headaches, eye aches, and trouble walking. Although I think it will heal on its own there’s no guarantee and you can die.”

   “Listen to me, with all due respect, my brain is the only thing I like about myself, I can’t mentally stay over. I’ll monitor myself and come back tomorrow for another CAT scan.”

   I took a cab home thinking I was going to die. “Pick out an urn I said to myself,” I called my friend Harris and told him you’re the executor of my will and I’m not going to survive this. My 50-year-old archive of writings and photography must be preserved. It’s in my will. The end is near and I face the final curtain.”
   I went back to the hospital the next day and the CAT scan showed the same results, slight bleeding in my brain vessel, said the doctor.  “You have a subdural hematoma.” That sounds important, I thought to myself. “Stop taking your blood thinner Halperin and Brilinta. Come back in a month for a follow-up CAT scan.”

Larry takes a selfie in the hospital

 
   “If you have vision changes, headaches, lightheadedness, dizziness, loss of consciousness, weakness, numbness or tingling, chest pain, shortness of breath difficulty breathing contact us.”
 
   “I’m scared. I’m going to die. I’ll never make it through this,” I said. “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” I said loudly. I’m having an anxiety attack. I’m bipolar, tell me what to do, I don’t want to die. 

   “Mr. Baumhor, you’re not dying.”

   “You don’t know me, I’m dying.”

   “I’m prescribing valium for you.”

   “Why, you think I’m nervous? I’m not nervous, I’m just afraid of dying.”

   “Mr. Baumhor, go home and I’ll see you in a month; make an appointment with a neurologist.”

   “A brain doctor,” I said. “I can’t have an operation my brain is already discombobulated.”

   “Mr. Baumhor, no one said anything about an operation.”

   I called Temple and Jeanes Hospital for an appointment with a neurologist, but none were available until January 2024. What, I yelled at the operator on the phone. I’ve got brain damage. I’m dying!

   “Go to the emergency room,” said the operator.

   “Fuck you Temple and Jeanes,” and I hung up. If I was George Clooney I’d get an earlier appointment. I am important. I am somebody. I’m not nobody. Steam is coming out of my head. I’m on fire.

   On Thursday, September 7, 2023, I spoke to an NYPD detective regarding my case. They have a video of the assailant hitting me on 25th Street. And now he’s looking at the video on 6th Ave when the monster attacked me and knocked me out. I feel like I’m Columbo in a TV series. Fascinating police work. God bless the NYPD. I love these guys and women!

Larry recovering at home

Larry on dialysis (selfie)

 

 

CAT scans of Larry's brain