Last night, as we were listening to Obama’s victory speech I started to think about “Little Joe Louis”. I photographed him in 1953 in the pediatrics ward of Philadelphia General Hospital; he would be about 60 years old now. We called him “Joe Louis” because he put his dukes up every time you talked to him. I am sure he had his reasons. Philadelphia was a tough town…the city of brotherly love wasn’t always so loving.
Could he have ever dreamed there would be a black president? I don’t think so. He wouldn’t have been dreaming about presidents when I took that photograph; he wouldn’t have been thinking about presidents when he was a teenager. He would have been thinking about survival.
I hope he did survive and was able to share “the moment” when President-elect Obama gave the world his message of hope….george