It’s been about a month since Larry Schwartzwald’s passing and I’ve been wanting to say a few words of remembrance before the memory evaporates. 

I first met Larry in the mid-1990s - at Gamma Liaison, a news photo agency in New York that was an offshoot of its main office in Paris. That time would be the last of analog photography as an industry standard. At the same time, print media still reigned, arrogantly dismissive of the view ahead. The way it worked in those days was to send curated slide transparencies to magazine photo editors - often on spec. Hot images (politicians, news photos, royals - at the time Princess Diana was still alive - and yes, photographers from Gamma Liaison were part of that chase but save that for another conversation - I’m only mentioning it here to give context) from Europe would arrive every morning from Paris - via Air France on the Concorde. In our office this was referred to as “the package”. Editors and photo researchers at Gamma Liaison would gather around light tables and use their visual expertise to curate selections that were guaranteed to be published and then they were sent - by rush messenger - to magazine offices around the city. 

The New York office also represented local photographers whose images (especially of American celebrities) would, in turn, get sent, by plane, back to Europe. It’s incredible to think about such costly inefficiency today. 

Among those New York photographers were paparazzos Larry Schwartzwald and Arnaldo Magnani. They had an amusing rivalry that sometimes resulted in black eyes and stories of pushing each other out of trees during celebrity stakeouts. They drove everyone crazy with their demands and neediness but we put up with it because the photos made money. And each was lovable in their own way. Magnani had a gravelly voice and thick Italian accent and constantly pinched people’s bottoms regardless of gender. It got to a point where people would sit down if they saw him coming. 

Larry had a different persona. More serious. He was always plagued by something - usually year round allergies but also other gripes. I gave myself a challenge to get him to crack a smile because he was so perpetually grumpy.

In the years to follow media drastically changed. People moved on. I would run into Larry often. Sometimes I’d see him lurking outside Barney’s. By that point I was at the height of my earning power and treating myself to some after-work retail therapy was one of the pleasures of being a single woman in the big city. With a tip from him before going into the store, I would discreetly peer at famous people through the racks like a nosy creepster. 

I also lived in trendy Nolita and that was another good place to find celebrities - and Larry. But I was more likely to find him at the McNally Jackson bookstore across the street from my building. By this time he had begun his people reading series of photos - and he was part of a poetry scene. It was the conversations during these run-ins where I got to know Larry, the artist. Finally, he would be smiling, and I was honored to be warmly accepted as a friend.

This NY Times article from 2001 captures that period of time well. Twenty years later Robin Williams is gone, Magnani is gone, JFK Jr. is gone, Barney’s is gone and now Larry is gone. Just one more ghost in this city.