The House for Battered Men
Early in 1998 I was living a soapy. That was about to turn into Jackass, uncut, as I moved in with Garth. He was shooting for Cape Times and I was a photographer at Die Burger. With a bag of cameras, guitar, another bag with clothes, a computer and a mattress on the roof of the car I arrived at 1 Rus-in-Urbe, behind Gardens Centre. Garth had a room facing the road and I was in the en-suite in the back. His favourite spot though was on the ridge of the high-pitch roof with a cigarette. Visitors knew to look for him there first.
Soon we were joined by Kim Ludbrook and Wayne Conradie, both freelancers at the time. The four of us had one thing in common besides the fact that we were all young, dynamic and passionate photojournalists: we had all recently exited “serious” relationships. That energy and sudden freedom in combination with the testosterone, the drive, creativity and passion was electric. A lot of good came out of it, but it’s also the closest I’ve come to total anarchy. Fellow photographer Sasa Kralj referred to us as The House for Battered Men. It stuck.
Life at 1 Rus-in-Urbe
Filled up on pink Pronutro, we’d go off to work in the morning at our respective papers and inevitably join up during
An evening in the house with guests around the kitchen table.
the day on the same assignments. We tried to outdo each other and compared published work in the morning. Most evenings we’d have guests: Mujahid Safodien, Mike Hutchings, Sasa Kralj, Karin Retief and others, mainly reporters and photographers. I often cooked. Always pasta, which was served with tomato paste. Sasa called it “pasta with pasta”. Garth and I would play the same songs over and over on our guitars. Some time after midnight the neighbours would shut us up.
One night the four of us were on our own so we decided to just relax and break some stuff. No drugs or alcohol were involved, I think. We started smashing pieces of wood, then appliances and bits of furniture. In the end only the TV survived. There was a tough chair, but Wayne carried it outside and jumped on it from the roof. It worked! I’ll never forget Garth’s contagious laughter, which we got to see often. Times were good.
On one particular morning, we were all sitting in the front yard looking at the church across the road. We weren’t really presentable. Garth, crouched on the wall facing the street, was wearing mainly diver’s goggles and a snorkel. Wayne was making strange noises. Kim was recovering from the night before, which was never a pretty sight. The neighbour, a well-known actress, walked past with her son on their way to school. They looked at us, stopped, and ran back into their house.
“I’m going to be a daddy”
We settled down. Some times we didn’t talk like Beavis & Butt-head and spoke in our real voices with our own accents.
The Reunion of house mates
We started bringing girls home. Most of them escaped soon, but some liked it there. One cold evening Garth and I were alone, sitting on the floor in front of the fire. (It was after the furniture had been wiped out). At some point after hours of chatting he announced to me: “I’m going to be a daddy”. I wasn’t a drinker, really, but I drank to that.
The foursome had become a tight unit and, while we each went our own way after that, we have … had a bond.
A couple of days before Garth’s passing, he phoned me. I couldn’t take the call. (I now try to take every call as if it were the last opportunity to speak to whomever is on the other end.) On the evening after the news broke I spoke to what remained of the Battered Men, Wayne and Kim. What a luxury to be able to make time to see each other. I’ll never take that for granted again. Garth, we’ll miss you.
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
Hi Battered Man,
Kim had me in hysterics reading this to me off his fancy cellphone in the car today. It’s all too true. You need to take time out and get together, which I know you’ll all be doing this week, but wish it was under different circumstances. Give my man a huge drukkie when he’s there, and another to the malletjie Conradie. And hope to see you soon too!
I encountered all four battered men when working at iAfrika photos in the late nineties, and was privileged to work closely with Garth as photo editor of Images24 when he was picture editor at Die Burger. His passion especially in standing up for and fighting for photographer’s copyright was something we had in common. He has left us too soon.
Garth was one of those Picture ediditors that would shit on a photographers head when he/she made a bugger up but after that defend the person with every argument there is.
He was also one of the few people that could convince me with logic common sense that I’m sometimes wrong…. something not al lot of people can do. My klankbord is nou weg. Ek mis hom alreeds.
Johann, no words can express how deeply sorry I am about Garth’s tragic end. You will always have him in your memories and in your heart, and in sharing stories like these you will keep his memory alive in all that knew him.