Peter Turnley’s photographs show 1975 farmworkers’ ‘other California’
When photographer Peter Turnley was just 20 years old, an acquaintance from the California Office of Economic Opportunity reached out to him with a question. Would he be interested in taking four months off from school in Michigan to come out west, drive around, and take pictures of the state’s poor and working-class populations? An eager Turnley jumped at the chance and ended up spending the summer of 1975 traversing California in his tiny white Volkswagen, doing everything from spending time with migrant farmworkers in the San Joaquin valley to hopping trains with travelers looking for work to chatting up Oaklanders about how they were making ends meet.
But then his OEO contact left mid-project and, while Turnley says he submitted a set of prints to the department, they never ended up seeing the light of day. That will all change Dec. 4, when the pictures — along with others the news photographer has taken in his current hometown, Paris — will go on display at the Leica Gallery in L.A.
Why did California’s OEO think of you for this project back in 1975?
When I was a freshman in college at the University of Michigan, during the winter break, I went back to Fort Wayne, Indiana, which is where I’m from. There was a very progressive mayor in power at that point and he assembled a really interesting group of people in his city government.
When I began photography at the age of 16, I decided to use it to try to change the world, and I particularly admired photographers that had used photography to affect public policy, like the Farm Security Administration photographers in the 1930s, which included people like Dorothea Lange. So I convinced this mayor to hire me to shoot pictures for the city of Fort Wayne on the themes that the city was making policy around.
During that time, I met a woman who was the public affairs officer for the city of Fort Wayne. Unbeknownst to me, two years later she moved out to California and that’s how I got a letter at the end of my sophomore year of college asking me if I would be willing to come out to California to do a four-month road trip to document the lives of the working class and the poor of California. She explained to me that the Office of Economic Opportunity needed to make a report that underlined its efforts in trying to help the the poor of California, and that they they wanted to use these photographs as a way to illustrate that report.
I was given some very basic statistics of pockets of poverty around the state of California, but no other specific direction, and I was promised just enough money to cover fleabag hotels and diner food and gasoline. I was given access to a government darkroom in Sacramento, where occasionally I would go to develop film and make contact sheets and prints, but otherwise, I was out, driving to every corner of the state.
What were your impressions of the state before you came, as someone originally from the Midwest?
I didn’t grow up on a farm [in Indiana] but I knew a little bit about farming and what really struck me when I went out to California was what I think most of the world doesn’t really realize, and that is that [much] of the state is agricultural and rural. In many ways, the San Joaquin Valley felt a whole lot more like Indiana than almost any other place I could imagine.
What did you take away from the project as a whole?
One of the aspects of this body of work that fascinates me and that I guess in some ways I’m very proud of is that one feels in the photography and in the connection with people an almost innocent and authentic view. The pictures are very direct. They’re very human and they really deal with the lives of people, because you’re looking into their eyes and getting close to them.
Another thing that struck me was that because I was dealing particularly with people that were working class or often very poor, that there was something very similar in terms of people’s plight, whether they were living in urban areas or in the countryside. Everyone I met seemed like really decent, good, hard-working people that just wanted a better life for themselves and their family. They wanted to survive with dignity, and I felt that we all owe these people a great sense of debt.
I also remember that when I spent some time with hobos — and I’m not sure if that’s a pejorative word today, but they’re a little different category of people than simply those who are homeless. Hobos were most often men that chose this lifestyle to ride the trains and stop and work in various places. But I remember being in a boxcar with four men and all four were pretty much like everyone else. It was just that their lives had kind of crossed over a line into the margins, just by a thread. And I remember realizing at this young age just how fragile life is, or how close we can be to that line at almost any time.
Something I found striking in these pictures is how little has changed, in some ways. There have always been people working in California’s fields that are underpaid and underappreciated, and in some ways, things have only gotten worse for a lot of that population.
During COVID, I lived in New York City and every day for three months from the very first day of the lockdown, I went out and I walked. I would meet people and I would ask them three questions: What was their name, their age, and how were they making it? And then after three months, I went back to Paris, and I walked the streets there and did the same thing, ultimately making a book of the pictures I took from that time called “A New York-Paris Visual Diary: The Human Face Of Covid-19.”
But the thing that struck me during COVID was that it was the working class of New York that saved all of our lives. There were whole walls of buildings on the Upper West Side that were dark at night because everyone had gone to the Hamptons or left New York, but the people that saved our lives were cashiers, postal workers, FedEx workers, nurses, doctors, medics, ambulance drivers and mostly working-class people. And looking back, I had this hope that maybe when the COVID crisis was over, that we would rectify in a general way how we looked at our society and how we value the people that are actually doing the work in our society, but in actuality, once the lockdown was over, we just went back to being ruled and led by people that have a lot of money. And, really, the well-to-do of California and the rest of the world would never go and pick their own strawberries.
Have you kept in touch with anyone whose picture you took in 1975, or heard from anyone after the fact?
I’ve for sure wondered what happened to all the people in the pictures, but unfortunately over all these years, I’ve never had contact with anyone. It would be absolutely amazing if somebody from that time would come out of the woodwork.
You’ve been a working photographer for over 50 years now, having worked in 90 countries, taking 40 covers for Newsweek, and shooting many of the last century’s most important geopolitical events. Are there moments you still can’t believe you saw, or pictures you can’t believe you took?
Well, just this morning, I signed the prints that will be in this exhibit and they’re really beautiful. They’re made in Paris and they’re traditional silver gelatin prints, beautiful quality. But I held up one of the images from The Other California – 1975, and it was this Okie, a guy that was born during the Dust Bowl in Oklahoma and moved out to California. Looking at that image today, looking in the eyes and the face of this man, I really had the impression that — even though it’s my own photograph — that I was looking at one of Dorothea Lange’s photographs. I’m very proud of the fact that there’s a continuity of that kind of attention to the heart of people’s lives in my work.
In this modern era of digital photography, on the one hand I think it’s wonderful that everyone is making photographs now more than ever before. On the other hand, I think that the world of photography has moved away from real powerful, direct human connection. And to me, that’s what’s most important. I’m a lot more interested in life than I am in photography. I mean, I care a lot about photography. I love beautiful photographs, and I try to take them as well as possible, but what’s most important to me are the themes of life that I photograph and at the center of all that is emotion.
Peter Turnley — Paris-California
Where: Leica Gallery, 8783 Beverly Blvd. in West Hollywood
When: Dec. 4-Jan. 12. Turnley will present the work at the gallery Dec. 7 from 2 to 4 p.m. and sign copies of his book “The Other California – 1975.”
