You seen them helicopters an airplanes? Well, they got somebody's picture an they huntin im

while i was sick the other day, i was websurfing around for information on the famous old paramount recording studio in grafton wisconsin that produced some of the oldest recordings of the blues greats. i happened to run into a story from someone interested enough in charley patton to track down his grave and abouts; definetly the kind of thing i do given enough free time. i had to laugh especially about part of his story meeting up two nearly-anachronistic workmen at a juke joint down the road because i have a lot in common with BOTH sides of the conversation; the person asking to photograph and the person refusing. i'm not going to elaborate, but as far as my personal information on the net goes, i'm a 21st-century equivalent of the dude who doesn't let his picture taken for (likely entirely unneccessary) asscovering reasons.

quoted from here
(buncha other interesting stuff there too)

"Ah, come on, Slim," George pleaded. "Let the white man take yore picture. You pho toe genic!" George was now slapping both knees and stomping both feet on the floor.

Slim, grim faced, could obviously see nothing funny, much less hilarious. "My damn name ain't Slim. An' that white man ain't takin' my picture."

Normally I would have accepted Slim's first "No" and left it at that. But George was having such fun, and Slim looked more embarrassed than angry. . . . Besides, there was that huge gold and red medallion and all that dust. . . . So I said, "Why?"

And Slim said, solemnly: "Because I'm a wanted man."

George said, "Huh?"

I said, "By who?"

"Tha po-lice."

George said, "What? Ain't no po-lice wantin' you."

I said, "What po-lice?"

And Slim said, solemnly: "All of ‘em."

George said, "Shiiiiiiiit."

I said, "All of ‘em? The FBI? The CIA? NBC?"

"All of ‘em."

"Shiiiiiiiit. Ain't no po-lice after you. An' if they are, what's that got to do with this white man takin' yore picture?"

"A white man takes yore picture an' you a wanted man, the po-lice'll find you no matter where you hide. You seen them helicopters an' airplanes flyin' over? Well, they got somebody's picture an' they huntin' ‘im. Ain't no place you can hide if the po-lice's got your picture."

If I had been watching George's face instead of Slim's, I'll bet that George's mouth was open in shock, just like mine. He said, "Slim, you don't know shit. Ain't no way the po-lice in an airplane can find you with just yore picture."

"Can, too! An' my name ain't Slim!"

George stood. "You ‘member that guy in Indianola that almost got caught by the po-lice? He put on a dress an' women's shoes and walked right by them po-lice." George suddenly strutted across the floor and turned and strutted by Slim. The effect was like watching Mike Tyson as a blue-cotton- and tan-dust-decorated drag queen strutting across the floor. I choked and spit out strawberry soda and almost peed on myself. "You see?" George told Slim. "Them po-lice had his picture and he got slap away."

"I see," Slim said, "that you better not ever put on a dress an' try to get away from the po-lice!"