Full Circle: A Half Century of Friendship

Abstract

I was not Doran Ross's mentor; I was the doorman who cracked open the portal to the seductive world of sub-Saharan African art.It was a half century ago; I was teaching my very first university art history course, which was also the first African art history course offered at California State University, Fresno (CSUF). Into that 1971 room wandered Doran Ross, an English-psychology major still in search of a passion. Doran remained in the class for the semester and stayed with the subject for the rest of his life.After he aced all the exams, writing stand-alone essays in both my African and Andean classes, I suggested he had a natural aptitude for the arts of Africa and should consider devoting some time to it. The next semester he became my reader. The following year, fully committed to African art history, Doran motored off in his maroon Volvo to explore grad schools from coast to coast.Despite that beginning—and given that I was commuting between UCLA and CSUF, teaching four classes, and trying to finish a dissertation—I cannot say that I knew Doran well in those early days. Three years later that changed and I learned something about Doran the man.I was coleading a group of students on a 6,700-mile road trip from Fresno through Mexico (Fig. 1); Doran signed on as a codriver. In central Veracruz some American retiree travelers asked what we were about. I explained the nature of art history and its profound role in learning the ways and worldviews of other cultures. A bizarre diatribe of xenophobic comments followed this from one of the visiting retirees. Bewildered, we at first attempted to engage and reason, to little avail. Doran stood up, calmly stated: “I don't have to listen to this crap,” and strode away. Anticipating Larry McMurtry's Woodrow F. Call, Doran wouldn't “tolerate rudeness or bigotry in a man.”For the next decade, Doran and I traveled together on three continents and did field work together in Peru (Fig. 2) and Ghana. In the latter we worked for two field seasons with a team of carvers from Kumasi (Fig. 3) and I witnessed Doran's relentless attention to detail not only in recording informants’ words with precision, but also in his photography. All who have read his voluminous writings have noted that most are accompanied by his excellent photographs. Unacknowledged is the effort involved in acquiring the images, and I cite a pair of examples. Saltpond, 1980: we are attempting to capture the motifs on both sides of an asafo flag that was at least 100 feet long. It was undulating through the streets accompanied by great crowds and individuals firing ancient muzzle loaders into the air and, occasionally, as close to our ears as they dared. Doran ran on one side, I on the other, frantically trying to adjust focus, depth of field, and shutter speed (remember, this is predigital) while the action surrounded us. Mankessim, 1980: we are documenting a long procession of asafo flags and dancers; Doran is shooting from a crouched position at the edge of the action; I'm photographing from a balcony. A young man is doing “crowd control” with a short whip, keeping audience away from the dancers and, not seeing Doran in his low crouch, smacks Ross across the head with his whip. Doran unfolds to his considerable height, gazes down at the diminutive whip bearer who appears stunned (perhaps sees his life pass before his eyes), Doran smiles broadly, and we carry on. I invite you to gaze at his flag photographs with new appreciation.A crucial part of fieldwork in Ghana involved ritual libations, and I vividly recall accompanying Doran to interviews with Ghanaian chiefs, always carrying the obligatory bottle. Handed to an elder, shown to the chief, the bottle would then make a journey around the seated dignitaries and visitors, each pouring a small “dash” to the ground, an offering to the ancestors, and then imbibing a sip themselves. Research, meeting, and travel days often also ended with a less formal but nevertheless ritual form of unwinding. And so my memories of the Clubs and Stars that helped us navigate the journeys from Accra to Bolgatanga and Takoradi to Keta are crystalline and a reminder of how seriously Doran undertook everything, from his research and writing, to discussions of music and cinema, to celebratory sipping.I am certain that, as we mourn the loss of our generous and dedicated friend, all who were fortunate enough to enjoy a day's end with Doran will find their sorrow tempered by those fond memories and will join me in raising a glass once more. Salud, amigo. By God we had some times!