This is Milton, from Goldfield, Nevada. Goldfield is an out-of-the-way place between two other out-of-the-way-places, Tonapah and Rhyolite. We came upon Milton while driving through Goldfield in search of the International Car Forest of the Last Church, an ingenious display of rust, metal, angular buses, half-buried cars and graffiti. All things no photographer should be without.
Milton came to Goldfield from North Beach, Maryland, a place I know and was surprised to hear its name come up in the distant Nevada desert.
"I came here because I was broke," he laments. "I knew how to make money but not how to keep it."
Milton's father died years ago and he was just hours late to the bedside. "They said he had a few weeks, but he didn't. I haven't trusted authority since."
The display behind Milton and in the photographs that follow is a collection of "Art Cars" that have made the rounds to Burning Man a few times. None belong to Milton but he seems an authority on everything Goldfield. "The one with the boat on top made it to Texas and back!"
He asked (assumed?) we were on our way to the large "Car Forest" art display. "We are!" we both chirped; me somewhat more animated about the prospect than Katherine.
"Well, go down the main street for two blocks, take a left, go up a hill, down a hill and up another hill and there they'll be, standing tall and Ready for inspection, sir!" and he smiled his happy, one-tooth smile and saluted. I knew then we'd never forget Milton.
Running out of things to say I asked him what he did in Goldfield, "I'm just here waiting for the senior bus," he says. Not the answer I'm looking for but I let it go.