Paris – from 1967 to 1973

In these days, whenever I could, I went hitchhiking around France alone or with friends searching to broaden my photographic horizons. If I was low on money, I’d do chalk drawings on the sidewalk which usually earned me enough money for food. Philippe decided to keep me company on one of my early ventures and we travelled all over France, sleeping under the stars or sometimes sneaking into a shelter that good fortune placed in our path.

Philippe had wanted to do a juggling act in the street for a while, and on this first trip when he gave it a try, he was incredibly successful. He made more money in a few minutes than I did in several hours with my drawings, so we decided that that’s how we’d get by: I would help him set up, snap some pictures as the audience stood riveted by his number, keep an eagle eye out for the police, and sometimes pass the hat before the crowd dispersed. I witnessed Philippe sow the seeds of his poetic world which grew to be one of the most beautiful street acts I have ever seen to this day.

When we got back to Paris, his street juggling character was born. From nowhere Philippe would suddenly appear on his monocycle as if by magic, dressed all in black, with a beat up leather bag across his back, and a ragged top hat on his head. Silently he would trace a chalk circle on the ground and from the middle of this improvised circus ring, he’d attract an audience by juggling a whirlwind of white balls. Or he’d surprise people as they sat on a café terrace by dancing on a slack rope he tied between two trees. I never got tired of watching him in part because of the structure of his performance – he always did a subtle and surprising combination of juggling and prestidigitation – but above all, it was the way he interacted with the audience that made each show unique. I saw the creation of his street routine and watched it slowly evolve, maturing like a fine wine improves with age. It always held the same delight and wonder for me. I always felt like a kid seeing the circus for the first time.

For years I photographed Philippe in his circle almost every night - always with an eye out for the police. If I did see them coming, so as not to alarm his fans, I had to warn him discretely. We were so in tune with each other, it took no more than a certain sort of glance from me and he’d escape from the cops, disappearing as mysteriously as he’d arrived, leaving behind an audience as amused by his exit as they had been by his act.

Notre Dame Cathedral – June 26, 1971

6:30 AM. After a year of meticulous preparation, we’d succeeded in getting into the towers the night before, using a key we’d had made from a wax mould of the lock and rigging the wire with the help of Jean-François. Everything went exactly as planned. We finished securing the wire before sunrise, and Jean-François went down to join Annie and a handful of friends who’d been on the lookout for us all through the night. I stayed with Philippe a few more hours serenely relishing our secret and watching the city slowly wake up. Then it was time for me to go back down as well, while Philippe prepared for his walk. We had decided he’d wait until the towers were open to the public to begin. Since I was first in line, I was the first “tourist” to enter the tower at 10 o’clock, and the echo of my footsteps running up the old stone stairway was the signal for him to get ready to step out onto the cable.

Notre Dame Cathedral – June 26, 1971

10:05 AM. Minutes ago, the first tourists entered the North tower for the traditional tour of the cathedral. As they make their way to the South tower, none of them suspect that just a few meters above their heads is a silent visitor who arrived earlier. But the people in the street have noticed him and a crowd is beginning to gather to watch.

Notre Dame Cathedral – June 26 1971

10:40 AM. The wirewalker doesn’t need to be saved, and the firemen are powerless to convince him otherwise. The police decide to evacuate the tourists, and as I managed to be the first one there, I manage to be the last one to leave. Just before I head down the staircase, I look back and see Philippe’s face ironically floating in the void between the towers. Surrounded by policemen, we can only speak with our eyes. One last photo, one last glance between partners in artistic crime. The mission is accomplished, as well as the first photo documentation crowning our years of friendship and complicity.

Vallauris – October 1971

This trip began like most of our road trips: we’d leave Paris and drive South, making a brief stop at Vary to pick up some equipment, then press on through the night taking turns sleeping and driving, often with Annie by our side. Weighted down with all the gear we needed for the wire, our van couldn’t go very fast, so we almost always took small side roads. When the moon was full, it cast a beautiful pale light on the countryside and we’d drive with the headlights off in order to admire the ethereal scenery. I liked to be behind the wheel in the early morning to see the sun pierce through the mist at the bend of a road. This time, like the others, our journey rewarded us with those unforgettable instants.

Arriving in Vallauris around lunchtime, we discover that the village is celebrating Picasso’s 90th birthday and Philippe is invited to perform. As always, the rigging is fastidious and finished well after sundown.

1:30AM. Philippe tests his wire in the dark tranquillity of night. After the frenetic job of rigging, I savour this calm moment with deep serenity. Up on the cable, it seems as though he’s floating above the houses sprinkling magic into sleeping children’s dreams from the tip of his balancing pole. The Sandman has arrived.

World Trade Center – August 7, 1974

7 AM. The cable is finally secured and Philippe is about to walk between the towers. This has been without a doubt the longest night of my life. A night of extreme apprehension, distress, frustration and exhaustion. The task seemed impossible and all through the night I was convinced it wouldn’t be done in time. Just before midnight, when we were about to begin pulling the actual cable between the towers, Philippe made an inconceivable error: he had not thought to secure the wire on his side before starting to pass it to me. Within seconds, the entire cable and the rope that preceded it plunged into the void. Now, instead of having to pull 160 feet of cable, I had 400 feet to deal with and because it was hanging in the void, the weight was multiplied considerably. As soon as I started, I realized that Philippe had not executed the dry run in the forest I had insisted upon as part of the preparation in order to determine what gear would be needed. I found myself not only with more than twice the length of wire we’d planned on, but with the wrong equipment necessary to get the job done.

Throughout the night, I relived all the frustrations of the past six months of preparation. It was painfully obvious that Philippe had learned nothing from our aborted attempt three months before, and he had never done the groundwork I had requested. I had had to give him an ultimatum in order to impose my plan to get us safely and secretly to the top. And here we were, so close to our goal and yet almost certain to fail again because he hadn’t followed my instructions.

Alan, the person Philippe had found to help me on my tower, decided that it would never work and gave up almost immediately. I admit I thought it was hopeless as well, but Philippe was my friend and I had to keep going in spite of my doubts. For seven hours, I pulled the cable like a madman, running from one anchor point to the other, trying to gain precious seconds with each maneuver as time inevitably slipped by. Although I had explained my dire situation to him using an interphone system we had set up, Philippe didn’t believe the extent of the catastrophe until dawn when he could see the wire still hanging between the towers, when it should have been drawn tight hours before.

To this day, I don’t know how – against all odds – I got it across in time. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but the cable was at last secured between the two towers and Philippe was going to be able to make his dream come true. Jean François danced with joy. Despite the dizzying gap that separated us, we were connected in our hearts. We had succeeded!

World Trade Center – August 7, 1974

One foot on the tower, and one on the wire. This is the crucial moment – the moment of transformation. He hasn’t yet passed the border between himself and the void, but he’s already in another world.

It’s only been a few minutes since I secured the cable. My hands are frozen from hours of continual strain, and my fingers refuse to obey me. It’s almost impossible for me to steady my camera, and my sight is fuzzy from fatigue so I cannot focus. But in a moment it will be too late – I have to get these shots. I do an approximate setting and hit the shutter release. At this precise instant I feel like I’m in total communication with Philippe.

But he is already in his own world in the process of passing from one universe to another.

World Trade Center – August 7. 1974

This is by far the worst wire installation we have ever done. The cable is completely crooked and one of the guide wires (cavaletti) is backwards. For the first time since Philippe and I have been working together, my heart is filled with terror. There is hardly any wind, and I know the altitude has no effect on Philippe, but because of the catastrophic rigging circumstances this is nowhere near the perfect line he’s grown accustomed to walking.

It could be the difficulty of the last seven hours combined with my desperation and exhaustion that are making me so anxious. It could also be the ways that Alan had betrayed me. We had agreed that I would be the only photographer to shoot the walk, but Alan decided not only to rest while I pulled the wire all night alone, but to bring his camera in spite of our agreement, and stole my exclusive rights.

The victory is slightly bitter, in fact it doesn’t really feel like a victory. Philippe has only taken a few steps and he seems tense. The wire is stable; I’m quite certain it won’t budge, but this is the first time Philippe has ever zigzaged across the sky.

World Trade Center – August 7, 1974

What a relief. He’s just walked over the first cavaletti going towards the middle of the cable. Suddenly a smile illuminates his face and all my fears dissolve in that moment. He’s on solid ground. It’s clear that the wire is poorly strung, but I’m certain he’s in complete control and that he won’t have any trouble walking over the backwards cavaletti.

In this instant, I am sure he is safe.

World Trade Center – August 7, 1974

7:10 AM. It has been barely six months since this dream entered our minds. When Philippe returned form his first trip to New York the morning of January 31, 1974, he ran to tell me about his latest discovery: gigantic 110 story twin towers under construction in downtown Manhattan that would be the tallest buildings in the world. What an ideal place to string a wire! He needed my help as he had for the walk at Notre Dame.

I didn’t hesitate for a second. Of course I’d be with him on this, but my new job and family responsibilities prevented me from leaving Paris to prepare the coup. I told him he had to return to New York alone to do the groundwork, and that once he had all the necessary information, we could devise a serious plan to get into the towers undetected and secretly set up his cable.

Unfortunately, nothing went as I had hoped. Philippe never did what I’d asked of him, or gathered any concrete information, and I had to argue incessantly with him to get him to do a minimum of preparation. In May, we had to abandon the walk, and even when I imposed my plan afterwards, he didn’t deliver. The rigging of this wire was a seven hour nightmare destined to fall apart right up to the last second. In fact, from beginning to end this adventure was total chaos and would never have succeeded without the precious help of Jim Moore, Jean Pierre Dousseau, Barry Greenhouse, and of course Annie Allix.

The police have just appeared on Philippe’s tower. Time for me to go, so I quickly take a few last shots of him lying down on the wire. The mission is accomplished: my friend is poised between the towers, and we have made his dream come true. I leave him alone with his thoughts, face to face with his dream, face to face with the clouds. Face to face with himself.