Photography came early. In high school. Late ‘70s. With my father’s Nikkormat and Mr. Haust’s photography class. There was a year as a “Photographic Illustration” undergrad at Rochester Institute of Technology, one of the best photography schools in the Americas, at the end of which my professor said, “Patrick, I don’t think you’re going to be a photographer.” In the sense that he meant, at the time, he was right. I’m not much of a “Photographic Illustrator”; I don’t make my living from photography. But, then, here am I.