Finding Vivian Maier Page #7

scene with screaming and yelling,

where she's yelling at this guy,

telling him to bring them back,

but some already had paint

on them, or were ripped.

"Now they're all covered with paint!

Now I can't use those papers!

"They're covered with paint now.

How could you give him my papers?"

So I said... I just said, "Viv, those aren't

your papers. Those are my papers.

"And there are too many

papers in this house!"

I remember my parents telling me,

"Viv's not gonna be with us any more.

"She's gotten too crazy. "

Like, not that she

wasn't already crazy,

but that the craziness has increased to

a level that we can't tolerate any more.

I remember so clearly having

to say to her, "Viv...

"I think you're going to have

to look for another job. "

How hard it was to say that to her.

But you know what? I don't

think she was even surprised.

She looked back at me, and

she said, "Do you?" she said.

"Do you?" she said. "Well...

"then, what I want is

two months' notice,

"and two months' pay,"

or something like that.

She gave me her sort of...

what she wanted,

as if she had it on the tip of her

tongue and she'd figured it out.

And I didn't know whether

that was because

she had been dismissed from

positions often enough

that she knew what to say,

or whether she had,

in a way, anticipated it.

My husband and I and our

children, after she was gone,

do you know, we just jumped in the

car and drove up to Michigan,

which is something

we never used to do,

just because it was a huge emotional

thing, not to have her...

See, I'm still weeping about it,

because I really cared about Viv.

And I think she cared about us,

and it was just one of those things,

where she was a person

who didn't fit in very well.

She just had those

edges that couldn't...

And I think we...

Well, I flatter myself,

I think we were one of

the most sympathetic,

accepting and congenial

families that she worked with.

I don't know that.

I think it may be true.

And we couldn't make it work.

In 1996, we were getting my

mother's house ready for sale,

and when I told Vivian, I said, "You can

stay here for a couple of months.

"I won't put it on the market yet,

you know, we have to get things ready,

"and, you know, I'm not...

I'm not kicking you out, you can stay. "

Vivian was to be there,

you know, and to show it,

but she was not at all helpful

with the real estate people.

She just didn't want to let them in.

They were calling me, saying she

won't let them show the house...

You know, "We've gotta...

You've gotta do something, Judy. "

So I would call her and say, "Vivian,

you have to let people see the house. "

They did manage to get in,

and they did manage to sell.

I think we closed the

last day of the year.

The lawyer called and said, "Judy,

we're just afraid she's not gonna be out. "

And I said, "She'll be out.

Don't worry. She will be out. "

The last time I saw her,

I'm still unhappy about.

It must have been, like...

probably 2000.

I was in Wilmette, going to the beach

with my daughter and her children

and four other children

of her friends.

It was a hot summer day, like,

August, like, 100-degree day.

And all of a sudden, we see this

woman walking down the street.

And immediately, we were like,

"There's Vivian. "

I hadn't seen her in 30 years.

But we recognised each other at once.

And we both... "Oh, hi,

how are you, Vivian?"

and, "How are you, Carole?"

and "It's been so long. "

We were like, "We'll, it was great,

you know, to see you,"

and, er, we said, "We have...

we have to get going. "

And she was like,

"Please don't leave. "

She was like, "Carole!"

That's my mother's name.

"Carole, please don't leave. "

And you're with a bunch of kids,

and they're swirling around you,

and they want to go to the beach.

It's a hot summer day, you know.

You're, like, stuck.

And she kept saying "Talk to

me, let's talk, let's talk. "

And I kept saying, "I can't do it, Vivian.

I have to go, I have to go. "

She kept saying, "But you're

my friend, you're my friend. "

And...

I dropped the ball.

That's all I can say.

I feel badly about it.

And the, er... despair in her

voice about seeing a friend...

And I feel that I let her down.

So I proceeded to go to

the beach with the kids.

I said, "Follow us," but she

didn't wanna do that, so...

that was the end of that one.

I do remember once she wouldn't

tell me where we were going.

"I don't want to tell you.

It's a surprise. "

She took me to the stock yards.

It didn't come into my

consciousness that,

"Oh, this is where they

go to kill the animals. "

There was a, trailer full of sheep.

I do remember guys poking

at them with sticks

to get them out down this long ramp.

After they were done

offloading the sheep,

they started throwing

out a dead sheep.

The one that got trampled.

That was the first

time I ever saw death.

Looking back, thinking about it,

it didn't bother me.

It was just kind of odd,

I couldn't understand it.

I've always been a critter person,

and these are my guys, the sheep.

The end of her life was something that

I worried about when she worked for me.

I thought, "How can

this end for her?"

I don't think it had a happy ending.

I was very glad that these men that she

took care of when they were little kids

kind of came to her rescue.

They got her an apartment

and paid for her rent.

- Do you... do you live in the area?

- Yes.

Do you remember a woman who

used to sit on this bench a lot,

wearing a big floppy hat?

Was she the French lady?

Yeah, I remember her.

People who still, live around here,

yeah, we remember her.

She was here a lot,

sitting on the bench.

But I don't think anybody

really talked to her.

There's a lot of eccentric

people around here,

and I just thought

she was one of them.

You knew that, just leave her alone.

Sometimes she'd be at the dumpsters.

You'd ask her, you know, "Do you

need help?" or "Do you need food?"

And she would just kind

of yell at you in French.

How'd you know her?

Just from seeing her

in the neighbourhood.

- And you'd sit with her?

- Well, I'd always sit on her bench,

and she'd sit there, and it took weeks

or months before she'd even speak to me.

I was there in the alley all the time,

going through the garbage,

so I had a bunch of old clothes, and

I had a wool hat, one time, I gave her.

And she took it, she said, "Oh, that's

great, I'll wear that when I sleep".

She was very short with people.

She was funny, though. Nice lady.

When I was riding my bike,

sometimes I'd cross her path.

And she'd yell to me,

"Get a bell! Get a bell!"

And sometimes, I'd be out

in the alley in the winter,

and she'd see me without a hat,

and she'd yell, "Get a hat! Get a hat!"

- She was about that bell on the bike.

- Yes.

Well, who would have known that

she was actually a great artist,

and she'd come to dumpster diving?

- That's the sad...

- I mean, sitting on the park bench,

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