For a dozen years I exhibited photos at assorted outdoor festivals around Chicago . There were the exclusive art fairs, open only to "artists" -- painters, sculptors, photographers and jewelers. But the neighborhood festivals were preferable to me; they were open to everything! There were booths that sold every ethic variety of food and drink; booths that promoted gay rights and banks and beauty parlors; multiple stages that presented every kind of music and sometimes theater; children's petting zoos and carnival activities.

In the beginning it was a wonderful experience, but each year the spaces shrank a couple of feet, and the new spaces were sold more and more to merchandise sellers. On one side of me would be a vendor selling $5 t-shirts with beer slogans on them. On the other side was a seller of cheap sun-glasses; and then across from me might be a vendor of used books or $2 sex toys. Hard to compete with those!

I've always detested the market place, or at least my participation in it. But in 1985 I joined in for the exposure it afforded me, trying to get my name out there in a new way. Although I'd lived in Chicago in the early sixties, as a young painter working out his techniques, and again in the early 70's as a derelict on the street, it was not until the 80s that I was finally able to present myself as an artist of consistency.

So in 1985 I built an elaborate display out of bamboo and pine, various scraps of wood made collapsible, and dragged it and my baskets of photos around town all summer in an old school bus with no seats. People were impressed, and I was eager to entertain them, reaching for a photo and telling its story to anyone interested.

I had a system worked out; the photos were arranged chronologically, from 1967 to present, so that it was easy for me to locate a particular image. Of course they were often rearranged by people browsing thorough them, pulling them out of place to show a friend, but usually I knew precisely where a photo could be found.

Not so for JoJo: "Burkhart, why don't you arrange your images according to subject matter. I'm not interested in looking through endless images of children and old folks and derelicts; I'm only interested in looking at pictures of perverts!" JoJo was becoming a famous club kid, cock-sucker, doll maker and super-star all rolled into one. But don't let the labels limit you: JoJo transcended all of the above!

I couldn't have received more practical advice, and for the next fair I organized everything into categories: Naked White Women; Hippies, Yippies and Punks; Lunatics and Losers; Kowards, Kluxers and No Good Nazi Dogs. Even a child would be able to find their way around in there!

And it was an instant hit; people seemed to enjoy the new categories, commenting to each other about their novelty. And true enough, except for a handful of young photographers, the majority of people were only interested in certain subject matters, not my entire body of work.

I even set up a section for viewing the nudes: Peep Show, 50 Cents! Usually one person would pay the fee, and another six people would watch over the shoulder! Even at those rates, I collected enough to pay my expenses for the day, $30 or $40 for food and parking.

Things proceeded, until I arrived at Custer's Last Stand in trendy upscale Evanston . This juried fair was one of the most fun; with a large park nearby for festivities, and the adjacent business streets for vendors of items as diverse as bundles of socks to pancakes and motor oil.

I had just set up my display and was about to relax with a cup of coffee, when a young man looked up from the Pervert section and asked me, in a hurt tone, "Sir, may I ask you why you have homosexuals in your Pervert section?" He couldn't have been more than 16.

"Well son, where else am I gonna put them. in the Naked White Women section?"

"I knew it!" he was immediately indignant, "I knew you were insensitive the moment I laid eyes on you!" And off he scurried, like a little field mouse fighting his way through a maze of laughing on-lookers. I knew right away what his problem was; it was obvious that this young black boy was "coming out of the closet." Maybe he'd read about it in school, or maybe it was in his genes (jeans?), but he was definitely headed into the gay life. Homosexuality what was he called it.

I didn't call it anything, really. People act out their images of themselves. Over time, the soul evolves and those images often change. People are likely to act a thousand different ways in a very short life time. I had personally acted out most of the life styles of the people portrayed in my photos. I am continuously an old hermit, a middle-aged businessman, a young punk.

Sometimes I was in character for years, other times only during the time it took to give birth to the photo. But I was no longer insulted if someone saw me as something other than what I now imagined myself to be. Chances are they were right. There's an old saying that when a thief sees a priest, all he sees is his wallet. Even though I haven't used drugs in years, many druggies still ask me if I want to get high, and many mothers still clutch their children to their breasts when I pass by.

Before long, the kid was back. This time he had one of the festival organizers with him. "Uhhh. could you change the label to read Alternative Life Styles?"

"Why of course!" I lettered a new label, as the two of them watched intently. I think the committee member was also a homosexual, the way he and the boy gazed approvingly into each other's eyes as I worked on the label.

"So, what category did you want me to use this label on. Naked White Women or Hippies & Punks or maybe the Ku Klux Klan?"

They both stormed off, arm in arm, and of course I wasn't invited back to the fair the following year. Ah, bigotry and prejudice, how two-faced it is! But you would think a couple of homosexuals would be more open to other people's worlds, now wouldn't you?