Introduction
by Willam Webb

In one of his books which Henry gave me, he wrote this inscription: 

To Bill Who, like Hitchcock, is somewhere in it but invisible to the naked eye. Henry 1/20/72

Nothing I could say would more perfectly express the kind of relationship I had with Henry Miller. The inscription, of course, referred to my well hidden participation in the book, but if the 'it' is translated to mean Henry's life, the inscription would apply equally well. I was in it, somewhere, but usually invisible!

I became aware of Henry during World War II, when I was in a camp for conscientious objectors (COs) where a few of us published a small literary magazine, the Illiterati. Henry fit our requirements for fearless experimentalism, and we ran a small piece of his in one of the issues.

Reading Henry got my juices flowing. He was busting the same idols all around that I wanted to bust. We looked upon the world in much the same way. Then I found the under-the-counter issues of the Tropic's and upon reading them discovered in Henry the reincarnation of one of my long time favorites, Francois Rabelais. Extravaganzas of dirty words in metaphors that went to the gut, virtuoso writing from exalted states of consciousness, and the warm humanity of a man in love with being alive.

It seems odd, looking back, that Henry and I so rarely talked of the many things we had in com-mon. We came together in a business relationship, not as neighbors or simply kindred souls. A great deal of what we talked about concerned matters ranging from typefaces to royalties, for I was the publisher of one of his books, To Paint is to Love Again. It was usually when others were present that we got beyond the business babble.

We did have our moments of closeness, however, particularly in the later years, and especially 
as his son Tony was being confronted with conscription to fight in Vietnam. Henry was a dedi-cated pacifist, but never had to deal with the realities of draft boards, nor did he consider tax refusal, nor any other practical, possible, expressions of his beliefs. He was pleased, however, that others did these things, and I think he admired me for doing a few of them.

When Tony found himself entangled in all the considerations that face a young fellow when his government decides he is expendable in some war it has concocted, Henry asked for my help. Would I counsel Tony? During this time Henry leaned heavily on me, as he felt totally incapable of giving his son any guidance.

Yet my frequent invisibility had its advantages. I could bring a camera to social occasions and work it quietly in the background with Henry remaining oblivious to the proceedings. His exu-berance, the flamboyant gesturing, the attentive listening, the wistfulness and humor, fell so easily into my camera it was as if I had nothing to do at all. I couldn't miss!

During the twenty years I knew Henry, I made a large number of negatives, never with the intention of publication, but solely for my own enjoyment. As it turned out later, these photographs had value for others and I was persuaded to bring together a group them for publication. Meanwhile, from time to time individual photographs from this collec-tion were published in various books and articles.

Since it was never my intention to make a coherent documentary out of these photographs, many people close to Henry during his California years do not appear in this series. I regret that, of course, but that's how it is. It's most unfortunate that Eve, of whom I was particularly fond, and Hold, Henry's fifth wife, do not appear here.  (to be continued...)