By John Cofield

When William Faulkner was still Bill Falkner, more than a few locals made fun of him. 

He should be pursuing a conventional job, they would say. Then came “Sanctuary,” followed shortly by New York seeking a photograph of this up-and-coming writer from a small Mississippi town. 

Mr. Faulkner did not want to have the picture made. Said it was a waste of his valuable time. 

But after his wife Estelle and Granddad worried the author about it, he gave in and walked into the studio, cigarette in hand, grabbed a chair, turned it around toward the camera, sat down, and looked at the lens. 

Granddad took the shot and it will live forever in the literary world.