Turning constraints into narrative keys: Paul Fusco's Kennedy’s Funeral Train [1968].

What is RFK Funeral Train, and why we talk about a funeral?

Wait, wasn’t it meant to be a cycling photography blog? And now we read about funerals?

Yes, and this is precisely why Paul Fusco’s classic work is invaluable.

How many times did you think “I’d want to shoot some pics at that castle over there, but I’ll be too late for the camping?”

When we travel, we have sort-of rails to follow, even if we roam freely and have a lot of time.

Enters Paul Fusco (1930–2020), a Magnum photographer (and also Matt Black’s mentor – we’ll probably talk about Black, because he’s another “wow” resource for our cycling-photography goals. RFK Funeral train is a political and social reportage, one that before becoming a classical work was neglected for decades in Magnum’s archives. It came about by chance.

It’s also a reportage shot entirely from a train seat, which is another fascinating aspect because, as probably noone ever said,

“Trains are a cyclist's best friends.”

As Fusco himself recounts, “That day I wasn’t supposed to work, but I lived in Manhattan and decided to drop by the office. […] There was a heavy atmosphere of anguish. Bill Arthur, the editor, saw me and called me into his office. ‘Paul, go to Penn Station; they’re taking Kennedy’s coffin to Washington. Get on that train.’ He didn’t add another word, didn’t say what he wanted, what kind of photos, whether he had any ideas—nothing. I didn’t ask anything either; that’s how it worked back then. […] I quickly found the train, which was surrounded by Secret Service agents. I showed my press card and got on. An agent pointed to a seat in the eighth car and told me, ‘Sit here and don’t move.’”

Fusco had three cameras — two Leicas and a Nikon — and a few dozen rolls of film. However, he was forbidden to photograph the casket, which was kept in the ninth car.

“I didn’t know what to do. I figured that in Washington and later at Arlington Cemetery, we’d find dozens of colleagues and cameras waiting. I needed an idea, fast. I was filled with anxiety, but all it took was looking out the window to understand: I saw the crowds, and it all became clear. I lowered the window and started shooting. I stayed in the same position for eight hours, photographing the people by the tracks. That was the story.”

And what a story. He was seated on the right side of the train, heading south: at first, the light flooded the entire scene, and later, as the sun set, it illuminated the people from behind. Fusco took thousands of photos, and his reportage ended at the final stop—Arlington.

Let’s get back to cycling and the themes that interest us—there are so many here. The reasons why Fusco is such a valuable author are stylistic, artistic, logistical, and conceptual. Essentially, he brings it all to the table.

In fact, Fusco turned coal into diamonds, exploiting the very limited situation to his own advantage to create a specific narrative. But this is only the first element of his magic.

People, faces, emotions

In interviews about that pivotal day, Fusco recalls:

“I was overwhelmed by the constant flow of people, by their variety and their grief; the loss they had suffered was visible. Most of the time, we hide—we don’t want people to know what we’re feeling. But that day, almost no one was hiding; it was a wave of uninterrupted emotion.”

Critic Louis Menand, in his piece for The New Yorker, insists on this, noticing that he focused on people’s faces, put against a blurred background; this way, he focused on emotions: “Fusco’s photographs are extraordinary in every way. […] There’s a nakedness that is rare in public. These people don’t think anyone is looking at them; —a nakedness that many photographers have tried to capture. It’s here.”

For different and happier reasons, something similar happens during cycling adventures (let alone ultracycling races, where all barriers come down very quickly).

Fatigue breaks down our barriers, and the threshold of our embarrassment rises dramatically: on a trip with friends, on the first day, we walk 30 meters away to change clothes; by the second day, the first tree will be far enough, and by the third—who cares, I’m just changing here besides the campfire.

This nakedness isn’t just physical, obviously. We stop hiding our emotions, whether it’s a huge grin when spotting a roadside trattoria or utter dismay when discovering it’s been abandoned since 2009. Our gestures betray our state of mind, our posture reveals fatigue, and the vacant stare while resting at a table confirms it all. All this is a great raw material for pictures, because, like Fusco, we’re not dealing with an ordinary situation, but an extraordinary one. In this sense, bicycles are catalysts or accelerators of both emotions and stories: they bring emotions to the surface and make them vividly visible.

Seeking the story on the margins

Imagine being in Fusco’s shoes and receiving the same assignment. The immediate thought would be to capture the motorcade, the solemn ceremony, the minimalist symmetry of Arlington Cemetery, and the solemn, impassive faces. That’s the obvious subject of the reportage: the funeral.

But on second thought, that’s not much—or rather, it’s a bit empty. Beyond providing a photo for a newspaper’s front page, such an image doesn’t convey much: it gives the news – the fact – and nothing more.

This black-and-white photo of the funeral (perhaps also by Fusco) depicts the fact of the funeral, and little more. It is news, whereas the images from the train are a story.

Driven by necessity, Fusco chooses to look where others aren’t: the edges of the story. And here he uncovers a much more compelling narrative. In theory, the train journey is a secondary, logistical detail; but in reality, by photographing the crowds along the tracks, he captures something far deeper—an emotional, human response that transforms the story’s narrative. These photos remain relevant even today, speaking to those of us who never knew RFK or are not even American. They allow us to understand his popularity, the historical period he lived through, and the places he called home. These images tell the story of his life more effectively than the story of his death.

Similarly, in cycling adventures, focusing on the unexpected, the peripheral, or the moments between moments often leads to the most meaningful and memorable images.

When we think “cycling photography” we immediately think of action, speed, athletism, physical achievement. But the reality is that interesting things emerge from the non-cycling moments.

Right now – July 2026 – I am dotwatching TCR while on holiday, and this picture by Saskia Dugon reminds me why I love shooting ultra: the bike is not even there, yet the story is powerful. Why has this guy stopped? Where is his bike? is he waiting for a mechanic to repair some stuff? Is he waiting for food? Is He thinking of scratching? Where are we? There are visual hints of a balkan-ish language, but nothing sure. Then. of course, the people: did they saw him? Are they going to talk each other, what are they thinking of this smelly cyclist? Is that a bus stop, perhaps?

I’m always on the look for this kind of photographs when I cover ultraraces (incidentally, this is why Checkpoints are also irresistible).

From constraints to consistency

In the Funeral Train photos, there’s a strong formal consistency. Unsurprisingly, given that Fusco’s perspective was as limited as it gets. Sure, he could change lenses, cameras, and settings (of his three cameras, it seems that one was in black and white and two in Kodachrome, though we don’t know the focal lengths). But ultimately, he was on a moving train, and that perspective didn’t change. Quite a big constraint.

Most of the photos are horizontal, adding to their coherence. All are shot from a high vantage point, as the train passed over embankments or elevated tracks through urban centers. This accidental framing also has symbolic value, contributing to the narrative by suggesting reverence and importance from Fusco’s elevated perspective—a fortunate coincidence that reinforces the story.

So, from this constraints Fusco obtained a strong visual homogeneity which further reinforces the narrative.

If the photos were a mix of black-and-white and color, or if the focal lengths varied widely, or the point of view was low then high – our eyes would lose focus. Instead, we are forced to sit still as the train slowly moves from New York to Arlington.

In this linear flow, a few exceptions stand out and give the occasional “different” photograph: for example the tighter shot of an African American woman or the funeral itself.

This coherence and attention to the margins of the story are valuable lessons. They remind us to embrace constraints and look for hidden narratives, whether on a bike trip or in any other storytelling endeavor. By doing so, we can create stories that resonate far beyond the immediate moment.

Fortunate constraints

That’s not all. One of the most compelling aspects of Fusco’s Funeral Train project is that, by chance, its forced consistency is reinforced by the natural course of the day. The train journey begins in broad daylight, with bright overhead sunlight. As the train moves on, the shadows grow longer, and the golden hues of sunset backlight the people gathered to honor RFK. Eventually, the light fades into darkness, forcing Fusco to use slower shutter speeds, which resulted in blurred, dimly lit photos. As he recalls,

“As the light faded, the photographs became blurry, grainy. I started to worry as I watched the sun go down. The faces became less and less recognizable: it was the dissolution of a story, of a life, of the American dream.”

This transition from light to darkness provided an organic aesthetic to tell the story of a funeral, mirroring the journey from hope to loss, from love to tragedy and grief.

Other Projects based on constraints

Fusco’s use of constraints has inspired many other photographers. For example, Jacopo Di Cera’s MI-RO project uses a similar theme of a train journey, with an added element of formal consistency: each photo is framed to mimic the square windows of a train. This device enhances the coherence of the project, turning a simple aesthetic choice into a storytelling tool.

After discussing Roy DeCarava and his unique narrative style, we continue gathering reflections on other authors and projects that inspire storytelling about bicycles and travel.

Three lessons from Funeral Train and cycling photography

It should be clear, by now, why Fusco’s work matters so much to us. For cyclists and storytellers alike, Fusco’s cornerstone work is a reminder that limits can become strengths, provided we approach them creatively.

1. Turning necessity into opportunity

The idea that “every crisis holds an opportunity” or “when life gives you lemon, make lemonade” applies here. Constraints, like being stuck on a bike route or unable to deviate from a path, can spark creativity.

For example, while cycling, you could limit yourself to taking only frontal photos of the road ahead. Such a constraint might result in unexpected and compelling moments: animals crossing, abandoned objects, or serendipitous encounters. Planning ahead can make this even more effective, as the narrative gains coherence when guided by the limits we define on purpose.

Even if you’re traveling with a disposable camera, unable to adjust settings, you can embrace that constraint and use it as part of your visual narrative. That is the case for example with the smartphone, which usually has poor handling: better use it in auto, and look for different creative solutions.

2. Fortune favors the bold

Luck plays a bigger role in storytelling than we often admit. Fusco’s constraints—such as the slow-moving train, the diverse and often rural crowd, and the changing light—happened to align perfectly with his narrative. The setting sun added a natural crescendo to his visual story, culminating in blurred, poignant images that captured the emotion of the moment.

Sometimes, we are lucky too. For example, it occurred to me during a reportage of Vittoria Bussi’s training at the Aigle velodrome, in Switzerland. The track featured a striking brown-and-blue color scheme, with the golden hues of the wood contrasted by the blue furnishings. Coincidentally, the hotel also had a light blue palette, although with reddish furniture and details: this provided a seamless visual continuity. This unplanned harmony of colors became a subtle yet powerful narrative device.

3. Trains: A cyclist’s natural ally

Trains play a special role with cyclists —they’re not only practical companions and tools, but also fascinating settings for storytelling. Trains provide a unique backdrop and a unique blend of structure and unpredictability. They follow a predetermined path, yet the journey is filled with surprises: shifting light conditions, fleeting glimpses of remote places, and unguarded moments among passengers. For cyclists, trains also represent a transition—a bridge between the freedom of the road and the comfort of home, or a way to access distant adventures. They are the famous “in-between moments” where interesting things happen. They aren’t just a means of transportation but a canvas for stories, a real treasure trove of potential inspiration.

For me (as for many, I am sure) photographing trains has become a ritual, marking the start or end of a photographic journey.

Journey on a freight train: reportage

To explore further

Last Journey
History – Inside RFK’s Funeral Train
The atlantic
New Yorker
Maestri di fotografia – Paul Fusco (La repubblica / National Geographic)