Let’s talk about Funeral Train: what is it?
This article could also be titled “Making a Virtue out of Necessity,” an always invaluable skill. Paul Fusco’s reportage is a masterful example of how we can leverage external constraints for storytelling: when life gives you lemon, make lemonade. But on a bike, please.
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. Incidentally, Fusco, a Magnum photographer, was also a mentor to Matt Black, whom we’ll undoubtedly talk about because he’s another “wow” resource for our cycling-photography goals.
Funeral train a political and social reportage by Paul Fusco (1930–2020). There’s no need to say it came about by chance, but let’s emphasize it just in case. In fact, Fusco turned coal into diamonds: it’s a photo series shot entirely from a train, which is another fascinating aspect because, as Marilyn once said:
“Trains are a cyclist’s best friends.”
(Marilyn Monroe, maybe)
Let’s proceed in order and let Paul himself tell us the story:
“That day I wasn’t supposed to work, but I lived in Manhattan and decided to drop by the office. The Look magazine offices were […] just behind St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and everyone there was silent. There was a heavy atmosphere of anguish. I sat down. 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.
First of All: 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, writing for The New Yorker, confirms this:
“Fusco’s photographs are extraordinary in every way. The faces of individuals are often in focus against a slightly blurred background. 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. 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. 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 2019. 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.
Second: Seeking the Story on the Margins of the Story
Imagine being in Fusco’s shoes and receiving the same order to photograph RFK’s funeral. 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 reflection, 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 and nothing more.
This black-and-white photo of the funeral (perhaps also by Fusco) might depict the funeral of anyone, anywhere, because funerals are all essentially the same. They resonate only with those reading the news in that moment, while for everyone else, they simply announce the death of someone important. The black-and-white photo is news, whereas the images from the train are a narrative.
Driven by necessity, Fusco chooses to look where others aren’t: the edges of the story. And here he discovers 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.
The obvious lesson: look beyond the obvious
The lesson for us is simple: when something important happens, remember to also look at what’s happening around it. Try to think differently—it’s likely you’ll discover other stories, perhaps small, perhaps significant. Don’t focus solely on the lead cyclist reaching the summit; look for stories among those chasing them, among the spectators, or in the surrounding atmosphere. This applies on all levels: is it more interesting to know that during a trip, we climbed a particular hill in a certain amount of time, or to discover who we met during the ascent, how we felt, and what we anticipated?
Third: The Consistency of Style
In the Funeral Train photos, there’s a strong formal consistency. That’s to be expected, given that Fusco’s perspective was as limited as it gets. Sure, he could change lenses, cameras, and settings (he had three cameras: one likely shooting 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.
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 for this occasion.
This forced homogeneity isn’t a drawback; it’s a strength because it reinforces the narrative. If the photos were a mix of black-and-white and color, or if the focal lengths varied widely, our eyes would lose focus, and the story would weaken. Instead, the uniformity makes the narrative more linear, forcing us to sit still as the train slowly moves from New York to Washington.
Of course, there are exceptions, such as a tighter shot of an African American woman or the funeral itself. The latter is evocative but not particularly distinct from countless other photos of famous funerals.
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.
Another Limit Turned into Narrative Strength
One of the most compelling aspects of Fusco’s Funeral Train project is how he transformed the constraint of time into a narrative advantage. 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 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 Inspired by Funeral Train
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.
Lessons from Funeral Train
1. Turning Necessity into Opportunity
For cyclists and storytellers alike, Fusco’s work is a reminder that limits can become strengths if approached creatively. The idea that “every crisis holds an opportunity” or “when life gives you lemons, 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 intentional limits.
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.
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 can be lucky too. For example, this occurred 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
Let’s revisit Marilyn’s love for trains—they’re not only practical companions for cyclists but also fascinating settings for storytelling. Trains provide a unique backdrop, with their interplay of light and shadow, the distinct atmospheres they create, the diverse array of passengers, and the ever-changing landscapes outside. All these elements make them a treasure trove of potential stories.
For me, photographing trains has become a ritual, marking the start or end of a photographic journey. Trains aren’t just a means of transportation but a canvas for stories, both inside and outside. This can mean capturing landscapes through the train windows, documenting the life within the train itself, or focusing on the trains as subjects.
Looking back through my archives, I found hundreds of train photos that had accumulated naturally. Without realizing it at first, I was building a narrative thread. Now, I’m consciously developing a project on this theme, tentatively titled Train/Ing. It’s still in its early stages, but it’s an exciting way to explore the visual and emotional connection between trains and journeys.
To sum up
Why Trains Resonate with Storytelling
Trains offer 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 represent a transition—a bridge between the freedom of the road and the comfort of home, or a way to access distant adventures.
Conclusion: Emotions, Trains, Constraints, Luck
For bikepackers and cycle travellers, trains often serve as logistical lifelines. As such, they can easily become a great stage for documenting, reminding us to embrace the journey as a whole. Boarding with a bike, sharing space with other travelers, and watching the landscapes shift all becomes part of the story.
Photography often means adapting, making counterintuitive choices, and allowing yourself to be carried by the moment. Just as Fusco did, this approach can lead to unexpected and original results that shift perspectives, break traditions, and offer fresh points of view. if you add to this combination the cycling factor – which inherently carries a sense of unpredictability, freedom, and discovery – it all becomes magic, and full of inspiration.
Sources to explore
- Last Journey
- History – Inside RFK’s Funeral Train
- The atlantic
- New Yorker
- Maestri di fotografia – Paul Fusco (La repubblica / National Geographic)