• Home
• About Devon
• Free Stories
• Contact

Full Frame

5
No Contest

I WENT OUT to play ball Sunday. Andy hadn’t been in church and I heard his family went on a vacation to Northern Wisconsin. Nice. Some of the same guys I played with before were there and we only had enough for three-man teams. One of my teammates joked that they needed another guy to make up for me being on their team. I just laughed it off. What can you do? I play crappy.

“Hey, I expected you to be in the hospital,” Tom said. “I heard Tony was out to get you.”

“Naw. That was just a misunderstanding. Some asshole told him I was making time with his girlfriend. As if. I haven’t met a lot of people yet, but Patricia has to be one of the hottest in our class. Can you imagine me with her?” I said.

“Not like it isn’t every guy’s fantasy,” Jon said. “You’re right about her being the hottest in your class.”

“What year are you, Jon?”

“I’m a sophomore. I think I’ll make the team this year, though.”

“You’ve got a good look for the basket,” Dan said. “So, Tony really didn’t mess you up? I saw Patricia coming in and out of your garage a lot. And she was sure wearing sexy clothes.”

“You must have been the reason she closed the garage door when we were doing her photos,” I said. “Of course, I hear Tony is out to get the guy that almost cost him his motorcycle.” Dan looked remarkably unhappy.

“What kind of photos?” Tom asked.

“She wanted to help refinish Tony’s motorcycle first,” I said. “She said she wanted him to think of her every time he mounted his bike, or something like that.” I took a shot and by some miracle it went in. We were still warming up and just shooting around. “So, when it was finished, we set it up in the garage so she could do some sexy calendar girl type poses with it. I printed an enlargement of one of them and she gave it to Tony to welcome him home yesterday. He was pretty pleased.”

He and Patricia had zipped by later in the day and picked up his prize. I wasn’t outside, but saw him open the door and then come out again.

“Fuck! You took nudies of Patricia? How do you get that stuff developed?” Dan asked. He was suddenly more interested in Patricia’s pictures than in trashing me to Tony or the other guys.

“Not nudies. Just sexy shots with her in shorts and a top and stretched out on his bike,” I lied. I only counted the photos we took on that last roll of film. And getting a picture of her nipple wasn’t the same as doing a nude photo. “It’s the same kind of shot Henry has behind the counter in the gas station. Though I think his calendar is for, like, 1955. I do all my own developing and printing. Photography is what I do.”

“Henry loves that calendar,” Tom said. “I work there one day a week and that’s the one thing in the whole station that you don’t dare touch.”

About that time, we started playing in earnest and I set about proving why my team was entitled to an extra person. Dan was as pissy as ever, but I think I made a new friend in Jon.

“Hey, our farm is up River Road just past the cemetery,” he said. “If you ever want to go fishing, let me know and we’ll go out to my favorite hole on the river. It gets a little narrower and faster behind our farm and there’s a great spot that’s sheltered from the current by a fallen log. I’ll show you sometime.”

“Sounds like fun. See you guys next week.”

I received my entry form for the fair in the mail Monday. Entries were due in just ten days. And the entry form said that all photos of people had to have a signed release from the model. Dang! I didn’t have any releases and didn’t know where to get one. I headed to the library.

I had no idea what I was looking for when I went in. It wasn’t very big and seemed to be mostly cheap fiction and self-help books. I went to the desk and a woman with half-moon glasses was checking cards in a stack of books. The nameplate on the counter said “Miss Ludwig.”

“Excuse me, Miss Ludwig,” I said quietly. It was a library after all. “I’m wondering if you could help me find a reference.” She looked at me over the top of her glasses and smiled.

“Oh, you’re new in town, aren’t you? Let’s get you set up with your own library card while you tell me what you’re looking for.” I was agreeable to that. I made regular use of the library in the city, and it was huge. I hoped there was something in this little library I’d want to read. I gave her the information and explained that I was looking for a model release form. I showed her the entry form for the fair and she nodded.

“I’ve never used a form like this and wondered if there was some kind of reference book of forms I could copy one from.”

“Now that’s interesting. I’m sure none of our reference works would have that, but let me do some checking here.” She pulled out a volume of “Books in Print” and went scanning through several pages. She turned the pages and read through what she wanted faster than I could read the headings at the top of the page. Then she stopped and tapped an entry. “I think this is what you want.” She turned the book so I could read the entry.

“Guide for professional artists, musicians, and dancers. How to create and protect your business interests, copyright your work, and sell your product.” I read. “That sounds perfect. Do you have a copy?”

“Oh, no. I’m afraid not. Let me do some checking around and see if I can find someone who does have. I have your phone number here on your card application, so I’ll call you if I find something. It shouldn’t take but a day or two.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I put my new library card in my wallet and mounted my bike again.

When I rode by, Judy and Janice were headed down the street toward my place, pushing a pink girl’s bike. I stopped and walked beside them.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Oh, we were just coming over to see you.”

“Don’t tell me you want your bike painted,” I laughed.

“No. This bike is really too small for me now, but I thought if you wanted it for your sister, I’d give it to you. I asked Mom and she said it was okay,” Judy said.

“That is so cool, Judy. Thank you.”

“So, are you done with your big project? Can you take pictures again?” Janice asked. “We’ve got some cool ideas for costumes.”

“Yeah. Actually, I’ve got time. I’m trying to work out how to exhibit your picture in the fair. Not sure it’s going to work,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Well, it turns out that I have to have a signed model release for any photo that I exhibit.”

“I’ll sign it,” Janice said.

“Well, I appreciate that, but I don’t know what the release should say. The fair didn’t send a copy of what they want,” I said. “The librarian is looking for one for me.”

“Does Miss Ludwig even know what a camera is? I don’t think they had them when she was our age,” Judy laughed.

“Hey! She seems like a nice woman and not that old. She was willing to help.”

“Well, just write up a thing that says we give you permission to display our pictures and we’ll sign it,” Janice said.

“Except the ones in our bathing suits. You know… uh… that kind of showed um…”

“Your nipples? No, I wouldn’t display that. I’d like to display the smoking portrait, though. I thought next, we might take some pictures at the old train station. If we had a couple of suitcases, we could set a scene like you’re waiting for a train. Or maybe like one of you just got off the train and is being met by the other.” I carefully didn’t mention that I kept a copy of those other photos in my desk drawer with the photo of Patricia’s nipple and often looked at them just before bed at night. They were on my list of things I’d like to see again.

“You’re still embarrassed?” Janice ribbed her friend.

“It was your idea,” Judy hissed.

“What was?” I asked.

“Um… taking the lining out of our suit tops so they fit more like Patricia’s. We saw you looking at her at the river,” Judy said. “I didn’t know they’d show like that!”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of. You’re both pretty damn hot. And any kind of picture you want me to take, I’ll try.”

We got to the garage and I took the girl’s bike from Judy after I parked mine. When I turned around, they were both staring at my workbench. I guess I didn’t mention that when Tony and Patricia went off to fool around on Saturday, they’d left the photo on the workbench to pick up later. Well, Dad got home before they got back and saw it. He hung it over the bench. I tried to explain that this was Tony’s photo of his girlfriend and Dad shook his head.

“Too bad. It looks good there.”

“Could I, like, hang a print of it just to have there?” I asked uncertainly.

“Every garage needs a girlie photo. That one’s a cut above most.”

That night I printed another 8x10 and grabbed an old frame to put it in. Then I hung it in the garage above the work bench. Judy and Janice were staring at it.

“Does Tony know you have a picture of his girlfriend?” Judy whispered, as if Tony might overhear her.

“Yeah. Patricia gave a copy of it to him when he got home. He liked it so much he said I should blow it up and make a billboard out of it. I told him I’d enter it in the fair, but I need to get a model release from her, too.”

“You might as well hang the picture with our nipples showing in our suits,” Janice said. “Nobody will look twice at us when they see that.”

“God, she’s gorgeous. I wish we were still friends,” Judy said.

“Yeah.”

I sensed there was a story there, but I didn’t press for it. Instead, we walked over to the derelict train station and talked about how we might stage a couple of photos.

“We’ll come up with something. How about Thursday?” Janice said. We agreed and I headed back home.

I spent some time tearing down the bike Judy brought over and cleaning it up. It wasn’t in bad shape, but I remembered what Kat had said about having me paint her bike purple. I figured, why not? It was sure to be a surprise for her since she never came into the garage. I just needed to get a can of purple paint. I hoped they made it that color.

I stopped in at Center Marketplace where Dad got the black paint I used on my bicycle. I couldn’t imagine Mr. Barkley would have any purple, but his store had a really odd assortment of miscellaneous stuff. I found him in the back, putting some mugs in a box, each one wrapped in newspaper.

“Mr. Barkley, I was wondering if you had any Rust-Oleum in different colors than black like I used on my bicycle.”

“Oh, well hello there, Nate. Rust-Oleum. Hmm. After Johnson painted his tractor, there wasn’t much call for the stuff. Here, carry this box for me and we’ll go look,” he said. He called toward the front of the store. “Alice! I’m going upstairs to check on some stock.”

“Yes. You remember what the doctor said about you smoking. Don’t let me catch you at it,” Mrs. Barkley yelled from the front of the store. I picked up the box and followed Mr. Barkley up the stairs in the middle of the store. It had a gate across the bottom that he unlocked so I could go up.

“Once was a time when all four floors of this store were hopping. Menswear on this floor and shoes over there,” he said pointing into a corner by the windows on the second floor. “Third floor was hardware and notions. Gave the men something to do while their women shopped for fabric and thread.”

“What happened?”

“A lot of things. The depression. The war. And possibly most important, the automobile. Once it was no longer an all-day commitment to get to the city of Huntertown or even Dubuque, the local store ceased to have as much draw. Why buy farm overalls from the local store when you could get them fifty cents cheaper at Sears? Things started getting more specialized. Get your hardware at Ace. Farm and garden supplies at the Tractor Supply. Clothes at Sears. Notions at Woolworth’s. Gradually, the store shrank and we sold off most of what stock we had.”

We headed up a narrower flight of stairs at the back of the store from the third floor up to the fourth, each floor blocked by a locked gate as if they’d been closed off each time a floor was vacated. Mostly, the second floor had been empty shelves and racks with just a few left over things scattered around. There was a chair on the third floor with an ashtray beside it and I figured that if Mr. Barkley was making this climb by himself, he’d be sitting over there having a smoke. The rest of the room was empty. I wondered where he was taking me as we went on up to the fourth floor.

“Did you just take stuff to a dump when you closed a section?” I asked.

“Oh, no. Auction was where most of it went. What I didn’t sell or didn’t want to sell came up here. There’s an outside stair to here and a lot of stock used to get carried up those stairs and then brought back down from here when it was needed. Then there were all the promotional displays, Christmas decorations, and stuff I just couldn’t bear to part with.”

We got to the fourth floor and I entered a wonderland. There were old merchandise displays, a few toys, Christmas decorations—and decorations for almost any other holiday—some furniture, a few garden implements, a shelf of men’s and women’s hats, a suit hanging on a rack, a cigar case, dishes, an inflatable Santa Claus, some small theatre lights, a Greek pillar, mannequins—some with clothes still on them, a couple of end tables, vases, lamps, buckets, a stepladder, a tea kettle… that was just what hit my eyes immediately. It was hard to catch my breath there was so much stuff. Imagine going into your grandmother’s attic and discovering stuff from her mother and grandmother. It was like my dad’s boxes of junk, but far more interesting than a broken water pump.

“Here we go,” Mr. Barkley said. “We did a float back a few years ago when the Fourth of July Parade was more than bicycles. For some reason, the kids wanted their wagons painted purple. I got a few cans of this. Here you go.”

He handed me a can of Rust-Oleum. Who knew they made a color called ‘Grape?’ I had a sudden idea. Couldn’t hurt to ask.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a model release form up here somewhere, would you?”

He started laughing.

“Much though I like to say I kept things that were important, I’m not a magician that can just pull stuff out of my hat,” he said, tapping an old top hat on a dusty table. “Why on earth would you need a model release form?”

That led me to tell him all about my photography and the fair entry requiring that portraits have a model release form. He didn’t have one, but we talked a lot about what I wanted to do with photography. He pulled a Brownie Kodak Hawkeye camera kit from under a counter.

“I have one just like that!” I said. “Proudest day of my life when my uncle gave it to me for my birthday. I don’t use it much anymore since almost everything has gone thirty-five-millimeter. But I’ve got an enlarger and I process all my own film. Not a very good set-up in my basement. It leaks light all over and I can only work in the middle of the night. Someday I’ll get a better darkroom—when I can afford it. Um… could I come up here and take some pictures?” I asked.

“You want to take pictures of all this junk?”

“It might be junk to someone else, but there’s a kind of glamour about it as well. I’d love to bring a couple of my models up here and take pictures of them with some of this stuff.”

“You behave yourself with models. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. They’re really good girls. That’s why I need the model release form for my fair entries,” I said.

“Why don’t you bring a selection of your best photos over to show me,” he said. “If they’re as good as you say, I might consider letting you use this floor.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll bring you my portfolio.”

We went downstairs and I paid seventy-five cents for the spray paint and went home.

Wednesday afternoon, Kat and I were sprawled out on the living room floor with the fan blowing on us. It must have been nearly a hundred degrees, but I was too hot to bother getting up to look at the thermometer outside the kitchen window. I’d managed to get the first coat of paint on Kat’s new bicycle early in the morning, but the temp got so hot it was impossible to work in the garage. Mom wasn’t even parking her car in the garage because she said it got hotter in there than parking it under the tree in the driveway and leaving the windows open.

That was weird. We would never have left the car unlocked with the windows open in the city. It would be gone before we turned around. Like my old bicycle. Mom answered the phone in her office and called to me.

“Nate, there’s a Miss Ludwig on the phone for you. Do you know her?”

“Yes, Mom. She’s the librarian. She was going to see if she could find a book for me,” I said, scrambling to get to the phone. “Hello?”

“Nate, I think we have success. I just got a package from a contact in Chicago that has a number of forms in it that you should be able to use. Why don’t you come to the library and pick them up? It’s cool in here and I have the fans going.”

“Great! I’ll be right over. Thank you, Miss Ludwig.” I turned to explain to my mom. “I need a model release form for my County Fair entries. Miss Ludwig managed to find some samples for me.”

“Oh, well that’s good. Why don’t you take Kat over there? It’s probably cooler than in here. Maybe you can get her a library card.”

“Sure, Mom. Hey, Kat, let’s go to the library. They’ve got air conditioning and ceiling fans.”

“Oh, yeah. On the way back you can buy me an ice cream cone.”

I sighed and Mom handed me two dollars. Kat and I headed for the library.

She wouldn’t admit it if you just asked her, but Kat is a book addict. That’s one of two things she does all the time. The other is drawing stuff. She draws cartoons and pictures of kittens and designs out of repeated patterns that will cover an entire page of her notebook. Finding out there was a building she could walk to that was air conditioned and full of the exact kind of stories she liked to read was like me discovering the fourth floor of Mr. Barkley’s store. She happily went down the row, choosing the latest Nancy Drew story before she sat in a corner on a pillow and started to read.

Miss Ludwig smiled at her.

“You give me the information for your sister to have her own library card and I’ll give you the forms I found,” she said. It didn’t take long to get the library card taken care of. “Now, I called Doris at the Huntertown Library, but she didn’t have any idea where to look for such a form. Honestly, I had to talk her through going to the card catalog to give her the title and author. Still no luck. I’m not sure what the poor people of our county seat do if they need help finding information. I suppose most of them call here.” She seemed pretty proud of her knowledge of the library and disdainful of her counterpart in Huntertown.

“I didn’t think of calling another library,” I said. “I’m sure they would have found something back in Calumet Heights.”

“Well, I didn’t stop there, but I called Chicago Central Library. It’s the same library system for all of Cook County. She had a copy of the book and said she would photocopy the page that had a model release form and send it to me. Then she asked if I’d called a professional photography studio like Olan Mills. Well, that was a thought, so I looked up the number and gave them a call. Unfortunately, they don’t do the kind of photography that requires a release because they just do portraiture for people and families who buy the prints from them. There’s no public release.”

“Wow. Thank you for going to all this work,” I said.

“It wasn’t over,” she continued. “The photographer at Olan Mills suggested that I try Camera Warehouse on South Wabash. Well, I got hold of the nicest gentleman who listened to what I wanted and said he’d be happy to send me various release forms. And since we are a library, he Xeroxed them and didn’t even charge us for postage. He said he’d just sent out an order of paper to here in Tenbrook. I told him I was sure it was for the same photographer.”

“So, these came from Levi at Camera Warehouse?” I asked. “I don’t know why I never thought to ask him. I always buy film and supplies from him. I bought my camera there.”

“Well, since they were sent to us at no charge because we are a library, I’ll need to maintain them here. But I made copies for you of each of them. Here you are.” Miss Ludwig was apparently finished with her story, so she handed me the envelope. There were half a dozen different forms and a note that said most photographers just pick and choose the elements they want and make their own forms.

“This is great, Miss Ludwig. All I need to do is type up what I need.”

“Do you need help typing?”

“Oh, Mom has a typewriter and I took typing in school last year. Thank you for offering,” I said.

“I wasn’t. I just know a couple of women who do typing piece work and was going to refer you.”

Hmm. I never thought of people doing typing for others and charging them by the piece. I mean, unless they were a secretary in a law office or something. I started to get Kat but Miss Ludwig stopped me. “Just tell her you’re leaving, but she’s welcome to stay here and read all afternoon if she wants. You only live two blocks from here, so I’m sure she can make it home alone when I close up. What kind of books does she like?”

“Oh, she’s really into mystery and science fiction. She also loves to draw. Thank you for letting her stay and read.”

“It’s what a library is for, dear.”

I got out a spiral notebook from last year’s school and started jotting down what I liked from each of the release forms in the package. Some were so full of legal jargon I couldn’t understand what they were saying and felt they were written specifically so people couldn’t understand them. I liked the ones that were simplest. I ended up with this:
 

Agreement for Use of Photographs

Signed between
________________(model) DOB _________________
and
Nate Hart (photographer), DOB 9/27/1949

• 1. The photographer has the right to use and publish photographs of model or parts of photographs:
• a. In photos, prints, film, magazines, or other media
• b. In the original, retouched, or otherwise edited forms
• c. For artistic, advertising, business, illustrative, and other purposes.
• 2. The model has the right to use photographs or parts of photographs:
• a. In photos, prints, film, or other media
• b. In the original, retouched, or otherwise edited forms
• c. For self-presentation, promotion, publicity, and personal distribution.
• 3. Financial Claims:
• a. The photographer is not entitled to financial or other income for the use of photographs by the model according to paragraph 2.
• b. The model is not entitled to financial or other income for the use of photographs by the photographer according to paragraph 1.
• c. The model may purchase prints from the photographer at a discounted rate from the current market price of at least 50%.
• 4. Final Provisions:
• a. This agreement is non-revokable and is signed for unlimited time.
• b. Oral supplements to this agreement do not exist.
• c. Both sides acknowledge by their signatures below that they have read this agreement, understand its contents, and agree with it.

In _________________ (location)       on ________________ (date)
Photographer____________________       Model____________________
 

I was pretty pleased with it, but I asked Mom to read it over for me to see if it was okay. She corrected a couple of misspellings and suggested I include blanks for the full name, address, and phone number of the model. She gave me paper and carbon paper so I could type up the contracts for the three people I had as models so far.

Thursday, Judy and Janice really came through for me. They had a couple of old-style dresses and suitcases. They even had parasols. We hauled everything over to the railroad station and I just maintained a lookout as they quickly changed clothes in back of the station. I only managed a couple of peeks. They got down to bras and panties and then slipped the dresses on.

“These are great!” I said. “How did you manage to find them?”

“A couple of years ago, the town had its Centennial Celebration. We were a little smaller then, so our dresses don’t fit anymore. Our mothers’ dresses did, with just a little alteration. Just a minute,” Judy said.

She pulled a couple of hats out of a shopping bag and the girls arranged the hats on each other with a perfect look. I was glad they’d chosen to not overdo the makeup for this outing. I think the only thing they did was use a little foundation to even out their complexions. They looked great.

We did a lot of kind of traditional poses, like two ladies waiting on a bench for the next train. I had to remind them not to slouch. I noticed teen girls did that a lot. It was something about not wanting boys to notice their chests while still being proud of their chests and wanting boys to notice them. Or something like that. They didn’t seem to mind me touching their backs and shoulders to position them correctly. I arranged a wooden box like it was a step off the train and had Janice step off while holding Judy’s hands to keep her steady.

I ended up having to just position them exactly as I wanted them, even raising or lowering a hand, or turning their heads a certain direction. They looked great, but didn’t have that natural model presence that Patricia had. Once I got them in the position I wanted, they could hold it and smile like anything. And I really didn’t mind touching them and putting them in position, turning their shoulders, raising their chins, tucking in their tummies. I didn’t touch them inappropriately, but I knew I’d never get to touch a girl like that under normal circumstances.

I kept watch again as they stripped off their costumes and put their shorts and T-shirts back on. And watched them. Janice saw me looking and just did a proud little wiggle to be sure I got a good look. I wasn’t taking pictures, though I wished I was.

I told them I’d let them know when I had pictures printed and they could see them. I went home and started processing the film immediately. Oh, and I took home the signed releases.

I went to get the evening mail at the post office and got the package from Camera Warehouse with my photo paper. It was going to be a late night.

I loved the pictures. The new paper I got was 10x16 instead of the standard 8x10. What Tony had said about making the picture poster size set well with me, and even though I couldn’t really print a poster-sized photo, I could make one bigger than 8x10. I figured that would set things apart a little. If my competition at the fair used a commercial processing lab, they’d have prints in standard sizes. Of course, larger paper meant I needed larger developing trays and I finally found what I needed at Center Marketplace in the form of 13x18 cake pans. They were perfect for my chemicals and I could fit a full sheet of paper in them.

The rules said the images had to be mounted on cardboard or matting board, but not framed. I had heavy posterboard and that would do. I needed to cut it to the right sizes with no more than one inch of board exposed on each side.

Pictures of girls were not the only things I had. I was also entering in the landscape, cityscape, and still life categories. I was entering one photo of Patricia in the individual portrait category and two pictures of Judy and Janice in the group portrait category. I managed to get everything mounted Friday afternoon and decided to pay a visit to Mr. Barkley. I wrapped my pictures in a cleaning bag. Mom had decided her clerics had to be more professionally pressed than my ironing board.

I saw Mr. Barkley and waved to him. He came to see what I had.

“These are the photos I plan to exhibit at the fair next week,” I said.

“Hmm,” he said as I handed them to him one at a time. “I recognize these girls. You have permission to exhibit the pictures?” he asked, pointing to the two pictures of Janice and Judy.

“Signed model releases,” I said, nodding.

“Hmm. That’s an interesting take on the old train station. Oh, and the Ardmore farm, I see.” He finally uncovered the last picture—the one of Patricia on the motorcycle. “Now I’m sure her parents didn’t okay this.”

“She came by and signed a release this morning,” I said.

“Hmm. Fell in with the wrong crowd, that one. But there’s nothing actually indecent about this pose, no matter how suggestive it is. Yes, there’s no doubt you have a talent. What do you plan to do with it?” he asked.

“Well, I’m planning to study photojournalism in college, if that’s what you mean. Of course, I have a lot of work to do in order to get into college, not to mention paying for it. I want to take pictures that tell a story. Even my still life—I feel like it tells a story about the derelict train station.”

“And still you photographed the girls and made it look like the train had just arrived in 1866. And this one is an obvious take-off on the pictures in Look after the war. Do their mothers know they were smoking?”

“Judy’s mother caught her and punished her for it by making her smoke a whole pack at one sitting. She was really sick. But they weren’t really smoking the cigarettes in this picture. They just lit them to hold while I took the picture. We tried it with them unlit, but it just didn’t look right.”

“I can imagine. Well, let’s go upstairs.”

I gathered up the pictures, put them back in the plastic bag, and followed him up the stairs to the fourth floor. It looked about the same, but one corner of the room had been cleaned and cleared. I don’t know where the stuff went that was there because everything else looked just as jumbled up as ever.

“I was thinking the space isn’t really used for anything but junk, so maybe you could set up your darkroom here as well as taking some pictures. You should be able to get some 2x4s over at the lumber yard and a couple of sheets of lightweight plywood. You won’t need anything heavy because it’s just to block out the light. There’s an outlet on that wall, so you can run lights and your enlarger from it. Next to it, here, is the bathroom, so you have running water for your photo bath and rinsing. I won’t say a new darkroom won’t cost you anything, but the space is free. Then you can shuffle things around up here to set up scenes to your heart’s desire. Just don’t get anybody pregnant up here. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Pregnant? What? “Wow! This is really great! Um… How should I get materials up here?”

“Use the service stairs in back. Here’s the key. Now the gates on the stairs inside will be locked, so don’t bother trying to go downstairs. You just use the outside stair and come and go as you please. If people see lights turning on and off up here at night, they might get a little jumpy. I’ll set a lamp near each of the windows with a low wattage bulb and just leave it on all the time. If you’re here at night, don’t turn on any other lights. This isn’t a place for you to live or sleep. It’s a work space. Nothing else.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. Um… Mr. Barkley… Thank you so much!”

I couldn’t believe my luck. I tried the outside stairs and they were pretty stable. I wouldn’t be leaning against the railings, though. I couldn’t wait to tell Dad. I’d need his help to get supplies over there and build the darkroom. It was just too good to be true.

Wednesday afternoon, Dad took me over to the County Fair Grounds after he got off work and I entered my photos in the proper divisions. The superintendent looked at each of them and nodded his approval.

“How did you get such odd sizes?” he asked.

“I have my own enlarger and developed the film and prints myself.”

“I see. Hmm. We should think about having a special category just for that next year. Home developing and printing. I can tell you right now, nothing else will be equivalent of this. Most folks take a nice snapshot and have a blow up made in 8x10.”

“Really? I figured there would be a bunch of good amateur photographers in the county,” I said.

“Not so much as you’d be used to back East. Here, you should take these.” He handed me a bunch of forms and I looked at them as he signed off on the model releases for the three portraits.

“What are these?”

“They’re State Fair entry forms. You should get them filled out for the pictures you want to exhibit there. You’ll have stiffer competition down in Springfield than you’ll get here. Here, there’s no contest.”

Dad and I walked out of the superintendent’s office and headed home. On the way, he pulled in to the lumber yard.

“We might as well price out the materials you’ll need for your darkroom,” he said. “I can see this is a future for you. I’m proud of you, son.”

Saturday morning, I took my sister to the garage. She’d been spending every afternoon at the library. It was kind of cute. But today was her birthday and when she saw the purple bicycle in the garage, she couldn’t believe it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have this in time for you to ride in the parade. Next year, though, you’ll be the only kid in town with a purple bike.”

“I can… You mean… Mine?” she said. “I can ride to school and everything! You’re such a cool big dork! I mean big brother. Um… Thank you.” She gave me a hug for about half a second, then she was on the bike and out the door.

Well, sometimes I do things right. Taking her on rides at the fair that afternoon was apparently also right.

Whatever the superintendent had meant by ‘No contest’ wasn’t obvious when I went to the Fair to see the results of the judging on Saturday afternoon. There were some dang good photos on display and a lot of blue ribbons that weren’t mine. Much to my surprise, my picture of Judy and Janice smoking won best of show in the Black and White Division. I was happy about that, but I expected the picture of Patricia to earn that award. While I was looking at the exhibits, I saw the superintendent strolling around.

“Ah, Nate. Congratulations on your victory. I was surprised at Myrtle’s landscape; she definitely captured something special there. And the judges had a hard time deciding if your train station photo was truly a still life or if it should be considered an architecture photo. They all agreed it was good, but got marked down on category description.”

I looked at the other still lifes in the exhibit and they were all pretty standard for what you’d think. Bowls of fruit, flowers, and the picture that won best of that category was a really cool picture of a lit cigar in an ashtray under a lamp with a glass of whiskey next to it. The curl of smoke rising from the tip of the cigar looked like it was moving.

“The best of show is automatically entered in the State Fair competition on behalf of the county. We’ll ship it down with any others that are being entered. Did you fill out forms for anything else you want exhibited?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sticking with my portraiture. The one at the train station and the one on the motorcycle. I’m surprised that one didn’t win best. It’s my favorite.”

“It’s a fine photograph. But… Well, some of our judges are a little on the conservative side and considered it too risqué for this competition. I think, though, that you’ll get a warmer reception downstate. I’d like to come by and see your darkroom setup sometime. I might have a few photos of my own I’d like you to enlarge.”

“Oh, uh, sure. The… I’m in the process of moving it to a new studio. My current setup is on top of an old wringer washing machine in my basement,” I laughed.

“Now that might be worth a photo itself. Here’s my card. Give me a call when it’s ready. I’ll take care of shipping your entries. You can pick up the rest on Sunday afternoon between one and five. Good luck, Nate.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grossman. I’ll let you know.”

His card read “Grossman Photo Lab and Studio.” He was a real professional.

Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.