Full Frame
7
Sports Photographer
“SO, YOU WANT TO BE A JOURNALIST,” Miss Sullivan said. “Why aren’t you in my typing class?”
“I already took typing at my old school,” I answered. Without Mrs. Abernathy present, Miss Sullivan was being a lot more aggressive with her questions. She hadn’t just offered me a roll of film and told me to go.
“Sit at that machine and take this test. I’ll time you. If you pass, you’re excused from taking typing.”
“Wow!” I said, sitting at the machine she pointed out. It was a disaster. The first thing I had to do was get the keys unjammed. It was an old Royal. “I don’t know if I can type well on this new a machine,” I said sarcastically. She held up a stop watch.
“Put your paper in. Here’s the copy you’ll type. Ready, set, go.”
I started hammering away at the keys. It wasn’t actually much worse than Mom’s machine, but I had to backspace a couple of times. The ‘w’ only hit the paper about once out of every three times I hit the key. The test was a pretty standard set from the same book I used at Calumet. I followed the same rules I had been given then and when I ran out of paper (with a suitable bottom margin) I slipped in a second sheet and kept typing. The test page only filled about three-quarters of the paper, so I just repeated it when I got to the end. I’d just started the third time through the page when she said “Time.” She headed toward me from her desk and snatched the paper out of the typewriter.
“You started in the middle,” she said. I handed her the other two sheets of paper. She looked at them with surprise. Then she started looking for errors. I made a couple that she gladly circled. Then she looked up at me and smiled.
“Is it okay?” I asked.
“Fifty words per minute on an old typewriter that has missing letters is not bad for a junior. In fact, it’s not bad for a student in secretarial school. Do I dare hope that your photography lives up to the same expectation that your bragging gives?”
“I haven’t been bragging.”
“Well, maybe in your book telling everyone in school you’re a photographer isn’t bragging. And how many know about your competition accomplishments?” she asked.
“I didn’t tell anyone about that except Mrs. Abernathy,” I said.
“Well, someone knew. Word is that you won a big competition for nude photos with a picture of Patricia Berg.”
“I don’t… didn’t… haven’t… never said anything. She isn’t… wasn’t nude.”
“So I understand. You now know what a grapevine is in a small school. Whatever your business is, it will be blown way out of proportion by the end of the day, just by kids who mostly now think you share Patricia with Tony and are afraid of you.”
“Oh, no. That’s not true at all. I took a picture of her to give to her boyfriend. They liked it so well they encouraged me to enter it in the fair contests.”
“Mmmhmm. Janice Graham said you took a picture of her nipples.”
I groaned.
“She and Judy were swimming and they had little bumps showing under their suits. They weren’t naked and anyone swimming with them would have seen them,” I explained. I did not need word of this getting around to people—Mom. Miss Sullivan grinned at me.
“Keep trying. I’m sure you’ll see them eventually,” she said. “So, football game Friday night. Here’s film. Then in two weeks is homecoming. You’ll need to get a few shots of the decorations and, of course, homecoming king and queen. If you don’t happen to get everyone’s name, we’ll work on it when I see the prints. Don’t try to take too many pictures all at once. We have all year and only need a couple hundred for the yearbook. If you can get that many good shots, we’ll be successful. As to the school newsletter, we put out a rag once a month. You’ll get the first one on Friday so you can see what we do. It’s mimeographed, so there won’t be photos in it. I’m thinking though that we could put a bulletin board outside the office with the stories on it and a few pictures on the board. Keep that in mind for the October issue. Questions?”
Boy, when she finally got started on business, she just plowed through the instructions like fire.
By Friday, school wasn’t looking too bad. I hadn’t taken many pictures like Miss Sullivan suggested. I just let people get used to seeing me with my camera around. Like conditioning wild animals. The first time I raised my camera to my eye in the hall, kids scattered like cockroaches. I made a big thing about taking a picture through the door of Miss Sullivan’s classroom with all the typewriters. It was actually a pretty good picture. I could definitely call this a still life.
I was probably fighting the historical trend on that one. Ever since the 1600s, still lifes had been getting narrower and narrower in scope. I figured someday an artist would come along who just painted or photographed a drop of water and that would become the new standard for a still life.
Anyway, people were getting used to me and I was learning the names of a lot of my classmates. It was kind of nice that Anna started joining me at the lunch table with Andy, Karen, Tom, Leroy, and Priss. Andy and Karen were definitely a couple and people were beginning to consider Anna and me a couple, even though we hadn’t been out together yet.
That changed on Friday afternoon.
School was out at two-thirty in the afternoon and the football game was at three-thirty. There was a wide open sports field/playground behind the school that included a baseball diamond and a lot of open space. The football field had been chalked out on the field, but there were really no seats. Or grass. A few parents started arriving with lawn chairs or camp stools. The students who went to the game just stood around and were told they had to stay off the playing field. Tenbrook had no lights outside which was why the game was in the afternoon. I could imagine the delusions of grandeur that would take place when they got bleachers and lights. And maybe grass. Coach Hennessey was already kind of full of the team and we were only playing five games this year. They were all against B-Teams of other schools.
It was nice, though, that Anna and I could just sit at the sidelines and while I was enjoying her company, I could still watch for and take a few pictures. She brought a huge beach towel to sit on and I saw most of the girls at the game did likewise. When the opposing team arrived, their school bus just pulled up next to the other side of the field and they piled out to start getting warmed up.
It wasn’t as big a disaster as it could have been. I was using a 105mm lens on my camera because I’d be shooting across the field and down the field a lot. I wasn’t shooting a lot. First of all, it was too much fun to just be sitting next to Anna and occasionally our hands would touch just a little and then I’d decide I needed to take another picture. When the perfect picture came, I was almost too close to the action. Dave Parsons, our quarterback, sent a desperation pass to Kurt McDonald that looked like it was coming right toward us. I had my camera up and was working on my follow-focus as the ball hit Kurt’s hands about twenty feet away from me.
“Did you get it?” Anna asked.
“I guess I’ll know for sure when I develop it. Too bad he didn’t catch the ball. That was a great pose.” In fact, everything was perfect about it. I was shooting wide open at 1/500th of a second. I snapped just as the ball touched his hands. So, I missed it bouncing off. The sky was clear and the sun was in a perfect direction. And the expression on Kurt’s face was one of grim determination. We’d see.
Mom and Dad had given me a five-dollar allowance when school started so I could have a little pocket money for after school and ‘dates.’ They were very specific about saying that my photography had to pay for itself and I wasn’t to use my allowance for photography. I got a call Thursday night from Mr. Grossman at the county fair. He said my photos and prizes were back from the State Fair. He offered to bring them over on Saturday afternoon if I could show him my darkroom setup. I hadn’t done much in the studio since I got it finished, but I’d be developing the film from the game tomorrow.
For now, though, I had some pocket money and a sweet girl I promised to walk home after the game. It was only five o’clock, though.
“Say, would you like to introduce me to the hot fudge sundae at Sweet Treats?” I asked as our team headed to the locker rooms and the other school drove off with their 21-0 victory.
“That would… um… kind of make this a date…” she said. “Really?”
“I sort of considered it a date when I asked you to attend the game with me,” I said. “I’d really love to treat you to a sundae.”
“Okay. I probably won’t need dinner when I get home,” she said.
We walked the two blocks downtown to the soda shop and true to what he’d said, the owner was open for the Friday night date crowd. A few people had wandered this direction from the game, though I guess most actually went out in the evening. That would be nice if I had a car. As we walked, the backs of our hands kept rubbing against each other.
The sundae was great. It was $2.50, but Anna suggested we split one so she’d be able to eat dinner. I was okay with that since two of them would have taken all my allowance. She was right. It was great! Mr. Lewis, who owned the shop, made his own ice cream on Fridays and hand dipped it right at the counter. There were no waitresses or anything. We just ordered at the counter and sat down. When he had it ready, he yelled out my name and I retrieved it.
We did a lot of giggling and I can’t relate a word of what we talked about, but looking into her deep brown eyes just filled me up. After we’d eaten, I was going to leave a tip, but Anna stopped me and said no tipping was allowed in Sweet Treats. So, we headed out to her house. She lived on the far edge of town past the school. It was about the last house that could be considered ‘in town.’ As we walked along in the dusk, our hands kept touching and then all of a sudden, her hand was in mine.
Mom said that I was dating when I met up at games and dances with Nancy, but in all the times we met up, we never actually held hands except when we were dancing. We danced a lot, but this was really new and exciting. I loved holding Anna’s hand. She giggled and I got the message that she loved it, too.
When we got to her door, I just wanted to hang out with her and stuff, but I couldn’t think of a way to suggest it so close to dinner time. Then her father came to the door to meet me and I guess decide if I was worthy to date his daughter. I guess I passed, but Anna went inside and I told her I’d see her at school next week.
I headed back to school where I picked up my bike and rode home.
Saturday morning, I headed over to my darkroom to process the film from school this week. As soon as I had the negatives, I printed a contact sheet to look at later and hung it to dry. I got back home just in time to have Mom take me to the laundromat to wash the clothes. She got there as I finished folding things and putting them in the basket.
I made a fried bologna sandwich and started straight in on the ironing. When Mom first taught me to iron, starting with handkerchiefs back in seventh grade, she would make up a batch of starch and dip the shirt collars and cuffs, then wrap them up in a bag and put them in the refrigerator overnight. Then she’d iron them the next day until everything was smooth, but would hang them up immediately to finish drying. We had a sprinkler bottle we used to make the cloth damp enough to iron the wrinkles out. The kind of cool iron used when something was starched didn’t completely dry out clothes. That’s why Mom always hung them as soon as they were ironed.
Then two things happened. One was that she was given a steam iron and with distilled water you could iron clothes that were already dry. The second was the introduction of cans of spray starch in the store. I started out again, practicing on handkerchiefs and had the nicest flattest handkerchiefs in town. I asked Mom why she starched things when they looked just fine when ironed without starch. She said that starch kept clothes cleaner longer and a shirt could be worn more than once between washings. She also said that shirts washed cleaner when they’d been starched because body oil on collars and cuffs clung to the starch instead of the fabric, so when the starch was washed out, so was the dirt.
I guess they taught a lot of stuff when Mom was in school that they didn’t teach these days. At least not to boys. Anyway, I liked the way my shirts felt when I sprayed them with starch and ironed them. I finished the ironing just before Mr. Grossman rang the doorbell.
“You sent three entries down to the State Fair,” he said when he was seated at the dining room table. “Here are the photographs. Here are the County fair ribbons for the projects you didn’t take home with you. And here are the ribbons from the State fair. Here is your $25 check for winning best of category at the county fair.”
$25! I couldn’t believe I’d made money from the county fair entry. I guess that was the difference between entering an open division and entering a 4-H division.
“Thank you! That’s cool. I’ll be able to buy some more paper with this,” I said.
“Well, think what you’ll be able to add to your darkroom with this $200 check from the State Fair for Best of Show in Black and White Photography,” he said. I stared at him with my mouth open and he handed me the check.
“$200? Seriously? I won that?”
“Absolutely. Of course, the Governor’s Award for the best in the building—all categories combined—is eight hundred. But this is a great prize for the category you entered,” he said.
“It sure is. Excuse me just a minute.” I ran into Mom’s office and interrupted her as she was practicing her sermon. “Mom! Look! I won $225 for my photos! Look!”
“That’s wonderful, Nate. Give them here and we’ll go down to the bank on Monday and open an account for you. You’ll want to save some of this for college.”
I sort of reluctantly gave her the checks, but she was right. I sure didn’t want $225 laying around the house or in my wallet. It seemed like college was a long way away to be thinking about money, but I’d still be able to get a year’s worth of supplies. I returned to Mr. Grossman.
“Now, I believe you promised to show me your darkroom. Is it here in your laundry room?”
“Oh. No, I moved it. It’s up the street a little. We can walk. Sorry, I was so overwhelmed that I forgot.” We headed out the front door and down the street to Center Marketplace. I told him about having been made the school photographer and having just processed my first roll from this week at school. We climbed the four flights up to my studio and went in.
“Oh, my! You have an entire props closet surrounding you. You’ll be taking photos up here as well as developing?”
“Yes, sir. I just got it ready a week ago, so I haven’t really done anything up here yet. Just getting organized and all.” He examined my darkroom and the equipment I had to work with, complimenting me on having painted everything black.
“All too often a new amateur will figure that if he turns the light out in a room, it will be dark,” Mr. Grossman said. “They forget that anything in the room that isn’t black will reflect whatever light happens to leak in. It definitely affects the quality of processing. A proof sheet? May I?”
He pointed to the new contact sheet hanging on the line and we took it into the light to examine it. I started to hand him my loupe, but he pulled one out of his pocket.
“Yes, nice general scenes of school life. I’m sure as you become more comfortable, you’ll find better compositions. Remember not to become fixated on any one subject. Like this pretty young woman. Always look for something new.”
I’d taken half a dozen pictures of Anna, much to her chagrin.
“Now this is a fine composition and subject. It often takes a photographer years to be able to stop action in a sporting event.” He pointed to the picture I’d taken of Kurt and the football. It looked pretty good.
“I was thinking I’d try printing that up in an enlargement and seeing how it turned out,” I said.
“Why don’t we do that?” Mr. Grossman asked. “I’d like to see you work.”
I was a little nervous, but he was really nice and I’d found out he owned Grossman Photo Lab and Studio in Huntertown. He was a professional and wanted to see me work. I set up the enlarger to get the cropping I wanted for an 8x10 enlargement. Mr. Grossman just watched as I prepared the developer, rinse, and fixative trays, then switched to red light to start using the photo paper. I fit it in the easel and turned on the projector. I watched the luminescent dial on my watch until it reached ninety seconds, then turned off the enlarger and moved the photo to the developer bath, once again timing it on my watch. Then I rinsed it and put it in fixative. Finally, I took the print to the bathroom and rinsed it under running water. We looked at the print and then hung it up. Mr. Grossman began to discuss it.
“It’s a good photo and the print is as good as we’d expect a standard commercial printer to make. If you dropped off your film in my lab, and picked it up two days later, you’d get photos that looked substantially like this, though they’d be full frame and not cropped. Tell me what you think you’d like to see in this image to make it better.”
“Well, I guess I’d probably expose it a little longer. The shadow could stand to be a little darker, but I wouldn’t want to lose the lighter sky. That really shows off the football and expression on his face,” I said as Mr. Grossman nodded. “Also, I’d position it a little off center to make it appear that Kurt was just falling out of the frame.”
“That’s a good eye for composition,” he said. “It would make the image more dynamic and is one of the main reasons for cropping. The problem of deeper blacks is more complicated. Would you just experiment with exposure time?”
“I guess so. I did four prints of the picture of Patricia on the motorcycle before I felt I had the exposure right.”
“If you had to do that for every print, it could get expensive. That’s why commercial processing would come out looking just about like what you see here. May I make a couple of suggestions?” I nodded. I’d take any advice from a pro like him I could get. “Do you have filters for your enlarger?”
“Oh. I guess so. They’re in a box here. I’ve never used them.” I rummaged around until I found the little box marked filters.
“The higher the filter number, the greater the contrast in your image will become. Until you get more used to working with them, I’d suggest trying a number two filter. You see they are numbered 00-5 in half stop increments.”
“I just insert the filter here in the enlarger?”
“Exactly.” I followed his directions to put the filter in place. “Now, to keep from having to print the photo five times to see what is best, custom processing generally involves a test strip. In general, position the enlarger and image so it is projected on the easel where you want it. Then when you position the photopaper, lay a piece of regular paper or an old photo over the top of it with just a strip of the photopaper showing. When you print, time the first strip for forty-five seconds, then pull the cover sheet back an inch and expose for fifteen seconds, pull the strip back another inch and expose another fifteen seconds, and so on until you have strips exposed as much as two minutes. When you develop the print, you see what several different exposure times will do for you and be able to choose the one you like best without doing more test prints.”
I tried it and in fifteen minutes, we were looking at my first test strip image. It was easy to see that I had good contrast and depth at a minute and forty-five seconds. I could also see the cropping and made a small adjustment to that when we went back into the darkroom. I timed it out and developed the print. After it was rinsed, we hung it next to the original print. The difference was amazing. Mr. Grossman nodded.
“I’m not saying this is a perfect print. I think you might discover other things you could do with it, but this is the difference between a commercial grade print and a professional grade print. If you experiment a bit with different filters and subject matter and exposure time, you’ll get better at spotting the needed adjustments even before you do a test print.”
“Gosh, thank you, Mr. Grossman. I guess I was going for some of this when I did my other prints, but I thought the quality of the photo was in the negative rather than the printing. This is something else. Are there other things I can do in the darkroom to improve images?”
“Yes. As advanced as you are already, I’d say there is a whole world of things you still have to do. You’ll want to experiment with different grades of paper, for example. A glossy photo is industry standard, but matte finish photos are often considered highly desirable, and an uncoated paper will give you an archival quality print. There are different grades of contrast papers as well, not to mention that there are quality papers that you would only use for very special projects. Then we have techniques like dodging and burning, which let you treat regions of the photo instead of the whole image uniformly.”
“How will I ever learn all this?”
“You’ll practice and experiment as you can afford to. And if you can manage it, you might come to my lab occasionally and I’ll be happy to show you some other tricks and techniques,” he said.
“Really? That would be so neat. I don’t drive, so I’ll have to see if Mom or Dad can bring me over.”
“Well, call to set up a time if you want to come over. Sometimes I can’t take time away from actual work. And don’t think there isn’t always something to learn. This past year we’ve seen twice the number of 126 and 110 film rolls coming in as people are adopting the new Instamatic cameras. I’m even thinking of franchising one of the photo kiosk operations. Imagine a room about the size of your darkroom, only sitting in a department store parking lot. People drive up and drop off their film and when they’ve finished their shopping, they can drive by and pick up their prints. As little as an hour later!”
“That’s unbelievable!”
“It is, especially since most of that work will be color prints. Black and white photography is fading as the standard, but it’s an art form I believe will be loved and admired for generations.”
“I hope so. I don’t really have any desire to shoot color pictures.”
I cleaned up my darkroom and we headed back to my house where he’d left his car.
“Congratulations on your successes once again, Nate. I think if you are devoted to it, you have a bright future ahead of you as a photographer. Good luck.”
Monday morning, I got to school early and hurried to Miss Sullivan’s class room. She was getting set up for her shorthand class.
“I brought the proof sheet from last week’s film, including the football game,” I said.
“Proof sheet?” she asked. I handed her the contact sheet.
“This way I don’t have to print every photo. We can look at the proofs and decide which ones are best candidates.”
“I had no idea. We always just took the roll in and had it developed and printed. This will make it much easier if I can squint hard enough to look at the images.”
“We use a loupe for looking at proofs,” I said, handing her the little magnifying glass. She scanned over the sheet.
“Yes, that’s a nice one. My classroom! Hmm. You seem to have a girlfriend.” She handed me back the loupe. “I have a magnifying glass in my desk that will work well, I think. I’ll go over these and start marking the ones I think we should get 5x7s of.”
“That’s great. The number of the image is in the margin. I can match them up with the negatives pretty easily. I uh… brought the photos from the fair that won prizes,” I said, pulling out the matted photos. She looked at them and smiled.
“If you can get us this quality of images for the yearbook, it will be the best edition the school has ever had.”
“I printed up one of the images from this roll in an enlargement because I liked the picture,” I said. I handed her the photo of Kurt and the football.
“This is amazing! You captured this during the football game Friday, or did he stage it for you?”
“No staging. It was an actual play during the game. Unfortunately, he dropped the ball, but this is the moment he first touched it,” I said.
“Come with me,” Miss Sullivan said, taking the print out of the room and two doors down to the office. She went straight into Mrs. Abernathy’s office. I was trailing behind.
“Don’t tell me we have trouble with this arrangement already,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “I was afraid of that.”
“Trouble is not the word for it,” Miss Sullivan answered. “Look at this.” She shoved the print in front of the assistant principal. “We need a display bulletin board. Here outside the office.”
“Oh, Mr. Hennessey will flip when he sees this. Yes. Yes. I’ll get maintenance to install a bulletin board. Yes. School spirit and all that. Yes.” Mrs. Abernathy was still saying, “Yes, yes,” as she took the photo and left the office to hurry down the hall.
“I think you’ve made a new fan,” Miss Sullivan said. “Better gather your things out of my classroom and go to your first period.” I smiled and went to get my things.
“Today we’re going to talk about heroes of the American Revolution,” Hennessey said as class got started. Behind him, taped to the blackboard, was the picture of Kurt and the football.
Taped? So much for that photo.
“Specifically, we’re going to look at what goes into the making of a hero. I’m going to tell you right up front, it all depends on the telling of the story. This photograph is a great example of creating a hero. Here is a gladiator of the gridiron, valiantly receiving a game-winning touchdown. Only we didn’t win the game, did we? And that reception. McDonald, do you remember that reception?”
“Um… Yes, Coach.”
“And what happened?”
Kurt heaved a big sigh and dropped his head.
“I dropped it.”
“This is not meant to shame Kurt. You and I know the ball was wobbling all over everywhere and you barely got your hands on it. But the story this photo tells is one of valiant victory. Of superhuman effort. Of becoming a hero. Nice work, Hart. I’ll expect more like this in the future.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. I felt bad for Kurt.
“I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country,” Hennessey said. “Who said it?”
“Nathan Hale,” several answered. It was in our weekend reading.
“And then what happened?”
“He was hanged,” Kurt said.
“But he was a hero, right? His spying for Washington provided the needed information to turn the tide of the war, right?” Hennessey looked around at the class trying to find anyone who wasn’t trying to find the answer in their book. “Wrong. There is no record of any information having been passed from Hale to his commander or to the general. Hale’s mission began on September 12 and ended with his death ten days later. But our historical photo…” Hennessey tapped the picture on the board, “…records Hale as a hero of the American Revolution. Let’s talk about some of our other heroes.”
It was a pretty good class. I still felt bad for Kurt, but Hennessey made his point. In fact, I took a photograph of Kurt that made him look like a hero. It was a great photo, but it didn’t tell the whole story. At the end of class, Hennessey gave me the photo and carefully peeled the tape off the back.
“If you can’t be on the field, at least you’re making those who are look good,” he said. “I hope you get more than just one per game. We’ve got thirty-two players out there.”
‘Thirty-two heroes’ is what he was saying. He wanted a hero shot of every player. I really didn’t know if I could even come close to that.
“Hey, Nate,” Kurt said as we left class.
“Hey, man. I’m sorry I made you look bad in class,” I said right away.
“No, man. You made me look great. Coach made me look bad. I’d um… like to buy that photo. Or a copy,” he said.
“Oh. I’ll have to check with Miss Sullivan to see if there are any rules about it. I guess these technically belong to the school. I don’t see any problem with it, though. I’ll let you know.”
“Great. See you later.”
I got to lunch and joined the rest of our usual crowd. Anna scooted over a little so there was room for me on the bench. Andy and Karen were arguing about Homecoming. I had a panicked thought and turned to Anna.
“If you don’t already have a date lined up, would you like to go to the Homecoming Dance with me?” I asked her.
“Who would I have a date lined up with?” she giggled. “If you didn’t ask me today, I was going to ask you.”
“Well, I’m glad I saved you that embarrassment,” I said. “I’m kind of new at this stuff.”
“Yeah, well, Friday night was my first date ever, so don’t think I have all the answers.”
“Really? Mine, too.” I still didn’t count my get-togethers with Nancy as dates, no matter what Mom said. I never held hands with her.
“Don’t rent a tux,” Anna said. “I don’t think any of the guys are even renting dinner jackets except the ones in the court. So just a suit is all that’s necessary. I know since you go to church every Sunday, you must have a suit.”
“Oh, yeah. No problem.” I needed to talk to Mom about that. The legs on my suit pants were really short. I hoped there was some way to let them down a few inches. “Do you know what kind of flower you want?”
“You’ll get me a flower?” I glanced over at Karen when she elbowed Andy.
“Well, as long as it’s blooming down by the river, I should be able to find something,” I grinned.
“Yeah. Well, see if there’s like a pink carnation down there. That will go well with my dress.”
Lunch was over and we went to Speech class, just letting our hands brush against each other as we walked down the hall.
Mom looked critically at my suit and shook her head.
“There isn’t enough hem to let it down, I’m afraid. You must have grown some more. We’ll head to Huntertown Saturday and see what we can find.”
“I need to see about a flower for Anna, too,” I said, getting nervous. The dance was still ten days away, but everybody at school was talking about it. This was the first time there would be two homecomings, one for football in the fall and one for basketball in the winter. Then, of course, there would be prom in the spring. I needed to save up allowance for the big events.
“Um… would you be able to drive us for Homecoming, Mom?” I asked. This was embarrassing. I was going to pick up a date in a nice dress for the dance and have to have my parents drive me. I needed to get my license. I knew a lot of kids in our class had their license because this school had drivers’ ed early in the summer. I didn’t know about it back then. I still had a learner’s permit. It was just two weeks until I turned seventeen.
Friday after school, I rode the team bus to Warren for the game. Everybody knew I was taking pictures and had some ridiculous poses they wanted me to snap. I did take a couple of pictures on the bus, but I needed action pictures to satisfy Coach Hennessey and Miss Sullivan. She’d approved my selling a print to Kurt. She said the film belonged to the school, but if I sold prints for a reasonable price, that was my business. She said, though, that whatever price I set, I had to offer the same to everyone and couldn’t just give away prints to my friends.
We were playing all our five games of the season right after school because we were playing the B-Team of whatever school we went to. Then that school would have a varsity game against someone else in the evening. It was going to take a miracle for our team to even score, let alone beat one of the teams.
I was using a general purpose Daylight 100 ASA film. It was pretty good film, but really too slow for action photography. It was fine for classroom shots with a flash and anyplace with good lighting and little action. I used it when I was taking posed shots and landscapes, like I’d done for the contests. It had a nice fine grain for intense clarity. But I’d asked Miss Sullivan if she could get a few rolls of 400. It was faster for the sports action and when I got to a low-light situation like the dance, I could open up the aperture and get better photos.
She said she’d have a roll or two for me for the dance. I planned to roll a couple of my own in case she didn’t come through. I did a lot of pacing up and down the sideline with my camera. Getting a good shot was tricky. The sun just wasn’t in the right position. Then at the end of the first quarter, the teams changed ends of the field and I could get better pictures of our offense. When they got up near mid-field, I could shoot right down the line between the two teams. I had to focus quickly, but I got a shot right as they snapped the football and began to move. With the 105mm lens, I could see the expression on the player’s face beneath his helmet. I wasn’t sure who that was and hoped someone would be able to help identify him.
Saturday, we went to Huntertown and I shopped for a suit at Goodwill. It wasn’t too bad. This Goodwill had a lot of suits on their racks. I found one that fit me pretty well and Mom checked the seams to make sure she could adjust them a little. She said she’d do it on Monday. I found a florist who gave me a pink carnation corsage and told me to just keep it in the refrigerator and it would be fine until Saturday. I guess they last a long time. It was in a little vial of water.
When we got home, Dad was making spaghetti and meat sauce with garlic toast, and the whole house smelled of garlic. Mom raised a bit of a fuss about how she couldn’t go to church and preach smelling like all that garlic, but eventually she sat and ate it anyway. I have to say that when he puts his mind to it, Dad’s a pretty good cook.
Sunday afternoon, I went over to play a little basketball, but no one was there. I rode my bike down to Anna’s house, but it didn’t look like anyone was home. I wasn’t confident enough to just go to the door and knock. I’d been hoping someone would be out raking leaves or something. I just pedaled around town a while. I didn’t see Judy or Janice, so I rode out on River Road to the cemetery to take a couple of pictures of cool gravestones.
“You haven’t taken my picture yet,” a voice said behind me. I spun around and came face-to-face with Christine from my English class. I tried to think if I’d seen her in any of my other classes.
“Um… Hi, Christine. I guess I haven’t seen you around lately. You weren’t in class this week.”
“You actually noticed? My grandmother died. She lived in Virginia and we all had to go out to the funeral and everything.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that. Um… Why are you out here? I don’t think I’d go back to a cemetery quite so soon. I mean… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound callous.”
“Well, you’re right. I wouldn’t have come out here regardless. When I was in Virginia, I discovered my father’s uncle was buried out here. I sort of remember him from when I was little, but I thought I’d come out and see if I could find his grave. You know, tell him his sister-in-law was on her way. Dumb stuff.”
“I don’t think that’s dumb at all. Have you found it yet?”
“I see a stone over there that says Evans on it. That’s probably it.”
We walked over to the stone and saw that it was, indeed, her great uncle, Julius Evans. 1900-1955. Wasn’t very old, I guess. I stepped back a little to let her have her minute with her great uncle. There was something about her and the way she knelt beside the stone, brushing some dirt off it. I raised my camera and took a picture, then moved as quietly as I could to get a different angle. She was really sweet. She looked up at me and stood.
“Is that what my pictures are going to be? Just me at a tombstone?”
“I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but it was really beautiful,” I said.
“I’d really like something a little happier. Can we go someplace else?” she asked.
“Sure. You know, I have a studio in town that I haven’t actually used except the darkroom so far. It’s got tons of props and you could find something to make you happy there,” I said.
“Really? You’ve got a studio? And it’s not like in your bedroom or anything, is it?”
“No,” I laughed. “I’d never get any models. It’s in Center Marketplace, upstairs.”
“It’s Sunday. Can you get in?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a key.”
We got on our bikes and rode back into town.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
