I was fortunate to meet several amazing people early in my time at the paper who subtly shaped my thinking. I am, to this day, very thankful for these early influencers to this day.
The Pumpkin Festival Queen
I sat on the curb waiting. I knew the photo the newspaper wanted; a single picture of the new Pumpkin Festival Queen and her court. But I would have to wait through the singers, pianists, dancers and baton twirlers before I could get my picture.
In time, the performances concluded and the Queen was announced and it was time for pictures. Though I was inexperienced, I knew that you never get between proud parents and their kid when there were pictures to be taken. So for my own safety, I volunteered to arrange the Queen and her court with the understanding that the parents could get their pictures first and then it would be my turn. When that time arrived, I took an extra moment to make sure everyone in place. In at that moment I caught the eye of the newly crowned queen. Her look was not what I was expecting. It was the look of uncanny composure. The girls in court were understandably a bit giddy but the Queen was almost stoice. After long moment I brought my camera to my eye and took the picture.
As packed up my gear and began my drive home, I kept mulling over what had happened.
I recognized the Pumpkin Queen as the this town’s raining “most popular girl,” She was the one the one everyone expected to win any contest she entered. But there was no pridefulness or vanity in her eyes. Then it hit me. What I saw in her eyes was acceptance and understanding of a small town’s traditions, so it was no surprise she was the Queen. But the grace she exhibited while playing out this generational role was in stark contrast compared to my wordly teenage view. Being from the big city (Troy) I believed that living in small farming communities was akin to being in a witness protection program. The contrast of the Queen’s acceptedness and my was cluelessness was disturbing. I was a young photographer who needed small town events like the Pumpkin Festival to move ahead in my career. Without them I would be sitting at home watching television. Having had the tables flipped on me, all I could do was laugh all the way home.
From that night forward I let the newspaper know I wanted the rural assignments. As fate would have it, meeting Becher Berry and his wife drove the next week.
Beecher Berry was a retired science teacher who lived in the tiny town of Pleasant Hill Ohio. He took pictures of birds from his kitchen that were published in several national magazines.
When I arrived at the Berry’s home I was a bit apprehensive. I was inexperienced teenager and my history with teachers, retired or otherwise, was not always stellar. I couldn’t have been more mistaken. In short order I was sitting at the Berry’s kitchen table drinking ice tea and talking photography. To my amazement he had steered the conversation away from his work and onto mine.
Eventually we got back on topic and talked about his work. He had a modest collection of camera equipment that he made the most of with his photography. He explained how he used his wife’s old purses as camera bags. What? It was at this point that I subtlety pushed the “just in case” bags full of camera equipment under the kitchen table and out of sight.
In the hour I was in the Berry’s home I spent about five minutes of actual taking pictures. But in the decades since, my memory of that experience with the Berries as one of my favorites that became the model of how to establish honest, productive relationships with my subjects. The Berries taught me humility (though I’m still not ready to use purses as camera bags) while peaked my new found interest in small towns culture. The Berry’s unknowingly challenged my silly preconception. It was a gift I treasured to this day.
“I Just Can’t Take Good Pictures”
Soon after I began working for the newspaper, I took a job in a camera store. I would be passing out customers finished pictures on Saturday morning. Typically they would take a moment to look at their pictures to see how they turned out. It was the moment of truth. If they were disappointed, I would often hear: “I just can’t take good pictures.” I found the statement jarring. They seemed to attribute bad pictures to a lack some special creative predisposition required for taking good pictures. Popular thought ranged from a missing creative gene to fluoridated water.
As a fledgling photographer myself, I seriously believed the two pile review system was often a rush to judgement based on a quick scan of the pictures. Seldom were the pictures one hundred percent good or one hundred percent bad. And both piles offered learning opportunities such as recognizing the pattern of repeating the same mistakes over and over. In the film days that meant wasting lots of money and gaining only frustration.
The person that thinks they can’t take good pictures is probably right if their expectations are unrealistically high for their present skill level. So the question is really whether the picture taker wants to spend and time and effort to improve their photography to sink with their expectations. Though I have no way of knowing, I suspect the “I can’t take good pictures” person just might a decisioned that has already been made. And that is fine.