Chapter 24: Photographer’s Assistant

I SPENT SATURDAY EVENING—while my girlfriends were on a date with each other—processing and printing pictures of my mother. I did an 8x10 glossy of her photo in the church, and an archival print of her Attic Allure photo. The Attic Allure photo was still damp when I picked it up after church on Sunday and brought it home to show everyone. Uncle Nate and Aunt Grace arrived in time for Sunday dinner.

After we’d had ham and sweet potatoes and scalloped potatoes and asparagus, Dad brought out the carrot cake with cream cheese frosting and one candle. He set it before Mom and we sang ‘Happy Birthday.’ Her birthday wasn’t actually until Monday, but her brother came to celebrate today, so Dad baked a cake. It was delicious!

Uncle Nate presented Mom with a really heavy box that she had to clear a place for on the table. Mom opened it up and found a new Sears Electric Typewriter. It even came with a case, though you’d need a porter to carry it. Must have weighed twenty-five pounds.

“Nate, how could you?” Mom said with tears in her eyes.

“Well, my little sister’s a minister now. She has bulletins to type, and sermons to prepare, and those mimeograph stencil things. I figure that you might be preparing some great theological book sometime. You should have something decent to type on.”

“But it’s ... You’re so extravagant. Thank you,” she said as she went to hug her brother. I’m not sure he knew what to do with that physical demonstration. I don’t think I’d ever seen them hug before.

Kat gave Mom a painting she’d done. I didn’t realize how good an artist my own little sister was becoming. It was a watercolor of our Main Street. Cool.

And, of course, I gave her the photograph I’d taken just the day before and cautioned her that it was still damp and fragile. She looked at it a long time with Dad looking over her shoulder and then passed it to Nate and Grace. She gave me a hug and just whispered, “Thank you. It’s wonderful.”

“Nate, you know we’ll want a copy of this photo,” Aunt Grace said. “We’re all so proud of your mother.”

“I have one printed up and drying,” I said. “It’s in the studio.”

“Have you been to the studio, Grace?” Mom asked. “It’s really very professional and Nate has developed quite a nice style. Nate, why don’t you take us all on a tour? I know your uncle will want to spend time there with you.”

I hadn’t expected everyone to head over to the studio Sunday afternoon, but the weather was nice and I didn’t think they’d track much dirt in. I couldn’t believe Mom was inviting Aunt Grace and Kat in when she knew I had nudes in my gallery.

Everyone oohed and ahhed over the setup and lights that I had, then looked at the gallery.

“Oh, these are lovely,” Grace said. “I only got a little feel for what you were doing from the photos you gave your uncle at Christmas. This is very impressive.”

“Thank you, Aunt Grace.”

“You’ve got naked girls!” Kat exclaimed.

“Honey,” Mom stepped in, “the human form is fundamental to art throughout the ages. If you keep progressing with your art like you have this year, it’s likely that you will be in classes with nude models for drawing and painting. It’s not something you need to worry about yet, but one day you’ll have a better understanding.”

“Will you take my picture like that?” Kat asked me.

“Not exactly,” I said. “I’ll take your picture if you want to come up for a nice portrait session, but you can’t model like that until you are at least eighteen. By then, you aren’t likely to want to model. You’ll want models of your own.”

“Okay, I guess. But they’re so pretty.”

“Part of what makes them so pretty is the art,” Uncle Nate said. “You can’t just take a picture of something—a person or Main Street or the neighbor’s dog—and have a great photo. I’m sure you’ve seen some of your friends’ drawings in art class. It takes your vision and talent to turn that into art. You’ve got it and your brother has it. I don’t know where either of you got it, because it sure doesn’t run in our family. Maybe your dad’s family has a bunch of artists.”

Dad kind of shrugged.

“Grace, it’s such a lovely day out. Why don’t you and Kat and I take a walk down Main Street. We can leave the boys to talk about photography. I know my brother wants to dig deeper,” Mom said.

As soon as they left, Uncle Nate turned to me and I smiled. I went into the darkroom to get my full portfolio. He and Dad sat in the chairs at the desk and went through it together. Every once in a while, he’d stop and pull one of the photos from its sleeve. Of course, there were no nude pictures of Patricia, Chris, Judy, or Janice in the portfolio. I’d taken Uncle Nate seriously when he said he didn’t want to see that kind of photo of anyone under eighteen. But I noticed that he did pull the photo of Chris in her lingerie with her back turned. He grabbed the photo of Judy, Janice, and Pete being interrogated. But he also pulled half a dozen of the shots of Pam and Lori.

“You need more models like these,” he said. Dad just nodded.

Uncle Nate also wanted a run-down on how my new camera was working out and said the quality of the photos was a real testimony to what I could do with it. Dad and I showed him the safe we’d built in the darkroom and he looked at the albums of negatives and proofs I had there.

“You need a fireproof file cabinet to keep your film and releases in,” he said. “If something happened here, the wooden safe wouldn’t protect your most valuable assets. These photos are what will make you famous, not that camera.”

“Gosh. I hadn’t even thought about that,” I said. “I guess you’re right, though. All the equipment is replaceable. The photos aren’t.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” Dad said. “There’s an office supply store in Dubuque. We can make a run up there to check it out.”

Uncle Nate inspected everything in the darkroom, the bathroom, and the studio. He even went back into the storage area and just scanned around to see what kind of stuff I had. Finally, he collected the photos he wanted into an envelope and we locked up.

“Oh, Nate. The picture of your mom is so beautiful!” Chris said when she came up to the studio Monday afternoon. We’d made arrangements to go out hunting for photographs Monday afternoon. It was Mom’s ‘day off’ and she’d gone into Huntertown to get her hair done for her birthday. I was going to carry the whole camera case with me so I could change lenses and filters if I needed to. Chris took one of my reflective panels for the lights so I could get a little extra light if I needed it on a subject.

“Where to first?” she asked.

“I want to get some more people shots. Mr. Lewis said he’d be in Sweet Treats this afternoon doing spring cleaning. Let’s start there.”

It was a quick trip to get to Sweet Treats, next door to Center Marketplace. We got some nice pictures of Mr. Lewis making sodas. It was a classic soda fountain with a long counter and red-topped stools. He had a big mirror behind the counter so people could see him dipping ice cream and making treats. Best of all, Chris and I ‘had’ to drink the sodas he’d made up and listen to him talk about the history of the shop and how long he’d been there. I noticed that Chris had a notebook and pen with her and was jotting down things.

Circles, and arrows, and a paragraph on the back, I thought.

We went from there across to the bank and I asked if I could take a picture of the president. He was a nice guy and had been president of the bank for years. He might have been the best known figure in town. I’d been in the bank about every week to deposit my earnings or to get a check to send out to Camera Warehouse.

“What are you going to do with all the pictures?” Chris asked.

“I’m not exactly sure,” I said. “I have in mind putting together an exhibition of the faces of our town. You know, that’s one of the big differences between Tenbrook and Chicago. I mean there are a thousand differences, but the thing that I’ve noticed here most is that everybody knows everybody else. Like, everyone knew when Henry’s calendar had been stolen, almost as soon as it happened. Everyone knows Miss Ludwig at the library, and Mr. Spencer at the bank, and Mr. Lewis at the soda fountain. If I displayed their pictures someplace, everyone who came to see them would know exactly who they were and would talk about the setting and where it was taken.”

“Kind of a portrait of a small town,” Chris nodded. “Let’s go see Pastor Reisner. He’s in his office on Monday afternoon and I bet he’d like a picture. Are we getting model releases from everyone?”

“So far, no problems. I’ve been positioning it as being for a record of the village leaders.”

“I want to go through all the photos and see if I can write something up about each one. Remember the ‘paragraph on the back explaining what each one was?’ We should have little stories about each person to display with the photo.”

“What a great idea! I saw you taking notes. You’re a really good partner to have on this.”

We walked to the Lutheran church and Pastor Reisner was happy to have his photo included. The church ran a daycare center for working parents and we went into it. The children all seemed to love him and expect him. I got a picture of him with three little kids crawling on him while he read to them. What a great photo!

“Have you talked to Paul Armstrong?” Pastor Reisner asked. I wasn’t sure who that was.

“Would he let us take his photo?” Chris asked.

“I think so. Let’s go back to the office and I’ll give him a call.”

We went to the office and Pastor Reisner made the call as Chris explained that Paul Armstrong was the minister at the other Lutheran church, across the street.

“Paul, it’s Luke. How was Easter service for you?— Good. Good. We had a record attendance. Lot of the CEOs, you know.— Did you know that Pastor Hart’s son is a photographer? Pretty accomplished, too.— Right. He’s putting together a little exhibition of community leaders and I suggested you should be included.— No, this has nothing to do with the council. He just came here and took my picture with his assistant. How about if I send them over to you. You’ll like the picture and you get a copy of it for signing the release.— Great. God bless you, Paul.”

Pastor Reisner looked at us after he hung up the phone.

“He agreed?” Chris asked with wide eyes.

“He’s not an ogre, Chris. He’s my good friend. We worship the same God and in the same way. Our differences are all political. We don’t let that come between us.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said. “Anything else I should know?”

“I’d suggest you not refer to Rev. Hart at all, but especially not as Reverend Mother Superior,” he laughed. Chris and I gathered up our equipment and went across the street.

Rev. Armstrong was a little older than any of the other ministers in town. He had gray hair and a slightly more severe countenance than the others. I certainly couldn’t imagine swapping preacher jokes with him. But he listened to what I was proposing and read the model release thoroughly before signing it.

“Do you have any ideas regarding how you’d like to be shown?” I asked. “Possibly a favorite activity or a place in the church?”

He pointed at a soft red leather chair with a reading lamp and table next to it.

“This is where I study,” he said. “That would be the best place if there’s enough light.”

I assured him there was and he sat in the chair with the lamp over his shoulder. He held his Bible open in his hands and I started getting pictures. We were up close and I used the short length lens. I had Chris angle the reflector so I’d have enough light just from the lamp when I snapped off the overhead fluorescent.

I got pictures of him reading and then one in which he just raised his eyes a bit to look at me. The light was perfect and I captured the shot.

“Thank you, Reverend Armstrong,” I said. “I appreciate you taking the time to let me get your photo.”

“I’ll be looking forward to seeing the results,” he said as he moved back to his desk. “I assume you will be returning home this evening? I wonder if you would take this card to your Reverend Mother Superior for me.”

I’m sure both Chris and I had our mouths wide open as we stared at him and he held out a sealed envelope.

“I am not completely without a sense of humor,” he said, chuckling. I took the envelope and we left.

“Well, that was interesting!” Chris said.

“For sure. Say, that’s the Humane Society, isn’t it? Let’s stop there.”

“I’m sure there are some prominent canine citizens in the shelter,” she laughed.

“I was thinking about the town hero,” I said. “Lori mentioned once that this guy named Billy worked there. He was wounded in Vietnam.”

“Yes. I never knew him very well other than to see him play basketball. He’s six or seven years older than us. I know it was really sad when he came home a couple of years ago,” Chris said.

We walked in and stopped at the desk. I explained what I wanted to the woman out in front.

“Oh, it isn’t me you want a picture of,” she said, sounding relieved. “Come on back to the kennel and meet Billy.”

We went into the kennel where there were half a dozen dogs. Around the corner there was a place where a couple of cats were kept, just out of sight from the dogs.

“We handle strays, abandoned pets, and injured animals,” the woman said. “If we can’t find a forever home for them, we have an agreement with a couple of larger shelters that will take them and work on placing them with owners. We have a no-kill policy here, but we can’t just keep dogs and cats forever. I guess it’s kind of appropriate that we hired Billy to take care of them. He has a room here and is very good with the animals. There he is.”

I saw the guy in fatigues and a khaki T-shirt playing with a big dog in the turn-out yard. It seemed he was endlessly tossing a ball and letting the dog fetch it. The dog didn’t seem to be tiring of the game at all.

“Billy, this is Nate and Chris. They want to take your picture with the dogs. Can you sign your name on this form for them and let them take your picture?”

“Okay,” he said simply. “This is Roger. He likes to play with me. I’ll bring Lulu and Dutch out to be with him. They like each other.” Billy signed the form the woman held and she handed it to me as Billy went to get the other two dogs. Roger sniffed all around us, including some rather personal sniffing at Chris. She laughed.

“Boyfriend only, Roger,” she said as she pushed him away. I looked at her and raised my eyes. “And maybe a girlfriend,” she whispered.

Billy returned and the three dogs took off tearing around the play yard together. I looked around. We had some sunlight and I got a couple of pictures with a faster setting. I couldn’t possibly stop the dogs and Billy from just being a blur if I shot at less than 1/500th of a second.

“Hey, Billy,” Chris said as she approached him. “Can you get the dogs to pose with you over there by the building? Nate would like a picture that isn’t quite so fast-moving.”

“Okay,” he said. He just went over by the wall and whistled. All three dogs ran straight to him and he gave each one a bit of kibble. There was a sign on the wall that said, “There’s a whole bunch of dogs in here!”

I managed to get the sign and three dogs all in the picture with him. I figured I could crop out the window and get a good picture. Chris followed my direction and positioned the reflector. I got half a dozen pictures, including one where Roger turned his head and licked Billy’s neck as Billy laughed.

“Thank you, Billy. I appreciate you taking the time for pictures,” I said.

“Come again and adopt a dog. Lulu needs a home,” he said.

Chris and I went up to the front and I stowed my camera and lenses in the case with the new model release form.

We’d had a fun day and walked back to the studio.

“Thank you for letting me be your helper,” Chris said. “I had a fun day. But this doesn’t count as our date. I want the full treatment, you know.”

“Um ... I’m not sure what the full treatment is, but how about a nice dinner date Friday?”

“I hear there’s another movie theatre in Dubuque, so we wouldn’t have to see the same movie you saw with Ronda.”

“What’s playing?”

“Thoroughly Modern Millie with Julie Andrews.”

“I’m sold. I’ll check out restaurants when I’m in Dubuque tomorrow.”

“Why are you going to Dubuque tomorrow? Another date?”

“With my dad. He’s got time off work this week because a bunch of the high school boys want to earn money for prom. My uncle suggested that I need a fireproof file cabinet to keep my negatives and releases in. It seems like a good idea.”

“Oh, I see. Well, will we do some more photos on Wednesday?”

“I think I need to work on my paper. Don’t you?”

“Yeah. I was just trying to delay the inevitable. We could work in the library together, couldn’t we?”

“Christine, I’d spend every minute of my life with you. Of course we can work together. Maybe we’ll take some more pictures on Thursday.”

After a couple of delicious kisses, right on the street corner, we parted and went home.

It turned out that the mysterious envelope Pastor Armstrong sent my mother was a birthday card. My opinion of the guy just jumped even more.

With the help of a guy at the store, Dad and I wrestled the 250-pound locking file cabinet into the back of the Falcon. I couldn’t believe the price of the thing! It was used and still cost almost $500. Dad paid for it and said, “It’s from a patron.” I assumed he meant Uncle Nate.

“How are we ever going to get this up to the studio?” I asked.

“I was thinking about that. I’m not sure the stairs would support the weight of the cabinet and two grown men moving it. Why don’t we talk to Barkley and see what he thinks? We might need to put it in the garage.”

Mr. Barkley walked up the back stairs with us and shook his head.

“I don’t know, Rich,” he said to Dad. “I wouldn’t trust it. Why don’t we take it in through the store and up the inside stairs? Those are all inspected and certified safe. This is really just supposed to be a fire exit.”

We went into the studio and Mr. Barkley looked around at all the lights and props I was using. He spent a few minutes looking at my gallery, nodding. We went down the inside stairs to the third floor. He stopped and looked around. I noticed his chair and ashtray were no longer there.

“Since I quit smoking, I don’t come up here at all anymore. Getting a little dusty. Instead of carting your fire safe all the way up to the fourth floor, why don’t we put it on this floor so it doesn’t crowd you any further. In fact, if you want, why don’t you move your studio down here and just keep the fourth floor for your darkroom and props storage. It would give you a lot more room to work around your models and scenery. You’d have to bring down whatever props you wanted to use, but the space is just sitting here empty. Might as well have some use for it.”

“Really, Mr. Barkley? Thank you! It does get a little crowded. I did a three-person shoot a couple of weeks ago and it was hard to get far enough back to get them all in the scene.”

“Well, you can see there are restrooms on this floor, too. Years ago, the fashion department was here, so there are a couple of dressing rooms as well. It would be more professional than having your models change in the upstairs bathroom.”

“This is great, Mr. Barkley. I’ll get busy and get it cleaned. We’ve got a Shop-Vac that should make quick work of all the settled dust,” I said.

“We’ll check your key, but I believe it works for the door from the outside stairs to this floor. We can leave the stairs inside to the fourth floor open and you can get in and out easily. I’ve got a two-wheel dolly in the back of the store we can load that monster safe onto.”

We got the file cabinet upstairs and I started figuring out where I was going to set the studio up and what I needed to bring down from the attic. The ceiling was a little higher on this floor than the attic, too. I liked that and immediately started figuring out how I could expand my lighting.

The first thing, though, was to clean the space. I had no idea how long it had been since the room had seen a broom, but I sure couldn’t invite a model in here in its present state. I went home and got our Shop-Vac. I’d used it when I cleaned the garage, but I don’t think it had been used since. I emptied the bag and carted it, along with an extension cord, up to the third floor, using the outside stairs.

The room was really huge and gave me an idea of how little of the space on the fourth floor I was really using. It was about thirty-five feet wide and close to three times that long. And, except for my file cabinet, it was empty. I started at the front where there were arched windows that were taller than the ones upstairs, and started vacuuming everything. I vacuumed up the walls, around the woodwork, and across the floor. When I got the main area cleaned, I vacuumed the two dressing rooms and dared to stick my head into the restrooms. They were going to take more than vacuuming. The huge area had hardwood floors, just like the rest of the building. The main floor, where the grocery and general store was, had been tiled in linoleum. With this floor being so empty, it echoed unbelievably.

I took the Shop-Vac back home and got the mop and pail. I stopped at the store and asked if there was any floor cleaner that would be best to use for the wooden floor upstairs. Mrs. Barkley pointed me to Murphy Oil Soap. I bought it and carted everything upstairs. Vacuuming had been a long job, but mopping promised to take forever. I decided I’d head home to dinner before I got started on that.