Chapter 9

It was Monday and we were back in class and this time I was ready for anything.

Photography 101! Finally I'd have a chance to show what I could do with a camera! Was I in for a surprise.

The first thing I saw when I walked into the studio was a bunch of kids standing around talking about what great photographers they were and bragging about the outstanding images they'd created. I decided keeping a low profile was my best bet. After last quarter with Grossfeldt I had learned the fine art of playing the mouse at a cat's picnic.

Mr. Nordstrom, our instructor, walked in.

"Okay, people. Which of you knows the most about photography?" he challenged. Suddenly, all the "great" photographers were silent.

"Nobody wants to claim they're the best, the most knowledgeable? Come on, people, somebody's got to be the best! Which of you is it?" Everybody looked around waiting for someone to claim the honor. Nobody did. What was it with the instructors at this place? I mean a challenging curriculum was one thing, but this?

"Okay, so all of you admit you still have something to learn. Very good! Any questions?"

"Um, yeah. Are we going to use just digital equipment or some old stuff like that, too?" one kid asked, pointing at a view camera on a tripod. I knew basically what it was but had never used one.

Nordstrom just grinned. "Yes, you'll be learning to use that "old" camera and you'll learn why we have one for you to work with. By the way, that camera is a Linhof 4x5 view camera, only a year old and cost almost five grand—and that's just the body, you can add several times that to cover the lenses."

The room got very quiet. The kid who asked the question looked like he suddenly wanted to be anyplace else.

"Okay, if nobody has any more questions, I've got some for you," he said as he pulled a sheaf of papers out of his briefcase. A test the first day of class?

"I see a lot of panicked faces out there. Don't worry, this one doesn't count. I just want to get an idea of what you already know."

Whew!

I looked over the test and felt pretty good when I realized the questions were on basic photographic principles and I already knew most of the answers. Most of them, but not all.

"Mr. Randahl, I see you have decided to continue your education." I knew that voice and cringed as I turned around to see Grossfeldt striding toward me.

"Hello, sir. Yes, I'm going to keep working toward my degree.

"Um ... May I ask you a question, sir?"

"Certainly, Mr. Randahl," he responded.

"Why did you give me an A in your class? I didn't think you liked me."

"Give you your grade? Mr. Randahl, I do not 'give' anyone anything. Do you feel you did not deserve your grade?"

Under his withering gaze all I could do was stand there.

"You earned your grade, Mr. Randahl. As for liking you—my feelings toward you personally had nothing to do with your grade. I have to admit at first I did not think you would successfully complete my course. Nothing personal in that. I have seen too many students in the photography program who think a camera gives them some special ability that negates any need to study anything other than the production of photographic images. I came to see I was wrong in your case. If I seemed to single you out it was to push you to do your best and I came to see you have a modicum of artistic talent. I also see there are others in this institution who hold the same opinion. Even though you dislike the term 'artist' as I remember.

"And now, if you will excuse me, I have another class waiting for me, as do you if I am not mistaken," he said as he turned and walked down the hall. I knew he did—I was in it.

As I grabbed a seat in Western Art I saw some of the kids who had been in the same section from last quarter. I was curious to see what those who hadn't had Grossfeldt before would think.

Just before class started I saw Valery Thomas walk in the room. Maybe she wouldn't see me. Yeah, right. I had a feeling Val didn't miss much and she didn't miss me. She oozed back toward me, chest stuck out and hips that swiveled like they were on Timken bearings. She sat down in front of me.

"Hi, Tommy, how were your holidays? Sorry you missed the party, I was really hoping you'd be there," she said as she turned around and propped her boobs on the back of the chair.

"Um, hi, Valery. Christmas was pretty good. Yeah, I was running late that Saturday and couldn't make the party. Thanks for the invitation, though."

"Your loss. We had a great time."

Before I could respond Grossfeldt entered the room and by the time the hour was over it was pretty obvious this quarter wasn't going to be any easier than the last.

"How do you rate, Tommy?" I turned around and Roger, one of the guys from last quarter's Color Theory class, was standing there, grinning from ear to ear.

"How do I rate what?"

"Valery, man, Valery. She's got the hots for you, you lucky bastard."

"Valery? Nah, that's just the way she acts."

"Tommy, don't bullshit me. The next thing you know, she'll want you to pose for her and then it's all over. She'll have you panting and following her around like a little puppy."

"Posing?" Ulp. Was he right? Why would she be interested in me?

I walked out of the window-less photo lab that first day and looked out to see a blizzard. I turned on my phone, and almost immediately it rang.

"Tommy, it's me," said Beth, breathlessly. "Don't expect us any time soon. The lot is drifted in and we can't even get to the Jeep!"

"Okay. Are you inside?"

"Yeah, we're camped out with a bunch of other kids in one of the dorms right next to the lot. As soon as they plow us out we'll be home. It's just not going to be any time soon."

"Okay, let me get myself shoveled out and I'll drive over and pick up the three of you. We can get your Jeep after things quiet down."

"Tommy, you don't have to do that! We'll just wait until the lot's clear and drive home. No sense having to make another trip out tonight. Besides, it's going to take all night to warm me up." Now a hint like that even I can get!

"As long as you're safe. I don't want to have to go hunting for you again."

"Don't worry. We're in no hurry. Besides, since Greg's with us who'd help you hunt? Where are you by the way?" my lady asked.

"I haven't left school yet so I may be in the same boat. I'll let you know."

Ah, the joys of living in snow country!

Eventually I got to my Jeep, dug it out, called Beth to let her know I was finally mobile, and drove home. A trip that normally took fifteen or twenty minutes turned into an hour and a half trek. At that, I still beat my three house-mates home.

When Beth finally walked in the house, she dropped her book bag on the table. "Don't even think about suggesting going out for dinner!

"Tommy, why didn't we stay down in the Islands? This stuff is ridiculous!" I wasn't going to argue. Right now lying on a beach with my lady naked next to me sounded pretty good. I mean even better than usual.

"Hey, Tommy, how'd you like to go flying?"

"Jim? Jim Moore? Hi, I haven't talked to you for a while. What's up?"

"We're building a new facility and Matt would like some pictures of the construction. So far, it's just a foundation and a couple of the walls and Matt thought aerial shots would be more interesting than something from ground level. You up for some air time?"

"Sure. I'm in school so we'd have to work around my class schedule, but otherwise I'm pretty open, especially on Tuesdays and Thursday afternoons."

"Sounds do-able. How about a week from this Thursday? The long-range forecast looks pretty good. Could you meet me at the airport about one?"

"Sure. Will you let me know one way or the other about the weather?"

"Yeah, I should know for sure by Tuesday. Oh, and wear your warmest clothes, remember my plane doesn't have any heat to speak of."

I just laughed, "Don't worry, just look for the Michelin man, that'll be me! Oh, and I promise not to ask for any detours this time!"

Tuesday morning we all got up early, assuming—rightly so—that getting to school was going to be something close to the Russian sleigh ride we went through yesterday. I wished Beth luck and gave her a good-luck kiss before I got in my Jeep for the trip.

There were only three of us that showed up for Photography so we spent the hour just talking with Mr. Nordstrom. He had started shooting news photos for one of the local newspapers and then opened his own studio before becoming an instructor. One of the nice things about the Institute was the number of instructors who had real-world experience, not just book-learning.

By the time I got to Western Art most of the class had made it in, however I noticed Valery and several others weren't there. Grossfeldt walked in, looked around, and just shook his head at the open seats. "I see a number of you decided to eschew attending today."

That was hardly fair, considering he lived only three blocks away and walked to school every day. Many of the city streets hadn't been fully cleared yet. I didn't have any trouble driving the Jeep, but I could see where someone who had a long commute and didn't have four-wheel drive might just decide to roll over and go back to sleep.

"I wonder if a short test is in order?" he mused. A quick look around made it obvious who had, and who hadn't, been in one of his sections last quarter—the rookies had panicked expressions where we old pros just looked resigned to whatever was to come.

"No, I think not," Grossfeldt said. I could almost hear the sigh of relief. "A simple survey might be more appropriate.

"How many of you feel art is influenced by the society in which it is created?"

Maybe half the class raised their hands.

"And how many feel society is influenced by art?"

The majority of the remaining kids raised their hands.

"Most interesting," Grossfeldt murmured. "I notice a number of you do not seem to have an opinion.

"Mr. Randahl, you and I have already agreed to disagree on what constitutes art but apparently you have no opinion on this subject?"

"Um, not exactly. I can think of a third choice—art and society interact and affect each other."

"Ah! Someone who paid attention last quarter. Very good, Mr. Randahl. Now, would any of you who agreed with either of the first two choices care to inform us as to why?" I could swear I saw a glint in his eyes. The rest of the hour was a lot of verbal tap-dancing and back-filling.

"Tommy, grab your coat. Cindy and Greg are taking us out for pizza!"

Who was I to argue?

"Well, the four musketeers are here!" Jeanie grinned as we walked into the Palace.

"Hi, Jeanie. What's new?"

"We've got a new manager. George decided to retire so now Alphonse is the boss." Jeanie looked around and whispered, "His name is really Albert, but he thinks Alphonse sounds more Italian."

After we ordered, Cindy looked at Beth. "Okay, spill. What's up with you two? You wouldn't say anything yesterday and the suspense is killing me!"

We spent the rest of the evening explaining to our friends what we'd decided to do, or in this case not do.

The next day Val latched on to me after Western Art and seemed determined to add me to her list of conquests.

"Tommy, you've got to pose for me! Your body-type is perfect for what I've got planned."

I could just bet. Whatever she had planned.

"Besides, you can't tell me you're involved with anybody else, so why not? I know that rich bitch dumped you."

Hmmm. Seemed like somebody's source of info was a little behind, not to mention inaccurate.

"Where did you hear that, Val?"

"Oh, a mutual friend told me all about it."

"A mutual friend? Who was that?"

"A guy I met at a party who's a good friend of your ex-girlfriend. A guy named Jason."

Val gave me a strange look as I started chuckling. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Val, Jason and Beth are such good friends that the last time she saw him she left him with his balls up around his Adam's Apple." Val stood there with an "I've been had" look. "Oh, by the way," I added, "Beth and I have been back together since Thanksgiving."

The look on her face was priceless. Her expression went from surprise to confusion to a look I couldn't quite nail down, I just hoped it was aimed at Jason, not me.

"Hypothetical situation." Mr. Nordstrom had a little grin that made me think he was up to something. His teaching style relied a lot on asking leading questions and using the ensuing discussion to demonstrate techniques, most of which seemed basic to me, but left a lot of the class paddling in the deep end of the pool.

"You're in a situation where the light is low and you can't use a flash. What do you do? Miss Olson?"

"Um ... boost my ISO setting?"

"That's one solution. Can you think of any others?"

"Ah, no?" she said in a little voice.

"Miss Olson, do you keep your camera in Auto mode?" Oh, oh. I could tell where this was going.

"Um ... yeah. Pretty much," she admitted.

"So you've never tried using Aperture or Shutter Priority?"

"N-no."

"Can anyone help Miss Olson out?" I raised my hand. I hadn't contributed much so far but I couldn't let this one go. I mean it was so basic!

"Ah, Mr. Randahl. It's about time you chimed in. What would you do?"

"Depending on the camera, change to one of the manual modes and lower the shutter speed, open the aperture, or both."

"Very good. Anyone have any other ideas?"

Brad Hutchins, one of the other guys in the photography program, raised his hand. "Well, if your shutter speed gets down to where you can't hold the camera steady use some kind of camera support, a tripod or something."

"But you don't have your tripod with you. Then what?" I could tell Mr. Nordstrom was enjoying prying answers out of us. Brad just shook his head.

"Okay, let me show you a trick," Nordstrom said as he picked up a camera off the table, slipped the strap over his neck and shoulder and wrapped it around his forearm.

"If you do this, it gives you extra support," he said and demonstrated as he lifted the camera to his eye and moved his arm out to tighten the strap.

"Any other ideas?"

"Brace the camera against something like Brad said or use a string pod."

"A string pod?" Mr. Nordstrom looked surprised. "And what would that be, Mr. Randahl?" he added with a satisfied grin. Something told me this wasn't the first time he'd heard of my favorite little gadget.

I reached in and pulled one out of my pocket. "One of these," I said, holding it up.

"And where did you get that?"

"I made it. It's just an eye-bolt and a chunk of rope. Screw the eye-bolt into the camera's tripod socket, drop the rope and step on the end. When you pull up on it it'll give you some stability. Not as much as you'd get with even a monopod but it's better than nothing."

"And you just happened to have one in your pocket?"

"Sure, I always try to carry one. You never know when it'll come in handy," I responded.

"Very good, Mr. Randahl. A good photographer is always prepared."

As I drove home that afternoon I noticed the city had finally finished plowing the streets curb-to-curb, which meant I'd have some shoveling to do to clean out the end of the driveway. That was until I pulled around the corner and saw Greg's dad sitting in his pickup. The pickup with the plow on the front. The plow that had cleaned out our driveway.

"Hey, Tommy, how's it going?" he asked as he got out of the truck.

"Pretty good, Bill. Thanks for doing the driveway. That's one big job I can scratch off my list."

"I'll do you one better. Look in the back of the truck."

I looked in the bed of the pickup and there was a snow-blower!

"I had the chance get this in trade for some work I did and thought you guys might find a use for it."

Might?

"You bet we can, especially if the rest of the winter dumps on us like it has so far. How much do we owe you?"

"Don't worry about it, Tommy," he said as we wrestled it out of the truck. "We'll just consider it a loaner."

"Thanks, Bill! We'll take good care of it."

"I know you will. Woops, don't forget the gas can!

"Well, I've got to run. Something about going out for dinner," he grumbled as he got back in the pickup.

I was about halfway done cleaning the front sidewalk when the terrible trio pulled in.

"Hey, Tommy, where'd you get the big red toy?" Greg asked.

"Your dad just dropped it off. You want to try it out?" I hinted.

He just chuckled as he handed his book bag to Cindy.

When Greg was done with the sidewalks, I ran the machine across the alley and started on George's driveway. I'd cleaned most of what the plow had piled up at the end and was just starting on the driveway itself when our neighbor came out with a shovel over his shoulder.

"Hey, Tommy, you don't have to do that. I'm not an invalid yet."