May 17, 2013
Dear Everyone:
When I was a senior in
high school, having successfully squirmed my way
out of taking the dreaded and, ultimately useless,
Physics class, I
found myself enrolled in something called Journalism III.
Journalism I and II were the school newspaper.
Journalism III was the
Yearbook.
That’s right, I was on the Yearbook Editorial Staff.
And I dare say I learned more practical knowledge there than I
ever would have in Physics.
I learned how to write copy under a deadline.
Used that skill plenty of times over the years.
Also, how to
crop photographs (deciding how to frame and exclude
unwanted parts of a picture) and how to assemble said copy and pictures
in the space provided, which came in so handy when I started using
PowerPoint, like so much of the Business World.
Early in the academic year came something called “Homecoming”, a
collection of social events centered loosely around the beginning of the
year and football. One of
the “traditions” at our high school was something called the Car Bash.
For some reason long lost in the mists of time, students would pay a
nominal fee for the opportunity to take a sledge hammer to an unarmed
vehicle. Where they got the
automobile, I have no idea.
Probably someone in the “Shop Class” knew someone in the auto/junk yard
industry.
During one of our early “staff meetings” I mischievously suggested to
the Editor that a photographer get inside the car, to take some pictures
from the car’s point of view.
She like the idea and passed it on to the lead photographer.
Needless to say, there was a Photography class that was affiliated with
all the Journalism classes.
This was a very well-to-do school district.
They even had a Ski Team.
One of the photography students took the challenge.
I remember the day he came into the classroom, bubbling about the
great pictures he’d taken, and how they would look in the Yearbook, or
the school paper. Then he
went into the Dark Room.
A few minutes later, he came out, fighting back tears.
Someone had made a mistake.
One of the chemicals had been mislabeled, or something, and the
film was destroyed. There
would be no award-winning pictures from Inside the Car Bash.
Those were the days, picture-wise.
First, you had to have a camera, an expensive toy to begin with.
Also, you had to buy film.
You took some pictures.
Then you had to find a way to develop the film.
And print the negatives to paper.
Or you paid a service to do it for you.
In time, you bought a relatively cheap plastic-and-cardboard
camera, with built-in film (and flash lighting) and turned the whole
kit-and-caboodle over to the service.
In less than a week, you had a handful of photographs.
More recently, you could take your film to a “Developer’s Kiosk”,
situated in a parking lot.
You drove up, filled out a form, and handed over the package, all
without leaving your car. In
a few days, you went back and picked up the pictures.
In any case, you had to wait to find out if your pictures “came out”.
Were they “in focus” (clear or fuzzy)?
Did you cut Dad’s head off (again)?
These days, no one would dream of waiting more than a few seconds to see
the photo. Cameras aren’t
just cheap, they’re ubiquitous.
There’s one in your cell phone.
“Jeannie’s” phone is filled with pictures of her knee and the
inside of her purse.
And that kiosk is still standing out there in the parking lot.
Only now, they use it to sell ridiculously expensive coffee.
Love, as always,
Pete
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