In looking at old photographs I've thought about posting some of them on my blog, adding to them stories, or what effect the photos might have had on my career. This is the first. There are several benches in front of San Francisco's Ghirardelli Square. In the summer lots of people hang out there to enjoy the sunshine, watch the swimmers in the Bay, take in the view of the bridge. In 1969, fresh out of UC, I discovered this colorful character sitting on one of the benches. I sat next to him and fiddled with the manual adjustments on my camera, guessing the light exposure, the shutter speed, and how close he was to me, knowing that I wouldn't have time to focus, or make any other adjustments. I turned to look at him at the same time that he looked at me. After taking the photo he unleashed a string of profanities. Chastened, I stood up and left. When the slide came back from the lab I looked at it with a critical eye and thought to myself, "I can do this. I really can do this." it was the first inclination I'd ever had that made me think that at some point in my life, I could become a real photographer.
In the summer of 1972 Jadyne and I bought a Eurailpass, flew first to England, then left for Amsterdam, Paris, Madrid, Rome, and Greece before returning to the US. (I can still remember flying a 747 from Rome to SF for the unheard of price of $99). Shooting slides along the way I took three that still stand the test of time for me, one in Venice, one in San Sebastian, Spain, and the last, in Paris. Visiting all the churches and towers we could find, Jadyne and I needed to climb to the top of every dome, every steeple. At Notre Dame I spied an open window along the stairway with a view that overlooked the rooftops of Paris. Using my 135mm lens I took this image. I submitted it to only the second photography contest I ever entered. I won Best in Show and a $50 gift that Jadyne and I splurged on at the Maisonette, a Michelin starred restaurant in Cincinnati. I was pursuing a Master's Degree that would lead me to a career in teaching in 1972, but I carried my camera with me everywhere I went, and I was always looking. Some things never change.
When we returned to Paris I wanted to retake the image, but discovered that bars and a screen had been placed across the window.
Ten years later I entered my third and last photography contest. Once again, Best in Show. And with this one came a free trip to Hawaii. The story gets better, though. I was now working as a photographer, and in 1982, thirty-five years ago, I photographed the students at Los Ayres, a San Leandro school for budding ballerinas. In exchange for doing countless photos of little girls under the lights, Miss Judy and I took the most promising dancers to outside locations. I chose places that were counter to the "prettiness" of ballet—a Western village, a blacksmith shop, and in this case, the nineteenth century Fort Point, which is under the Golden Gate Bridge. When Miss Judy saw this image, she dismissed it immediately. "Why?" I asked, as I believed that it was a great shot. "She's not on point," she said, spoken as a true ballerina. As a photographer, though, I knew better.
But here's where the story gets better. Bay Views magazine folded with this issue. We delayed our gift trip until November and arrived in Honolulu the day before Hurricane Iwa, so the trip was a disaster, too, as we were unable to travel to Kuaui or Maui. We stayed with Jadyne's mother on Oahu, but we had no power and there was little we could do. Some gift horses are better looked at in the mouth.
