Photographers and Their Stories

[GD Deckard]

Got a story? Add it to the thread!

We all have stories. Here's my favorite.
I shot and developed a roll of B&W film a day while stationed at USAF Hospital Clark in the Philippines. With luck, there would be a negative on the roll worth developing, most days. The adjacent town, Angeles City, was controlled by gangsters. (Letting the camera swing on its strap was inviting someone to grab it and run.) But the town and its people were fascinating subjects.

One day, my jeepney driver refused to drive down an alley I wanted to explore, so I walked. Unpainted buildings on both sides, without windows and seemingly without doors, blocked the sun. I walked a block to where the alley turned right into the sunlight. At the corner stood a man with a large eagle tattooed on his chest talking to a girl inside a kiosk. I snapped his picture. Back at the base darkroom, I printed a sharp 5-inch by 7-inch photograph to clearly show the eagle.

That night, I found the man at the same spot, wearing a crisp, clean barong. The lacy white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, showing the eagle’s head. I handed him his photo and told him my name. He glared at me and examined the picture, frowning. Then his face broke into a wide grin. Beamed, really. He shook my hand. “Rudi Perez.” I had, quite accidentally, just made friends with Angeles City’s number two gangster. From then on, whenever I wandered around town snapping photographs, one of Rudi's men tailed me. I let my camera swing from its strap, and nobody dared grab it.

 

[webestang6421]

Oh boy where do I start. I've worked in the industry since 1985 and must have 100 or so story's from all the photo labs I have worked at. I'll have to think of some of the best and post here when I get a chance.

 

[GD Deckard]

Do that, webestang64!
Share some stories here.

If we get enough stories from photographers, we could publish an anthology

 

[DanOstergren]

Back in my mid-twenties (2009-2015), I had a bit of an obsession with Christina Aguilera's music, to the point of getting a tattoo of my favorite photo of her on my arm in 2011, without taking the time to find out who the photographer was (I was young and dumb, forgive me). It's not the greatest tattoo and looks more like Julia Roberts, but I digress. Fast-forward to 2013, I had moved to New York City and a friend of a friend recommended I apply for an internship with a photographer that I was unfamiliar with, and if I applied he would put in a good word for me. I applied and got an interview scheduled the very next day. The night before my interview I was researching the work of said photographer (his name is Michael Thompson), and discovered that he had taken the photograph of Christina Aguilera that I already had tattooed to my arm two years prior to this. Now knowing the significance of this photographer, I was extremely nervous and insecure about this interview. His 1st assistant is the one who interviewed me, and it went well, and I ended up getting the internship. My tasks weren't all that glamorous (running errands during shoots and archiving his work in his office on non-shoot days), but I also got to be on set for things like Tiffany & Co campaign shoots and celebrity photo shoots, which meant that I was able to see exactly how his lighting team set up the lights and which modifiers they used, and I got to watch Michael conduct these photo shoots and really pay attention to how he directed and interacted with his subjects. In terms of not having a formal education in photography, I am self taught, but I consider this experience to be my "formal education" in portrait and commercial photography and it completely reshaped the way I view and use light, both natural and in-studio, and the way I interact with and direct the people I'm photographing, and it reshaped my creative approach to my photo shoots. Looking back, it's hard to fathom how lucky I am to have had that opportunity, and I don't think I could have learned what I did in a classroom. It's an experience that will always be very special to me, and I am so grateful for it.

 

[GD Deckard]

Great story, DanOstergren. And thank you for the introduction to Michael Thompson. I just looked up his work. Incredible. I can close my eyes and still see some of his images.

 

[Zonnie]

Here is my story from 48 years ago (June 1978). I was living near Aspen, Colorado and was waiting for the road to open that led to the Maroon Bells after a heavy winter. The "Bells", as everyone there calls them is a very popular place for photos. This photo was taken early morning using a Minolta 35mm SLR, 35mm wide angle lens, tripod and Kodachrome 64 film (yes, film). I arrived at the lake well before sunup and was surprised to see no one else at the lake (just me and Thee) on this gorgeous summer morning with this scene unfolding before me. The lake stayed completely "mirror still" as you see here for several hours. I have been back to this spot several times since that summer 48 years ago but have not seen as full and as still a reflection of the Bells like this one. I'm glad I can share this with you.

 

[GD Deckard]

Thank you for the superb picture, Zonnie. As a former Colorado resident, I have seen such scenes, but never with that stillness. You combined luck with skill to get that photo!

 

[webestang6421]

Maroon Bells

NICE SHOT!!!
Was there in the late 90's....WOW what a scene it was. Was a bit overcast when I took photos but most of them were in BW. Still was able to get some good tones in the darkroom.

 

[Zonnie]

Thank you for the superb picture, Zonnie. As a former Colorado resident, I have seen such scenes, but never with that stillness. You combined luck with skill to get that photo!

Thank you GD. You're right, luck had alot to play in this as you know.

 

[Zonnie]

NICE SHOT!!!
Was there in the late 90's....WOW what a scene it was. Was a bit overcast when I took photos but most of them were in BW. Still was able to get some good tones in the darkroom.

Thank you. Glad I scanned the photo off a slide and transferred to a flash drive for saving. Also is on Flicker.

 

[Gardyloo85 38]

Here's an excerpt from a recounting of a work project I undertook in Iran a couple of years before the Shah's hasty departure.

Most of my work took place in the city of Rasht, located on the Caspian Sea coast a couple hundred km north of Tehran. On one of my days off I grabbed my camera (Nikkormat FT with a 43-86mm zoom) and went picture hunting.

...So there I am taking pictures and honestly, looking hard for something more photogenic than a phone booth behind a half-demolished wall. I come upon an older brick building that would be pretty ordinary anyplace else in Iran (I assume) but which has enough character to set it apart from the rest of the herd in Rasht. I take a picture of it, and seconds later someone behind me is yelling, presumably at me. I turn and behold the smallest policeman I've ever seen - not a victim of dwarfism nor what I would term a midget (I'm sure I'm stomping around some very un-PC ground here, so sincere apologies to anyone offended.) His short stature only lends emphasis to the size of the handgun he's pointing at me. It was probably a standard issue .38 or .45, but it looked in that moment like a .44 or maybe a howitzer; the muzzle looked like that of a fire hose.

I don't know what to do; I raise my hands - duh - while he continues to holler at me in Farsi. I manage to get out my stock "I'm sorry I don't speak Farsi, do you speak English?" (in Farsi, but for all I know I could be insulting his mother) and that seems to calm him down, but we're not done.

The cop with the big gun makes it clear I'm to accompany him, so we walk out to the main street where he flags down a taxi and commandeers it to take us to the police station.

The driver makes no protest, probably knowing he’s not going to get paid for the ride, but who argues with a nervous bazooka-toting cop?

A couple of minutes later we pull into the forecourt of what I assume is police HQ for the city, and I am escorted by Big Gun (now holstered) up to an office inhabited by who I assume is the captain or honcho of the office. Picture of the Shah on the wall, looking very Shah-ish.

I note on the wall behind his desk is an old fireplace with a cast iron stove front which bears squiggly lettering (not Roman, not Cyrillic, not Farsi/Arabian) below a hammer and sickle. I learn later that this is a leftover from a brief period between 1917 and 1921 when this area was part of a failed Soviet-styled state which tried to join the baby USSR (the border is maybe 50 miles west) but didn’t after the British intervened.

Anyway, this guy doesn’t speak English either, so we’re at an impasse. I’ve obviously done something – the picture I presume – that got the cops’ attention, but what was wrong about it and where do we go from here?

It dawns on me that I have what might be a get-out-of-jail card in my wallet (my passport is back in the hotel) in the form of a card with a contact person in the provincial governor’s office who is one of our hosts/overseers. I hand it to the officer and he phones the number on it.

“Hello?” Words words something something. “Oh. Oh really?” He looks at the arresting officer and says something terse. Big Gun bugs out and behind the captain I can actually see him running through the forecourt on his way back to the mean streets of Rasht. “Sure. Yessir. Hail Hydra.” (Or something, I’m guessing.) He hangs up.

I’m sitting there, still mystified, but now hopeful that I won’t be spending the night in this no-star hotel. The captain looks troubled. He offers me tea. No thanks, I reply. More troubled looks. He indicates (sign l
anguage, some French) that I can be driven back to my hotel. No thanks, I’ll just walk. Okay.Mom

He puts on his hat, stands and salutes me. I have never been saluted before or since.

I make my way back to the hotel and relate this story to our Iranian fixer who in turn asks our local liaison why I was arrested and why I was released. I get the story the next morning. That cute brick building? It’s the local headquarters for Savak, the Shah’s secret police.

See, all the while we’ve been in Rasht, we’ve noticed that on some (all?) of our excursions to factories, farms, etc., there appear to have been one or two men in the same vicinity dressed in dark suits (in this weather?) and sporting I-spy wraparound sunglasses. We had joked that they were probably trainee secret agents or some kind of Iranian Gestapo, but now – holy sh*t, they WERE.

 

[GD Deckard]

Wonderful photos, Gardyloo. Thank you. And a story that would definitely make it into an anthology if we were to end up doing one.
I have a similar one: taking pictures in a foreign land, being arrested as a smuggler, standing before the provincial governor. Likewise, all quite harmless. But I'll save that for another day. You must have more stories!

Photographers have stories. Who else has one to share?

 

[AlanKlein94 10]

Got a story? Add it to the thread!

We all have stories. Here's my favorite.
I shot and developed a roll of B&W film a day while stationed at USAF Hospital Clark in the Philippines. With luck, there would be a negative on the roll worth developing, most days. The adjacent town, Angeles City, was controlled by gangsters. (Letting the camera swing on its strap was inviting someone to grab it and run.) But the town and its people were fascinating subjects.

One day, my jeepney driver refused to drive down an alley I wanted to explore, so I walked. Unpainted buildings on both sides, without windows and seemingly without doors, blocked the sun. I walked a block to where the alley turned right into the sunlight. At the corner stood a man with a large eagle tattooed on his chest talking to a girl inside a kiosk. I snapped his picture. Back at the base darkroom, I printed a sharp 5-inch by 7-inch photograph to clearly show the eagle.

That night, I found the man at the same spot, wearing a crisp, clean barong. The lacy white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, showing the eagle’s head. I handed him his photo and told him my name. He glared at me and examined the picture, frowning. Then his face broke into a wide grin. Beamed, really. He shook my hand. “Rudi Perez.” I had, quite accidentally, just made friends with Angeles City’s number two gangster. From then on, whenever I wandered around town snapping photographs, one of Rudi's men tailed me. I let my camera swing from its strap, and nobody dared grab it.

Great story. Here's mine:

NYC has a famous art club in Manhattan, whose name I forget. My friend, a commercial artist, was a member. Every year they have a contest where artists submit paintings, photos, and sculptures. My friend invited me to submit some photos of mine. They only allow a few for consideration and I had more that I wanted to submit. So I entered a couple under my wife's name and a couple under mine. Wouldn't you know it. She won second place in the photo submissions on one of the ones submitted in her name. So they mounted that 16x20" framed photo in this huge room with all the other winners. They had a little index card under it with my wife's name.

So on the big day when they invited everyone down for a tete-a-tete, drinks, and hors d'oeuvres, my wife and I were standing around her picture. Admirers would come by asking me what camera and film I was using and questions about the aperture and shutter. I would point to my wife telling them it's her photo. She's the winner. She mumbled and stumbled and turned red. My wife was not amused and didn't talk to me for a week. Other than that, it was a grand time all around.

 

[GD Deckard]

ROFL -That's a story worth telling, AlanKlein! And retelling: I immediately told my wife your story. (She thinks you deserved that twist.)

 

[webestang6421]

Actor John Goodman is one really nice guy.

Late 80's I was working in a one-horse photo lab called Webster Photo (1987-92). A new customer comes in with a few rolls of film. I process and make doubles 4x6s. The photos were of actor John Goodman filming a local commercial for the Missouri highway patrol. He is from Affton MO.
When the guy came back to pick up his photos Goodman walked in with him. I handed the pack of photos to the guy and John said to me "Thanks for getting these done on short notice." I replied "No problem, my pleasure and so nice to meet you." shaking his hand "How is your mom?" (she was still living in Affton). He smiled and said "She is doing fine, thanks for asking." I think he was surprised I was not a crazy fan even though I am but I wanted to stay professional.
After they both looked at the photos and paid John thanked me again and said he would tell his mom and his friends in town to get there photos done here. Sure enough I had a few people ask for me and drop his name.
Just a down to earth cool guy.

Next up, the time I met George Clooney while he was filming "Up in the Air" here in St. Lou.