Who Is That?

 
As a small child, way back when, my Father had a small camera.  It was nothing special, just a clunky black box with a lens and some knobs, plus a dial or two.

 

It was very basic compared to today’s single lens reflex cameras, or the newer digital models.  I’m not even going to attempt a description of the cameras now built into our cell phones; they can take, besides still photos, videos and special effect images.

 

And as our family grew, so did the photos of everyone – everyone except the camera operator, my Dad.

 

This basic of all cameras captured hundreds, perhaps thousands, of family disasters, fun, vacations, gatherings, meals, holidays, vehicles, landscaping, and smiles, all of which are now stored in an old steamer trunk awaiting perusal by the next curious ‘victim.’

 

Associating a face with a name has always made stories, along with history, more explicit and exciting, hence the photo albums chock full of period clothing, furniture, memories, and facial expressions.

 

This dated camera served our family well for decades until the Smithsonian Museum begged for this relic.  Unfortunately, it was sold at a yard sale for one buck in the 1980’s before it could be memorialized.

 

My sainted wife has a void in her life because of a house fire when she was a child.  At that early time in her life, her family’s version of photographic documentation vanished without hope of recovery.  Still, she has some of that history etched into her mind for her to enjoy for an eternity.

 

But then that’s the point of photographs: memories for historical documentation.

 

Part of our family documented life through an 8mm movie camera.  For you youngsters, it used actual film that needed to be developed by a professional.  It was pretty costly at the time which is why my immediate family didn’t own one.  However, two of my uncles did.

 

Since viewing those films was done on a screen with the benefit of a movie projector, they slowly made their way to the back of the closet or attic for “safe keeping.”  Alas, eventually they were forgotten to time and became “lost” to a ride to the dump.

 

Once again, any few remaining memorials to family history contain everyone but my uncles, who were dutifully behind the camera making the magic happen.

 

Neither my sainted wife nor I are enamored by celebrity, unlike that exhibited by countless others seeking hugs, photos, or autographs from ‘famous’ or near-famous people.  So it is rare when I ask her to indulge me into capturing a special moment for posterity.

 

She’s a lovely woman with lots of assets both visible and covert, alike.  She’s a fine artist, great cook, terrific au pair to Smokey the Cat, and an excellent listener, most likely because she’s somewhat hard-of-hearing me.

 

In any case, she, very much like my “missing” uncles, rarely appears in photos because she doesn’t like for her picture to be taken, or she is operating the camera to photograph me for a notable moment to be captured.

 

Because of truly advanced technology, society doesn’t use boxy antique cameras unless they want to use them.  Perhaps it’s the effects, the use of film, or special techniques, but today’s images and movies are captured digitally.

 

That method ensures immediate results, and can prevent poor framing or bad lighting that would otherwise ruin a once-in-a-lifetime photographic moment.

 

For us, that special time would involve a UFO landing in my yard, or an errant elephant meandering down the middle of the street.

 

But every other blue moon, or so, I would wind up in a position to meet a notable person with whom I would like a photo.

 

Those rare moments for me include my meeting Pelé, the Brazilian soccer player; my time spent in my brother-in-law’s Ferrari, and a chance meeting with the late President Ronald Reagan.

 

Throughout my life I’ve met actress Linda Lavin, a Miss Mississippi, a Washington Redskin, or two, and baseball player Cal Ripkin.  And at no time during these brushes with greatness did is want or need a picture or an autograph.

 

But there was a time when I asked my sainted wife to snap a pic of me with a big celebrity whom I admire.

 

For the decades we have been married I have tried – repeatedly – to teach my sainted wife about the art of capturing the ideal photograph.  Unfortunately, she invariably peers through the camera eyepiece, and once seeing the focus dot for the lens, loses her concentration.

 

She believes that dot is supposed to be on the person’s face; she’s wrong.  Of course, it’s under duress that these spur-of-the-moment chance meetings occur, thereby offering little in the way of second and third or fourth retakes.

Photo of me meeting President Donald Trump

 

Upon post encounter examination of the meeting and subsequent photo I often learn it was pretty fruitless for me, and simply annoying for the celebrity.  I took the liberty of posting an actual image herein, as evidence of a typical “Sainted wife photo session.”

 

So if you run across my sainted wife and need a picture snapped as a souvenir with another person or a landmark, here’s a free tip:  ask someone else.

 

And that is why I actually have no photographic proof of “bragging” about my meeting anyone, much less anyone of fame.