in the beginning

The not very good photo above was taken in 1972. It's from my first "real" shoot with a model. It was the day I learned the power of the camera.

I was about 16, had been shooting for the school paper and for various local suburban papers for less than a year. Sandi, the model, was a year older than me; she was a senior, I was a junior. More importantly, she was the captain of the cheerleading squad, the homecoming queen, easily the most popular girl in school. She was the kind of girl who normally wouldn't even have noticed a guy a class behind hers.

I don't remember exactly how the shoot came about, but it was her idea. I knew her from all those football games and basketball games, the ones both of us spent on the sidelines. It was inevitable that I'd get to know her and others like her, we had plenty of time to talk. In any case, I found myself in Sandi's yellow 1967 Chevelle, with another cheerleader, a tall thin redhead, the three of us riding to a small lake in Park Ridge. It was a small public park with grass and a few trees, surrounded by upscale residential neighborhoods. Sandi seemed to know everyone, cars honked, people leaned out of windows and waved.

I don't remember a lot about the shoot itself, and this is the only surviving print. I knew enough by this time to keep her out of the harsh summer sunlight, to avoid strong shadows, but I didn't quite nail the exposure on the tough backlighting. Still, it's a good shot of Sandi, she looks good, and looks looks taller and thinner than she really was. Ignore the distractions of the branches, ignore the lack of a good black, and the rest is OK. At that early stage in my experience as a photographer, I could have done a lot worse.

The important thing though, is that the experience taught me a lot about what a camera was really good for, and that it was as much about attitude and expectations as it was about the camera. The photographer thing could go either way. I had a fair amount of prestige at school as a staffer on the paper, it got me out of class sometimes, and into sporting and other events for free, and a lot of people knew who I was. I'd been in the teacher's lounge, a forbidden zone for most students; I'd given direction to top administrators during those few precious moments when it was my photo shoot to direct. But I'd also just shot a wedding for money, for a neighbor, and been treated badly, as hired help. At best, I was ignored, in the background. At worst, I was expected to do the bidding of a bunch of drunks. I swore then that I'd never shoot another wedding for pay, and I never have.

This comes up because these past few days I've seen an unusually high number of posts from photographers who are obviously feeling put upon, and they seem to think it's everyone's fault but theirs. They're feeling disrespected in various ways. And it's made me remember that it's been a very long time since I've felt that way, and that there are reasons it worked out that way. It wasn't an accident.

Although I wasn't a very good photographer yet in those high school days, I was part of the local elite. I was reliable, so I had the backing of the newspaper advisor, and plenty of assignments, usually the better ones. I worked closely with a few of my counterparts on the yearbook staff, people who shared my status. Even then, we were aware of those who wished for our opportunities.

I shot less in college, but usually for pay when I did... model comps, product work for corporate clients. Then came the punk years, when once again I quickly found my way to the inner circle... largely because of circumstance, being in the right place at the right time, and capitalizing on the opportunity. I drank with and photographed people who are household names today, and thought nothing of it. Sometimes I still smile when I hear their songs on the radio.

Although I took a long break from photography after that, ever since those punk days I've photographed what I want to photograph, not what someone else wants me to photograph. Just last week I turned down an offer of a paid gig, referred the person to a local pro.

I have no idea what happened to Sandi, I never saw her or heard anything of her after high school. But thanks Sandi, wherever you are, for helping me learn a very important lesson about how to use a camera to visit interesting places and meet interesting people, and never look back. The camera only opens the door, it's up to us what we do with it after that.