Halos in the Darkroom
©Linda Goodman 11/2/2012
I was
newly separated with a child to raise. The ad in the Help Wanted section said
“Staff needed for Virginia Studio, a new photography venture at Triangle
Shopping Center, Portsmouth, Virginia.”
I
needed a job. If the place was new and needed to hire an entire staff, there
must be something I could do. I called and made an appointment for an
interview.
The
owner’s name was Gerald. “I have only a sixth grade education and I make
$100,000 a year,” he told me, adding "and I can make money off of
anything. A friend of mine bet me $1,000 that I couldn’t make money on a
photography studio. That’s why I’m opening this place. I’m planning to win that
money. I only have to stay in business three months to do it.”
Gerald
decided to hire me for the front desk because I was well-spoken and looked
cute. Men might see me through the front window, he said, and come in to get
their picture taken just to get to know me. He hired a friend of his,
Bill Henry, someone with experience, to be the photographer. He then hired two
other “girls” to work the phones (telephone solicitors) and his staff was
complete.
We
got a few walk-ins the first couple of days, but the serious business started
coming in after we ran a newspaper ad offering a free 8 X 10 portrait to anyone
who walked through the door. The ad ran on Saturday and, since the Blue Laws
had just been rescinded, announced that we would be open on Sunday so that
folks could get photographed in their “Sunday go to meeting clothes. “ That’s
when the business starting pouring in.
A few
weeks passed and the studio was succeeding beyond Gerald’s wildest dreams. The
great majority of our clients bought packages that cost $35 or more (a small
fortune for photos in those days), and the money was piling up.
While
Bill and I were having lunch one day, I mentioned to him that I wished that I
had more marketable skills so that I could earn a better paycheck (I had seen
Bill’s paycheck stub, which he had left on his desk – WOW!).
“There’s
no reason for you not to have marketable skills,” he advised me. “Tell you what
– I’ll teach you to shoot portraits.”
“Really?”
I asked.
“Sure,”
he replied. “Just don’t let anyone know. No one is supposed to get near that
camera but me. Gerald paid a lot of money for it.”
The
next afternoon, when business was slow, Bill started teaching me his craft. I,
who had never held a camera before in my life, learned to focus the camera,
pose the subject, set the lights, and put folks at ease so that their smiles
would look natural. Thanks to the tripod, my shaking hands were not an issue.
The
next day, Bill did not come to work. I called and left a message for
Gerald. When Clients began arriving for
their appointments, and the lobby was filled to capacity, I decided to shoot
some portraits myself. Bill could always offer retakes later, if necessary.
Gerald
showed up the next morning. “I got your message about Bill. I checked around
and found out he was arrested. He’s in jail.” Bill, it seems, had broken into
the appliance store next door, one of Gerald’s competitors, and stolen two
televisions.
Gerald
was a nervous wreck. “I’m gonna lose that bet for sure!” he complained.
I
thought for a moment. “Maybe not,” I said hesitantly. “I shot the portraits for
our clients yesterday.”
“Are
you kidding me? Bill let a rank amateur
use that expensive equipment! He was NOT authorized to do that!” Gerald was
about to explode.
“Don’t
get mad at Bill,” I protested. “He was just trying to help me learn some new
skills.”
“Well,
Miss Know-It-All, we’ll just see if those portraits you took sell. Who the hell
learns to be a photographer in one afternoon?” he scolded.
That
afternoon the proofs of the portraits that I had taken the day before came in.
I must have forgotten to check the light meter. My first session had been with
a handsome African American family. They were all wearing dark clothes and I
had used a black background for them. I had forgotten to set the lights. All
you could see in the proofs was their eyeballs. Other portraits that I had
taken had similar issues.
To my
surprise, however, the clients were thrilled! “Highlighting our eyes like
that!” they exclaimed. “What a brilliant idea! We have never seen anything like
it! It’s art!” Gerald was both surprised
and delighted. “A star is born!” he proclaimed. “I knew the minute I hired you
that I had struck a goldmine.”
The
next day, knowing that eyeball pictures would eventually grow old, I remembered
to check the lights and set them properly. I centered each of my subjects’
heads in the center of the lights behind them.
When I received the proofs the next day, all the family photos were
fine, but the individual photos caused a near riot. Every one of them showed a
halo around the head of the subject.
“You’ve
made my baby look like the angel that she is!” one mother gleefully shouted.
“Now
I know what I will look like in heaven,” sighed another happy client.
“You
have a gift, young lady,” said another.
I
started getting appointments specifically for halo photos. They were so
popular, I had a waiting list.
All
good things come to an end, however. An elderly lung cancer patient
died shortly after purchasing his halo photo. Two weeks after that, a little
girl that I had photographed was struck and killed by a car. My once satisfied
customers were now making frantic phone calls, wanting to know if I could
remove the halos from their photos. The local newspaper even ran a story about
these “pictures of death.” Once that
happened, business came to a complete standstill. People were afraid to walk
past our shop, much less come inside and, God forbid, have their portraits
taken.
Gerald
could not be consoled. “I can’t believe
I’m gonna lose that bet!” he moaned. “I have to stay in business at least 3
months to win. We still have a month and a half to go. I can’t believe I
trusted you to be my photographer.”
We
were bringing in no income. The only thing we could do was lower expenses. From the middle of July until the end of
August, the air conditioner was shut down. Our telephone solicitors were let
go. The lights we used for atmosphere were turned off. Office supplies were not
ordered when inventory became low. No more ads were placed and no flyers were
created or mailed.
At
the end of August we closed shop. I subtracted our expenses from our income,
and we ended up with a net profit of $245.94.
Gerald
slapped me on the back. “Well, kid,” he said, “we didn’t make a killing, but I
won the bet. For a while there, I thought you were going to make me a millionaire.”
He
locked the door for the last time and handed me an envelope. “Just my way of
saying thanks,” he grinned before walking away.
I
opened the envelope. Inside was a button that had “Gerald’s Little Helper”
stamped over top of a photo of a voluptuous woman dressed as an
elf. There was also a coupon for 10% off of a new refrigerator at his
appliance store. I threw them both in trash barrel and went to look for a real
job.
