This is the story of how my career as a photographer began. In
the Spring of 1967, I was 17 years old. I used to hang around
the fountain in the park at DuPont Circle in Washington, DC. This
was the local hippie hangout in our nation's capitol city, a kind
of Haight-Ashbury East. That's where I met a man who took me into
a darkroom for the first time and really taught me something about
photography. He took pictures in the park, and a few hours later,
we had 8x10 inch prints.
It started as a racket. I bought a 35mm SLR with a 50mm lens as a way to meet girls. (That's what we called them then, and in some states, they might be considered under the age of consent. Even I was still legally a minor at the time.)
There seemed like two highly successful methods of meeting girls. One was to give them drugs, and the other was to take their picture.
I was still too young to realize that you cannot have any kind
of meaningful relationship based on hallucinogens. In fact, the
phrase "meaningful relationship" had not entered the
lexicon yet. This was the age of Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll.
(Video tape had not reached the masses yet ... the VHS vs BETA
war was still years away.)
When you take a girl's picture, several things happen. (1) She'll
be instantly flattered, even if there is no film in the camera.
(2) She'll give you her telephone number so that you can get together
again when the prints are ready. (3) If they're really
good, her father will buy some prints, giving you enough money
to take her out in the Daddy-lac for a date. (It's amazing how
far you can drive in a night when all you have to do is have it
back with a full tank.)
So, that's how it started. There's just a little more background that you need to know. I was a 16 year old college dropout. My birthday is in February, and I completed the work for my senior year in mid-term. I was enrolled full-time at the District of Columbia Teachers College, where the tuition was only $35 for each course. I bought my books and went to classes for about a week.
Two weeks before my 17th birthday, I said to myself, "What the f--- am I doing here?" 'Nuff said.
So, it was the summer of Flower Power and Woodstock. It was a time of rebellion and testing limits. I pushed too hard. I cussed out a cop in public. (Actually, I was quoting Shakespeare ... I called him a "whoreson heir to a mongrel bitch".) My father had to take time off from work on his 50th birthday to come downtown and get me out of jail.
Anyway, there's a time after that which is a story for another day. I'm just not prepared to talk about that time, yet, except that this picture is an important part of it, and that is what this story is about. This is a prelude to the collection of digital copies of images I made over twenty years ago.
Last update: 13-May-96 by dennette@wiz-worx.com
<Who is this "Dennette" person?>