My first real piece of photography equipment was a Yashica twin lens 120 camera I purchased surplus for $25 from an Army Navy Story on Harry Hines. I bought it because I was taking a required photojournalism course from Smith Kiker, a great big, crusty veteran journalist at North Texas State University and he required it.
I was virtually a complete neophyte. Not really because I’d taken several rolls of Kodachrome slides and a lot of pictures with my dad’s Polaroid. He didn’t care for the camera so he said I could use it and I did. The film was about $1.25 a packet and gave you 12 shots. The images were black & while and approximately 3x5. You would take your picture with this rectangular camera whose opening dropped down via a bellows system to expose the lens. You took the picture, opened the back, peeled off the exposure from a sticky piece of paper, waited 60 interminable seconds then peeled the picture off. The image was there but it was fugitive so you had to “preserve” it. This was done with a swab like thing that you wiped with a series of strokes across the face of the print. Sometimes it was smooth but most of the time it wasn’t so it was a haphazard affair. I don’t remember if it was my fault or the rudimentary materials - probably both.
Anyway, that was my photography background before joining Smith Kiker’s class. I’d never set foot in a darkroom and was totally mystified and thrilled when my first print gradually appeared in the Dektol. I was hooked.
The darkroom was a typical college darkroom. A non-air conditioned room about 20x30 feet with enlargers along the outside walls. Yellow safelights hung from the ceilings with developer, stop bath, fixer and washer in the middle. Everyone shared the chemicals and it was a stinky, hot, crowded affair. Because we were beginners we spent a lot of time in the darkroom.
During my second semester of photography I felt I’d found a home in journalism and maybe one in photography. One day the darkroom was stuffed with new beginning photographers and I had to get some prints completed for the yearbook. Mr. Kiker, being the teacher, had his own private compact and complete darkroom. It had the best enlarger , etc. With great trepidation I asked for permission to use it and with reluctance, he agreed.
Normally, we purchased our own enlarging paper and I could never afford anything more than a 25 sheet pack, so I was very chintzy with each print. Mr. Kiker said I could use his paper. It came in a gigantic 500 sheet box. I was in heaven. I made my prints, developed, stopped and fixed them then flipped on the white light to view my handy work.
I spend a few minutes studying the prints which were okay but, to my horror, I’d left the lid off the brand new 500 sheet box of paper. I knew this was trouble, because Mr. Kiker had pounded it into us that you NEVER exposed the paper to white light because that “ruined it.” I was mortified. Not only did I ruin an entire box of paper but I had to tell Mr. Kiker about. The first time he trusted me, I blew it.
He was unexpectedly kind but offered a very stern warning. I knew I had come right up to the edge of his patience, trust and possibly my future. I don’t remember the details of his response but I left still anticipating my next photographic foray, no hard feelings to Mr. Kiker and an absolute promise to myself to be a hell of a lot more careful from then on. It could have very easily gone the other way.
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