Having a car might have been a luxury that I needed for my job, but taking care of all the paperwork was a pain in the butt. The rest of the day was spent registering it with the state, getting insurance, securing a parking permit from the studio, and then accruing gas ration coupons at OWI Headquarters. Nevertheless, driving my new coupe from place to place was a real joy, and by day’s end I had bonded with the car and couldn’t understand how I’d ever lived without it.
In Focus
On Saturday morning, I met Black Jack at Cameron’s Camera Shop. When I entered the store, I saw that Jack was already there and talking to a man at the front counter. As I approached, Back Jack introduced me to Ed Cameron, the proprietor. He was a funny-looking little man with a skinny body and a neatly trimmed reddish-blond beard. His nose was large and straight, dominating his face. On this nose, he wore pince-nez glasses over his pale green eyes. He reminded me of the little guy on the beach, in the cartoons, the one that always had sand kicked in his face.
His store, however, was big, and it clearly catered to professional photographers and film makers. Jack had given him a written list of what we needed, so we followed him around as he filled our order. We purchased what was called a ‘changing bag,’ a wooden tripod, a dozen 4X5 film holders, two fifty-sheet boxes of 4x5 film, a case of flash bulbs, and an instrument called a light meter. This last item must have been important, because Ed showed Black Jack three different models before he decided on one. During this shopping, Ed and Jack talked photography, so their conversation was mostly Greek to me.
Finally, with all our items on the front counter, Ed totaled up the sales ticket and slid it across the counter to me.
“If you’re using a voucher, Lieutenant, I’ll need to copy down all the information.”
The total cost of our few items astounded me: $133.50.
“Wow. That’s a lot of money! I’m not using a voucher. I’ll be paying with a personal check.”
Ed looked up at me, and for the first time a smile crossed his face. “Okay, Lieutenant, then I can give you a discount of twenty percent for cash.”
Reaching for my checkbook, I asked, “Why such a generous discount?”
“Simple. It takes hours to do the paper work for purchases made with a government voucher, and then we wait three or four months for payment. Cash is king, in my store.”
Sliding a check across the counter, I remarked, “I’ll remember that.”
Black Jack asked, “Do you have a 35mm Leica in?”
“No. They’re European-made. We can’t get any new ones, with the war on. We do get a few used ones in, from time to time, but I don’t have any now,” Ed replied.
“Well, keep me in mind if a good Model III comes in. I sold my model II in ’39, and now I wish I’d kept it.”
Opening the trunk of my car, I placed the new items next to the camera case. “Where do we go now, Jack?”
“Wow, I like your car, Dutch. Is this from the motor pool?”
Looking down at it, I knew the color would make people think it was a military vehicle, but I didn’t care. “No, I bought it yesterday. It may look Marine green, but it’s all mine.”
With a large smile on his face, Black Jack replied, “Well, Dutch, at least it matches the color of your camera. How about driving us over to the Zoo, and I’ll give you your first photography lesson.”
“Why the Zoo?”
“Because that’s where the penguins are.”
“Penguins? Why penguins?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Sitting at a picnic table, under the shade of a large tree, Black Jack Malone gave me my very first photography lesson. He started by telling me that the word photography came from the ancient Greek language, that it meant ‘to write with light,’ and that light was the essence of all photography. He had brought along a general book on photography and used it to illustrate the concepts of light, film types, exposure control, focusing, flash, and more. Next, he mounted the open olive-drab camera on the tripod and explained in great detail all the workings of the Speed Graphic. While his instructions were precise, they were given with a great deal of patience, and he answered all of my questions, making complicated concepts easy to understand. Jack was a born teacher, and he made learning fun. Time just flew by.
After a lunch of hot dogs and Cokes, we went to the penguins’ cage. Here he explained that the secret of working with black-and-white film was correct exposure control.
“The Penguins have three colors -- black, white, and a golden stripe on their nose. If we expose them correctly, our negatives will have three opposite shades: white, black and gray. This exercise will teach you to look at your negatives for whites, blacks and then the one-hundred-eighty-six shades of gray in-between. Do you understand, Dutch?”
“I think so.”
Using the light meter we had just purchased, Jack helped me select the correct exposure. Then I shot four pictures, two using just daylight and two using flash bulbs as what Jack called a ‘fill light’.
Next, we went to the peacock cage, where we performed the same setup.
“The negatives of the peacocks should have small amounts of black and white, with lots of shades of gray. When you put the negatives of the penguins side by side with the peacocks, you should see a big difference.”
I was feeling a bit lost, but I didn’t want to admit it.
It was late afternoon when we started the drive back to Hollywood. The ride was quiet, with my mind swimming with thoughts of photography. This assignment was more complicated than I had expected, with too much to learn and too little time.
Black Jack must have been reading my mind, for he broke the silence. “Photography will come to you, Dutch. Don’t let the concepts bog you down. Once you’ve mastered the mechanics, you can concentrate on your subjects and the pictures you’re taking. That’s the fun part.”
“I know you’re right, Jack, but the Colonel hasn’t given me much time.”
The car fell silent again.
As we approached the city, my thoughts turned to appreciation for Black Jack, who was so willingly giving me his time and expertise. The thought of offering him money crossed my mind, but I wasn’t sure how he would react to it.
Finally, I said, “Thanks, Jack, for all your help today. I’d like to buy you a drink and a good meal. What do you say?”
“You don’t have to do that, Lieutenant. Today was an awakening for me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed photography.”
“Please, just call me Dutch. And I want to. How about if we stop off at the Brown Derby?”
It was the only restaurant I knew.
With a shocked look on his face, he answered, “The Derby…they don’t serve colored folks there, Dutch. But I know a little Mexican place where the drinks are good, the food’s better, and people of all colors can sit down together.”
His comment caught me off-guard. Prejudice had raised its ugly head again.
“Okay,” I assured him, “you’re on.”
Our conversation, over Mexican beers and margaritas, was warm and interesting. Jack told fascinating stories about his assignments in the Deep South at the height of the Depression. He talked about pictures he had taken that were sad, heartwarming and sometimes uplifting. He was proud of his work. When I asked questions about his family or personal life, he always found a way to turn it back to me. That