fun. – At Least I’m Not As Sad As I Used To Be
Music for reading comes from the new band simply called fun. off their album Aim and Ignite.

I headed south on the one-oh-one freeway towards downtown Los Angeles to seek out Walter. See, my trusty Canonet had failed to fire a few times when I was out this week — there are exciting photos to come when I get around to developing. This is the Canonet that came to me through the grace of a unique soul in Australia who gave me his when my last one was stolen. It has deep emotional value to me, as it represents the beginnings of my true photographic self.

The misfires were intermittent, the camera works. In fact, I couldn’t duplicate the problem when I got back from the field. Still, I didn’t like the nagging possibility that I’d miss something someday at a crucial moment. I thought I’d try to poke around inside on my own. Following the guidance of eminently reliable sources, I still managed to tear the leatherette covering badly in the process of removing it. This wasn’t a crisis; in fact it gave me an excuse to order a fancy new leather for the camera, something I’d always wanted to try. But when the camera was open, I could make no sense of it, and saw nothing I could tighten on my own. So while it was in it’s wounded state, I figured I’d take it to a pro. I should never open cameras. Ever.

Walter.

I’d never gone to Walter before, but he’d come recommended by anonymous internet sources. His Web site is pure kitsch, suggesting exactly the sort of man needed to overhaul a wounded camera from the early nineteen-seventies.

The scene in realtime: I park and try to find the shop. A hippie on a bike with a skateboard slung over his shoulder says a bright hello. We agree how beautiful the day is. It’s a beautiful pure moment in Los Angeles.

And there it is: The shop, open Saturdays, small and is on Cesar Chavez near downtown. One needs to be buzzed in. And, there he is. He is short and substantial, grizzled, dark and unkempt, in other words, Walter is a camera wizard level nine. I give him the Canonet and as I am describing what happened, he interrupts me to say “What happened to the leather?” I tell him that too. He is unconvinced. We both try to replicate the conditions by which the shutter does not cock. We cannot. I ask about the ever-so-slight wobble to the lens. Is that normal? “That is normal,” he says. He even takes out a roll of spent film, we load it and try again. With every successful shutter click, he seems more resigned. This was almost a replay of the first time I met Fleenor. Except this time, it ended with Walter saying, “Well that is no good. Now, I can’t take your money.”

“How much did you pay for this?” he wants to know. I think I know where he is going; get a new one rather than pay sixty bucks to fix it.

“What kind of work do you do?” And so it begins. We spend the next half hour talking about the economy, politics, algae-powered cars, what he Kurds are really up to. Walter is from Egypt. He’s been in Los Angeles for thirty years. He loves America and will spend the rest of his days in Los Angeles. He’s not happy with what is happening in this country, but he is adamant on how it will be fixed: Vote! No revolution! We must vote. On this we can agree. He implores me to see the movie Food, Inc. I say that I will.

Every ten minutes or so, someone comes into the shop with a claim check. Picking up their camera. Walter says the same thing to each of them about their camera: “Don’t leave it in the car. No water, no sand! And, don’t let anyone borrow it!” He takes a call looking for an estimate. He can’t give estimates over the phone because every problem is different. If Walter is sure my camera doesn’t need service, I will have faith for now. Perhaps the simple laying of of his hands shall keep it safe. I shake his hand and bid him farewell. He thanks me for the conversation. I wish I had more for him.

On my way home, I stopped at Freestyle. I needed chemicals, and maybe some film. The Nice Girl I see every other time is there hanging out at the front. She smiles and says hello. She must be a student somewhere. I head back to the film counter where they’re a little more gruff. I’ve asked about Aristacolor film there before. (See why I want some) They’ve already told me it’s gone. Gone for good. Not being made anymore. I know it, but I’m stubborn, and about to ask again. Out of nowhere, Nice Girl has followed me back there and she offers to help me.

There’s no Aristacolor left? I ask innocently. Nice girl looks quizzically at one of the other film counter grunts. “No way, loong gone,” says a gruff and harried voice. “Do you carry any other color films in one hundred foot cans?” She isn’t sure but she’ll check. After a few seconds she comes back. “I think we have one can left of the Arista,” she smiles. She goes back and finds it. Nice Girl is the best.

I leave Freestyle a little giddy, singing for the day. Only later do I make the connection. If I didn’t seek out Walter, if his shot had been closed, if I put it off until next week then the Last Can of Aristacolor On Earth would not have been there, Nice Girl would have been off that day. The two episodes were connected.

Play: “Wishing (If I Had A Photograph Of You)” – Flock of Seagulls

As strange things go, this is me: a month ago I never would have considered myself a candidate to get into film photography. I was a digital guy for all the reasons digital cameras make sense. Film is tricky, unwieldy, expensive, slow, and requires skill I probably don’t have.

But, a few weeks ago I read up on this classic type of camera called a “rangefinder” and it sounded pretty neat. I read of some enthusiastic accounts by fans of the camera, and decided on a whim to set up a craigslist alert for one specific model – this Canon QL17 “Canonet” .. the budget rangefinder that compares to deluxe Leica cameras ten times its price. I don’t know why I did it, the idea of film still seemed ludicrous to me. The Canonet seemed to go for $40 to $140 bucks depending. At the very least, I thought, if I found a cheapo one, it would be something cool to take pictures of if not with.

“I’ve Got A Miniature Secret Camera” – Peter Murphy

But, not a week in, an ad came down the feed for a Canonet right in my neighborhood — well, the Valley anyway. The price? $50 with case and flash. So on an overcast Saturday morning, I went out to an Encino hair salon — the seller’s place of business — to check it out. As I understood it, the camera had been inherited after a recent passing in the seller’s family. It was screwed into its case and looked like it hadn’t been removed in 30 years. It was gorgeous. I was sold. I got myself an old camera.

Once, I had it, I was still unsure what the heck I was doing. I drove to a drugstore to try to find some film. It was cloudy. I looked through the viewfinder, and: Whoa! The act of focusing a rangefinder camera is an amazing enlightenment. The viewfinder presents the scene in front of you, and a ghostly superimposed version. You slide a lever back and forth and watch as the two versions of the scene merge into one. It’s a transcendent moment of satori.

“Focus On Sight“  Thievery Corporation

So over the next few days, I took pictures. I had no idea if the camera was working. I was using a rule-of-thumb method of guessing exposure called “Sunny 16” — for there is not much automatic about this camera. I went through that roll of film. A film-nut friend recommended I try the cheap Kroeger-branded film at Ralph’s, for it is actually an Italian film notorious for a antique look that some people hate and some love. I shot three rolls of that — still not even knowing if the thing worked. I was hooked. The rangefinder shows a scene in the viewfinder and lets you focus even with the cap on. of course, I kept clicking pics with the cap on. Newbie! I even had a little micro-adventure when I was out taking photos in Santa Monica. I left the cap on when I tried to take a photo of a mysterious photographer.

Then, I had to get it developed. Really? What year is this? Who even does that now? I found a lab near work. I rolled in and said, “I’m here to drop off film. I have never done this before!*” The proprietor was amused and then helpful. I had to wait a day to get the pics back. A day! I still was convinced the camera wasn’t even taking pictures. See with a rangefinder camera there is no “mirror slap” — that’s the telltale mechanical event in a common single-lens reflex (SLR) camera, the reflex! — when you trip the shutter. Very little happens to reassure you, when you use this camera. Every press of the shutter is a lottery ticket into the photographic future. I hoped I’d be lucky.

“Photograph” – The Verve Pipe

But, the next day came. I had been told they’d be ready at 2:30. I called the lab at noon hoping my photos would be early. Nope! “There are no shortcuts! Get used to it,” I told myself.

Fine, enough anecdote! The pictures came back. Some were surprisingly good, even great in my eyes. Some examples? Sure. Even some pictures I was positive that I took behind the lens cap miraculously really happened. very strange. Strange and wonderful, I guess. At least it distracted me from everything else for a few moments.

“Pictures To Prove It” – Mighty Mighty Bosstones

* In actuality I had dropped off film dozens of times when I was a kid — even when i took photography in high school with a film SLR. But that was clearly some other universe. I remember no details.