Читать книгу Dutch Clarke -- the War Years - Brian Psy.D. Ratty - Страница 20

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 part of Black Jack Malone seemed to be a closed book.

With all of his questions about my life, he seemed genuinely interested and so, for the first time since joining the Marines, I told him a little of my story of survival. He loved the part about Laura giving birth in the wilderness, and about my dog, Gus, and my horse, Blaze. But one thing was unusual. He never asked me why I spent that year in British Columbia. I guess he thought that would be prying into my private business.

He had been right about the restaurant: its patrons were of all races, and the food was even better than the drinks. The Mexican meal I had was the best ever.

As we were getting ready to leave, I remembered a question I had forgotten.

“Where should I take the film to be developed?”

Leaning back in his chair, he sipped the last of his margarita and replied, “You have three choices. The Navy has a small lab in Cottage Four, but I wouldn’t trust the Signal Corps with my film. You can drive it over to Ed Cameron’s. He has a good lab in the back, but he’ll charge you an arm and a leg. Or you can try Paul Barnett, who runs the still lab for the studio. He really knows his stuff. If you decide to ask him, tell him we’re friends and take a bottle of Chivas Regal. He loves that Scotch.”

As usual, Black Jack Malone was a fountain of knowledge.

First thing Monday morning, I took four film holders containing eight sheets of exposed film to Paramount’s Still Photo Lab. The front office was small and had a bittersweet smell of photographic chemicals. Here I met Paul Barnett. While dropping Petty Officer Malone’s name, I asked him if he’d consider developing my film.

“The Signal Corps has a tank over in Cottage Four. Why don’t you ask them?”

“Jack tells me you’re the best,” was my reply.

“You just don’t trust the swabbies, do you, Lieutenant? Don’t blame you. Okay, I’ll soup ’em for you and make the proofs.” He took down my name and phone number and told me they would be ready the next day.

Just before leaving, I slid a brown paper bag across the counter top.

“What’s this,” he asked.

“Jack tells me you like Scotch whisky, and I had an extra bottle of Chivas Regal.”

With a large smile on his face, he replied, “That PO is always right.”

Colonel Ford was in the office all week, making final preparations for the big event on Saturday night. Maggie and I were kept busy, making phones calls and running errands for him. Monday afternoon, I was sent to a print shop in downtown LA, where I picked up the final program for what the cover called ‘The Marines Invade the Hollywood Canteen.’ It was a small, four-page booklet that outlined the evening’s rules: no booze, no broads, no fighting and no swearing. Menu: donuts, hot dogs, Cokes and coffee. Entertainment: A half-dozen Hollywood stars were listed. And, on the back cover, a list of thirty volunteer hostesses who would be serving the troops.

The Colonel had a thousand copies printed, but only expected about five hundred Marines to show up at the event. The USO used the old Madonna Dance Hall each Saturday night as the ‘Hollywood Canteen;’ on the other six nights, it was a dime-a-dance joint.

The next morning, Maggie gave me six hand-addressed envelopes that I was to deliver to the invited celebrities. Taking out a city map, she marked each star’s address with a red pen.

“More than likely, they won’t be home, or you won’t get by their ‘gate keepers,’ but try. It’s very important that they show up for the event. Each envelope has a program and a personal note from the Colonel, thanking them in advance for their appearance. If you get a chance to meet any of them, please stress the event and our thanks.”

The stack of envelopes read like a Who’s Who of Hollywood: Bing Crosby, Bob Hope, Red Skelton, Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich and Carole Lane. It took me almost three hours to find the addresses and deliver the envelopes, and in the end Maggie was right. I didn’t personally meet any of them.

Late that afternoon, Paul Barnett called to tell me that my film and proofs were ready. After picking up the pictures at the lab, I rushed over to the cafeteria to show them to Black Jack.

He was on the phone, so I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down at a table to look at the proofs. Laying the pictures of the penguins beside the photos of the peacocks, I did see the difference the Chief had talked about. Looking down at my first professional pictures, I felt a sense of excitement and pride.

Just then, Jack approached my table. “Hi, Dutch. Hey, you got the proofs! Let me take a look at the negatives.”

Holding each negative up to the overhead light, he examined them without comment. Then, putting them back into their clear little sleeves, he said, “Not too bad, for a first timer. Did you notice that only the negatives where you used flash are in focus? The others are out of focus because of camera shake. We’ll work on that problem in our next lesson.”

Looking down at my proofs, I could see that he was right. “Gosh I didn’t spot that, at first. Should have I used the tripod?”

“Yeah…but you can’t always use one. You have to learn to keep your arms tight to your body. It’s just like the way you were taught on the rifle range, only now you’re shooting with a camera.”

I felt some of the wind leak out of my sails, but I knew I would improve with time. “Thanks Jack…I’ll remember that.”

The next morning, the Colonel called me into his office to talk about my photo assignment. There would be a reception line, just inside the front of the hall. He wanted four or five pictures of General Small, the area commander, Glenn Ford, our movie-star-turned-Marine, and the Hollywood Mayor as they greeted the arriving troops. Then a few pictures of the troops, eating, drinking and having a good time. Next, seven or eight pictures of the celebrities entertaining the men. And, most importantly, he wanted twenty-five to thirty group shots of the celebrities with four or five different Marines. After taking each picture, I was to use a little book he gave me to write down the names and hometowns of each Marine. After the event, we would send out press releases, along with pictures, to each of the Marine’s hometown newspapers. Or, as he put it, “Here’s local Marine hero Joe Blow hobnobbing with Marlene Dietrich at the Hollywood Canteen. Now, what red-blooded American boy wouldn’t want to be in that picture? This will be just great for recruiting!”

Maggie had typed out the instructions for my assignment, which he handed to me. It sounded simple enough, but it wasn’t. The idea of taking twenty-five to thirty group shots, with four or five different Marines in each shot, would require keeping track of over a hundred names, hometowns and faces. And how could I identify the negatives to make sure that the right face went with the right name? It was a daunting task, and I wasn’t even sure I could take the pictures, let alone handle the logistics.

“You look lost, Lieutenant. Is there a problem?”

“No, sir. I was just thinking about how I could best do this assignment. That’s a lot of names, hometowns and faces to keep track of, besides all of the other pictures you want.”

“Improvise, Lieutenant. Improvise. When a Marine is given an impossible task, he improvises.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Back in my office, I pondered the problem and had to admit that I had no idea how I could accomplish this assignment. Finally, picking up the phone, I called Black Jack and asked him to meet me for a drink after work. After some hesitation, and my insistence that it was ‘important,’ he agreed. Petty Officer Malone was the only person I knew who could give me the right advice.

We decided to meet at a local bar where many of the studio workers went. I got there first, and ordered a scotch on the rocks. I hadn’t drunk any hard liquor since last winter in the wilderness, but I needed one, today. As I sat there, nursing the cocktail, my mind painted the bleak prospect of my first failed assignment.

“You look like you lost your best friend, Dutch.”

It was Black Jack, with that easy-going way and confident smile. Relieved, I stood up to greet him.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me, Jack. Sit down and I’ll buy you a drink.”

Nodding his approval, he sat down. “So, what’s so important?”

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the assignment sheet and passed it across the table.

He took a few moments to read it.

“The Colonel went over this list with me, this afternoon,” I said glumly. “I’m at a loss over how I can complete this assignment.”

“Wow! He expects a lot from one photographer. Even a seasoned shooter couldn’t fulfill this job. The organization of the shots alone would be a tall order.”

Just then, the barmaid appeared. Jack gave her his order, then turned his attention back to me.

I looked for courage to ask my next question. “How about you shooting the event and I’ll direct and do the logistics? We might make a great team. Maybe your talent and my gold bars could help us both out. I’ll even pay you for your time. What do you say, Jack?”

Uneasiness crept over the table as he thought about my question. Finally, he said, “I don’t want your money, Lieutenant. And I don’t want to be the only Nigger Sailor in a room full of mud Marines. It’s not healthy.”

His choice of words caught me off-guard. I tried to reassure him. “You don’t look very colored to me, and the Marines are part of the Navy, so a sailor at the USO won’t stand out. And anyway I’ll be there.”

“What the hell could you do, sir? Beat the bigots off with your gold bars?”

My face got hot with anger. “Yeah, and my bare knuckles, if I have to. You’re my friend, and anybody that crosses my friend crosses me.”

The table went quiet again, and the Chief looked me straight in the eye, with a deeply puzzled expression on his face.

“The last white man I trusted was my father…and in the end, he ran out on me. But there’s something about you, Dutch. Something I like. There’s just one condition,” he said as his drink arrived. “I don’t want any money for helping you.”

“Well then…how about me loaning you my car for a weekend?”

Jack grinned from ear to ear. “The Staff Car? Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s a great car on the inside…but I don’t think I’d be able to pick up many ladies with that Army-brown color. No, Dutch, I don’t want your car. BUT…I would like to borrow your camera, to take a few pictures of my girlfriend.”

“Consider it done!’ I said, and we raised our drinks and clinked our glasses together.

With that clink, a special bond was formed, a bond based on trust and friendship. Silently, I vowed not to be the next white man to let Black Jack Malone down.

“But how in the hell do we shoot a job like this one?” I asked.

“I started out doing press photography,” he said, “so that’s no problem. We’ll need more film, another case of flash bulbs, and a half-dozen more film holders.”

“I’ll pick those supplies up tomorrow,” I assured him. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Get a black grease pen. When you use that little pad to write down the names and hometowns, make sure you write them from camera left to camera right. Then write a big bold number, using the grease pen, on the back of the page. Pin that number on the bottom part of one of the uniforms. I’ll make sure to keep the number in the lower frame of the picture. That way, we can identify who’s who in any given negative. Then, when we make the prints, we’ll crop out the slip of paper with the number. I’ve done this before, with big groups, and it works just fine.”

With a grin on my face, I leaned back in my chair and finished my scotch.

“Now, why the hell didn’t I think of that? Black Jack, you’re a photographic genius.”

We spent the next hour -- and another round of drinks -- going over the other details of the assignment. Jack was full of confidence, and that confidence rubbed off on me. For the first time, I started to look forward to the USO event.

We also agreed to meet on Saturday morning at my office, where Black Jack would give me my second lesson. This time it would be about ‘steady shooting’ and depth of field. After the session, he would borrow the camera, and then meet up with me again at Madonna Dance Hall at 1900 hours. The party was from eight to eleven, so that would give us an hour to get set up.