PICTURES MAKE WONDERFUL FRIENDSHIPS

I looked at the alarm clock: it was 6:42, time to get up and go on my Saturday morning exploration.

This day I would be creating pictures portraying life of the poor and often desperate people of the deep South. I consider my project historical preservation, and to me it is both a mission and a form of ministry. Capturing a glimpse of life that once had great promise, meaning and hope is somehow inspirational if not spiritual in nature.

I had packed my camera bag the night before. I grabbed it, gave my wife a quick kiss on the cheek and headed out. I had not gone a mile when an object of interest caught my eye: a huge 18 wheeler resting in the parking lot of a strip mall. In particular I was interested in the German Shepherd dog guarding the truck. I parked, placed the strap of my prized Mamiya camera around my neck, and went to investigate.

The hood of the truck was open but no driver was there. I suspected he was at the rear of the trailer. I stooped and looked underneath and sure enough saw human legs coming around the truck. I expected to see a male driver, perhaps overweight and under exercised. To my surprise a fiftish looking lady dressed in company khakis appeared. She smiled upon seeing me and I responded with my best southern gentleman, "Good morning!"

I explained my great interest in and fascination with eighteen wheel trucks and asked if it would be okay if I created some pictures. She graciously gave permission but ushered me to the front of the cab and began to proudly show me the engine. "This is a Caterpillar. They don’t make them any more. It’s a shame because it is a great engine", she said proudly but forlornly. I took her word for it and was impressed at its immense size–about as large as a small deepfreeze. "Every morning I check the parts to make certain there are no cracks and leaks."

I observed this seemed to be a good practice, but asked why there were so many blown out truck tires on the road if drivers checked their rigs every morning. She grinned and replied, "I’m afraid some don’t take care of their rigs as they should. Would you like to see inside the cab," she inquired. I eagerly responded truthfully that this was one of my life’s greatest desires.

I stepped inside this mammoth cavern, dwarfed by all the bells and whistles that it had. I sank about six inches in the seat and showed my freight. She laughed and explained that the seats were designed this way to absorb road bumps. I looked in the back and saw double decker full size beds. She slept in the bottom one and used the top one like as a storage area.

Around her bottom bed hung many pictures. She took great pleasure in showing me pictures of her husband, children and grandchildren. "No matter where I go they go with me", she confessed.

I stepped out and she inquired where she could walk to get breakfast. I walked with her to a sandwich shop right across the road that served a good breakfast and lunch. To my dismay and embarrassment it was closed. I said not to worry because earlier I had bought doughnuts for my wife and me and that I would take her to the doughnut shop a few blocks away. Inexplicably it was closed too.

To say that I was embarrassed would be an understatement. An idea suddenly popped into my head: "I live in a subdivision only about a mile away. Let’s go to the house and my wife and I will fix you some good Louisiana coffee and we have fresh doughnuts."

Minutes later I was at the house. My wife was working in her flowerbed in the front yard. She looked up and had that familiar look of puzzlement: "He left to take pictures and returns minutes later with someone with him!" The two ladies hit it off and chattered away in the kitchen as I made some of my prized Louisiana coffee. It was a big hit as were the doughnuts. Our guest saw some of my pictures hanging on the wall and asked to see them. Flattery will get you anywhere!

After filling her thermos and making her a "goodie" bag of food to take with her, my wife, our guest and I took her back to her truck. Before leaving I made memories of our eventful morning with my Mamiya.

Pictures make wonderful friendships.

Mr. Fred

Fred was a local television personality who appeared often in the ads of a furniture store. He usually was dressed in overalls to look and to act like a country bumpkin. Fred was hard of hearing and toothless. This added to his bumpkin mystique. When Fred talked on the commercials the camera usually zoomed in for an extreme closeup to show his toothlessness. The lines prepared for Fred were words that only a person of low intelligence would speak. I decided that I would create a portrait of the "real" Mr. Fred.
Fred lived in my neighborhood and I saw him often in various stores. This was because everyday he went from selected business to business just to sit, drink coffee, and to stare into the past. I often wondered what he was thinking. Invariably someone upon seeing him would say something like, "There is that man that’s on television." If Fred heard he smiled proudly.

One of the things I admired about Fred was his beautiful, silver hair and beard. He had cheeks that made one think of Santa Claus when he smiled. I grew more determined to photograph Fred if I could just muster the courage to ask him.

A few months ago I was in a sandwich shop which I knew Fred to frequent. Sure enough he was there in his down-home regalia. I purchased my sandwich, hesitated, then turned and left without speaking. I had not driven 100 yards when I felt as if I was supposed to ask Fred if I could take his picture. I turned around and went back to the sandwich shop.

Fred was now in his car getting ready to turn his engine on. I knocked on his window and he rolled it down. He seemed frightened at first so I hastily introduced myself. I acknowledged his television stardom status and this pleased him instantly. With both hands on the steering wheel, he extended his arms straight, threw back his had and said in a booming voice. "H-e-l-l-o T-h-e-r-e!" He was on televison and I was an audience of one.

The date was set for me to make his portrait and I gave him my business card. I went home and told my wife of my experience with Fred, and predicted that he would contact me before our appointment. Sure enough he did–twice. The shoot was still on, I assured him, Saturday at 9:00 a.m.

Saturday rolled around and at 7:53 a.m. my doorbell rang. It was Fred just as I had suspected. He was dressed nicely and his beautiful silver hair and beard were perfect for the portrait I wanted to create. We went to my home studio and I began to photograph him in color and black and white. I finished after shooting two rolls of film but I didn’t think I had captured the essence of Fred.

It hit me: Fred wasn’t drinking coffee as he usually did. I grabbed a coffee mug and asked Fred to hold it close to his face. Bingo! At last I felt as if I had captured the real Mr. Fred as he was known to folks in our neighborhood.

The two pictures I had ordered came a few days later and I contacted Fred. He was at my place in a flash. He was so excited that I couldn’t get him to sit. I uncovered his picture and handed it to him. A beam broke out and Santa Claus seemed to appear. Fred finally broke the silence with, "Boy–you hit it!" I took that to mean that he was pleased with his portrait. He said that he was going to give it to his daughter and then he left in a flash.

Over the next few months I continued to see Fred at various locations, but he didn’t seem to see me–or else he didn’t recognize me. A few days ago I saw Fred in the grocery store. He was sitting by himself on a bench, arms folded, legs extended and crossed at the ankles. I spoke but Fred was somewhere else--no doubt in the past.

Several days later I put the newspaper down and my wife said, "You didn’t read the obituaries. Your buddy is in there." I looked quickly and saw that Fred had passed away the day before, peacefully, the paper said, at his home that he had loved for so many years.

Things will not be the same now for Fred will no longer be on television or drinking coffee at various business establishments. I felt that Fred liked being around folks more than with them. I have his portrait on the wall where samples of my work hang.

I’m glad that I turned around that Saturday morning and captured that moment in his life for his family to forever remember him. Shortly after taking his picture Fried passed away.

A Picture is Worth ...

How often we hear, "A picture is worth a thousand words." Have you ever wondered as to the origin of this sage comment?

Some pictures may be worth a thousand words. Others more; others less.

Some pictures, however, are priceless. I think of the little picture of my late mother on the hopechest in the bedroom of my wife and me. I took the picture one afternoon as she sat on the picnic table. I was in my teens and taking pictues because this is what I've always loved to do. The thing about this picture is that it captures her personality. This was the way she liked to sit, the way she held her head as she looked at things, the way she smiled when she was happy.

Every time I look at this little picture I get joy and peace. This is the way I remembered her and I captured that moment in a second that will never be repeated. How much is this picture worth--to me? I have thousands of pictures yet I would not part with this picture for any amount of money.

We have the mistaken belief that we can always do something again or later. But we can't. Ever. This is just one reason I love to capture moments for posterity. I have taken the last picture of several people. At the time no one knew that this would be the last picture. However I always assume that it could be and for this reason place a high value on the moment this event is captured for posterity.

It is often asked, "If your house was about to be destroyed, what is the one thing you would take?" This is a question many in Katrina and Rita had to make here in Louisiana. I watched the news and observed that many people grabbed pictues as they left their permanently destroyed homes. Professional photographers were asked to volunteer to help clean some of these personal treaures.

There are occasons when people call me about my wedding prices. They will remark that they have spent most of their money already on various wedding items. Thus, they have little money left for pictures.

Sometimes I ask, "The day after the wedding, what is the one thing that will last? Most get the point instantly. The wedding pictures are the most precious and most enduring object from the event. Yet, it is often the last thing people will think of or the least relative amount of money they will spend.

A picture is not worth a thousand words. A picture album over the years is the least expensive yet most enduring object of the wedding. Yes, pictures are priceless and permanet. They will be around for our children, grandchildren and beyond to remember and to share the day so special to us. Yes, some pictures are worth more than a thousand words because they are priceless.

How Much Does It Cost ...?

The phone rings.
I answer, "Clayton Photography. Ronnie Clayton Speaking. How may I help you?"

Then the song and dance begins:
"How much are your weddings?"

When these are the first words out of the mouth of the speaker, there is a pretty good chance that this person (1) wants my services for nothing; (2) doesn't know what she wants in and from a professional photographer; (3) does not know communication courtesy; or (4) can't afford a proffessional photographer.

The photographer needs information as well. The first thing he or she would like to know is the name of the caller. Courtesy requires that the caller at least identify herself. Photographers are suspicious creatures, and they don't think like most people think. They might think that the caller is a competitor who wants to know your package prices.

The photographer also needs to know right off the bat the date of the wedding. If the date of the wedding of the caller is already booked, the conversation can pretty much end at this point.

So, both the caller and the photographer need information and must be considerate of the other person's needs and interests. Sorry--I've got to go. My phone is ringing as the phone indicates the caller is "out of area". I already know who the caller is: a sales person. Now if I had a client for each sales person that calls!