I recently found a very small black-and-white print dated November 19, 1957 that I remember coming across every decade or two, so I recall all the details.
I was walking on a street a few blocks from my home and saw a tree being buzz-sawed down in front of a house. For some reason, the thought immediately popped into my mind that it would be cool to get a picture of the tree falling – hopefully, at a 45-degree angle.
I ran home, begged my mother to let me borrow her cheap little camera (a Brownie?) and ran back just in time to catch the tree falling and caught it at almost 45 degrees.
So, in my semi-convoluted way of thinking, this is my original, premeditated, stop-action photo – the one that led me to success in my beloved right-brained, music photography career after pleasing my parents with the left-brained one I got my degree in (chemistry).
BTW – they eventually came around on career #2 and if you want to read a story related to that, go to bobleafe.com and enter 03-037 into the search box.
Hang in there – these WILL get better eventually……………give it 50 or 60 years 😉
My mother brought me to The Record to catch the bus and – OF COURSE – had to take some pictures, but I didn’t mind. It was a happy occasion.
She took this picture near the Record delivery truck bays. I’m 4th from the right in the light jacket/white socks and cool loafers, smiling and giving her a number 1 salute (at least I hope that’s what I was doing):
One very odd thing that I recall about the motel: I had brought a portable radio and everyone in the room was happy that it could pick up our beloved WABC-AM in New York……………..but it did so only when the bathroom door was open! If anyone needed to take a shower, a shave, or a sh………………ampoo, the tunes ceased until he came out. Weird.
The Record did a story about the trip the day after we left:
It was a great first trip without my parents, which means that most of the subsequent ones WITH them were not so great, but I guess that’s what happens when you get a little taste of freedom.
Late addition: I just found a picture of a car that’s identical (down to the color scheme) to my first car: a 1956 Dodge Custom Royal. I bought it from a high school classmate in 1965 and blew the engine two months later on the night before my prom – so much for impressing my date (my mother’s battleship gray, 4-door, ’61 Chevy didn’t quite measure up).
(actually, there’s more Woodstock after the 3 photos)