He had a face that reminded me of the scarecrow's in The Wizard of Oz. His hair was thin and straw-like too and he had a vocal tic in which he was constantly vocalizing eh, eh, eh as if he were clearing his throat in order to impart something important. As we traveled to our first assignment he made it abundantly clear with uncensored babbled that he was proud southerner and everything that was wrong in the country was the direct fault of the "darkies." Ever the coward and not wanting to jeopardize my job on the very first day I said nothing in return. Instead I bided my time with the thoughts I'd soon be out of his clutches.
Our first shoot was at a Florida Big Lots a couple of miles off of highway 85. We set up our camera and strobe lights and baby blue backdrop along with a stool in a space cleared out in the children's underwear and shoe isles. There was soon a milling throng eager for their moment in front of the camera. They had been lured in by the promise of a free picture. Our job as photographers was to take six different shots of each sitter. A Salesman from the company would later do his best to convince folks that each of the six photos was so wonderful that they should buy additional pictures to go along with their free one.
My tutor was professional I'll grant him that. He treated each and all regardless of race or color with courtesy and efficiency. He kept that long line moving with a calm and welcoming demeanor. I marveled at how, racist as he was, he did not let his prejudice interfere with the business at hand. He got his six shots of every sitter.
Later that night after a soggy meal at a Picadilly we retired to our shared room. My tutor pulled down the bedspread and sprayed the entire bed with disinfectant. Then he lay down under the comforter without undressing. He went to sleep still dressed head to toe in shoes and suit and tie.
The following weekend I manned the camera and marshaled the murmuring line. It was stressful and I found myself soon feeling miserable and wanting the day to end. But I soldiered on, and try as I might to keep things moving that line was soon bellyaching, What's taking so long? As each sitter or couple or family sat for me I fumbled with the camera and also the inserts that when developed placed the sitter seemingly inside a brandy snifter, or in a celestial body of stars. The line was unrelenting. And I couldn't keep up like my tutor with a bing bang boom. Both the line and I moved haltingly and I was nearly gritting my teeth every time I said Smile.
A couple of days later I was called into the office to see the results of my shots. Hardly a one was of someone honestly smiling. In frame after frame the sitter looked grim. I was told the salesman was going to have a hell of a time selling any of my work. With a verbal pat on the back however I was told that now that I'd seen the error of my ways I would no doubt do better the coming weekend.
That Saturday we were once again in a Big Lots and I was manning the camera. But my heart was not in it. I was never one to be all that gregarious to begin with and under pressure to keep things moving I sulked and became reticent. The task at hand called for a showman with zip and a smile. In other words not me. A couple of hours into it I gave up. I turned the camera over to my tutor. The next day I left the bulk of the shooting to him. I'd decided it would be my last day as a traveling portrait photographer. I spent the next few hours wandering around Big Lots and chomping down candy-bars. At the end of the day there was one the last sitting, two teenagers in cowboy hats and western wear and their mother in a floor length dress. The first shot went off without a hitch. But on the second shot when the strobe light flashed the mother went into twitching seizure and collapsed to the floor. One of the cowboys cried out, Ma. And I yelled to a salesgirl at a nearby register to call for an ambulance.
By the time it arrived the woman had regained most of her wits but she was still obviously a bit dazed. The paramedics insisted she be transported by gurney to a nearby hospital. As they were wheeling her away my tutor stepped over to her and said, "We still have four shots left to go." I bursted out laughing. In between guffaws I told him I couldn't believe what he said. He denied he said it. When I told him I'd heard him he reluctantly shook his head and confessed, "I guess in the end I'm just a company man."
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