This story comes from Don Barone, multi-Emmy winning journalist of 40+ years and one of our newest Photographer Brand Ambassadors. In this blog, Don details the memory of the first photo he took and what it meant to him.
Dateline: Buffalo, NY 1960/61
I took my first photograph when I was nine years old, used my father’s BROWNIE HAWKEYE 620 camera, told my parents to “…smile,” pushed the button I saw him push all the time…
…two weeks later when he picked up the developed black & white prints we all sat at the kitchen table as he handed out each print one by one around for all sitting there to see.
Wonderful shots of the Christmas tree, a snowball fight (blurry), a close up of the Christmas turkey that made it look bigger and tastier than it was and then…
…the last photo a slightly crooked, damn-near in focus, very close up, fully framed photograph of my mom’s and dad’s knees.
My parents just smiled at me and said, “That’s nice Donnie.”
I smiled back, took my photo, ran upstairs to my room, and stuck it on the wall with some of the bubble gum I was chewing, flopped backwards onto my “big boy” bed and laid there staring at my masterpiece.
Even though I wasn’t quite sure what exactly I did or how that bubble gummed stuck photo became a photo in the first place, I was sure of one thing, I wanted to do another one — wanted to take more of this thing called “Photographs,” by my father, “Pictures,” by my gram and gramps, “Stuff,” by my mother.
Easter 1961, only an inch or two of snow on the ground in Buffalo, Dad’s birthday a couple days away but we time shift all birthdays and anniversaries to the nearest weekend. Dad sells refrigerators at Sears & Roebucks, mother is THE cafeteria lady at a junior high school.
Midweek, no time for parties.
I was 30 years old before I realized every kid in the family seemed to have been born on a weekend.
Get all dressed up for church, walk across the street to St. Paul’s Church for Easter services, fiddle around in the pew through most of it, walk back across the street get out all of the church clothes, go downstairs just as my mother is handing my father a birthday present wrapped in Sears Roebuck gift wrap.
Rip, crinkle, reveal.
A bright yellow box with KODAK written on it, “Oh wow a new Starflex 127 Camera, wow, thank you…”
Mother gave him a kiss, wished him a happy birthday, “Have fun, but be careful - that was almost $10 dollars, you know.”
Must not have gotten the Sears discount.
Later that day I was with my father down in his basement workshop, he was going around snapping photos of everything, “Good thing there isn’t any film in this huh, Donnie.”
I just smiled and stole a cookie when he was on the other side of the furnace taking pretend photos while out of sight of the cookie tray.
Then, this happened.
“Here…” was all he said.
And in his outstretched hand was THE Brownie camera, his beloved BROWNIE!
“…you take it…”
I just looked at him.
“…I want you to have this…take it, but wipe the cookie crumbs off your hands first.”
Damn, busted.
And then my father turned, took a couple of steps toward me and gently put his camera in my hands while bending over ever so slightly and giving me a kiss on the top of my head.
He gave no warnings or becarefuls.
He gave no advice on how to use it.
He gave no suggestions of what pictures to take.
His eyes drifted up slowly from the camera in my hands and stopped when they locked on my tiny kid blue eyes and only then did he tell me what to do:
“Make me proud, Donnie.”
Twenty some years later I handed him my college degree in Scriptwriting and Photography.
His days of “taking photographs” long past him.
I knew he still had the eye for the lens frame and all that was in it.
I also knew he didn’t have the hands to keep the camera steady.
He stood motionless in his driveway, my diploma in his hands, he took turns looking down at it and up at me.
I said nothing, give the man his time, slowly he handed it back to me, I took it with one hand and moved close enough to give him a hug and to whisper this in his ear:
“You made this possible dad…thank you for the BROWNIE camera.”
And tears rolled down his cheeks.
Don Barone is a journalist of 40+ years, garnering himself three Emmys for Investigative Journalism and the New York International Festival Medal for Investigative Journalism. Don also wrote a children's book called "Mean Momo Won't Share" currently available on Amazon/Kindle.
