School Days
Today is Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.
TODAY IS MONDAY YESTERDAY WAS SUNDAY TOMORROW WILL BE TUESDAY
It’s amusing and profound to see ‘Days of the Week’ chalked upon an elementary school chalkboard. Learning The Days is an important task for first-graders. They must learn how to order our Universe—serious stuff! And yet… What are those things at the top of the blackboard— Gingerbread men in long underwear?
Yes, children have their work cut out for them. English is the oddest language. Why isn’t Tuesday spelled ‘Twosday?’ What about Wednesday? Why is there a ‘ne’ in the middle of Wednesday– and why isn’t it spelled ‘Threesday?’– I still misspell it. Actually, all the days of the week are odd.
Do you remember sitting at your school desk and doing penmanship lessons? I did OK with basic printing–but when it came time to learn cursive (script), a Holy Terror was unleashed on my nine-year-old life! Mrs Von Soosten, my 4th grade teacher, threatened to ‘leave me behind’ if I didn’t improve my handwriting. I took her threat seriously.
One day, I was sent down to a man in a room. Perhaps he tested me in some way? Did my handwriting indicate madness—or something worse? My cursive writing never improved, but I wasn’t ‘left behind’.
Good morning boys and girls Today is Monday September 28, 1987 We will have g— We will sponge paint Good morning boys Today is Wednesday, S— 16, 1987 The Constitution is old Today.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Substack class be seated. Quiz— What day of the week is it? Don’t raise your hands all at once. But before you answer– Where in this world do ice-cream cones descend like parachutes—and ‘Fat Fat Fat’ is the word of the day? No, no– not "The Twilight Zone." This is not TV. I'll ask again. What day of the week is it? No—not a trick question. OK, put your hands down—You are all WRONG. Today is Tuesday. Merry Christmas!
Sunlight drifts across blackboards as the Earth turns. One can’t work too slowly; the shadows remind you that the picture keeps changing.
I wanted my 'Days of the Week' photographs to bring a weirdly satisfying echo of memory to the viewer (Like these chalkboards did for me), so a lot of things had to coalesce. Words and light and shadow and geometry and other intangibles all needed to all join forces. I needed some luck. (As always.)
When I lived in Chicago (1983-97), I sometimes traveled by train to schools. Once, absentmindedly, I left the big camera backpack on the 'El Train' in South-side Chicago. Oh! Sh… T! However, I got it back an hour or so later– My camera bag was waiting for me at a sub-station. Whew! I actually don't remember the details. Had a good Samaritan rescued it? Seems like a dream–it wasn’t. (And no, I wasn't smoking any weed.)
I used big, heavy, old cameras loaded with (expensive!) sheet film. I’d come home with a dozen, or so, shots. The whole apparatus was cumbersome and slow. I also carried a sturdy tripod.
Those sheet film negatives were processed at home, the trays in darkness. I washed the negatives in the bathtub, then hung them on a line to dry—I imagined they were all going to be winners!
After the negatives were dry, I’d make basic ‘contact’ prints under a red darkroom light. Finally, I would turn on the room light to inspect the prints, one-by-one as I pulled them from the ‘fixing’ tray. Below are results for a typical dozen—
Photographs 1-12: Boring, Boring, Boring, Lifeless, Dull. Why did I take that one? Ugh, So Boring. Yup, another film wasted, Ugh-Damn-Boring-Crappy. That’s it— I QUIT!
I’m only partly kidding – once in a while, a print emerging from the chemicals would surprise me. I’d think, “H’mm— this one is… Well, it’s kinda strange… I’m not sure, but maybe this one does have something going for it. Maybe.”
‘The Weather is old and Sunny.’ That is correct—the camera does not lie. Don’t point your finger at me! I didn’t write what was written on the blackboard.
Before I say goodbye—Whatever day it is— Hello to all! Did you have fun at the Substack? Write (in the comment section) What you liked best. And, by the way, have you ever seen rat skinny—I mean a skinny rat? Perhaps, at the circus?
I've always marveled at what our world was like back then. That you could walk into a school to do anything short of contracted electrical work blows my mind. That you, Howie, could walk in and PHOTOGRAPH every kid is inconceivable. I guess that is why I love my print of yours so much; because it would be impossible today.
I once found a barefoot kid walking in the snow one morning on the north side wearing only a shirt. I threw him in my truck (can you imagine putting a strange boy in your truck today?) and drove him to his school.
I just walked into the office and explained the situation to the office people and they understood the situation. They thanked me and assured me they would clothe him.
Today I would only have the option of FINDING a fucking pay phone, calling the police, and waiting for Chicago's finest to come give me side-eye.
Quoting You: I wanted my 'Days of the Week' photographs to bring a weirdly satisfying echo of memory to the viewer. -- You succeeded in bringing a satisfying echo of memory to this viewer.