Bill Nowell Archives

July 2, 2014

Mary Nowell of Themis Street

Mary Nowell was one of the many Central High School students who lived on Themis Street. I did a video of Linda Stone and Tricia Tipton sitting on Linda’s old steps and listing off all the classmates who grew up around them.

I didn’t know Mary well, but her dad, Bill Nowell, was a major influence in my life. Mr. Nowell owned Nowell’s Camera Shop at 609 Broadway. Other boys hung out in pool rooms and gas stations, but we photo geeks gravitated to Nowell’s so we could drool over the latest Pentax cameras (he carried Nikon gear, but Cape was a Pentax town), Honeywell strobes and other gizmos.

There was faint acidic smell of photo chemicals in the air, along with the odor of unopened boxes of photo paper and film. When I walked into The Palm Beach Post’s photo department stock room, I’d be transported back in time to Nowell’s. I can’t describe the smell, but I’d recognize it anywhere.

Mr. Nowell took a chance on us

Mr. Nowell took a chance on us kids. I don’t know how many teenage boys were extended credit, but I was one of them. I don’t recall Mr. Nowell and I ever discussing it, it just happened. I know he didn’t talk to my parents about it.

Dad grew up in the Depression era where you paid cash. I remember overhearing him talking to a friend one day when he didn’t know I was in the vicinity. He was telling him that Mr. Nowell (he was the kind of man you didn’t call “Bill’) was letting me “put stuff on the books.” Dad said it in a way that indicated that he was proud that an adult trusted me enough to give me credit.

I was always careful to pay the bill off regularly. I always paid for major purchases like cameras and lenses on the spot, but I would charge consumables like film, paper and chemicals. When the balance hit around 25 bucks, I’d pay it off and start again. I’ve held off writing about Nowell’s because I keep hoping I run across more photos taken in the shop.

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more kind and decent than Mr. Nowell.

October 4, 2013

A Winter Photo Tip

Cape had gotten about four inches of rain over the past few days, but a cold front moved through, dropping the temps down into the mid-teens and low 20s. That sets the stage for my assignment to cover a swim meet in the basement of Academic Hall on December 10, 1966.

My equipment had been sitting in the car for most of the day, so it was at the same temperature as the air, let’s say 20 degrees. I walked into the heated air of an indoor swimming pool where the humidity approached 100%. The first thing that happened was that the lenses fogged over with condensation. It took almost half an hour before the equipment warmed up enough that I could SEE through the lens.

Camera froze up

After about six shots, the camera locked up hard. It wouldn’t fire; it wouldn’t advance; it was dead. I gambled that I had at least one usable shot and headed for Nowell’s Camera Shop. (The first shot above ran in the paper, so I got my $5.) (Click on the photos to make them larger.)

Mr. Nowell opened it up and said that there was as much condensation INSIDE the camera as there had been on the outside of the lenses. All that moisture turned the dust inside the camera into mud.

I might have used that as an excuse to buy a new Honeywell Pentax body while he was fixing the frozen one.

Pool records, like my camera, were broken

You can read the whole story about the meet in The Missourian. It says that SEMO won the meet against Drury and Culvert-Stockton. The 400 medley relay team of Dave and Dan Ranson, Hal Bliggenstorfer and Dennis Lorch set a new varsity and pool record with a 4:24 time.

Arnold Moore set a varisty and pool record in the 100 freestyle with 13:40.6 and Charles Stevenson was timed in :29.4 in the 60 freestyle. Lorch also set a freshman, varsity and pool record in the 150 individual medley relay when he was clocked in 1:51.2.

Photo tip of the day

Your winter photo tip of the day: Do not leave your cameras out where it is cold, cold, cold, if you are going into somewhere that is hot and humid, humid and humid.

November 30, 2012December 1, 2012

ALWAYS Carry the Camera

I’ve shot so many wrecks and fires that most of them are a blur. This one stands out in my mind for one reason: I wasn’t supposed to be there. (That’s my 1959 Buick LaSabre station wagon in the background. I tried to blow the picture up to see who my cohorts in crime were, but I couldn’t make them out. (Click on the photos to make them larger.))

Truck vs. Train

A couple buddies and I decided to cut class one afternoon. Maybe we had study hall or something where we wouldn’t be missed, I don’t remember. It was well known that I never went anywhere without my camera and an ugly orange plastic-covered camera bag, so I elected to leave them in the school darkroom so I’d be less obvious.

No telling why we were on the south end of town near the dogleg at Elm and Fountain and the railroad tracks near Leming Lumber. I might have heard the call on my police monitor and decided to chase it.

I imagine I said something like “DRAT!” when I reached for my camera and came up dry.

Dash to Nowell’s

My station wagon must have been a red streak when I drove across town to Nowell’s Camera Shop. I dashed inside, reached into the display case for a Pentax camera, grabbed a roll of Tri-X off another shelf and hollered over my shoulder on the way out the door, “I’ll settle up with you later.” I don’t think Bill Nowell so much as blinked an eye. Try that in one of the Big Box stores today and see what happens.

God and the preacher

I managed to get back in time to get at least one shot that ran in the paper; the top one, I think. There are big gaps in the Google Archives for 1964, so I couldn’t find the actual story. This was one time I was happy that The Missourian didn’t give me a byline.

I was in the situation of the preacher who called in sick on Sunday morning to play golf. God and St. Peter are perched on clouds watching him approach the first tee. “Watch this,” God says, directing the ball to go straight into the hole. The same thing happened on the next four holes.

“Why did you reward him for neglecting his flock?” St. Peter asked, perplexed. “Wouldn’t a bolt of lightning been more appropriate?

“Who is he going to tell?” God said with a wicked smile.

Vintage cars burned up

These two fire pictures were on the same roll. I remember absolutely nothing about them. They had to have been shot on the same day, because I returned the camera to Nowell’s right away.

Body language haunting

What I notice in this photo is the haunting body language that signals despair. These aren’t merely spectators. They are people who have lost something important to them. They remind me a bit of the Reid Family in Ohio: stunned and numb.

You can tell a big difference between the people standing here and the curious bystanders in the truck vs. train crash.

The vehicle in the foreground looks like a stock car.

We didn’t get caught

My buddies and I managed to escape any consequences from our absence. I DO recall, though, Mr. G. stopping me in the hall a few weeks later and saying, “I know you’re up to something, I just haven’t figured out WHAT yet. I’m keeping my eye on you.” Of course, knowing him, he probably delivered that speech to everybody at one time or another just to keep us on our toes.

The lesson I learned that day was NEVER go anywhere without a camera.