I Only Borrow the Souls

One of the most rewarding things about doing this blog is the opportunity to connect readers with their pasts. I’ve been asked a lot of times over the years how to take pictures. Most of the times I dismiss the question by saying something like, “I walk in, draw a box around a tiny segment of time, then walk out.”

Or, I might paraphrase Bob Greene, a Chicago columnist, “I make people love me for 28 minutes, then I steal their souls.”

Doing this blog has taught me that I didn’t really ‘steal” the souls. I merely borrowed them for three, four or five decades. Now I’m returning them.

When I started circulating photos I had taken in Smelterville in the mid-60s, one of them made it into the hands of Fay Powders. It was her mother, and it was the only photograph she has of her. Watch the video to hear Fay talk about it.

Cheating death

When I ran the story about Lester Harris, a SW Bell repairman who would cheat death by dangling from a cable chair suspended over the Diversion channel (a cable that had probably been damaged by people shooting at it), family, friends and coworkers all shared stories about the man. He was also featured in a story about stock car racers at Arena Park.

I particularly like this one from Jennifer Adams: Lester Harris is my grandpa. I live next to him and when I came home today he was telling me all about this. He always told me stories of him working for Southwestern Bell but never saw pictures of it until today. Thanks for posting these pictures!!”

Lester’s daughter, Sandy Harris Lyke, sent this update September 24, “My Dad has been very ill this past year. He could use all the prayers people want to send his way.

“Great operator, greater father”

Judy Finley spotted her dad operating a crane in a story about construction projects at SEMO. I’m using that photo and quote in my Altenburg presentation.

When I shot pictures of the last days before The Palm Beach Post farmed out its award-winning production department, I wrote, “I’ve always believed that every worker should be able to show his or her kids and grandkids what they did for a living.”

 

 

Exhibit Sneak Peek

Here are layouts of some of the photos you’ll see at my exhibit in Altenburg. I ran a press release for the event yesterday.

Exhibit when and where info

Watch this space for a date and time when I’m going to be doing a dry run of the presentation I’ll be giving at a conference on October 25. Think of it as a war story blooper roll. I have way too much material and need to figure out what works and what doesn’t before I turn it loose on a real audience.

Photo Gallery of layouts

Click on any image to make it larger, then click on the left or right side of the photo to move through the gallery.

My Exhibit in Altenburg

The kind folks at the Lutheran Heritage Center and Museum were kind enough to send out a bunch of press releases today.

For Immediate Press Release:

The Perry County Lutheran Historical Society’s, Lutheran Heritage Center & Museum is pleased to open a new exhibit: “Ordinary People Doing Ordinary Things: Ken Steinhoff Photojournalist, 1964-Present,” featuring nearly 50 years of photography from: Cape Girardeau County, Perry County, New Madrid, MO; Tower Rock, portraiture, and other rural documentary photography.

Steinhoff’s take on his work is, “I’ve covered popes, presidents, and the Queen of England, but I really like to shoot ordinary people doing ordinary things: the invisible folks whose names only appear in the paper when they are born, when they die, when they get married and when they get a speeding ticket.”

Open Daily Now- through November 2–10:00am-4:00pm-. Free Admission

Lutheran Heritage Center & Museum, 75 Church St., Altenburg, MO 63732

573-824-6070

 Sneak Preview

You can see more layouts here.

I’m going to be doing a photo and video presentation at a conference at the museum on October 25, but I’m setting up a “dress rehearsal” a week or so in advance of that. I have way too much material and want to know which babies to throw out of the lifeboat. I’ll post more info when I get to Cape around Oct. 10 or so. I’d love to see some of you up there so you can hear my war stories in person.

Picture Day at Hollister School

Missourian photographer Fred Lynch left a comment on my post about Paul Lueuders showing up at Central High School to take homeroom photos for the Girardot: “When I was in high school, I always liked working alongside a group photographer. I would take pictures of the kids ‘getting ready’ to be photographed when they didn’t think anyone was watching, or taking their picture.”

That got me to thinking about this picture page I did for The Athens Messenger November 8, 1968. The original assignment was to go to Hollister School to capture kids being vaccinated or something, but it turned out that local studio photographer Ralph Norris was there to shoot student photos, so I switched gears.

Once you got out of the Ohio University-dominated Athens and out into the county, you were in Appalachia, where poverty and worked-out coal mines were found down every back road. When I see people walking down the street sporting “Hollister” labels, I have a different picture in my mind than they do. (Like always, you can click the pix to make them bigger.)

Slicked-back hair and shiny faces

Like Fred wrote, it was fun to sit back and watch Ralph work with the kids. He had a gentle touch and put the children at ease. He wasn’t the master photographer Paul Lueders was, but he was a decent craftsman who had been doing his job for years.

My copy was short and sweet on the page: “Slicked-back hair and shiny faces were the order of the day at Hollister School Wednesday. That’s when photographer Ralph Norris came to take everybody’s picture. Here’s how it was.”

Pretty girls and a crown

Ralph and I would cross paths from time to time. He was a nice guy who was fun to talk with. I don’t think we ever exchanged any heavy thought, but I do owe him big for one piece of advice he gave me.

Covering Miss Rutabaga or something

He was the official photographer for some local pageant. I don’t remember if it was Miss Athens County or Miss Rutabaga or whatever. All I know is that it involved pretty girls and a crown. I went to the swimming pool to shoot the bathing suit competition. Hey, newspaper photographing is a tough job.

Now that I think back, I don’t know how I got the pageant assignment. That had boss Bob Rogers written all over it. He must have been out of town.

Anyway, Ralph pulled me over to the side and said, “It’s become kind of a tradition for the girls to throw me in the pool after I take the group shot, so you might want to be prepared to get wet – you know how all those photographers look alike – or to beat feet while they’re distracted by me.”

I managed to get a shot of him making a big splash, then exited quickly.

I should go look for those negatives

Now that I think of it, I need to go digging for those negatives. To look for Ralph, of course.