You know, the trigger winder for the R2A / R3A ain't bad. Can you shoot faster with it? I'm not sure, but it is stealthier since you don't see the film being advanced. I'm practicing pulling the lever and being able to focus with the same hand, ie. without removing my left hand from the winder. That is a challenge but it is possible. The main thing is to make sure you don't poke yourself in the stomach with the lever.
My Canon lenses are migrating back into the used market. I don't expect I'll use it until the next turn of the cycle - probably in two or three years. I don't actually think that I'll revert - but I have a bad history of spinning through various equipment.
Perhaps there is a group called Camera Sellers Anonymous that I can join.
"Hi. My name is Dave Beckerman. I am a compulsive camera recycler."
"Hi Dave"
"I guess it began about fifty years ago when my mom gave me a brownie. After a few months I read about the Instamatic and I wanted one... rom there I went to the harder stuff: Pentax Spotmatic; Canon AE1... and so on and so on. I admit that I am helpless and call on a higher power to release me from this compulsive behavior..."
8/15/2005
Chutes and Ladders
My father (now in his 80's) has been sending me stories about his childhood in Cleveland. This is one of them. Oh, and in case you grew up in the city like me - a grannary is one of those tall silos that are used to store grain in.
I was about 10 years of age. We were living in Cleveland, Ohio near a railroad station and an abandoned six story granary. I decided to climb over a fence and enter the tall, grey building. It was an adventure and a challenge. There was a lock on the wooden moldy door. I pulled on it as hard as I could and it came off in my hand. I opened the cracked door slowly, very slowly and peered in: pitch black. Strange smelly odors, maybe dead mice or worse. The windows were covered with spider webs, some of dangling down from the ceiling to the floor.
Once inside my eyes got used to darkness, I could see the outline of a steel ladder. I took a few short steps over the creaky floor, and reached to touch the frame of the ladder. Without looking up or down, I climbed the ladder, one step at time, feeling my way to the next step and finally came to the top step of steel ladder and the second floor of the building.
A shaft of light came through one of the shuttered windows and to my horror; I recognized that there were huge circular holes in the floor three feet to the right of the ladder!
I decided to climb to the next floor of the building and there again were these huge circular holes in the floor, only three feet from the ladder. .
I realized that these huge circular holes were on every floor. One false step, and I would fall through the holes on the different floors until I hit the ground floor. This was scary because once at the top of the steep ladder, I needed to take two steps to my right to climb the next ladder.
I took tiny steps, testing the floor ahead of me. One wrong step and I was a goner. I stopped counting the floors. I only knew one thing: I had to keep going. Although terrified, it never occurred to me turn back and go down the ladders.
After an eternity, I reached the roof of the building. Looking over the edge, I could see the park and the neighborhood playground, and just up the block, I could see my house. I had a wild idea: take off my shirt, flutter it in the air, and then throw it over the edge. Someone would see it flutter to the ground, realize where it came from, and perhaps come up and save me, or call the police but all I did was to sit there shivering in the sun, holding back tears.
At that moment, contemplating the danger of climbing down to the bottom of the building, floor by floor, I froze. I could see myself hurtling through the open holes to my death.
I found the first ladder and descended slowly, step by step. I needed to stop at the bottom of each ladder and wipe my hands because I was sweating profusely. On one floor, I lay down on my back, with my head toward the ladder and swept the floor around me with my feet touching the rim of the chute. This was still not enough to me. I then got on my knees and reached in the direction of the ladder. This worked on all of the floors except on one floor which instead of the ladder, I felt the rim of the open chute. I faced in the opposite direction, and ended up touching the tip of the ladder from the floor below.
By the time I had climbed down four or five ladders, I didn't trust my judgment. I crawled slowly toward what I thought was the direction of the ladder, reached into my pocket, found a marble, and dropped it into the space which turned out to be a chute, rather the ladder. What floor was I on? How many more floors were there?
If I stayed there, maybe someone would come looking for me? Should I try hollering? I really wasn't that far from the play ground. I hollered once or twice. The sound of my own voice scared me!
I heard a train go by. I knew that I must be near the bottom of granary. I crawled slowly on my knees, hands slowly sweeping the floor in front of, until I came to an opening in floor. I felt the rim of the opening and the steel bar. Ever so slowly, I lowered myself down, and realized that I was on the ground floor of the granary. For a moment I sat down, overjoyed at being on the ground but impressed with myself that I undertaken this adventure and was home safe. I climbed back over the fence, jumped to the ground, turned around and looked to the enormous abandoned stone building.
For years, given the slightest pretext, I would tell the story of granary experience. At a young age, it would provide me with an opportunity to impress friends and strangers with my bravery. Later on in life, I would reflect on the experience, and would realize the danger and risk involved in the experience and wonder what I was trying prove? 70 years later I ponder that question.
I was about 10 years of age. We were living in Cleveland, Ohio near a railroad station and an abandoned six story granary. I decided to climb over a fence and enter the tall, grey building. It was an adventure and a challenge. There was a lock on the wooden moldy door. I pulled on it as hard as I could and it came off in my hand. I opened the cracked door slowly, very slowly and peered in: pitch black. Strange smelly odors, maybe dead mice or worse. The windows were covered with spider webs, some of dangling down from the ceiling to the floor.
Once inside my eyes got used to darkness, I could see the outline of a steel ladder. I took a few short steps over the creaky floor, and reached to touch the frame of the ladder. Without looking up or down, I climbed the ladder, one step at time, feeling my way to the next step and finally came to the top step of steel ladder and the second floor of the building.
A shaft of light came through one of the shuttered windows and to my horror; I recognized that there were huge circular holes in the floor three feet to the right of the ladder!
I decided to climb to the next floor of the building and there again were these huge circular holes in the floor, only three feet from the ladder. .
I realized that these huge circular holes were on every floor. One false step, and I would fall through the holes on the different floors until I hit the ground floor. This was scary because once at the top of the steep ladder, I needed to take two steps to my right to climb the next ladder.
I took tiny steps, testing the floor ahead of me. One wrong step and I was a goner. I stopped counting the floors. I only knew one thing: I had to keep going. Although terrified, it never occurred to me turn back and go down the ladders.
After an eternity, I reached the roof of the building. Looking over the edge, I could see the park and the neighborhood playground, and just up the block, I could see my house. I had a wild idea: take off my shirt, flutter it in the air, and then throw it over the edge. Someone would see it flutter to the ground, realize where it came from, and perhaps come up and save me, or call the police but all I did was to sit there shivering in the sun, holding back tears.
At that moment, contemplating the danger of climbing down to the bottom of the building, floor by floor, I froze. I could see myself hurtling through the open holes to my death.
I found the first ladder and descended slowly, step by step. I needed to stop at the bottom of each ladder and wipe my hands because I was sweating profusely. On one floor, I lay down on my back, with my head toward the ladder and swept the floor around me with my feet touching the rim of the chute. This was still not enough to me. I then got on my knees and reached in the direction of the ladder. This worked on all of the floors except on one floor which instead of the ladder, I felt the rim of the open chute. I faced in the opposite direction, and ended up touching the tip of the ladder from the floor below.
By the time I had climbed down four or five ladders, I didn't trust my judgment. I crawled slowly toward what I thought was the direction of the ladder, reached into my pocket, found a marble, and dropped it into the space which turned out to be a chute, rather the ladder. What floor was I on? How many more floors were there?
If I stayed there, maybe someone would come looking for me? Should I try hollering? I really wasn't that far from the play ground. I hollered once or twice. The sound of my own voice scared me!
I heard a train go by. I knew that I must be near the bottom of granary. I crawled slowly on my knees, hands slowly sweeping the floor in front of, until I came to an opening in floor. I felt the rim of the opening and the steel bar. Ever so slowly, I lowered myself down, and realized that I was on the ground floor of the granary. For a moment I sat down, overjoyed at being on the ground but impressed with myself that I undertaken this adventure and was home safe. I climbed back over the fence, jumped to the ground, turned around and looked to the enormous abandoned stone building.
For years, given the slightest pretext, I would tell the story of granary experience. At a young age, it would provide me with an opportunity to impress friends and strangers with my bravery. Later on in life, I would reflect on the experience, and would realize the danger and risk involved in the experience and wonder what I was trying prove? 70 years later I ponder that question.
One Umbrella
When I first began using rangefinders - years ago - I got myself to wear one-contact lens in my shooting eye. I've been doing that ever since. But last night when I went out to buy cat food and got caught in the downpour - no contact lens. I was shooting at f1.4 at 1/15th of a second.
So these were done by manually setting the focus on the lens - guestimating distance with the 40mm.
So these were done by manually setting the focus on the lens - guestimating distance with the 40mm.
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