close your eyes and hope for the best

Christopher Reeve, “Superman”.(click image to enlarge)

Within those first few months I also gained the dubious distinction of being one of the only people in existence to have “knocked the wind out of Superman’s cape.”

What a fabulous job we photographers have. We get to pursue a craft by choice, and generally love what we do. Many of us learned our craft the hard way, through long hard hours of sweat equity and weeks upon weeks of being on the road. Intermixed was often a good helping of luck.

Like many of my peers I have had the opportunity to meet some fabulous people: the rich and famous, the cantankerous, royalty, and the long since dead and recently deceased.

My first job was shooting for a weekly community newspaper where I got reimbursed with another free roll of film and access to a darkroom, while holding down a full time paying job in the military. Granted, the darkroom left much to be desired and came without instruction. I can now only imagine what some of those first negatives might look like if only they had been processed properly. But yet there was this great mystery of watching an image appear while I rocked the tray of developer back and forth.

Within those first few months I also gained the dubious distinction of being one of the only people in existence to have “knocked the wind out of Superman’s cape.” I was photographing Capt. Dan Moreland onboard the schooner Ernestina in Shelburne harbour. (Incidentally the Ernestina was formally the Effie M. Morrissey, a schooner that Bob Bartlett skippered on his many quests to the North Pole and other high arctic adventures.) As I was finishing the shoot with Captain Moreland, I swung my camera bag over my shoulder, swung around and my elbow struck a gentleman with a pretty good blow to the ribs. I heard oomph, so I apologized and started to the brow, more interested in processing my film than being sincere with my apology. (Editor’s note: The brow is the gangplank, or ladder, that bridges the ship to the dock.)

As I reached the wharf, a couple of crew were almost in hysterics. It took them some time to convince me that I had actually just delivered the blow to none other than Christopher Reeve. Feeling quite an idiot, I slithered back to the quarterdeck and staked out my vantage.

After a couple of hours of standing in typical spring FDR (Fog, Drizzle and Rain) the paparazzi seasoned Reeve came out and was quite forgiving of his scrum of one. He very graciously agreed to allow me to make a few photos if I agreed not to run the pictures until after he left town. We had a deal.

Later that afternoon word was on the street that Reeve was in town (on his sailboat, I believe it was called the Chantelle) and an editor was screaming at me to go get some shots. The editor was elated to learn that I had already spent about 15-minutes with Reeve, and two rolls of film were safely tucked away. He was equally as pissed when I told him he couldn’t run the pictures until next week’s edition, and I stuck to my guns. The photos ran the next week, although now old news, and Reeve was long gone from the area.

Even the National Enquirer tracked me down and tried to buy the negatives from me. Not for sale. How could I possibly ever belittle a gentleman who so graciously taught me one of my first lessons in this business?

It was with interest I learned of his horse accident, and it was personally felt when I learned of his passing. Sometime between that shoot and the day of his passing, it would seem I misplaced the negatives.

What I do have, however, is a test print from the darkroom that despite the scribbles and quality has become one of my favoured images. Not favoured because of the image, but because of the person.

I feel honoured that I got to spend 15-minutes with Christopher Reeve. He truly was a gentleman of the highest regard, and I feel honoured that he would provide this budding photographer with not only his time but also his wisdom.

Should memory serve me correct, this story was 20 years ago this month.

© Dale Wilson

This entry was posted on Monday, June 11th, 2007 at 10:20 am and is filed under Dale Wilson. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.