Mondays with Mike: The handoff

Years ago I got the camera bug in a photojournalism class—I shot with department-issued cameras, spent hours in the J-school darkroom, and eventually bought my own SLR camera. I take snaps with my iPhone, but every once in awhile, the phone just falls short. It was a hobby that eventually fell by the wayside.

A longtime neighborhood friend, Anthony, whom we met at Hackney’s way back when, is, among many other things, an excellent and knowledgeable photographer. I started picking his gigantic brain (he’s a linguist, a computer programmer, and lots of other brainy things) about cameras back when we could still chat on barstools. He generously offered to loan me one of his cameras and a fantastic lens—I was a little nervous about taking possession of such a nice outfit. But when he showed up at Half Sour, our local haunt, one evening and handed me a nifty canvas bag containing the camera and necessary accessories, I couldn’t say no.

Well, a lot’s changed since I shot black-and-white Kodak Tri-X Pan and dodged and burned in the darkroom. Yeesh, the features on these things. They’re like Transformers. The lockdown started shortly after Anthony lended me the camera, and I’ve entertained myself by reading endless online reviews cameras, poring over the owner’s manual for Anthony’s camera, trying to fathom everything these new-fangled machines can do.

Over these past weeks, I’ve pestered Anthony with email questions that I would’ve normally asked in person before the shutdown—and he’s patiently answered all of them. Then last week he suggested that I shoot with a different focal length lens to experience the difference. He outlined a precisely choreographed plan for exchanging lenses while maintaining social distancing. (Wouldn’t George Carlin have a good time with that term? Or “shelter in place”?)

Yesterday, on a lovely, mostly sunny spring day, we executed the plan.

“I’m at Dearborn Park,” read his email.

“I’ll be there in minutes,” I replied.

Anthony has become a friend of the squirrels at Dearborn Park, a lovely little verdant oasis in the middle of our concrete jungle. He feeds them hazelnuts, which he buys in bulk just for this purpose, he photographs them, he tells stories about them. He’s like the squirrel whisperer.

And holy cow, as I approached, squirrels were everywhere! None wore masks but all were well behaved.

We stood strides apart, he in a patterned fabric mask, me in one of the masks I’d been sent home with from the hospital after my Covid19 scare. He took his current camera out of his bag. He demonstrated how to remove the lens—noting that it worked the exact same way on my loaner.

He put the lens caps on front and back.

“Your turn,” he said.

I took out my camera, pressed the release button on the front of the camera, just as Anthony had on his. I twisted off the lens, and attached the caps.

Anthony placed his lens on a nearby concrete table.

I retrieved the lens and left my lens on the table.

Anthony retrieved that lens.

We bundled up our bags and said adieu to one another and to the squirrels.

Interesting times.