The Eye Behind the Camera

 

 

  This is my dad,
Lt. Russell Brubaker,
with his new camera,
an Alpa Reflex #4, purchased for $166
at the Tokyo post exchange in May 1952.

He also paid a little extra
for a roll of 35mm Kodachrome film,
which was probably his first venture into color photos.

This self-portrait posed before a mirror in his hotel room
was his first photo with the Alpa.
He guessed the exposure and got the focus wrong.
It was not his first camera
and would not be his last either,
but it was this particular camera
that introduced him to
the wondrous world of photography.

 

The reason I know this detail of camera trivia
is that my dad left notes.
Lots and lots of notes
attached to albums, binders, and boxes
containing thousands of photographs
that he took over a long lifetime
as an amateur photographer.

It began almost immediately after his graduation
from the Army ROTC program
at the University of Maryland.

It was 1951 and the United States was at war.
 

Again.
 

My dad, with his new lieutenant's commission,
received orders for Korea.
There was barely enough time
to get married to my mom.
Which, fortunately for me, they did.

 

 

After his arrival in Korea my dad was first assigned as a platoon leader of Company L (Love), 3rd Battalion, of the 38th infantry regiment, 2nd Division. A few weeks later he was reassigned as the battalion's communication officer and sent to Japan for training at the Army's Air/Ground School in Tokyo. The Far East was pretty exotic for a boy who grew up in a small farming community outside Baltimore and who had never seen real mountains or oceans except in schoolbooks. A camera must have seemed a fantastic device to record this new adventure, and the Alpa would document many more.

 

This is my favorite action shot of my dad. The Alpa is attached to a tripod and my dad, wearing his helmet, is about to pull the trigger.  I featured it in my 2018 story, Everything In Focus. Presumably the photo was taken by one of his fellow officers.

 

 

Perhaps his target was this soldier.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or this lieutenant.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or maybe this captain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Or maybe this young officer.

 

The detail of who took the shot of my father got left out of my dad's annotations, but I may yet uncover it. Like I said, there are a lot of notes. It's interesting to me that in the hundreds of personal photos he took during his year in Korea, my dad never recorded anything resembling actual warfare. There are no guns, bombs, destruction, or worse. Though he served under fire and was even awarded the Bronze Star, all his photos are more like the fun kind that a tourist, or maybe a boy scout camper, might take.

 

From the number of photos he took of other soldiers with cameras, it's clear my dad was participating in a new fad for photography. Considering that this was only 6-7 years after the end of World War 2, the availability of fine Swiss cameras like the Alpa, must have been a novel change for American consumers, particularly with soldiers serving in foreign countries.

 

When my dad returned safely home at the end of 1952, he switched from the infantry to the transportation corps. After more training in Virginia, he was sent to France, another exotic place for a camera enthusiast, but this time he could take his wife Barbara. A few months later I came along and the rest is history, as they say.

 

 

My mom was an artist and quickly learned the basic techniques of photography. Years later on a trip to Scotland, Wales, and England, my dad took a photo of her taking a photo of him on a ferry platform in western Scotland. I'm still hoping to find the matching photo. Did I mention that there are a lot of photos?

After my dad's first tour in Korea, then came an assignment in Virginia, followed by three years in France. Then another tour in Korea, now peaceable after the armistice, then stateside again. Then Germany, then Virginia, then Vietnam, then Virginia again. Throughout his army career, my dad used his cameras to record hundreds of pictures of the people and places he saw. He had a good eye and a talent for framing a good photo.

 

This passion for all things photographic led my dad to take up developing film, printing photos, and eventually amassing a camera collection large enough to rival any museum. The Alpa was just the first of dozens of Swiss, German, Russian, and Japanese cameras that my dad would buy, almost always at a pre-owned used price. Every camera is listed in several long spreadsheets with details on provenance, price, condition, etc. I no longer have the Alpa, the rewinder was broke anyway, and most of his collection was sold to a vintage camera !dealer shortly after his death in 2014.

 

I do, however, still have that first tripod, one of maybe two dozen, and maybe the leather case to, if I hunt for it. Cameras used to need lots of accessories like lens, light meters, filters, etc. It was once cutting-edge technology. Did I mention that I still have a lot of this stuff? Make me an offer. Please.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Finally in closing,
here is a matched pair of photos
of two photographers
seeing eye to eye.

 

 

 

 

 

A few years ago, my dad took this photo of me taking a photo of him.

 

 

 

 By coincidence we both wore a watch that recorded the same time.
It was about 11:08 in the morning.
Two eyes, two cameras,
each reflecting the other.

 

 

Time without time.
Tempo senza tempo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday
where every point of view is always welcome.