That '70s Tableau

Once upon a time, there were no smartphones with digital cameras to capture candid memories. In the 1970s, cameras required film, so in order to make cameras more accessible to amateur consumers, manufacturers developed and marketed affordable, easy to use compact cameras touted as point-and-shoot cameras. These cameras introduced film cartridges instead of rolls of film and small flash cubes for taking photographs in low-light conditions.

I was in my teens when I was gifted my first camera, a pocket-sized one that I enjoyed carrying with me to snap surprise photos and likenesses of family and friends. Naturally, the first summer I owned the camera, I took it with me on our family vacation. I kept a meticulous count of how many pictures I took and made sure to carefully select my subjects since I would be paying for film development and prints with my own babysitting money. As a curious, thrifty shutterbug, I saw the sights through junior, photojournalistic eyes and guarded each of the precious twenty-four frames housed in the plastic container waiting for exposure.

In those days, traveling to our destination was almost as fun as arriving there, especially if along the way there was a hotel pool involved. While on the road, my three siblings and I kept busy playing highway games, reading, singing, and listening to our transistor radios. Dad drove our Volkswagen Bus and Mom sat in the front passenger seat enjoying the views.

Stalled in slow traffic in a town whose name I can’t recall, Mom suddenly started laughing. It was a boisterous, hearty cackle that quickly paused our activity and grabbed our attention. Inevitably, we begged to know what was so funny.

From her higher post in the front seat of our bus, Mom reported that below her, directly in front of our car, was a man on a motorcycle. With hesitant chortles, she paused to looked at my father for the right words. He wore jeans, she told us between guffaws, and the way he was bent over his handlebars, you could see part of his—well, you know…

Curious to see him ourselves, we strained our seatbelts to no avail and begged to unbuckle in order to witness the scene ourselves and share in the humor. Adamant that we do not remove our belts, Mom suggested that I pass my camera to her. Without a doubt in my head, I understood the moment to be a once in a lifetime opportunity, and despite knowing I would not be able to claim credit for the shot, I agreed.

I quickly checked to make sure the film was advanced and ready to take the next photo, then from the back seat, passed my treasured camera to my sister, who passed it to our mother. Still snickering, Mom snapped a picture through the windshield. Her gaiety was contagious but eventually we settled down, sure that we’d all enjoy more giggles when my prints came back from the developer.

Two weeks after we arrived home, I held onto the packet of vacation photos and eagerly waited to view them until the whole family was able to gather together. Anticipation peaked as we flipped through each picture. Finally, there was the “motorcycle plumber” posed for our amusement, but unfortunately, the windshield wiper censored the focal point of the whole image!

Gaping at Mom in disbelief, we erupted in laughter just as she had back in our Volkswagen. Only this time, she was the “butt” of the joke. To this day, whenever I’m paused at a red light behind a motorcycle rider, I smile as I fondly recall the vacation memory that robbed me of a Pulitzer Prize for Photography.

“Ev’ry time I see your face,

It reminds me of the places we used to go.

But all I got is a photograph”

— Ringo Starr & George Harrison