The James Lett Company is the oldest name in photography in this town.
Indeed, their advertising materials bill them as "America's oldest
camera store." They've been in business here more than a
century and are still a family enterprise. There's a one-hour photo
place in every little strip mall, and you can buy a camera almost
anywhere too. But if you want service or advice from somebody who knows
the state of the art, you go to Lett's. And that's where I went this
morning in the service of my planned (and now much-announced) trip to
Wyoming.
I want a new camera. Currently I'm using a Canon Sure Shot that makes a
funny noise when the lens retracts and closes. I've never liked this
camera very much. It replaced an earlier model Sure Shot I bought in
1984 and
lost around 1989. That's the camera I used for those million rolls of
film that every new mother shoots of her baby. It's the one that took
the Halloween pictures I posted here in
2001.
The replacement, the one I took to Scotland and Ireland, the one that
took the picture of a
wonderful old
catalpa tree I saw in Amherst, Massachusetts in 2002, does a good
enough job, but it never had the charm and the good feeling of the
original, and, like all point-and-shoots, it has its limitations. For
quick snaps such as the
picture of the church
crèche of
my childhood and the beautiful young women who went to
the junior prom
in 2003 I use a digital camera that Ron likes but that I've never
really made friends with. It too has its limitations.
When I go to Wyoming this summer, and back to Vermont this year or
next, or even when I walk along the river right here at home, I want to
be able to take really nice pictures. I'm not talking about the grand
scenic vistas that grace my Wyoming calendar. I'm talking about the
things only I see, like
the business sign
I saw in Denver, Pennsylvania in 1999.
So I went to Lett's this morning, prepared to ask questions and to
learn. The company occupies a building on Market Street in Lemoyne, a
commercial strip of car dealers and beer distributors and some small
businesses such as independent travel agents and consignment shops.
There's a parking lot in back, and behind the building several streets
of older double houses and frame story-and-a-half bungalows.
The shop was being attended by Mr. Bill, the owner, and a fresh-faced
red-headed kid in his twenties. I remembered him from November 2003
when I'd taken in some negatives of action shots of Lynn done by a
professional photographer who is also a hockey father. He uses a lens
the size of a piece of artillery and his pictures stop the ball in
mid-air and capture the beads of sweat on the girls' faces. You don't
take work like that to the drop-box at the supermarket for printing.
I'd asked the kid the same questions back then (for the same purpose!)
and got the same advice now — buy a film camera that has automatic and
manual capabilities and that can expand with different lenses, filters,
and other doo-dads, and find the time and the patience to learn how to
use it. The recommended model now as then is a Canon EOS Rebel K2,
retailing for $299.99.
While we were talking the phone rang twice, and the two men took turns
explaining things to me and showing me examples of what the basic lens
that comes with the outfit can do and what I can achieve with the next
lens I'll probably want. It was about noon, and presently the mail
carrier walked in.
"Have you seen Mrs. B_____ recently?" she asked.
"She was over here Wednesday morning, I think," said Mr. Bill.
"Well, she didn't take the mail in yesterday and there's two newspapers
on the porch. And I can't hear the tv."
"I'll go check on her," said Mr. Bill.
Mrs. B_____ is an older woman whose little house shares a driveway with
the camera store's parking lot. Mr. Bill has a key to her front door
and her emergency contact information. She checks in with them every
few days, and they keep her driveway and sidewalks cleared of snow and
leaves. "She's a sweet lady," the kid said.
It wasn't long before Mr. Bill came back. His face was ashen and his
aspect subdued.
"She's gone," he said. "I have to call her son. I already called EMS."
The young man's face fell. He went back to what he'd been telling me,
but I knew he was distracted. I told him I was thinking about a basic
photography class at the community college that starts on January 27.
He urged me to sign up for it. "You don't have to buy this camera
today," he said. "It's always in stock. Think about it, come back maybe
closer to the day class starts." When I left, the EMS ambulance was
blocking the common driveway and I had to use a different one.
I have almost $200 left from Christmas. I'd already decided to send
some of it to UNICEF, and the rest I thought I'd use for the camera,
which I thought was going to cost about $150. I checked around on the
discount store sites. Circuit City and Best Buy both have it in stock
for $259.99. I've bought two tv sets at Circuit City and Lynn's
microwave at Best Buy (and a gift card for her boyfriend because the
day she sent me there, Christmas Eve, there was no way I was going to
search amid the competing noises of tvs and stereos to find the right
headphones for his MP3 player). All of those things you just get out of
the box and plug in to the wall. You don't need a manual and a
five-session course to teach you how to use them, so it's probably okay
that the clerk you bought them from only knows how to make Easy
Mac'n'Cheese and will likely be working someplace else within a week.
But forty dollars is forty dollars.
And then I thought of Helen, a character in my novel-in-progress. She's
in her sixties and lives alone. She's two hours away from any family
and doesn't communicate with them often, and she worries sometimes that
she'll die alone, that no one will know she's gone until weeds have
overtaken her dooryard and newspapers cover the porch. And I thought of
the people UNICEF is helping, now and always, the lonely, the lost, the
wretched of the earth.
Any business where the proprietor looks after his neighbor and is on a
first name basis with the mail carrier, where an employee spends time
answering questions and being sure the customer is learning what she
needs to know, and where they apologize for being temporarily
distracted by human concerns — well, that's a business I'm glad to
patronize.
I went back to the store before it closed and bought the camera. It
was, I think, forty dollars well spent.