Still Life

By Marty P.

 Johnny Gage had just spent five days at Yellowstone and was eager to develop his photos.   

“Hi Johnny,” Sam, the proprietor of Silvio’s Camera Shop, greeted him.   He watched the avid shutterbug remove ten rolls of film from his pockets. 

Johnny scrambled to retrieve one as it ricocheted against several others and rolled onto the carpet.  “Can’t wait to see how these turn out.  There should be some awesome sunsets and one morning a doe and her fawns were grazing by the lake.”

“I’ll get right on it.”  Sam promised as he filled out the paperwork.  As he tore the carbon copy off, Johnny spied a sepia toned image. 

“Can I see it?”  The off-duty fireman/paramedic gazed at twelve uniformed men positioned around a steam pumper.  In the background was a building labeled Station 1.  “This looks old.”

“Yeah, my great uncle is third from the left.  This was taken in the 1880s.”

“They always looked so stern back then.”  Johnny commented as he returned the picture to its owner.

He placed it on the shelf behind him.  “They couldn’t take candids.  They had to hold a pose because the exposure time was so slow.”

“I guess that didn’t allow for much creativity then.”

“Actually, that’s not true.  During the Civil War, Matthew Brady and his team of photographers portrayed the horrors of war by staging the bodies.”  Sam slid a book of  historical images onto the counter to prove his point.

Johnny flipped through the leaves, “They communicated a message with these, didn’t they?”

“It’s definitely a different kind of photography.”  Sam retrieved another volume.  “Here, take a look at this.”

“Still Life,” Johnny read the title.  Some pages showed light reflecting off fruit or through colored glass but as Johnny perused further he saw a tractor in a partially plowed field, an empty schoolroom with cobwebs and a chef’s kitchen with eggs and a wedge of cheese resting on a cutting board.  “This is amazing.  There’s so many ways to interpret these.” 

“I bet you’d do well with it.  You have an artist’s eye.”  Then he pointed to a flyer on the bulletin board.  “Kodak has an annual competition.  First prize is $500.00.”

“I may give it a shot but fruits and farms aren’t my thing.  I wouldn’t know where to begin.”  Johnny closed the volume with a slight sigh of resignation.

Sam spurred him on when he suggested, “Choose what’s familiar to you. That’s what authors do.” 

“Yeah, that might work.  I guess I need more film then.”  Johnny smiled at the owner.  “You’re a good salesman.”

“I’ll make a deal with you; you buy the film and I’ll develop your photos for free.”  Sam held out his hand to seal the deal.

“You’re on.”  Johnny shook it firmly and then left the store.

~*~*

The next shift Johnny came into the Station 51 already dressed for work with his camera bag in hand.  “Oh, man, here we go again,” Chet Kelly, groused as he saw the paramedic.

Marco Lopez backed out of his locker with his belt buckle, “You’re gonna have that in our face all day again, aren’t you?”

“No, just ignore me.”  Johnny was attaching a wide angle lens to his camera.

Chet approached Johnny, put his thumbs to his ears and wiggled his fingers, “Right, like you’re gonna let us.” 

“So, what are you doing?”  Roy De Soto, his work partner, fastened the last button on his shirt and observed the dark-haired man studying his surroundings. 

“You wouldn’t understand.”  Johnny made no further explanation, hung his camera around his neck, and toured the station three times, pausing to gaze through the lens finder more than once.  Then he’d shake his head briefly and move on.

Chet was in the kitchen complaining as he mopped the floor, “He either needs glasses or is trying to see the world through rose colored ones.”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with his work,” Captain Stanley waited until he had his crew’s attention, “or yours, pay no attention to him.”

“That’ll be easy.  That’s what we usually do,” Chet guffawed at his remark, waiting for the others to join in. 

“Johnny?”  Roy sauntered into the apparatus bay and almost tripped over the opened medical cases. 

Johnny repositioned the drug box closer to the defibrillator and snapped the shutter.  “Be right with you.”

“We already checked our supplies,” Roy reached to fasten the black tackle box.

Johnny’s hand grasped his wrist.  “Don’t move.  No wait, touch the BP cuff.”  He captured the fingers poised to render care.

“Now can I move?”  Roy lifted the defibrillator and slid it into the compartment on the squad.  “Wanna tell me what you’re doing?”

“No, not yet.” 

Johnny failed to notice Captain Stanley entering his territory. “Done with your chores already, Gage?”

“Uh, no sir,” The paramedic stammered.  He stored his camera in his locker and went after a mop to clean floors.  He no sooner had the soapy water ready when the claxons sounded. 

Station 51, Engine 36, garage fire at 210 Albreda Street.  Cross Street Martin.  Time out 0913.

Johnny shoved the rolling bucket out of everyone’s path and darted to the squad while Chet activated the electronic door.  Johnny concentrated on the Thomas Guide while Roy followed his directions.  “Up there, on the left.”  Both men saw wisps of smoke emanating from the structure.  They hustled into their air tanks and donned gloves, awaiting instructions from Captain Stanley.

A neighbor approached them.  “They’re on vacation but they took the train and I think their car is still inside.”

The captain absorbed the information, “People put all kinds of junk into their garages.  We could be facing paint, insecticides and gasoline containers.  Not to mention the danger an auto on fire can cause.”  He shouted toward his men, “Lopez, Kelly, each of you take a reel line and Gage and DeSoto provide back up.”

Captain Stanley analyzed his men’s choreographed actions as they broke through the garage door and advanced, reading each other’s movements and nearing the beast which threatened to engulf them.    Just as he was ready to tell them to retreat he saw the flames lessening and then become non-existent.

They backed out of the area.  “Roy, you and Johnny drag the car out and make sure it’s not smoldering.  Chet, Marco, start overhauling.”

The paramedics attached a chain to automobile and with the squad’s power, backed it onto the driveway.  With caution, they readied a hose and raised the hood, checking for any signs of flame.  Finding none, they disconnected the battery and left the hood up.  Johnny returned the chain to its compartment and took in the activity around him.  How could he communicate to the public what his job, his life was?  People would think the disabled vehicle represented a mechanic.  The interior of the garage was blackened but the public wouldn’t understand what they’d done.  “Everything all right, Gage?”  The captain interrupted his thoughts.

Johnny slapped his gloved hands together, “Uh huh.”

“Well, go help with clean up then.”  

“Yes sir.” 

On the ride back to the fire station, Johnny placed his elbow on the door, resting his chin on his open palm.  “Roy, what does your job mean to you?”

“Well, I’m there to save lives and property.”

Johnny mulled that over, trying to determine how to show it in a photograph.  He didn’t want to show firemen on ladders or someone with a stethoscope dangling around their neck.  “What else?”

“We’re there when we’re needed.”  Roy swiveled to face his partner.  “What’s this all about?”

“I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do.”  Johnny reached for the door handle as Roy backed into the station. 

Chet scrambled down from the pumper and faced Roy.  “What’s up with Johnny?”

“I dunno, Chet.  Your guess is as good as mine.”  He followed the firefighter to the hose bed.  “Want help hanging that?”

The following day Johnny delivered his film to Silvio’s.  “Sam, this was harder than I thought it was going to be.” He filled out the paperwork and placed the vial into the envelope.

Sam looked at him over his half glasses, “We’re both eager to see what you came up with.  These will be ready tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be in the day after that.”  Johnny announced as he put the pickup slip in his shirt pocket.

Chet attempted to interrogate him on the next shift but Johnny would only say, “Wait and see.”

The next morning the eager photographer appeared at the shop just as it was opening.  Without saying a word, Sam gave him the developed stills.  Johnny flipped them through glancing at the full set first.  Then after cycling through again, he set several photos on the surface as if he were lining them up for a solitaire game.  “I really like this one and this, too.” 

Sam peered at the photos upside down.  “What’s a tackle box doing with medical equipment?”

“Have you ever heard of paramedics?”  Johnny rotated them so Sam could see them full on.

Sam paused, “Well, you said you were one but I didn’t understand what that meant.  Does it have something to do with the military?”

“They do have medics in the armed forces but paramedics arrive at the scene, like an auto accident or someone having a heart attack and we give them care before they go to the hospital.”

“Oh, first aid,” Sam nodded slowly. 

Johnny emitted a heavy breath.  “No, it’s much more than that.  I had three months of intensive training to be able to do my job.  We can start IVs and give some medications.”

 

“Sounds pretty important,” Sam tapped his finger on the picture.  “And this is the stuff you carry around with you?” 

“That’s right,” Johnny leaned over the case.  “What do you think?  Should I submit one of these?”

Sam considered the idea, “The problem is people won’t understand what you’re trying to show.”

~*~*

Several days later, the A-shift of Station 51 entered in a somber mood.  The word had gone out quickly when “Huge” died.  Hugo Bennett had a slight build and was only five foot eight inches but with typical firehouse humor he was labeled “Huge”.  It wasn’t unusual; Tiny McGillicuddy was six foot six frame and weighed 350 pounds and never could change his moniker.

It happened at a three alarm house fire.  Huge was on the first floor handling an inch and a half when the floor collapsed.  He plummeted to the basement and in the thick smoke no one could find him in time.

The men spoke in the locker room, “If only he’d had a buddy.”  Marco stated.

Chet shook his head, “No, then two men might be gone.  If only he’d had more air.”

“If only there was some kind of alarm on him.  Sound travels.  Maybe he coulda had a chance.”  Johnny proposed.

Roy fastened his badge on his shirt.  “Those are all good ideas but they aren’t going to change the outcome.  Joanne spent time with Sally yesterday.  It was rough.”

“As you know,” Captain Stanley’s voice echoed in the apparatus bay.  “Hugo Bennett didn’t serve on 51’s B-shift long but he made an impact.  The funeral will be the day after tomorrow and other stations are covering our shift.  His wife Sally requested Roy and Marco as pallbearers.”  He saw brief acknowledgments from both men.  “We’ll meet at the station at 9:30 and Mike will drive Big Red.”  He put the clipboard under his arm.  “Come and see me if you need to talk.”

The men suffered through a day without calls, each facing his own mortality and its repercussions.

 Johnny was checking his dress uniform when he spied his camera in his locker.  He looped the strap over his neck and noted the number of exposures available.  Maybe he could take some shots for Sally and Huge’s boys.  Tommy was four and the other one was a year and a half.  Huge had been an engineer so he clambered into the driver’s seat and captured the dashboard and steering wheel.  He’d get the gauges the engineer worked on the side of the pumper, too.  As he circled the engine he spied a turnout coat draped over the rear corner of the apparatus with a helmet plopped on top of it.  Cap wouldn’t be happy that Chet hadn’t put it in its compartment but Kelly got teased about how long it took him to don his gear and this gave him a few extra seconds.  He studied the image.  Somehow it conveyed, ‘bring it on; I’m ready.’   He viewed it through his lens and snapped the shutter.   He had one frame left when he wandered out behind the building and saw Huge’s red pickup truck parked next to the hose tower.

On his way home, he deposited the film in Silvio’s drop off box. 

Johnny unlocked his apartment door and tossed his white gloves on the coffee table.  This funeral seemed more difficult than the others.  Everyone wore a mask of stoicism during the procession and service.  He was thankful Huge’s youngest wasn’t there.  Tommy seemed to be bearing an onerous burden.  At four, he didn’t fully comprehend what happened but he knew things were different and clung tightly to his mother’s hand.   Johnny had a headache all day.  He took a shower and slunk into bed. 

~*~*

Several days later he stopped at the camera shop to see if his pictures were in.  Sam watched him examine them.  “You have some good ones here.” 

“Could you make these three into 8 x 10s?”  Johnny selected the ones he thought would be most meaningful to the Bennett family. 

The owner did some calculations, “$9.13 should cover it.”

Johnny fingered the bills in his wallet and handed over a ten.  It was after he left that Sam realized the contest ended the next day.  He chose one of the images and made a decision.  “Won’t hurt to send it in and see what happens,” he muttered to himself and completed the application.

~*~*

Time flew by and Johnny stayed busy with work and life in general. 

One day Chet tromped into the station and threw a magazine onto the kitchen table.  “Whatcha got there, Kelly?”  Captain Stanley eyed the title.  “Popular Photography, I didn’t know you were into that.”

“I’m not!  Where’s Gage!” 

“What’s Chet complaining about now?”  Johnny strolled in from the captain’s office after logging in the runs from the last shift. 

The curly haired fireman opened to a certain page and shoved it into Johnny’s face.  “Congratulations!”

“What?  Is this a prank?”  Then he took in what was on the page.  “I took that!  How’d it get in there?”  He thought for a moment.  “Sam musta sent it in.”

“It says right here you won second place.”  By now the rest of the crew was crowding around to see.

Johnny was initially stunned; then sobered.  “I never submitted it.”  More to himself than the others he stated, “I thought it might mean something to Huge’s wife.  I took it a couple days after…”

“Well, obviously it touched quite a few people,” Captain Stanley looked at the image again.  “May I have a copy of it?”

“Sure, Cap.” 

“Hey, you won $250.00!”  Chet screeched, reading the fine print.  “Whatcha gonna do with it?”

“I think I’ll give it to the Bennett family, after all Huge inspired it.”

“Good for you, Johnny.”  Roy patted him on the shoulder.

Johnny wasn’t paying attention.  “I wanna see what other contests I can enter.  I bet I’ll get first next time!”

Chet groaned, “It was a fluke, Johnny.  Get over it.”

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February Picture 2006                Stories by Marty P.