Typically Divinity School students reserve Sunday afternoons as sacred time. They’re not supposed to require work in church placements (that’s reserved for the morning and evening) and they’re that relaxed period where productive studying can happen. They are a time when many of us take the half hour to call our parents and do the weekly update, a time when NFL football is always an option for those delaying the inevitable procrastination. They’re a time most of us revere.
Well, I broke that sanctity on Sunday afternoon by paying to attend a workshop completely unrelated to anything I’m studying. I went to a photography seminar. And now I’m suffering the consequences.
The picture above is Alexander Cook. For those who don’t know, Alexander is the youngest son of Dottie, my minister at South Hills Christian Church (DOC) in Ft. Worth, TX. Alexander is a kid with spunk; he has an attitude and for most of us who watch(ed) it, a chuckle comes easily. He was one of the shortest kids in the congregation (well, when I left at least — he’s probably not anymore) and he could assert more authority than most adults could muster. Whether he had it or not is another matter, but he acted the part.
He would slowly pace in front of the office windowed wall while he waited for Dottie to finish. His thumbs would be in his belt loops, his arms held out at angles, and his step would have a relaxed, yet staggered gate. I never saw him with the cowboy hat, but his boots on many Sundays would make the look even more priceless. When some adults would come by they’d say comments down to him and he’d show some form of acknowledgment, even if it wasn’t the most direct. Sometimes the only response would be a shrug; sometimes it would bring a questioning look; sometimes it was an eye roll away from the adults. He could act like he was experienced in life, almost like it would take a lot to surprise him.
On Sunday I had the pleasure to see what I’m guessing Alexander will be like in 65 years. Monte Zucker (to see a similar pose, go to http://www.fotoaparat.cz/image/17290), one of the instructors for the workshop (the other one was Eddie Tapp), had so many of Alexander’s mannerisms. I’m guessing that Monte was Jewish just because of some of the jokes he told and his east coast accent. He wasn’t the tallest man, but he made up for it in confidence. It was his show and he was dragging the audience along. He started it with a five minute dance session. You should realize that almost all of the audience was professional photographers (with about 75% over 40 years old) and let’s just say there’s a reason they’re not dancers … or even cool for that matter. But, Monte knew how to handle them. Those who didn’t dance immediately became his test subjects for shooting pictures on stage. No, they didn’t get to use his equipment; they were the subjects he used it on.
When he pulled them up to the stage, his cheeks lifted and his jaw dropped open about half an inch so that you couldn’t tell if he was smiling, chuckling or just enjoying the torture of them. He had two people unrelated do “couple” poses together while their significant others were in the audience. It was hilarious.
Besides the look and the smile resembling Alexander, I burst out laughing about fifteen minutes into the presentation when I recognized the resemblance. Monte was adjusting the soft light boxes on the stage so he could better light the subject. In doing so, he completely blocked the view of what he was doing for the entire audience of about 175 people! After taking a couple of shots, he bent down and looked between the light boxes and asked, “What are all of you doing out there? You have no idea what I’m doing. Move somewhere else in the room so you can see. Geez … it’s like you don’t want to learn any of this!”
Laughter was my only appropriate reaction. Only 30 of us ended up moving. And they kept adjusting the lights and we kept having to move every 45 seconds or so. It was great.
I had my $50 in valuable material in the first half hour. I think my mind had all that it could take by that point too. Monte made sure, after he handed the presentation over to Eddie twenty minutes in, to walk around and lean into our aisles to ask us if we were taking enough notes; he knew that our minds had no chance of retaining the information for the rest of the afternoon.
Sunday evening I was feeling it too. Excedrin eased the pain of the workshop but it didn’t improve my attitude or replenish my energy. Only time could do that.
It wasn’t until Monday afternoon that I didn’t get a headache just from remembering the workshop. It was great; but still painful. My parents use the phrase “a Farrell Lobotomy” to describe the throbbing headache stemming from business meetings with a colleague. The deluge of information from the workshop, paired with some stress from the weekend, knocked me into a state of humility on Sunday evening.
From the experience came a recipe that will hopefully prove true at the University of Chicago: prepare for massive overloads of information, throw in a bit of strife and stress (the variety doesn’t matter as much as the amount — not too much, but also not too little), and regain the humble mindset and watch your attitude rise from the depths to realize that life really is a great experience. That’s an attitudinal lobotomy.
