On September 11th 2012, hundreds of students, teachers, and faculty members were summoned to the library, in groups of five, to try their luck in front of the camera. It was a chance at redemption, a chance to partake in the ancient custom practiced nationwide. A chance to sit, smile, and, if you were lucky, finally take a yearbook photo that you could live with.
Picture makeup day was the story of the century, and if I could summon the courage to interview the photographers, it was all mine. Notebook in hand, I left the comfort of computer lab 98 for the silent regime of the library. A brief walk left me at the back of a shrinking line. In front of me was Russ Davidson, the friendly chemistry teacher known for his witty fast talk and quick one-liners. He lightened the solemn mood of the library with his ramblings. The photographer, Felicia Chang, instructed Davidson in the art of the pose. Feet towards the right, sit up straight, shoulders relaxed, and smile. Her inverted umbrellas flashed once, twice, five times, and his photos were done. My turn.
I sheepishly laid my notebook and pencil down on a nearby rocking chair. (Wouldn’t want those in the picture with me.) The photographer beckoned toward the stool. I sat down in the previously indicated manner, feet towards the camera and hands resting on my lap. “Perfect,” she said. I smiled, and she counted, “One, Two, Three!” Click, blink. Click click, blink. Between each click of the shutter, she molded my pose and smile. “Relax your shoulders.”
She was a Renaissance sculptor of old. Her medium was anyone willing to step before her. Her tools, not of wood and iron, but words and subtle mannerisms, which she deftly used to shape her subjects. “Please, relax your shoulders.” And with each brush stroke, I did relax, confident in her abilities.
Photos taken, I retrieved my notebook, preparing for what was to come. But before I could muster the courage to ask for an interview, I found myself in front of the library, walking back toward the Computer Lab. I had panicked and fled, failing myself and the paper.
But the news team was not about to let that happen. Moments after my pathetic return, I was swept out the door, and back to the library. Nervous at the thought of talking to strangers, I decided instead to observe them, and take notes on the make-up day procedure. I stationed myself behind a bookshelf and waited. In the calm between groups, Chang and her partner, Dez Moralis, had helped themselves to some of the library’s magazines. Suddenly the door to the library opened. The photographers instantly perked up. As a student approached, Moralis asked, “Are you here for picture day?” The student shook his head no, and the photographers were noticeably crestfallen.
The silence in the library was stifling. The photographers could hardly whisper to each other, for fear of the studying students and the watchful librarian. I found myself wondering how long they had sat there for. Had they been there all day? With nothing but dated copies of Seventeen to ease the wait between groups?
It wasn’t long before more students arrived. This time, a group of sophomores, chatting loudly, made their way toward the portable studio. Chang and Moralis sprang into action, instantly models of cheerfulness. From my perch behind the bookshelves, I could catch every detail without having to speak with anyone. It was the perfect hiding place.
With each student, the formula I had witnessed earlier in the day was put into action, no exceptions. Pose, smile, click, and exit. The photographers were quick and efficient, no time for mistakes or errors. They were professionals, darn it, no time for fooling around.
I glanced at my watch: 3:00. I was running out of time. If I was going to interview these women, it had to be now. With my own special brand of awkwardness, I stepped from the book shelf, introduced myself to Chang, and asked for an interview. The first word’s from her mouth, “Were you…watching us?”
Unable to see any way around it, I relented. “Yes, yes I was.”
Silence.
Moralis smiled. “How can we help you?”