A Lesson in Cowardice
Don’t regret what you do, don’t do what you will regret.
Wisdom passed to me in the Tijuana waiting room.
Wisdom difficult to learn, and difficult to live.
My father had given me his old camera, and also playing with brownie cameras was fun, I discovered I liked photography. But being a mere kid, there was usually a wait to be given film. And then, wait for the parents to develop the pictures.
I was about 13, walking in Hollywood on Santa Monica Blvd, and saw the Kodak building. I went in to see what there was to see. They gave me booklets on how to take photographs and some film! I was delighted.
Then the receptionist made a phone call and I was taken in to talk to some guy who wanted to know about my interest in photography, and he asked me if I had access to a dark room.
In junior high, taking print shop was a joy. I loved the type cases, I liked setting the type, I really loved putting the type back in the cases. I loved the smell. In the shop classroom, there was a dark room, but it was being used for storage. I told this to the Kodak guy, he wanted the name of the school, and the name of the teacher, and he gave me his card to give to my teacher.
On Monday, I gave the card to Mr. Binder, the wonderfully named print shop teacher, and by the end of the week, Kodak had fully stocked our dark room. Paper, chemicals, trays, tanks, a timer, drying racks, and even an enlarger.
This was early during summer school, and Mr. Binder told me to have fun the rest of the summer learning the dark room.
In the fall semester, there was room for another class, and I took print shop again, and asked Mr. Binder if I could work almost exclusively with photography. He agreed, if I would show the other kids how to do the magic.
Then he got sick and had to leave for a while. His substitute teacher was a jerk. He liked wearing the apron. He liked over organizing and micromanaging. He may have liked boys a bit too much. Fortunately, I had little to do with him in the dark room. When Mr. Binder was coming back, this man gave us a speech that ended with, "I’m sure all of you will miss me when I’m gone," I muttered "not much.” The man blew up and demanded to know, Who said that !? No one pointed a finger at me and I didn’t say anything. And then he decided that the kid next to me was the guilty one. And he was going to see that this kid be expelled. The kid next to me was Sammy Morehead, he was a white gang member. An honorable guy, he didn’t deny the accusation, he didn’t point his finger at me. The jerk teacher sent Sammy to the principal’s office.
It was wrong to let anyone take the blame for anything I did, but I was a coward and didn’t speak up until after school. I went to the principal’s office and spoke to Mr. Lovejoy and told him the situation. He told me essentially that it was a non-issue, Sammy wasn’t really in any trouble, and the substitute teacher was a jerk.
But I learned from this experience not to be a coward, not to ever let anyone take the blame for anything that I did. To speak up. And to "pay the two dollars." (See an explanation here)
This experience changed how I would lead my life. My life perspective changed. It helped me avoid the prison of shame. It taught me not to do something I would regret.
To see what is right and not do it
is the worst cowardice
Confucius