Donald Bowles 
A Lifetime of Photography

     At 15 years of age, I told my Mother that I wanted to be a photographer. The holidays were fast approaching, so I let it be known that I would like a film developing kit for Christmas. I already had a camera that used 620 black and white film, and by the time the day arrived, I had three rolls of film ready to be developed. 
     Christmas afternoon found me in a dark bathroom closet, struggling to wind the first roll onto the developing spool before putting the spool into the light-tight developing tank. With a deep breath, I was ready to develop for the first time. 
     Twenty minutes later I had finished, and opened the tank, taking the film roll out. I was shocked to see that it was blank! Clearly, something had gone wrong. I set out right away to develop the second roll, re-reading the instructions, and being more careful this time. In another twenty minutes I opened the tank, and again, the film was blank.
     I took the developing tools and the blank films to my Mother. She examined the kit, and realized that there was no developer in the kit! The fixer solution to halt the developer was where it was supposed to be, but where the developer should have been, there was only more fixer instead.
     The following day my Mother took the kit back where she had purchased it, and brought me home a brand new one, this time triple checked that the right solutions were present. And that third roll of film turned out just perfectly. My only regret was that in the spoiled rolls I had lost the picture of me with the biggest fish I had ever caught up to that point. An 8 pound pike.
     A few years passed and I felt quite accomplished, with a permanent darkroom set up in the basement. I had added an enlarger, a red safe-light, and a set of trays to my photo equipment. I was not doing well in school though, so I decided to get a job in a photo studio.
     I applied for a position at Greatz Brothers Photography Studio in Montréal, and soon was hired as a print dryer and delivery boy. After drying photo prints I would stamp and number, then package them. If they were local, afterwards I would deliver them too. A couple of months passed before I was offered an opportunity by Mr. Andy Greatz to come in on a Saturday, and try my hand in one of the black and white darkrooms. I would not be paid, but it was an opportunity to see what I could do, which I jumped at.
     The day arrived, and I was given two 35 mm negatives to print, an 8x10 of each. Within half an hour I had finished the job and had the prints in the wash. Mr. Andy was pleased, and offered me another test. This time the negatives were larger. They were 4x5's, there were four of them, and he wanted two 8x10 prints of each. He showed me how to set up the enlarger to print these bigger negatives, then left me to get at it.
     An hour later he knocked on the darkroom door, asking me how it was going. I put the last of the prints in the fixer before turning on the lights and letting him into the room. "Very good" he said as he reviewed the work.
     But then we both saw it. A box of 100 sheets of 8x10 photographic paper that I had left exposed, opened to the white light. I covered the paper right away and looked at Mr Greatz. He said, "If you weren't working for nothing right now, I would fire you on the spot."
     Feeling low, I completed my tasks in the darkroom, discarding the ruined sheets of paper and finishing washing and drying the lovely prints. I headed home.
    The following Monday, I was moved to the colour film developing and printing department. No further word was said about my blunder. And I loved it.
     I eagerly learned to process colour negatives and transparency films. I would mix the chemicals when needed, and eventually, was shown how to change and enhance the colours themselves on colour prints. 
     One day Mr. Andy's son came to me with twelve sheets of 8x10 colour transparency film. It was a rush job, and I should develop them right away. Heating up the chemicals though, I noticed that the 2nd colour developer smelled rancid. I told him, and said we would need to mix new developer.
     All of the other chemicals were fine, and it was only the colour developer that smelled oxidized. He took a whiff, then told me to develop the film anyway. I said no.
     Upset, he told the colour printer, my immediate supervisor, to develop the film for me. But instead the printer just glanced between us both and said, "He might be right, and I don't want to take the chance." Mr. Greatz's son looked furious.  
     "Look, I'll develop one sheet. If it's okay then I'll develop the rest." I didn't want tempers to flair, and the one print I made came out totally off colour. It was unusable.
     I mixed the new colour developer with confidence, then processed the rest of the film. Each print came out beautifully, and this day became an important one for me.
     The following week I was sent to the Eastman Kodak training facility all the way in Toronto. I took a course in colour printing, processing and the related necessary studies.
     After that, whenever an order would come in for prints larger than 20x24 inches, I would be responsible for them. Within a week of my return from the Kodak plant, a new piece of equipment arrived at Greatz Bros. It was a very big colour print processor, and I alone was in charge of it.  I had come up another level, and I knew it.
     Exciting opportunities were suddenly all around me. The largest colour print I ever made was in 3 pieces, with each piece being 40 inches wide by 5.6 feet long. When it was all mounted together as one print, I went to see it at the Eaton Store in downtown Montréal. I will never forget the pride I felt when I first set my eyes on it.
     During this time, when there were no large prints to make, I would work with different photographers as their assistant. This could be either in studio, or on locations. 
     But all good things must come to an end.
     Working in the darkrooms can become very busy, and a lot of overtime. Once I worked my full day then went into overtime. I worked all night then continued into the next day. Halfway through the day Mr. Andy came to me looking for a job that I overlooked. We had missed the deadline.
     When he asked me about it, I had no idea what he was talking about, which I told him in no uncertain terms. Mr. Andy told me to watch what I was saying or he would have to fire me. I was angry and exhausted. 
     “You can't fire me because I quit.” I went into the darkroom to make the final print that I had missed. Although we mended our relationship, I left my first job behind me.
     I went back to high school with the intention of graduating. I became president and photographer of the school newspaper, but I did not go to any classes. After the first edition of the newspaper was published, I left school and started looking for another job. Mr. Andy Graetz promised me that if he heard of anybody looking for help, he would give them my phone number.
     A couple of days later, I received a telephone call from what was then called Penthouse Studios, of Montreal. Someone wanted to interview me for a job as a black and white darkroom technician. An appointment was set up for the following morning.
     I was met by Claude Charlet who led me down stairs to the basement, where there were two very large photostat machines. At the time I did not have a clue what a photostat was. From there we went up a few stairs to where the dark rooms were. He brought me into his office which was also the colour printing darkroom, where he got me to fill out a job application. From there he showed me a narrow processing room, where on one side colour negatives were processed and on the other, colour transparencies. I was very familiar with both of these processes, and let Claude know this. 
     Next there was a double doorway leading to the black and white darkroom, where film was processed and then printed in various sizes. After being shown the water supply, processing chemicals, thermometers and other tools, he handed me two 4x5 film holders, each containing two sheets of 4x5 TryMax film. 
     “Process these” he said. “Then make an 8x10 print of the best negative and I will bring the print up to the boss, Richard Zamnickies. If all goes well, you have a job.” Two and a half hours later I was officially hired. I would start the next morning, at 9 am Sharp.
     I really felt good. On my way home I stopped at Graetz brothers and thanked Mr Andy. Claude had told me that he had worked for him a few years ago, and had phoned and asked Mr.Graetz if he knew someone who could work in darkrooms. So Andy Graetz had recommended me.
     Penthouse Studios (not that one). What better place to develop oneself as an artist than working in a graphic design art studio. Yes, I worked in the basement in the darkrooms, but eventually I also took over the colour printing as well.
     Above me on the first floor of the old house was an office and a photograph studio, with a full kitchen.The top floor was a lively creative art studio where everything was put together, making beautiful ads and brochures. There was a lot of fun being had, and a lot of laughter and vision. 
     When there was no work in the darkrooms I was encouraged to help out in the photo studio. I again assisted very talented photographers, both in studio and on locations, and took pictures of products and people, slowly becoming a real photographer. 
     After six or seven years, I left Penthouse Studios under good conditions. This included a great party, and afterwards I moved with my wife to Charlottetown, PEI, where I got a job working for Meyers Studio. That studio's claim to fame was that it was the first business to have a branch in every province of Canada.
     It's heyday in PEI had long passed though, and I was not the man to revive it. Within two months of working there, for which I was never paid, the studio closed down.
     With some of their equipment as well as my own, I opened a studio in the house I was renting, calling it Island Memories. I did some commercial jobs, but mostly I supported myself with weddings and family portraits. Summers were great, with a wedding every weekend and often two. But come the colder weather with winter winds and the PEI ferry boat running only once a day, things began to slow down.
     I started working part time loading PEI potatoes from trucks to ships. I never was a great businessman though, and after four years of this I pulled up my shallow roots and moved to Toronto, Ontario.  One of my seven brothers, Micheal, had a job waiting for me, loading mixed merchandise from Canadian Steamship trucks into railroad box cars.
     One morning after a few months of working the night shift I ran across Richard Zamnikes on the sidewalk, my old boss and friend from Penthouse Studios in Montreal.
     “What the hell are you doing here?” he said. The following morning I was working in the audio visual department of Penthouse Studios,  Toronto. It didn't take long before I was swept off my feet producing slides for corporate slide shows. I would press type onto paper, then photograph it with 35mm film, making the slides and putting the show together.
     Within a year Penthouse Studios became Pentcom Studios, sued for our name by the other Penthouse, who you've probably heard of. And for the next 8 or 9 years, I worked for Pentcom, mostly shooting slides and putting shows together, then going out and showing them. This would at times consist of as many as 15 projectors working together to making objects move across the screen. I also shot 4x5 and 8x10 transparencies in the studio.
     Then I moved on, opening my own studio in Brampton, though I kept Pentcom as my client. I was doing well building my own clientele, but they were always my number one client.
     One night into my second year of this, I was working with other clients on behalf of Pentcom. It was a major french fry brand who I had worked with before. I was creating a shot of food on a plate, and though it may sound simple, it was a difficult shoot. The client was moving french fries this way and that way, and finally it was just the way they wanted. I went into the darkroom to load the film. I turned the film holder over so as it was showing the shiny side, indicating that the film was not exposed, then turned off the light and opened the film box to load it. But a knock on the door let me know I was wanted on the phone. It was important.
     Closing the box, I went out of the darkroom to take the call. And it was important. We had a new baby, and with me in a studio all day and a darkroom most nights, there was a lot going on at home.
     Knowing  I needed to leave soon, I went back into the dark room and picked up the film holders, taking the shot at last. The client took the plate and dumped the french fries in the garbage, before leaving me to the rest of my work. 
     I went into the darkroom to transfer the film back to the box for developing, but I discovered that there was no film in the holder. I had not loaded the film, I had missed that crucial step. There was no film, so there was no shot. Needless to say, there was soon no client, and I lost Pentcom.
     I struggled on for another year, before buying a house in Orangeville for my growing family. Eventually, I took a different job there as well. Settled down properly with my wife, and together we raised our children.
     I worked in a factory for 20 years, 4 nights a week. That left me 3 days a week to run a new studio. So I opened one called "Photo Dept." It was a place under a laundromat, and there I worked the small studio and darkroom to my heart's content.
     I had a booth at the farmers market every Saturday morning, and would print the pictures I took there and bring the finished prints back to the customers on the following Saturday. 
     In the winter time, I had a group of kids come in from high-school, to study photography. I also took my equipment to my daughter's school and gave her class both studio and darkroom lessons, once a week. 
     Along with the odd job I would pick up, it was a satisfying lifetime of photography.