One of the great joys of this blog—and the book—is being able to share my photos. Almost all of the images you see here come from my archives.
People often ask how I got started in photography. I wish the answer were inspirational.
It’s not.
I got a credit card.
The summer before my senior year at Northern Illinois University, Sears sent me my first one. Like any 20-year-old with no real understanding of fiscal responsibility, I immediately got in my car to go buy something I didn’t need—just because I could.
I sat in the Woodfield Mall parking lot for about 20 minutes trying to decide what that something should be.
Then I remembered my father had recently bought a Minolta 35mm SLR. I thought it was pretty cool.
So I went inside to see if Sears sold cameras.
They did.
I walked out with a Sears KS-1, a 50mm lens, and an 80–200mm zoom—charged entirely to a brand-new credit card—and just like that, a photographer was born.
What happened next wasn’t part of the plan.
I fell in love with it.
For the first time, I was excited about what I was doing. After years of wondering if I’d ever figure out what I wanted to do with my life, I thought maybe I had.
I was going to study photojournalism.
There was just one problem: I wasn’t registered for the class I needed to get started, and the university said it was full.
So when the semester began, I got up at 6 a.m. on the first day of classes and made the 45-mile drive from Hoffman Estates to DeKalb to sit in on an 8 a.m. photojournalism class I wasn’t enrolled in.
The room was packed.
When it ended, I walked up to the professor and asked if I could get in.
He said no.
I told him how excited I was about the program and that I didn’t want to wait another year. If equipment was the issue, I said, I had my own camera.
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’ll see you Wednesday.”
That may not sound like much.
But for 20-year-old Mitch—who preferred getting up closer to noon, who didn’t take a lot of initiative, and who wasn’t exactly overflowing with confidence—it was a turning point.
I’m still not sure what made me get up that morning and walk into that classroom.
But I’m glad I did.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the moment that mattered.
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If you want to see more of my photos, you can visit my website. If you like dog photos specifically, check out this gallery.
Anther cool story. Never heard this story but very interesting.
I look forward to the new stories for sure
Like Jeff, I don’t recall ever hearing this story. That urge to get up early one morning and drive to DeKalb to sit in that class changed the course of your life — kismet if you will.
I probably didn’t think too much about it back then. It was only in later years that I realized that wasn’t really like me at all.
Wow! You sure had balls to ask to be in the class when it was already full. Reading your stories about how you developed your passion for photography sure hits home.
Rus was an inspiration to me, too. He was so disappointed that I didn’t take the last photograph class offered at NIU. It was color photography and I couldn’t afford the lab fees nor the cost of film and supplies.
I sure wish that I had developed the confidence that you did to pursue a career in photojournalism. Photography was my passion during my years at NIU. Somehow I lost that zeal.
Like you, Rus taught me how to look at things in a different way. I just wish that I had had the opportunity to thank him for being such a terrific teacher and mentor. The passage of time and distance got in the way. I’m so glad that you were able to let him know that he made a difference in the lives of his students.
I delivered pizzas at Garibaldi’s to pay the fees for the color class.
I think teachers, at least good ones, are often underestimated in terms of the impact they have on so many lives. That’s one of the things I admire most about Jill. She regularly runs into former students who remember her class as one of their favorite memories.