It was the days of film. The days of darkrooms, of negatives and chemicals, of wet trays and photo paper. I was a photography freak and the only way I could get close to a darkroom to develop film and create prints was by taking Audiovisual Lab as a high school elective course. I did this for two years, essentially whenever I had a spare elective available, even though even an “A” grade would lower my GPA because it wasn’t an Honors course. It was worth it.
Mr. C was in charge of the program. He was the coolest older guy you could be around, but you might have had to know him just a bit to realize this. He liked to pretend-whine that he was old and sore and ready for pasture but it was all a thin, fun façade that didn’t take long to pierce. He knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, especially since it was always done with a wink, anyway, and it didn’t take long to learn that he was one of the finest competitive senior tennis players in the county, as well as an accomplished artist. (That might have to be a separate story here someday.)
My tasks during my daily hour in this “class” included delivering film projectors, or TVs, or VCRs to classrooms where they were needed, and visiting classrooms to answer calls from teachers having technical difficulties with same. The rest of the time I would be taking close-up photos of pages from classical art books for teachers that needed to project slides of the artwork of the great masters. The rest of the time was, for me, coveted darkroom duty.
Behind Mr. C’s desk, he had a chalkboard. Not the kind to teach from, but the kind where you would list the things to do for the day… Mrs. Smith needs a film projector during 4th period. Mr. Jones needs a photographer to take a Key Club group photo during 5th period. But at the top of the chalkboard, ever-present, was this:
90% of everything is crap.
Now, as an optimistic teenager, I thought this was quite cynical, coming from such an un-cynical man. (After all, once you pierced the wink-wink pretend-whining he was the most positive, inspiring person you could imagine.) I mean this was the same guy who introduced me to the best home-made banana bread I’ve still ever had (it was the texture of rye bread, and not cake) and taught me how exquisite it was when paired with swiss cheese. This was the man who gave as many non-darkroom chores as possible to the kids in the other periods who weren’t as excited about the darkroom, or who only wanted to take photos, leaving the darkroom stuff for me. This was the guy who told me (knowing that I liked hiking in the northeast) that I would learn what life really was the day that I ever set foot in the mountains of Colorado.
How could he believe that 90% of everything is crap?
Fast-forward to real life, that life beyond easy A’s in high school (for me). The life beyond college. The life where I was now working for a living and fifty things were tugging at me beyond my old priorities of getting good grades and graduating high school and then college and getting a good job. Entering the rat race of professional life, of career goals, of all that stuff. That time when you start learning that there’s lots of important things and that everything is important, professional development, personal development, maybe starting a family, maybe not, maybe now, maybe later. Everything is important but it takes a while to figure out what’s really important. Really learning what’s most important.
Yes, it can take a while to sift out, but once you determine what in life really matters, what in life really makes you happy, what in life really counts, you learn.
You learn that 90% of everything is crap.
It’s the 10% that matters.
Thanks, Mr. C., you were right.
And you were right about that Colorado thing, too.
Rest In Peace, Mr. C.