‘ ; “— rT s, ae ie ays see onde tapered Sena get Pe y Po om Le sera ote ee = — Tati John R. Shup Jeannie Young is currently! photographer at WSC. Her work has} displayed at several locations int Lake City, and at the Kimball Art jennie Fouls shacks a shot of KS intlosnttal ‘ahetoctaaky iar thes R. shupe. Jol J graduated from WSC in 1966 with a major in Sociology and minors in Psychology and Photography. He has worked as a photographer for the B.A. Journalism, Weber State Coll M. Ed. University of Ut college, KSL TV, Associated Press, Salt Lake Tribune and Ogden Standard Examiner. He has also done a great deal of free-lance photography for local businesses. John has received several national and international awards for his professional work in photography. by I knew I hadn’t heard right and figured I must I had been in this same spot one other time ¥ this same man, and was doing the same thing = We never make it alone. We never become something by ourselves. And usually it takes a be wishing pretty hard for something to happen, so I just stood there looking at him. ‘“‘T said, I have a camera you can borrow for this quarter, if you want,”’ he repeated emphatically. whole lot of people to shape and influence just one life. I can think of many people who gave me a fish and extended my survival for a time. But those who taught me how to fish gave me independence. One such person is photographer John Shupe. afraid to use it! I might break it. . . What if I break it?”’ ‘“‘You’re going to take pictures with it, not play basketball,’”’ he grinned. Yeah, that’s right, that’s right. Oh, I’d be so considered that camera a part of me. 4 It was a way to capture time. It was an extention of my thoughts when words were not graceful enough. It was a sight reserved for seer careful with it, I promise I would take really good This time, even before I went, I knew I woul cry because I had learned so much — from John Jeannie Young I met John when I was an undergraduate at WSC. He was a lab instructor and photographer. I had enrolled in the Photo 101 class and was attending my first lab session. We were to expose a roll of black and white film and develop it. I followed all the steps of the processing very carefully and was surprised to find bluish grey film for all my work. Upon inspection John merely said “‘Hmmmmmm.” John doesn’t say ‘“Hmmmmmm” just once. He says it about three times. I don’t know if it really means he’s thinking, or if he does it for effect. Whatever, it is attention getting — and he had mine. “Well,” I said, “‘what do you think?” “TI don’t think I can do that,” I said. ‘“‘I’d be pictures with it. And never let anybody else use it. You won’t be sorry. ‘‘Come on,” said John. ‘‘Let’s get you a camera. It’s in my locker.” Tears were choking me as John casually handed me a 120 Mamaya twin lens reflex and told me how it worked. I couldn’t say a thing, so I just listened. When he finished his instruction I was able to whisper, “Thank you, John.” That quarter I knocked myself out doing the very pictures I was capable of because I knew my ‘‘John-Shupe-loaned camera” had no limits. When the quarter was over I carefully cleaned ‘“T was wondering what your pictures were.” Grabbing at the film, I said ‘There are some of the camera, inside and out, and even bought a couple of rolls of film as a “thank you.” I handed my house, and this first one is . . .“‘Nothing!”’. .““Where are my pictures?’ The situation was clear — as was the film. them over to him. First he refused the film, saying I would need it now that I was a ‘‘photographer,’”’ and he had too Something in my camera didn’t work. My much film already. Then he said ““What do you ‘ather’s prized Argus C3 had failed! I had waited three quarters to get into this class, and now, here I was enrolled, but with no camera and no pictures. . . Completely absorbed in my situation I barely heard John say ‘‘I have lots of cameras. You can borrow one of mine.”’ Page 4 plan to use for a camera next quarter?”’ I said I didn’t know, but that maybe I could talk my family into buying me one. John’s hands once again placed the small black box into mine as he told me I’d better hang on to it until they came through. crying and saying ‘“‘Thank you, John.” But after the final grade of the final photo class the college had to offer I knew it really was time to give th camera back to John, even though by this time! and I had learned to see. — from his camera — and from myself. And ho would I tell him how important all that was tot I could only hope my photographs had said som of it. ‘‘Well, John, I’ve come to return your camera and to really tell you thank you. I mean that,” sincerely. I can’t give you any film because yoll have too much already, so here!”’ There was silence. A rather loud silence. I s0 expected him to say, ‘Hey, that’s O.K. You're welcome.’ But he didn’t ‘“‘Hmmmmmm,”’ he said, followed by two me short ones. He pushed the camera back to me smiled, ‘‘I think you better keep this one. You need it to be a photographer.” I could only stare in total disbelief. ButI id keep it. And I did — become a photographer. ” When Can in Park City. She produced the bo which received the MacEachern Awa 1979 for a special purpose publicati Before coming to WSC she filled a teach assistantship at University of Ub and was photographer/research assistant! the American West Center at U of I began my career as a freelancer it wast only camera I had. It has been in the repair sha many times, and now is retired, but it holds am honored space of exhibit with the other treasur of my three decades. John Shupe and his camera were a point of | beginning for me. Each picture I take, even nd wonder if John would like how I see the world: