The Day I Was Photographed by Alfred Eisenstaedt

It was a dream article for an aspiring young writer.

The year was 1988, and I had been put in charge of an issue of Modern Photography devoted to black-and-white darkroom work. "Back to the Darkroom" was a special section that I pitched to our editor, Barry Tannenbaum, and to my amazement, he trusted my instincts enough to make me me the editor of that issue. 

We published stories about unique darkrooms, darkroom gear and techniques, reviews of black-and-white film, and more. All of the editors and contributors were involved and it was an amazing experience.

One of the stories that I wrote, titled "Handle With Care," involved three historic photos whose negatives were hard to print. What better resource than our neighbors a few blocks away, the darkroom technicians and photo editor of Life magazine? Over three glorious days, I worked with the Time/Life staff to choose three historic photos that they called "bitches" because they were notoriously difficult to print. 

The three photos we chose were: 

• A group of men drinking tea at an outdoor teahouse in Chiunking, China by Carl Mydans (tech issue: it was shot in bright sunlight and was overly contrasty);

• The assassination of Robert Kennedy, his head held in a busboy's hands, by Bill Eppridge (tech issue: there was almost no image on the negative);

• A hooker at night in Paris, by Alfred Eisenstaedt (same tech issue as the RFK assassination shot--plus, the negative was bent and there was a light leak).

Here's the first page of the article as it appeared in Modern Photography...

I got to hold each original negative in my hands. I was nervous about that until the darkroom technician laughed and said "don't worry, we've been working off copy negatives for years," he explained. "Nobody needs to handle the originals."

I spent the first day and a half in the Holy of Holies--the Time/Life darkroom. Each photo was printed by the darkroom technician who made the original print, and all of the printing steps were retraced. I had been printing in the darkroom for over two decades by then, and I learned more in that day and a half about darkroom technique than I'd learned over the past 20-plus years. It was an amazing experience.

Then I met Eisie

The final part of the assignment was to interview the three photographers, all legends: Mydans, Eppridge, and Eisenstaedt. Fortunately, each of them had an office in the Time/Life building, and they were all there that day. The interview with Eisenstaedt stood out.

You might not know Eisenstaedt by name, but you may be familiar with his most famous photos, one of the most recognizable photos ever taken: The soldier kissing a nurse in Times Square on V-J Day at the end of World War II.

Times Square, V-J Day, 1945 by Alfed Eisensdaedt. Fair Use reproduction via Wikipedia.

First of all, he spoke like my grandfather. Like my grandfather, he was of eastern European origin—he was born in Poland, although it was in German hands at the time. He had recently turned 90, and I had to speak loudly so he could hear me. He was patient with me as I nervously stumbled through my questions.

Of all the photographers I've ever interacted with, the most down-to-earth ones—those who were the most generous with their time and knowledge—were often the ones who had reached the top of their fields. Eisenstaed was the embodiment of that personality trait amongst photographers.

As we chatted and became more comfortable talking, I noticed that his hands had a tremor—Just like my grandfather! I also noticed he had a camera on his desk (a Pentax K1000 SLR, in for those keeping score). "Mr. Eisenstaedt, can you take a picture of me?" I asked. I wasn't asking him to take my picture, but rather, if he was still capable. He got my meaning.

He looked at me significantly, then, with his tremoring hand, reached for his camera.

He picked it up—rock steady! He set the shutter speed and aperture, focused, and took a picture of me.

He put the camera down, and his hand tremor immediately started up again. He looked at me, and smiled. "You see?" he said. "My hands remember what to do!"

My takeaways? 

1. It was my first experience witnessing muscle memory. It is truly amazing what the brain is able to control. 

2. I have no idea if he had film in that camera. It didn't matter. The important thing was, I could say that I was photographed by the great Alfred Eisenstaedt. Just like that iconic soldier kissing the nurse. 

3. One of the most legendary photographers of all time reminded me of my grandfather, and was just as kind.

This incident didn't make it into the print magazine. We didn't have enough space to go off on that tangent. It was too personal for a photo enthusiast magazine. 

In fact, except for retelling this story to a few friends, I never shared it. Until now.