BEING A WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHER WASN'T EASY

The other day, I dug my 35mm camera and equipment out of the mothballs and spent two hours trying to remember how to attach the flash. Why? Because I hadn’t used the camera in over 10 years.

There was a time, about 35 years ago, when I really wanted to be a professional photographer...particularly a wedding photographer. I figured that working in an environment where everyone was laughing, dancing and partying just had to be the best job on earth.

As it turned out, I’d figured wrong.

I actually did give wedding photography my best shot. I bought state-of-the-art photographic equipment and then, whenever I attended a wedding, I shadowed the professional photographer and studied every move he or she made. Finally, when I felt I was ready, I started spreading the word that I was a wedding photographer, even though I’d never actually photographed a wedding. Amazingly, brides-to-be began calling me.

Within a few short weeks, I had booked three weddings. Instead of being pleased, I nearly had a nervous breakdown.

“How do I know I’ll be healthy on May 10th for the first wedding?” I asked my husband. “It’s still four months away! I could be in the operating room having an emergency appendectomy on that day…and then what would the poor bride do?”

“You’ve already had an appendectomy,” my husband said, not looking up from his magazine.

“And what if the lab spills acid on the film and ruins all of my photos?” I continued. “I’ll end up in People’s Court! A wedding’s not something you can do over again! It’s a one-time, all-or-nothing event!”

My husband looked up from his reading and rolled his eyes. “You’ll do just fine. Now just relax, will you?”

Easy for him to say, I thought. By the time May 10th rolled around, I was so nervous, I was buying Kaopectate by the gallon.

As it turned out, that first wedding went so smoothly, the photos turned out so well, and I had so much fun, I honestly began to believe I had found my true niche in life.

I also learned a couple valuable lessons during that wedding, the first being that wedding photographers never should wear dresses. When I squatted down in front of the altar so I could get a great shot of the ring bearer coming up the aisle, I flashed half the congregation (and I don’t mean with my camera).

And later, I was so intent on getting a good photo of the happy couple drinking a champagne toast in the back of their limousine, I didn’t care how I had to contort myself to get it. There I was, draped over the front seat with my butt sticking up right in the windshield, when I heard a group of people laughing outside. I can only imagine what kind of show I must have been giving them. From then on, I vowed to wear slacks.

THE LIMOUSINE PHOTO

The second thing I learned was that photographers have to be bossy or the photos never will get taken. More than once, I found myself shouting things like, “Bridesmaids! Go stand in front of the altar for a group shot…now!” And when they ignored me and kept right on chatting and giggling, I’d add, “If you don’t pose right now, I’m going to take a lot of embarrassing candid shots of you at the reception and have them blown up into enlargements!”

The next wedding went surprisingly well, too, and through word of mouth, I began to receive more and more calls for my services. I was beginning to feel pretty confident…until the third wedding, where everything that possibly could go wrong went wrong.

First of all, due to a memory lapse, I arrived at the bride’s house about an hour early. When I walked in, I caught the bride and her bridesmaids naked from the waist up and wrapping duct tape around their breasts to keep them in place beneath their strapless gowns. Somehow, I didn’t think that photos of the wedding party at that moment would have been appropriate for an 11x14 enlargement to hang over the mantel.

Then, in church, as the bride and groom lovingly exchanged their vows, I tiptoed to the back of the altar so I could get a good shot of the couple and their guests. I snapped the photo and started to discreetly back away…when I suddenly heard a loud crash behind me.

The priest abruptly stopped the ceremony and all eyes turned toward me. Smiling weakly, I looked down to discover I had bumped into a video camera that had been sitting on a tripod on the altar. When I saw pieces of it lying scattered across the floor, I thought for sure I was going to throw up.

After the ceremony, the owner of the then-disembodied camera approached me and introduced himself.

“You have the same last name as my cousin, the attorney!” I stupidly blurted out.

“An attorney?” the man said, frowning at the pile of scraps that had once been his video camera. “Perhaps you should give him a call.”

When I finally reached the wedding reception, I noticed that I’d forgotten to zip my camera bag. To my horror, the three films (a total of 108 photos) I’d just taken at the bride’s house and during and after the ceremony were missing. My heart began to pound like a jackhammer as beads of nervous perspiration popped out on my forehead. What, I wondered, was I supposed to do now? Ask everyone to go back to the church so I could re-shoot the ceremony? I headed to the phone to call my cousin, the attorney.

Just then, the limousine driver came walking into the reception hall. He looked around, spotted me, and rushed over. From his pocket he removed three rolls of film. “Are these yours?” he asked. “I just found them on the floor in the limo.”

I was so relieved, I grabbed him and hugged him. I didn’t let go until the guests began to stare and whisper.

When I finished taking my next roll of film, I rushed to rewind it because the bride and groom were about to cut the wedding cake. The problem with having a camera with nothing automatic on it, however, was that by the time I rewound the film by hand and put in another film, the bride and groom already were off on their honeymoon.

That wedding convinced me I needed to hire an assistant photographer, just to make certain no bride ever would end up photo-less on her big day. So I hired a young woman named Judy, bought a 35mm camera for her and taught her how to use it. Judy was a huge help at the next wedding, snapping shots I otherwise might have missed (like the drunken uncle doing a hula dance on a table) while I was busy photographing the bride and groom kissing. She also took over whenever I had to rewind or reload film, and backed me up on the important shots just in case something went wrong with mine.

I ALWAYS TRIED TO ADD HUMOR TO MY SHOTS!

Two days later, when I picked up the photos from the lab, however, I was stunned to see over 40 shots of Judy’s nicely manicured pinky finger, which apparently had been in front of the lens during most of the photos she’d taken. In one close-up photo of the bride’s face, it looked as if Judy’s finger was about to pick the bride’s nose.

And there were at least 25 photos of some rugged, dark-haired guy who wasn’t even a member of the wedding party. When I asked Judy why she had taken so many photos of him, she said, “Because I thought he was a real hunk!”

That did it. In a rare moment of extreme intelligence, I vowed never to do another wedding. And I never did, despite receiving phone calls from brides begging me to reconsider (mainly because I was cheap). 

I must confess, however, there were times when I was tempted to dig out all of my camera equipment and give the wedding photography business another try.

But every time I was tempted, all I had to do was picture myself feverish and nauseated with the flu, having to get up out of my sick bed to take pictures of people doing the chicken dance because there was no one else around to cover the wedding for me…and my desire to be a photographer magically disappeared.

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