On this day (October 23) in the year 1891, the following article appeared as the
sixth in a series in "The Photographic Times" (New York; pp. 525-6):
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
THE RISE AND FALL OF THE DAGUERREOTYPE.
AS SEEN BY A COUNTRY "OPERATOR."
VII.
WITH the notion that daguerreotyping might be made profitable for a short season
in a country village where no cameras had ever before been seen, I chose such a
locality for the scene of my first experiment in money-making with that
instrument. By chance in the place to which I went lived a young man who also
thought of trying his fortune in the same pursuit, and it was arranged that my
board and lodging at his home should be the compensation for his tuition. A
studio or workshop, for which a single room of moderate dimensions sufficed,
being made ready, a few notices posted in conspicuous places-no newspaper being
printed then-we waited the appearance of our first sitter. A lady came; and a
sitting was made. After the customary inspection of the developed image some
change was thought advisable, whether in time of exposure or position, it
matters not; everything was progressing in due form until a satisfactory
impression was secured. But at this point an unexpected interruption took
place. Not another step would the thing budge. The hypo positively refused to
dissolve the bromo-iodide from the plate. What could be the matter? This was
something not in the bill. I had brought with me an original package of
hyposulphite, to wit: a 1-pound bottle, sealed and labeled, for which I paid
the sum of 63 cents; and now it wouldn't fix the picture at any price or at any
strength (I was ignorant of the fact that the plate could be fixed with common
salt). Something must be done at once. I proposed to have some genuine hypo
before I slept. It was ten miles to Rome, the nearest city-time, 2.30 P.M., of
a hot day in July. The daily mail-stage, the only public wheeled-communication
with the outside world, had passed early in the day, and so I started on foot;
but when I reached the supposed end of my outward-bound trip, not an ounce of
the required salt could be found or heard of as likely to be found, inside the
city limits. I was then twelve miles from Clinton, and as it was certain that
the needed commodity would be found at the professor's laboratory, if nowhere
else, I thitherward bent my course, arriving at the village as the shades of
night were falling fast. But I did not climb the long hill whereon, "beautiful
for situation," the stone edifices stood, in one of which I expected to find the
object of my tramp. Why should I? The room, where the skeleton hung from the
stove-pipe as a warning against the incautious use of poisons, would not be
opened until next day. Besides, there was a choir meeting for rehearsal that
evening in the "old stone church" in the village, as I well knew. I was
acquainted with the singers, especially one of the girls, who, I was conceited
enough to think, would be agreeably surprised to find me waiting in the
vestibule. With permission I walked home with her after the rehearsal. That
was long ago. She is still living, I am happy to say, and it was no longer ago
than last Thanksgiving Day that I was at a family reunion where she, with her
children and childrens' children, was present. Such reunions are too few in
life and they end all too soon.
But this is digressing. The next day having, as expected, found what I came
for, I returned by the same route and the same mode of conveyance-this time the
bearer of the dearest pound of hypo ever used in photography, (if any one ever
paid a higher price for a like quantity, I never heard of it). But several
weeks spent in this quiet village produced no improvement in the state of my
recourses. There was no money in the business in that field as far as I could
see, so I moved to another small village where there were factories, in which a
large number of young people of both sexes were employed. I thought that surely
here would be a good demand for likenesses which were supposed to be within the
reach of all. But several weeks spent in this locality proved that expenses
were about equal to profits, and it appeared useless to remain longer. At this
time such cities as Albany, Schenectady, Utica, Rochester, and Buffalo were
supplied with daguerreotypists, and I felt no inclination to contest their
prerogatives. At Utica, for example, there were Davie, Clark, Dunning, and it
did not seem that more were needed. My theory about small villages was
evidently incorrect. The common people, as a class, then cared but little for
pictures, and photographers of the present can have but a faint idea what it was
to do missionary work in country villages in those early days. Every one,
almost without exception, passed through the same kind of experience in
attempting to introduce photography for the first time even in villages of
considerable size. This I learned in places where I afterward visited. The
ground had to be first broken before it was worth cultivating.
The village of Clinton had been visited by several traveling operators. There
were a college, a female seminary, academy, and a liberal institute in the
place, and I determined to go back where I had learned the art and try my luck
once more for the traditional third time. In this ancient seat of learning,
with its numerous schools and its large proportion of cultured people, I hoped
to meet with better success than I had encountered in communities chiefly
composed of working people. Accordingly, I returned to Clinton about the time
the schools reopened after the summer vacation and soon found plenty of work to
do. Here I remained about ten months, and, at the end of this time, after
paying debts and taking up my note for money borrowed to pay for my outfit, I
found myself in possession of some stock, a little capital in ready money, and a
much larger one in hope. I had found that I could pay my way in the world, and
was content to face the future with whatever struggles it might have in store.
When I left Clinton, on the 27th of June, 1848, the woman I loved went with me,
and has ever since shared my lot whether for better or worse. Her former name
was Cornelia Rawson, daughter of Professor Pelatiah Rawson, still well
remembered by many who once enjoyed his instructions.
Leaving Clinton, we went by way of Oswego, Lake Ontario, and Lewiston to
Niagara Falls, where the old Table Rock still stood or hung on the Canada side,
and little did we dream that it was only waiting to fall, or we should not have
ventured under it. From Buffalo we went by steamboat to Sandusky, Ohio, and to
where my parents lived, near Milan. At the latter place there was then living a
young man who has since made and caused to be made a great many marks in the
world. His name was Thomas A. Edison, and, if my memory of dates is correct, he
was then about one year old. I visited Norwalk and Monroeville, but did not
think best to use my camera in that part of the country. After about two months
I returned to New York State.
W. H Sherman.
(To be continued.)
(Previous installments appeared on Jan 20, March 13, April 17, May 15, September
4, and September 18 and were posted to DagNews in 1997 on the date of their
original publication. The eighth and last installment will appear on December
18.)
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Posted for your enjoyment. Gary W. Ewer
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10-23-97 |
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