Nobody Reads This Page – "Camera Culture"

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-24)

 

 

As a kid in the 1960’s, I grew up with Allen Funt’s ‘Candid Camera’ show. It was a part of our national culture that entertained an entire generation. Though for older members of the family, this modernist use of technology was something never before experienced on a personal level. Both of my parents were born into households with no TV set as a centerpiece. In fact, electricity and indoor plumbing were advances that came after each had begun their mortal journey. The ability to take still photographs was yet considered to be a sort of magic art. Producing motion pictures on film locally never happened, due to the costs involved, and scarcity of resources. The idea of having a video recorder in their household must have smacked of science fiction. They were content to capture images and scenery by memory alone, or through the illustrative arts. Anything else was overkill. Real-time surveillance remained something stealthily done by government aircraft, and airborne spies. Not a neighbor lingering at a country market, or by a campfire.

 

This era of innocence kept everyone protected, and safe.

 

My own life adventure predated the advent of VCR ubiquity. I drove around with a 110-format pocket camera in the glovebox, in case something of interest might appear on the road. When I started my apprenticeship at Ithaca, New York’s Channel 13, in 1978, only ½ inch reel-to-reel tapes or ¾ inch video cassettes were available for daily use. None of us could have imagined that one day, regular folk would be carrying around devices with cellular connectivity and electronic trickery that would make everyone a content producer. Dick Tracy had his ‘2-way wrist radio’ in cartoon form. But we of the literal world trudged forward without that sort of wonder in our toolkit.

 

A first inkling of the new-world-order that was soon to arrive came to me while working as a supermarket manager. When my employer opened a pristine, new location in 2000, the building was equipped with a network of 32 live cameras. This setup boasted much improvement over previous stores where I had served, that usually contained one electronic peeper wired over the receiving dock. This awesome capabilitiy to monitor customer traffic and employee behavior seemed somewhat frightening at first. I would tiptoe around the sales floor while being mindful of every motion. Self-conscious to the point of thinking that my daily duties were being performed on stage. Our parent company even used this mindset in their training, with the notion of working in a theatrical environment driving our business outlook. It changed how all of us envisioned the way we served our patrons. Both consciously and subconsciously.

 

Once the Apple iPhone and its copycat siblings entered our marketplace however, this new-car aroma faded quickly. Having a capable, digital camera included made all the difference. Newfound navel-gazing through selfies and restaurant photos turned quickly to interest in snooping and snitching and passing judgment. With a resulting boom of clandestine data appearing on the internet. Suddenly, people everywhere had the ability to keep watch, and document what others were doing. If pondered beforehand, this blaze of fearless futurism might have inspired the kind of hand-wringing currently being expressed over artificial intelligence. Yet it came with a rapidity that effectively blunted criticism. Not unlike pressing a button on a console at a NASA installation to set the cosmic works into motion.

 

Years later, with the price of wireless cameras dropping precipitously, and drones making them mobile in fantastic ways, a social explosion occurred. No longer was it necessary to be an agent with the FBI, CIA, or a military operative on active duty, to possess such valuable hardware. These prying eyes began to pop up all over my rural neighborhood. A place where rusty, low-buck vehicles, and clapboard dwellings, were the norm. A sort of environment more likely to yield chilled containers of Bud Light than meaningful evidence for a legal proceeding.

 

With red-faced immediacy, I realized that living on-the-cheap no longer had to mean going without a pair of binoculars, and the savvy of a Peeping Tom. Every move, in any direction, could be catalogued and analyzed for public dissemination. I found myself receiving images from fellow community residents on a regular basis. Sometimes, even photos of my own humble hovel. A mood of numb resignation took hold, as I realized that the brave new world of authors from yonder days had finally arrived.

 

Alice Pearce who originally played the ‘Bewitched’ character of Gladys Kravitz, a nosey interloper, might have approved.

 

As a child, I remember knowing a pair of widows who lived next door. A mother and her middle-aged daughter. Both stayed abreast of developments on our street by spinning their rotary-dial wall phones many times during the day. Now, having reached a similar age myself, I get that kind of proletarian intelligence rendered in visual form. Short clips delivered rapid-fire, with screenshots added to accentuate the point.

 

“DID YOU SEE? DID YOU HEAR?? DID YOU KNOW WHAT JUST HAPPENED???”

 

As a creative writer, I might be unashamedly curious about the outside world. It is part of the craft, by nature. But as a lone member of the park oasis, in my distant township, the opposite is true. I care not at all about how others live their lives. Being invisible suits me well. Being blind to the foibles and failings of those around me maintains a cocoon of ignorance that is convenient. Gossip and intrigue hold no sway in my existence. I do not waste daylight prodding and poking around for clues.

 

Drinking beer is an activity more preferable, I think. I like to stay lubricated. Those who agree sometimes stop to share a beverage on my porch. And I welcome their company. Only when they start taking too many photos with their devices do I become disinterested and uncooperative.

 

Staying under the radar is a habit I have yet to shake. Even in an age when every waking moment is on virtual tape, somewhere in time.