60’s Video Archives

For those of you who grew up in the 60’s, there was but a lonely few options for preserving ones memories. There was the “still photo”, via actual film with no digital files. There was a second film option that produced a small re-creation that needed an additional view projector called “slides.” The third option was the 8mm films and its considerably large projector. All rather pricey for the day but again, your choices were few.

Ah, the 8mm films … the “movies.” Normally grainy, juggling depictions of your families travels or gatherings. Never a convenient mode of archiving your memories and yet my dad would do just that. He’d make movies.

I can recall as a youngster, especially when we would prepare for birthday gatherings, dad would make a list for his shopping spree and it always contained movie film and still camera film.. He loved to take pictures and the more the better. When we enjoyed our travels he’d have bag loads of film on hand for documenting the events. There was never enough film. Never enough.

As our birthday celebrations gathered steam and our local friends would join in the frivolity, dad would dust off the movie camera. This was quite a sight to behold as, not only was there the camera itself (which was quite the futuristic looking devise with it’s battery-operated “zoom” lens) but the dual spot lights that were either hand held or attached to a standing devise. These spot lights were the brightest lights in our, or anyone else’s, household outside of their automobile’s headlights. We kids would be sitting around the dining room table, patiently awaiting our confetti angel food cake with pink frosting a la mode, as dad would enter the living room with the camera in one hand and the light contraption in the other. He appeared to be setting up for a scene from the latest project from MGM studios but he threw it together fairly quickly. On came the lights and we, all ten of us kids from the neighborhood, would become instantly blinded. Of course, as kids, the pain of burning retinas was merely a hilarious predicament that was short lived until our young eyes would barely become accustomed to the wattage. You’d see us shielding our eyes with our hands or looking away from the intensity of the lights which made for scintillating celluloid footage. Memories for a lifetime. Truly, what’s better than a bunch of kids ducking their heads beneath the table for a wondrous “live” action documentary only to same themselves from further mutilation.

Back to the still photo segment for a moment:

Dad had a knack for running out of film at every turn. I must admit that back in the day, the number of exposures was a tad on the low side. In todays digital world you pick up an eight-gig SD card and take as many pictures as you have time allotted. During my childhood, you had either 12, 24 or possibly 36 at a crack. This made you wary of just what was a ‘good’ photo opportunity. During vacations or celebrations it seemed as if everything was a good shot so when Pa ran out of film … it was inevitable. Not his fault. I mean, his kids were kinda cute.

So now was the task of changing film. It never seemed as funny as it does now but there went Dad, walking away from us, trying to locate a darker, or shadier spot to perform the technical surgery needed to remove the used film for a fresh one. We’d watch in awe as he’d wipe his sweaty hands on his bermuda shorts, pull up his already short sleeves and slowly … very slowly unclick the back of the camera. There, sitting in the innards of the camera, was the film. Removing the finished film wasn’t a huge task but it could become challenging. Things happened but not this time. All went well. He, gingerly, placed the roll into the proper canister and tore open the new packet which carried the new film. Dad had to, inch by inch, pull the end portion out of the plastic roller and line up the tiny holes with the tiny teeth so as the cranking mechanism could advance the film. This was indeed a formidable task. With the film being tightly wrapped for seemingly years, to straighten it out, flatten the film and place it correctly onto the opposite roller, with all the teeth aligned with the tiny holes, and doing this all in the darkest area available … it became an adventure. We kids bowed our heads, crossed our fingers and hoped that the next few minutes were quick and painless.

I can recall whole rolls of film being tossed into the nearest garbage can by my overheated father, he with the maddeningly red face, pissed off demeanor and defeated attitude. A rather loud rendition of “God Bless America” would pierce the airwaves which we knew was his cussing. My mom would slowly walk over and see if he was in need of assistance which usually ended with an audibly negative answer. She’d tell us kids that everything was fine but he was now out of film. We figured that out.

With his movie camera it was much the same thing but with some advancements made for easier loading of the film. This not only made it easier on him but for all of us as well.

Filming with his 8mm camera was much more fun for us as we could just do as we do. Run around, make faces, beat on each other and occasionally … smile. Thankfully, when we were outside the bright lighting gear was unnecessary and our eyes were mostly open.

Dad had an unusual love for the outdoors and the natural beauty of everything around him. I guess his genuine affection for nature was anything but unusual but it was his want of capturing it all on film that may have been. Case in point: we have more minutes of ancient sunsets than we do of family moments. Dad would stand on the beach of Florida, put his eye on the view finder and get the film rolling. We’d have the sun at this point in the sky, then that point, then that point … until it vanished from view. No doubt a lovely sunset from a lovely beach but with limited minutes of film available … tomorrows sunset was really not that important but there it was. Kinda like Groundhogs Day.

One of the grandest moments in Dad’s life was the day the manufacturers came out with the “Super 8” camera. Ooooo … pinch me. While jumping into the car with barely his feet touching the garage floor, he sped off for the the nearest dealer. Upon returning home he was smiling from ear to ear, with bag in hand. We all gathered around him as if he had a pot of gold and not a new camera but the anticipation was still at a fever pitch. Slowly he pulled the box out of the bag. There, on the front of the box, was the picture of the sleek, black machine with it’s cool ergonomic handle for one hand operation. So cool. We just stared. The single blazing spot light that attached to the top of the camera was freeing for Dad, aside from the cord. He just knew he’d make it work for the better. Look out kids … and keep on smiling.

Even with the new camera, the film only lasted approximately, what … seven minutes? Crazy. Dad would set up this scene, begin rolling and before he knew it, the film ran out. What? As kids we had much more to say and do. Alas … it was over. Now Dad had to “edit” the finished products with other seven minute blurbs. This was a sight to behold as now he had to return to the camera store and buy a splicer. Yikes.

Have you ever seen the 8mm splicer? These machines were like miniature projectors that you ‘rolled’ with a crank. You’d either ‘cut out’ some poorly shot scenes or just hook one short movie up with another. Seemed simple but with tiny film, a scissors, some film tape and fat fingers … it was anything but. These projects were more fun to watch than the actual movies. Dad would cut the film off, grab the film tape, line up the teeth holes, stick them together, place all of it into the splicer and crimp it and stick it. Fascinating stuff. It took forever and it only extended the movie by another few minutes.

He’d do this for every film until he had a ‘full-length movie’ of, say … 40 minutes. Quite a huge process but hopefully it all stayed together while we watched the debut.

The stage was set for the initial showing of our most recent vacation. These silver screenings usually took place after a huge family meal during a holiday setting. Dad would grab a TV tray to set the gigantic projector on. A huge metallic object with arm extensions, lights that were hotter than the nearest oven, springs to keep the films rolling (no belts?) and again, fat fingers to make it all happen. A time consuming project as those of us sitting on card-table chairs where either fidgeting or falling fast asleep. Usually my Aunt Alice would snore on cue. Good times.

The room would be darkened, the window drapes pulled and the backdrop was set up with the unstable movie screen going up and down, back and forth. More time spent. More time to fall asleep.

Dad was now ready. The projector was flicked on, the loud clicking of the machine awaken the masses and the movie appeared before our eyes. Beautiful. Our vacation revisited. We oooed and ahhhed. Dad and Mom would fill in the dead air with classic voice overs as to what we were seeing. Auntie Alice fell back asleep. We kids laughed at ourselves and our parents. Fun.

The film rolled on passed the splices. The connections held up remarkably well although it appeared on screen that the sun had just gone behind some thick clouds because of the extra film tape. All was looking good as our eyes were fixated on the movie before us.

Then we smelled it. The film had become stuck and the roller had stopped. The film was stacking on the floor in a heap. We continued to watch the screen hoping it was a nightmare and then we saw it … the film was melting before our eyes. No!!

On came the lights. The power was cut from the projector and dad’s head was in his hands. The movie premier was over. Our memories lay in a pile on the floor as the the final scene was glued to the lens in a hardening mass.

As another melodic “God Bless America” filled the air, Auntie Alice stirred, opened her eyes, wiped her mouth and gasped,”what a beautiful vacation you all had!”

Good times.