The first time I ever developed a roll of film I was 12 years-old and sitting in a closet. At the time, that closet was the darkest room in the house, but even with a towel stuffed at the bottom of the door, a bit of light leaked around the edges. “Not enough to matter,” I hoped.
According to my reference source, a Boy Scout merit badge booklet on photography, all I needed was three trays: one for developer, one for water, and one for fixer. I had bought the chemicals at a local camera shop and could barely contain my excitement as I mixed them and poured the solutions into my trays (actually bread pans performing double-duty). I separated the film from its paper backing, grabbed the ends of the film, one end in each hand, then began moving my hands up and down, so that the film was in constant motion, in and out of the developer.
This became tiring after a while, especially since I had to avoid brushing up against nearby coats and shirts. I also didn’t have a timer, so I had to rely on my mother to knock on the door when it was time to switch trays. Despite these horrific conditions, 15 minutes later I was staring with excitement at a roll of fogged, linty, but still clearly visible, images.
That was all it took. I fell in love with photography from that moment on and haven’t stopped since.
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