Terry Oblander was a fabulous storyteller, in
his reporting for the Beacon Journal or regaling fellow BJ retirees at a Papa
Joe’s monthly lunch.
He laughed when he told his tales, and the
mirth scurried from his belly and cascaded out his mouth as a devilishly joyful
sound.
Terry died Nov. 13, 2011 but the memories of
his raucous humor will live as long as those who heard them are not brain-dead.
Terry had a zest for life.
So does Ott Gangl, retired BJ photographer,
who sees a “Sinday” of nude models as an artistic adventure.
The two combined their talents in a North
Canton barn when Ott photographed models for 72 straight hours and Terry
observed and wrote about the event in his unique way.
This is the story that Terry wrote, but was
never published. Until now.
72 Hours of Models for $29.65
by
Terry Oblander
More
than 100 women volunteered to pose for him free. The only pay they
expected was six free prints.
It was a photograph of one of the
“free” models that received an international award for the photographer, Ott
Gangl of Akron, Ohio.
Besides
the cost of film and processing, the bill for the 72-hour session was
$29.65, the cost of shaved ham and beer.
Any photographer with a little moxie and talent can do the same thing.
Most
of the women responded to a poster, which Gangl and a young protégé placed in
grocery stores, mod clothing shops and area universities. The poster invited
“any girl with an interesting face and a good figure.”
For
the best part of 72 hours, a small community of professionals, --photographers,
fashion experts, hair stylists and makeup artists—contributed their time free,
turning models into goddesses for Gangl’s camera.
For
72 hours, they cried together, they laughed together, they go tired
together.
The
scene of the photographic marathon was the basement of a 90-year-old barn in
North Canton, a small city not far from the Canton, Ohio Football Hall of Fame.
The ground floor of the barn housed a mod clothing store called the Quonset
Hut. The basement, where cows and horses once slept, had served as storage
area. It took hours to turn the basement into a photo studio.
In
exchange for use of the basement and the store’s vast clothing supply, Gangl
gave store owners prints of their shop, which they could use for advertising.
One
old horse stall became the work area for the hair stylists and makeup artists. One unexpected occupant of that stall was
a barn mouse who occasionally would stick its head out of a hole in the barn
foundation to see what was going on.
Another
stall became a dressing room, or an undressing room as the case may be. Near
the center of the barn basement was the nerve center—the shaved ham and beer
and a stereo that pumped out rock music for much of the 72 hours.
It
was 72 hours of fun and artistry, but it wasn’t always easy.
* * *
A 17-year-old girl stood beneath the hot lights and tried to strike
sexy, professionals poses. She wasn’t sexy or professional.
She
was one of many students at a Canton modeling school who volunteered for the
marathon. Most of them were taking a course of modeling for the still camera
and saw the marathon as an easy way to get free prints for their portfolios.
“We
have a bunch of girls who came here not wanting to give. They just want to
take,” Gangl yelled at the girl. His European voice was fast and angry.
“I
am used to real emotions when I point my camera at someone. What do they teach
you to be at that school? Plastic statues? I don’t like plastic casts. I like
to smash them,” Gangl continued.
She
began to cry. The tears and the hot light melted her makeup. Gangl’s voice also
melted. He reached out and gently touched her cheek. Another battle had ended.
*
*
*
The artists were a strange lot.
Gangl was the spiritual leader of the
three-day community. When he is not conducting 72-hour photographic marathons,
he works as a news photographer for the Beacon Journal, Akron’s only daily
newspaper. “I make love to every one of my models with my camera,” he says.
Most of his models admit a shooting session with Gangl was a real affair.
“I
am 41 years old and I only have another 60 or 70 years left. I don’t have time
to play games,” the redheaded photographer told one dallying model.
Tom
Metz, 20, was an aspiring young painter until he met Gangl and his photography.
For two years Metz had clung closely to Gangl, gleaning everything he could
from the senior photographer. Gangl shot more than 5,000 frames during the
marathon, about 100 times as many as Metz. The marathon served as an invaluable
training for Metz.
Hairdresser
David Cline worked without stopping, it seemed. The dingy basement sparkled
with hairdos and the rafter echoed with his laughter. “If that mouse jumped on
the chair, you’d probably run over there and start setting its hair,” Gangl
teased Cline.
The 26-year-old Cline began his
hairdressing career at 14 when he was the only boy to enter a Texas radio
station contest. His 25-word essay won him a scholarship to cosmetology school.
Allergic to hairspray, the professional hairdresser spends $30 a month for
allergy shots.
Judy
Peterek, a dark haired education major, applied the makeup talents she had
learned in theater courses at the University of Akron. Girls with plain faces
became photographic Mona Lisas in her hands. Other models watched, sometime in
dismay, as Judy transformed them into colorful mosaics.
On
the second night some of us managed to get about three hours of sleep despite
the noise that accompanied an all-night remodeling project upstairs. We awoke
as Judy screamed out, “Who was that fat bastard who pounded on the floor and
slammed doors all night?” The man who had been working all night was just a few
feet away when she yelled that. Obviously embarrassed, he left without saying a
word. The day began with a roar of laughter.
Tom
Gillis, 23, volunteered to work at the marathon to “see if I had it in me.” Tom
works as a salesman in a local clothing store. Selling clothes is far different
than clothing models. Young ladies found themselves wearing everything, from
all-leather outfits to bikinis and motorcycle helmets. At first the combinations
seemed awkward. On film they were rhythmic and poetic.
I
was the marathon’s writer. I arrived two hours after the session began and was
greeted with the sight of a long-legged blonde stretched out on a black felt
background. I gawked at first. After all,
writers never get models to pose for their articles.
Gangl
ran up to me. “Terry, talk to her while I fix the lights and load my cameras.”
“What
should I say to her?” I was nervous.
“Just
be yourself,” he said, scurrying away.
There
she sat, cross-legged and nude. I squatted next to her, fully clothed. Never
once did to I let my eyes wander lower than her chin. We talked about
anything—anything except her beautiful naked body. Five minutes passed. It seemed like an hour.
“I
know this girl,” I thought. As a Beacon Journal cub reporter, I had
photographed and written about this girl four years earlier when she was a
camera-shy high school girl. She had become a photographer’s dream—polished and
uninhibited.
I
balked when Gangl told me he was going to photograph her long legs in black and
white, her mid section in sepia tone and her head and breasts in color.
That
composite, which Gangl called “Penny-3”, was the photograph which won Gangl the
KTF Bronze medal in color photography from the Art Institute of Krakow, Poland. One thousand photographers
from all over the world had entered the Institute’s “Venus ‘74” competition.
Gangl’s photograph had competed with 791 other color entries. Winning
photographs are published in the Venus annual and are featured in an exhibit
that tours Europe’s major cities.
The
marathon produced an award-winning photograph. That was important.
But
even more important was the natural “high” that needed no alcohol or drugs.
Models
and artists, many of whom had never seen each other before, came for their own
selfish reasons. But they left 72 hours later. Each had changed just a little.
They
may never see each other again. But they won’t forget.
(end)
Postscript: (by
Ott Gangl)
When the idea came to me for the 72-hour
shoot-in I was pressed by the deadline in entering an international contest and
thought that a shotgun approach of having 36 female models (and several male
models), shooting one every two hours, could result in shot or two I could
enter.
Though I never closed
an eye for the whole 72 hours, being super awake after about 50 hours, to my
surprise I functioned very well. A few points I want to make clear:
It was a closed set, only
persons working as models or artists were allowed in order to avoid
controversies.
Everyone needed a signed
model release (parents permission in case of minors under 18)
Models, who were asked to
spend six hours for makeup, clothing and shooting could linger or return to
take part in the intense atmosphere.
I did not hear of a
single dissatisfied person who partook in this marathon. It was an adventure
for all.
For the most part
pictures were barely better than average but a few models were superb. Models
could sign up for portrait, fashion or nudes. Minors were not present when
nudes were photographed.
Though intended for
possible publication with a story by Terry Oblander, it never came about. My
fault.
I want to thank my
wife Ann for her help and support in this endeavor.
Ott Gangl,
photographer.
John Olesky here:
Being around Terry was like plunging into a
vat of vibrant Irish whiskey. He was proud to call himself a “socialist”
because he cared about those others discarded to the fringes of society. He was an ardent
Guild supporter and negotiator. He seemed to have the DNA of Mother Jones and
John L. Lewis in him. All with a splash of humor and a tad of loveable blarney.
Terry, we miss you. That’s not thunder we
hear, but you regaling St. Peter with laughter.
