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.

To see some of the photos that Ott took during those 72 hours, click on https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152408317686694&set=pcb.10152408328276694&type=1&theater