Page:The Fun of It.pdf/64



N 1922, I certainly didn’t think of my flying as a means to anything but having fun.

So I turned to other means of making a livelihood. My father’s health had begun to be impaired and I attempted commercial photography after a course in the subject through the Univer­sity of Southern California.

I tried photographing ordinary objects to get unusual effects, and made a number of studies of such things as the lowly garbage can, for instance, sitting contentedly by its cellar steps, or the garbage can alone on the curb left battered by a cruel collector, or the garbage can, well—I can’t name all the moods of which a garbage can is capable.

I carried a small camera with me most of the time. Once a new oil well was kind enough to come in just as I was passing in a car, and I caught its first gush with a small motion picture camera and also the oil deluge which followed.

A man jumped out of another automobile. “Pardon me, lady,” he said, “were you taking a picture of that oil well?”

“Yes, I was,” I answered.

“Well, I’m a real estate operator and I’d like to buy a copy of that film, if you’d care to sell. You see my property’s right over there and I’d