The international photographer (Jan-Dec 1933)

Twenty-four The INTERNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPHER March, 1933 To the unknown maker of this cave drawing goes the honor of being the first person known to concern himself with the problem of making pictures move. This drawing is in a cave at Altmira in Spain, and ivas made some 25,000 years ago by a Cro-Magnon of the Later Paleolitithic Period. The photo is ours through the courtesy of Will Dai/ of London, and may be seen in the Motion I'n I mi ( 'ollection of the Los Angeles Museum brought together by Earl Theisen (Continued from Page 7) "Out of the transmitter I finally made a receiver on the 2nd day, and could hear GCYP— I knew the Lord Talbot was close by his signal strength. That night I am on watch and see the ship's light at 7:20." And Peter Redpath experiences the emotions of a lifetime in the following words: "That evening Jerry Altfilisch sighted a light whereupon everybody ran for something to burn in order to attract attention. Much negative was lit and oil flares were made — I ran up on hill and set off our last remaining red flare which was sighted by the Lord Talbot. We gambled our all away just on the chance they had seen us — and won. Thank God." Captain Watson, standing on the bridge of the Lord Talbot, displays real intestinal fortitude by not heeding a wireless message the owners of the Lord Talbot have sent him, advising him that he has done everything humanly possible in his search for the eight unfortunates forced down on their attempted span of the Atlantic. . . . Captain Watson has been advised by his superiors that he has not an adequate coal supply to continue his search, but Captain Watson for once refuses to heed orders. . . . Captain Watson is a man! ... a leader of men! . . . thus Alex Main, first mate of the Lord Talbot continues to scribble in his little black book: "10 P. M. — One of our firemen, John Falconer, who has been in the wheel house with us sees a light on our Starboard bow. The Captain being in the chart room making out courses for sends me aloft to the crows nest to work the searchlight. I just get nicely placed in the crow's nest, get the searchlight underway, when I see a red flare, it is also seen from the bridge. The captain sends word to the chief to open out the throttle. We bore through an ice field about 8 miles broad and 50 miles long. After getting inside the ice field, we proceed to about 200 yards from the shore, launch small boat and proceed to scene of wreck. Find landing is too difficult to land. It is great to hear those poor 8 souls shout to us." And now, Peter Redpath opens his little diary and pens the last chapter in his book of memoirs — an ending of hifb adventure ... a happy ending: "The Lord Talbot, playing their searchlight on the short, put off thenboat in charge of the mate, Alex Main, and came toward the cove in which our ship lay and which offered the best shelter, but which was full of huge bergs and a dangerous place to be. "Alley and self were on the rocks awaiting news. Luckily for everyone we spoke the same language and advised them to delay landing until the our night work. He rushes on deck on hearing a light on our Starboard Bow, rings her down full speed. We now all see this light. The Captain next morning due to the heavy swell running — having previously answered in the affirmative their question as to our health. After a few welcome words were exchanged, Alex threw us a tin of cigarettes, which unfortunately fell in the water, and put back to the ship until morning. We spent a cold and restless night but much happier in our minds than the previous night. Next morning off the blast of the whistle we commence to carry our stuff down to the cove, to be met by the mate and crew who helped us in every way possible. There were none happier than the eight cold and weary persons who clambered aboard the Lord Talbot Tuesday on Sept. 13th, to be greeted by Captain Thomas Watson." Aboard the Lord Talbot, Norman Alley, newsreel ace of another day now past, but still an ace, writes finis to his diary . . . Norman Alley . . . Knight of the Celluloid . . . Norman Alley . . . newsreel cameraman . . . adventurer by calling. . . . Just another newsreel cameraman . . . just a newsreel cameraman completing an assignment ... an assignment well done ... no matter how dangerous . . . no matter how exacting . . . always grinding away behind that magic box entrusted to him . . . like any other newsreel cameraman ... no glory . . . just plodding ahead . . . batting away on a long roll of celluloid . . . recording, ever recording on that strip of celluloid . . . just like any other newsreeler . . . never squawking ... an unseen army of adventurers . . . Men . . . real men . . . those newsreelers . . . Norman Alley . . . Knight of the Celluloid writes finis to a diary of adventure ... to one adventure . . . but ready for another. . . . Look at the last page of the simple tale of a man: "We are fortunate indeed that such perseverance was shown by Capt. Watson in continuing his search even after having been directed to resume fishing by his employers. Too much credit cannot be accorded the seamanship of the entire crew in coming through the dangerous ice pack to effect our rescue." Our tale is ended! ... to us it seems like the unmasking of a handful of men ... it seems like a tale of men playing with adventure . . . like we used to read about back in the good old days of boyhood . . . we have met these men, many, many times in story books . . . here are a few who have stepped out . . . who are real . . . who live among us . . . and two of them are newsreelers . . . Norman Alley and Jerry Altfilisch . . . Newsreelers . . . mind you . . . men we know exist . . . but about whom we know so little. THE END