Mystery at Meyer's darkroom remains unsolved
Published Thursday October 9th, 2008
Ghost tales
In the days when Saint Johners routinely took their film to the many corner drug stores in the city for development, that process was done often done by the Meyers Studio on King Street in uptown Saint John. Recently, a Cape Breton resident, Vance Rockwell, sent me an eerie story in regards to the work done at that location, and his near death experience there 50 some years ago.
"When I was 15 years old I got a job as a negative processor at Meyer's Studio on King Street, Saint John. The job was simple enough. The second floor of the business was divided into compartments wherein the various tasks of a photo processing studio were performed. My room was located at the back. From the main area I would enter a small empty room. Making a right turn I would enter yet another small room. The middle room of course was a safeguard against light leaks. The second room with unfinished walls of two by fours and bare boards housed a series of galvanized tanks which contained the chemical baths through which the exposed negatives would pass during processing.
"Suspended on chains hanging over the tanks was a frame welded together of old railroad rails. I can't begin to imagine the number of safety code infractions this metallic monster would represent by today's standards. In the dark the negatives would be hung on clips dangling from crossbars on the steel frame. A flip of the switch and the frame would slowly lower the negatives into a tank for a specific period of time after which the frame would raise automatically, advance and lower the negatives into each successive section; a very noisy procedure.
"On one particular morning something very strange occurred. As usual I switched off the light and began withdrawing negatives from their metal enclosures and hanging them on the clips. The metal canisters were left on the ends to provide the weight to prevent the film from curling back. That done I switched on the cacophonous contraption. As I did that one of the negative strips splashed into the drink. The vibrations would occasionally shake one loose. If I had been thinking clearly I would have shut down the machine and retrieved the dropped film. Alas the states of clear thinking and being 15 are mutually exclusive. Instead I cursed, leaned over the tank in the dark, stuck my arm into the frigid solution and began a blind search. All the while 250 pounds (OK, 113 kilograms) of steel descended toward my exposed neck. To this horrible truth I remained oblivious.
"Suddenly I was grabbed by my left upper arm, pulled backward and lifted off the floor by an extremely cold hand. I remember the back of my head hitting the rough wall and then my body sliding down the wall and landing unceremoniously on my butt. Startled and confused I regained my feet in the dark, stepped into the middle room, slammed the door and then proceeded into the main room. "OK, which one of you grabbed my...!!!" I stopped. Everyone in the room stared at me. As I was about to hurl accusations about the supposed prank it dawned on me that it would have been impossible for anyone to get into the processing room. As an added precaution that door was always locked by a sliding bolt as soon as I entered. It also dawned on me that my life had been saved. I withdrew red faced as the crew shook their heads in bemusement.
"Had the steel frame completed its descent my head would have been sliced off by the edge of the metal tank and dropped quietly into the chemical bath; sort of a reverse guillotine motion.
"At 65 I can still feel the icy grip of whatever or whoever saved my life. Guardian angel? Not for me to say. Grateful? Oh yes."
Who wouldn't be!
If you have a ghost tale to share, contact David Goss at 672-8601 or gosswalk@nbnet.nb.ca
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