The Flickering Light In The Basement

I arrived in Bowling Green, Ohio in August of 1993. I showed up early because it was a weekend, and my Mom thought it’d be a good idea to acclimate myself to my new surroundings. My sister actually told me I should go to Bowling Green State because, well, it’d be a good chance to re-direct myself after my initial fiasco in Los Angeles. I’d spent a year at Loyola Marymount at the age of 18 in film school, only to hate it so much I had to leave. And it was too expensive to be taking classes I’d already taken in high school. The unfortunate thing was that BGSU didn’t have a film program. It had a television program, but no film. I chose to get a bachelors in fine art, which I had tentatively selected graphic design as a major. I had to find some way to make movies, so this was at least biding my time before I returned to Los Angeles.

I had a massive chip on my shoulder coming back to Ohio. This wasn’t just Ohio, this was middle of the state Ohio. Practically Michigan. The school considered itself liberal arts, but the place made me skittish. It was really flat lands and the nearest town was about 10 miles away. The town functioned solely to support the school. It was literally one lane that ran into town and one that was perpendicular that led out. I never got a straight answer as to why my sister chose the school. I guess, since it’s far away enough from home to feel like you’re away and close enough for emergencies (3 hours). I showed up to the dorms, a single suitcase in hand and my electric guitar. I stayed in the dorm called Conklin. It was all boys. The place was dumpy. The hallways narrow. Definitely different than the “resort campus” of Loyola Marymount. I didn’t care. I felt defeated. When I arrived, I was saddled with this ape, named Joe. He had a mushmouth palooka voice that drove me nuts. In fact, even his mother would mock him. So I already knew I wasn’t going to spend that much time in that room. Plus it was about 8 feet wide. What a disaster. I met my resident advisor. A thick stocky guy named Chris. Chris greeted with a bright smile and a cheery “Hey! I’m your R.A. How’s it going?”

“Fine” I mumbled. Still smarting from the shit room.

“Cool. Look, if you need anything, my door is always open” he was so bright and friendly I thought he had a head injury or something. Turns out, he was just a sincerely nice guy. A jock in his hometown, he had an artistic streak. My first week at Conklin, I’d played a few Hendrix tunes I learned in our band, and he and I became lifelong friends. I recruited him to be in all my projects, as I eventually convinced my folks to lend me their camcorder for college. We’d do crazy dumb shit. Like have him pretend shoot someone with a paintball gun on the live railroad tracks. Or have him vamp about philosophies on life. I had befriended a odd looking guy in our dorm named Dan.

Dan and I became inseparable when it came to just smoking cigarettes and playing Nintendo’s NBA Jam. We held our dorm in such contempt, especially having just found out that they were going to demolish it after our year anyway. I’d often smoke in his room and snub the butt out on his carpet. His roommate was a dude who fucked a TON of chicks. Each morning there’d be a different girl as Dan and I would be playing video games. They were both so close to our chairs, my elbow would often their bunk. His roommate didn’t give a fuck. I guess he thought the girls would leave if they saw two muppets playing video games and maybe get self-conscious and dart. He was wrong. They had no shame.

I’d get bored and walk the campus. One night I’d stopped by the old television department. They did three camera news out of this building. It was still open as they radio department was there too. And it was the ONLY broadcast radio in Bowling Green. I walked inside and started to explore.

The place was musty. The studio had the typical large soft lights. Big scoops or chicken coops. It was specifically for a wash of flat light for the newscasters. I went to the other side of the building where I noticed a staircase going down. Curiosity got the better of me, so I followed it down.

There were the typical rooms  of a campus. The linoleum floors squeaked as I stepped down the hallway. The rooms were dark. But through the light in the hall, I could see that they weren’t rooms but practice rooms. This must’ve been a music building at some point. I recall these rooms resembling the one on one lessons. I stuck my face through a window and saw, emptiness. Then the next one. Then the next. All dark.

I came across a door that was wider than the others. It’d been some type of storage room. Storage implies “locked.” But, I decided to give the handle a try anyway.

Voila! The handle turned and I pushed the door in. The room was really dark. I saw what looked like laundry baskets. I took a look inside. It was THE very first time I saw what would be the next 20 years of my life.

I dipped my hand into the bin and pulled out 16mm film. It’d been dumped and unspooled into these bins that had cloth as the liner. Thousands if not hundreds of thousands of feet of film. There were bins, next to bins all crammed into a room. And buried in the depths of the bins, was an upright Moviola.

This was a machine used to watch and edit this footage. I stepped back, unsure what this contraption was. It had spindles, and wheels and buttons and footpads and…it was all military grade green. I drew a breath, and searched for the chord. I dug it up in the rubble, and found an outlet. Plugging in the machine, I heard the fan kick on. No way! It had light emanating from a grated fan port. Not sure if the bulb was still good. Then it occurred to me. I pushed open a latch on the side, it snapped open with a tight click. I saw the light through the back port now. The bulb was fine, it just needed film. Having never seen 16mm up close, this was amazing. I looked at the images as stills through my fingers. I couldn’t believe this was abandoned. I pressed the celluloid against the rail guides that was designated for film. I closed the viewer window and then I saw my first image. I honestly don’t recall what it was. Only that it was in that washed out film look. It didn’t have the color but it had the image. I think it was from some war or something. CLEARLY stock footage of some kind. Printed so that the students could train on it. The trim ran through my fingers as I stepped on the motor, it lurched forward. Then the image started to move. It moved in succession, and gave the illusion of motion. This revelation…I wish people now had the capacity to understand. That the concept of persistence of vision is lost on those who will never understand the simplicity of a flip book. This is what makes movies…move. It blew my mind. I sat in the dark storage room for what seemed like minutes, but hours had passed. I watched every trim in the bin I could watch. When I grew tired, I eventually shut the machine down. It was morning now.

I ended up visiting that storage room throughout that semester. Each time digging up other pieces of editing gear. A splicer I found I used to cut the movie, then I used scotch tape to edit pieces together. I kept playing footage over and over again, watching the little screen move. It was like a Nickelodeon (not the children’s network for you young folk, like in carnivals at the turn of the century). I wondered about the production that went into these cells that were passing in front of me. Just fascinated by the physical nature of it. I eventually put together a reel with edits from different parts of movies. It was totally Ed Wood style crap, but it was my crap. This was also the storage room I saw a box STUFFED with 16mm Bolex cameras. Just collecting dust. I think back now and how sad that was that I didn’t even think to rescue these Swiss machines of precision (as they are even used today). I did use one for my short film thesis project. But even that I returned to the University, which I’m sure they’ve long since gotten rid of.

From what I thought was being abandoned in the middle of nowhere Ohio resulted in the best education I could’ve gotten for making movies. Necessity being the mother of invention. I didn’t need to go where the action was (L.A.), I had to make opportunities where I found them.

From that point on, I thought Bowling Green wasn’t so bad. I can do something here.