The senior student assembly buzzed with excitement. Principal Woodburn tapped on the microphone. “Welcome, seniors,” he announced as the student body cheered. “It has been a pleasure watching you develop from the children you were as freshmen to the adults you have become here at John Adams High School.” His speech was interrupted as someone shouted, “We love you, Mr. Woodburn,” prompting an eruption of applause and laughter.
“Not everyone,” another voice called out, inciting more laughter.
“I love you, too,” the principal responded, “But also not everyone.”
More laughter, whistles and applause followed. Principal Woodburn continued. “At this final awards assembly, we recognize Iris Dickinson, founder of the camera club. Her creative and distinctive photographs adorn our entrance lobby as well as several faculty offices in the building. We wish her well as she heads off to college and to what I know will be a promising career.
****
After graduating from NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, Iris became a freelance photographer. Top magazines such as Outdoor Photographer, The New Yorker, Travel & Leisure, and Condé Nast published her work regularly. She liked to meander through different neighborhoods photographing people, shops, fashions, restaurants, traffic… anything that she felt captured the flavor and essence of New York, Chicago, San Francisco and other major cities. Her photography was often exhibited at the famous Bisone Art Gallery in SOHO.
Iris dedicated a room in her apartment to her awards and collection of camera equipment that she acquired from auctions, antique dealers, and online. She kept abreast of all the latest photography trends and camera equipment, and was a regular customer of Cinquina and Reade’s Camera Emporium on the West Side of Manhattan.
“I’ve got something that you’re going to like, Iris,” Bill Reade said. “Jim,” he called to his partner, “where are those new Ellison filters we just received?”
“I just read about that filter the other day.” Iris interjected. “I’d love to see what it can do.”
“Hand me your camera, Iris. Let me attach it for you.”
Iris glanced through the viewfinder, marveling at how the Ellison filter enhanced the scene. It modified the color intensity, increased contrast, improved the focus and could even moderate some of the background. “This is magical,” she said. “I’ll take it.”
****
She went to Central Park to test the new filter, where she took several photographs of trees, benches, vendors and people strolling. She was amazed at how her pictures were brighter, sharper and more intense than ever before. As she was studying the photos in the camera’s rear screen, she saw something she hadn’t noticed in the viewfinder. A man wearing a sports jacket with a herringbone pattern and suede trim appeared alongside the three nuns she had just photographed. That’s odd, she thought. I don’t recall seeing anyone wearing a jacket like that before. She remembered that Jim said that the Ellison filter could modify some of the background, but she didn’t recall him saying anything about it creating additional subjects. She shrugged it off, thinking that she might have been so focused on the nuns that she didn’t notice the man in the sports jacket. It was unusual for her, as she was always aware of the entire composition before depressing the shutter button.
The next day Iris photographed scenes at the South Street Seaport, the Fulton Fish Market and the Brooklyn Bridge. She took several shots of tourists as they visited the 130-year-old Wavertree, a riveted wrought iron sailing ship from the nineteenth century, moored there. When she examined her photos at home, she was shocked. “Oh my god,” she thought. The same man in the herringbone jacket from the day before was standing on the ship’s gangplank. I could have sworn he wasn’t there in the viewfinder! Well, coincidences do happen.
Iris followed up with a series of photographs around the city without using the Ellison filter.

The man in the herringbone jacket did not appear in any of them, and she felt certain that his second appearance at the ship was only a coincidence. The following Saturday morning she went to the neighborhood park. The sun added to the beauty of the day, making it ideal for photographs. Parents were sitting on benches watching their children playing on the slides, seesaws, swings and monkey bars. She attached the Ellison filter. To her amazement, there he was again, sitting on a bench alongside one of the parents, reading a newspaper. Was he real, or a phenomenon of the Ellison filter?
Iris went to C & R’s Camera Emporium first thing Monday morning, where Bill Reade greeted her. “Hello, Iris. How’s that Ellison filter working for you?”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about. Something’s strange going on with it.”
Bill reacted as if he had seen a purple cow. “What do you mean, Iris?”
“This is a joke filter, isn’t it? Every time I take a picture, a man wearing a herringbone jacket appears. He’s not there when I snap the shot, but he shows up in the final picture. How do you explain that?”
Bill called his partner. “Jim, take a look at this.”
“Hmm,” Jim said quizzically. Let me try something.” He reached into the case behind the counter and brought out a new camera. He attached the Ellison filter and handed it to her. “Here, Iris. Take a picture…anywhere you want.” She aimed at several places inside the store, then went outside to snap a few more. None of her pictures included the mystery man in the herringbone jacket.
Bill scratched his head. “I don’t know what to tell you. Do you think it’s likely that you just didn’t see him before you took the pictures?”
Iris drew a blank. “I suppose it is possible. I’ve been under a bit of pressure on my latest assignment from Life Magazine. Maybe I just overlooked him. But it’s an awful coincidence, him turning up in three of my other shots, don’t you think?”
“Coincidences do happen,” Jim responded.
“I thought the same thing,” Iris said.
How’s the filter working for you otherwise?”
Iris relaxed for a moment. “Otherwise, I like it. It adds an extra something…a sparkle, you might say, to my photographs.”
On her way home, she stopped at Nick’s diner for lunch and sat in a corner booth, engrossed in the menu. She didn’t notice the gentleman who approached.
“Excuse me,” the stranger said. “Aren’t you Iris Dickinson, the famous photographer?”
She looked up, startled to see the man gazing at her with admiration. He was wearing a herringbone sports jacket with patches of brown suede on the chest and elbows. Her body tensed as she slid back in her seat, staring at him, stunned.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I apologize.”
Iris clutched the menu so tightly that it curled up in her hands. “Have you been following me?”
“Why, no. I was just having lunch here when I saw you walk in. I live right around the corner. I come here all the time. Ask Nick, he knows me. I noticed your camera bag, that’s when I thought I recognized you from all those magazine pictures. I’m a bit of a camera buff, myself. A rather amateur one, I’ll admit. I was just going to tell you how much I admire your work. I’ll leave you alone now.” He returned to the counter and continued eating his lunch.