Dear Zing,

     The Smithville Church of Christ is composing a pictorial directory, featuring the members and their families.  Recently, we were requested to appear at the building

to be filmed for this production.  Appointments were made to insure efficient service and to avoid prolonged waiting.  However, it didn’t quite go as planned.

     When our family arrived, I knew something was wrong immediately.  A large crowd had formed in the vestibule, and an atmosphere of strained silence prevailed.

     “What’s happened?”  I whispered to Betty Blair.

      “The camera broke,” she replied in a more audible tone.  All eyes turned accusingly upon Judd Murphy.  Judd blushed and lowered his head.  I placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.  “Don’t feel bad, Judd.  They don’t make cameras the way they once did.”

     At that moment, Brother Bob poked his head out the door and announced, “The

camera is operating again.”  He glanced doubtfully at Judd, then rolled his eyes upward, as if seeking moral courage.  Clearing his throat, he proceeded on a note of cautious optimism. “Judd, let’s give it another try.”  As Judd and his family ventured back into the room, I overheard the preacher’s last remark.  “Sneak upon it this time.”

       My attention was then caught by the activity in the far corner.  It was a beautician’s

paradise with all the combing, curling and brushing of hair.  I gasped for breath, as the area flooded with hair spray.  The mist cleared and we were afforded a better view.

Everyone agreed that Fluty’s appearance was well worth the effort.

       Only one family was ahead of us now, but I couldn’t understand why Mary Jane and Dennis Stanley were taking so long.  Peeping through the door, I saw the pretty photographer position Dennis’ head.  As soon as her back was turned, Dennis dropped his pose, only to have her repeat the gesture.  Then Dennis encountered Mary Janes’ glare and immediately became a model of perfection.

        After our family had been photographed, we left the room and almost collided with a redhead and a brunette in the doorway.  They looked vaguely familiar.  Quickly, I donned my glasses and recognition dawned.  It was Larry Puckett and Hilton Conger with new beards.  The photographer threw one look at them and paled.  “Here we go again!  Hold on to the camera, Harry!”

        Zing, I’ve just been handed this bulletin by Brother Bob:  “Due to a malfunction in the equipment, Olan Mills has been forced to recall the entire congregation  for remakes.  All results were negative.  They just don’t make cameras the way they once did.

Your friend,

Sue Conger