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Good morning, Mr. Adams: in 1943, a young student encounters one of the legends of photography in the place that made him famous.

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As a pretty green kid going on 17 years, I was probably overly enthusiastic and a little nervous about my first real big job. The year was 1943. World War II had been under way for a couple of years, and older boys at our high school were being encouraged to take summer jobs with the National Park and Forestry Service program due to the acute shortage of labor. High school seniors and young college men were being employed to clear trails, fight forest fires, or do blister rust control in our nation's forests and national parks. Luckily my high school chum, Dick, and I drew Yosemite National Park in California as our place of work. It was a summer I shall never forget.

We could hardly wait to begin the job. Because of a mix-up in our reporting dates, we arrived in Yosemite in mid-May, driving Dick's old Model A Ford down the long road from Oakland. We soon found out that we were about two weeks ahead of the other workers. The chief ranger was a little exasperated as we both reported to his office and stood nervously before him.

"The government has rules about this sort of thing," he said. "We can't put you on the payroll for another 15 days, but we can't really send you back home either. For now, we'll just make you both honorary cooks over at the mess hall so you can earn your keep, and we'll find you a bunk for the time being. Just stay out of trouble 'til we can put you on the payroll and ship you up to the forest camp at Crane Flat in a couple of weeks."

We were expected to wash dishes and wait tables at the main mess to pay for our meals and the tent cabin we occupied with...

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