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1826 Illinois gubernatorial election

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Illinois gubernatorial election, 1826

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1830 →
 
Ninian.Edwards.png
3x4.svg
Nominee Ninian Edwards Thomas Sloo, Jr.
Party Anti-Jacksonian Jacksonian
Running mate William Kinney Unknown
Popular vote 6,280 5,834
Percentage 49.47% 45.96%

Illinois governor election, 1826.svg
County Results


Edwards:      40-50%      50-60%      60-70%      70-80%      80-90%      90-100%
Tie:      40-50% Edwards/Sloo
Sloo:      40-50%      50-60%      60-70%      70-80%      80-90%      90-100%
Unknown/No Vote:      



Governor before election

Edward Coles
Independent

Elected Governor

Ninian Edwards
Democratic-Republican

The Illinois gubernatorial election of 1826 was the third quadrennial election for this office. former Territorial Governor Ninian Edwards was elected with a 49% plurality. State senator Thomas Sloo, Jr. came in second and Former Lieutenant Governor Adolphus Hubbard came in third.

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Transcription

NARRATOR: Just press a button, the moment is caught. Frozen forever, these images unite us, remind us of our victories, our tragedies, our dreams. But at the beginning of the 19th century, taking a photograph was just that, a dream, pursued by three very different men. Now, the invention of photography, the quest to capture light. The camera. We take it for granted today. There is a camera in almost every American home. We don't think twice about how it works, we just aim, focus, and push a button. This marvelous box brings a wide world into our hands. But the camera really isn't a very complicated device. Here's how it works. When you focus the camera on an image, light reflected from that image enters the lens. It's inverted, and makes an upside down picture on the film at the back of the camera. We drop the film off for development, it's dipped in chemicals, and a negative image appears, from which pictures are printed. Strangely enough, a basic camera was used almost 1,000 years ago. In the 11th century, Arabian astronomers used a camera to trace a path of the stars. Their camera was a darkened room with a small hole in one wall. WESTON NAEF: On the wall opposite the hole, you would see projected, upside down, the very image of what was outside the window. And this discovery was called a camera obscura. The word camera means room, the word obscura, in Italian, means dark. NARRATOR: Camera obscuras became popular tools for artists. It might surprise museum goers to know that by the 18th century, many famous painters traced their subjects with a camera obscura. WESTON NAEF: Art began to call for, to demand, that a way be invented, that a way be devised, that the actual world, reality, could be recorded more faithfully than it had been recorded before. NARRATOR: But the problem with drawing aids, like the camera obscura, was that if the artist tracing the image wasn't very good, the drawing wasn't very good. Cameras made a perfect reflection of light, but how great an achievement to make the image permanent? The invention of photography would demand more than an artist's desire, it would require a scientist's curiosity. Simply stated, photography could never be possible without some understanding of chemical reaction to light. Over 3,000 years ago, early civilizations noticed that sunlight faded fabrics, but they didn't know why. Centuries would pass before a very important discovery was made about chemical sensitivity to light. In the 1700s, Johann Heinrich Schultz was working with silver chloride, when he realized that the silver particles changed color after exposure to sunlight. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: And he would make little experiments, almost games, for his friends, where he would take a flask and fill it full of this solution of chalk and silver chloride. And he'd put the stencil on the flask, hold it in the light for a while, then take the paper away, and presented the silver, black and oxidized, in relation to light. NARRATOR: Though he took it no further, Schultz's discovery would become a basic principle of photography. The tools for creating an image were now known. The early 1800s were a time of prolific invention. And in the dawn of the Industrial Revolution, there were great races to patent and protect one's ideas. In central France, a modest inventor would make a giant contribution to the development of the still camera, though he was trying to invent something very different. In a French village near Paris, in 1816, Joseph Nicephore Niepce became interested in refining the new art of lithography, in order to make copies of preexisting works of art. But he needed drawings in order to do experiments, and Niepce couldn't draw for beans. He decided to make his drawings with the aid of light, an idea far more difficult than refining lithography. In fact, it had stumped many great minds before his. Niepce built a tiny camera obscura, a little over one inch wide on each side. He knew about Schulz's experiments with light-sensitive silver, so he pinned paper soaked in silver chloride into the back of his camera. He was thrilled to get an image on the paper. But the lights and darks were reversed, and he had no idea how to make a print, or normal looking picture from it. Six years of tedious experimentation passed while he puzzled over better methods of creating a good image. In July of 1822, Niepce stumbled upon a solution. He knew that artists use an asphalt compound in lithography. Neaps coated a plate with asphalt instead of silver, placed a translucent image on the plate, and exposed it to the sun. It was a radical idea, and it worked. He could copy works of art. In the summer of 1826, an even greater triumph would come. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: He used a crude camera obscura that he had. And he put the plate in the back of the camera obscura, stuck it out the window of his studio, and exposed it to the view out there for eight hours. NARRATOR: The result, what many consider the world's first photograph, was the view from the attic window of his country house. Niepce called his invention heliography. Shortly after his discovery, Niepce received a letter from a stranger in Paris, who to Niepce's horror, knew about his experiments. The stranger wanted to know Niepce's of secret in creating heliographs, and claimed that he too was working on making pictures from light. Niepce was afraid his ideas might be stolen. He did some nosing around, and discovered that the letter writer who signed his name Dauguerre was a respected Parisian artist. Niepce wrote a courteous reply, but did not reveal his technique. Shortly after he received the letter, Niepce was compelled to make a trip to London. On his stopover in Paris, he decided, on impulse, to meet this stranger named Daguerre. Louis-Jacques-Mande Daguerre was not only an artist, but the joint owner in a popular gallery called The Diorama. WESTON NAEF: The Diorama was like Grauman's Chinese Theatre in Hollywood, a place that everybody knew about. It was a mecca for tourists, it was a cornucopia of money, it was highly profitable, and it made him famous. NARRATOR: Spectators watched with amazement as large pictorial views appeared to dissolve into other landscapes, through the effect of lights on lightly painted canvas. Daguerre used a camera obscura to draw correct perspectives on his huge paintings. He bought his camera lenses from the same optician who sold lenses to Niepce. In fact, it was the optician who had told Daguerre of Niepce's experiments with a camera. They finally met in January of 1827. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: We know Daguerre to be a very charming man, and part of the theater world. He knew how to smooth palms and get his own way, and so on. I think Niepce was quite impressed. NARRATOR: Niepce hurried on to London, where he found that a reversal in family fortune had almost bankrupted him. He became even more determined to carry on his experiments with the camera. And equally determined was Louis Daguerre, the Paris showman. Niepce and Daguerre would shortly become partners in a race that would end in greatness for one, and obscurity for the other. The two men who raced toward the discovery of photography were a study in contrasts. Joseph Niepce was modest, polite, and trusting. Louis Daguerre was a showman, and something of a hustler. Niepce possessed a strong scientific background, while Daguerre had little formal education. Even so, Daguerre was obsessed with the idea of fixing an image in a camera, but he was hindered in pursuing research by his ignorance of chemistry and physics. When he learned of Niepce's experiments, Daguerre was even more motivated to pursue the same idea. Daguerre wrote Niepce several charming notes after their first meeting in Paris. He spoke of his continuing research into making images in the camera. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: But Daguerre, I think, I had kind of fooled Niepce into thinking he'd got a lot further with his experiments than he actually had. NARRATOR: At the end of two years, in 1829, Niepce made a new breakthrough, and sent the results to Daguerre. Niepce had succeeded in making a still life in his little camera. In the accompanying note, Niepce spoke of his intention to publish his work. Daguerre believed there was money to be made, and he wanted a piece of the pie. He urged Niepce to delay publication until the process could be perfected. He also offered his collaboration, and claimed to have a camera lens three times as fast as Niepce's. That claim would turn out to be a great exaggeration, but Niepce was convinced by the Daguerre's arguments. He agreed not to publish his findings. Niepce was now 64 years old, tired, and impoverished. He had worked alone for 13 years, and he believed he could not advance the work further without a perfected lens. Daguerre, in stark contrast, was 42, in the prime of life, energetic, and confident that heliography could become as successful as The Diorama. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: It seemed to Niepce that it would be a good idea to hook up with his entrepreneurial younger man, who was already quite a famous figure in Paris, and who was well connected. That, perhaps as a collaboration, this would be a better way to go than experimenting on his own. NARRATOR: Daguerre traveled to Niepce's home, and the two men signed a 10-year partnership. But over the next four years working separately, neither man made breakthroughs. Then in 1833, without warning, Niepce died of a stroke. His great contribution to photography remained unpublished. His debts were so large that his son, Isidore, was forced to sell the family estate. However, Isidore inherited his father's interest in the partnership with Daguerre. Two years after Niepce's death, his son, Isidore, received an urgent letter from Daguerre. At long last, Daguerre had made a revolutionary discovery. He had found a new method to obtain an image from the camera. Daguerre chemically treated a silvered plate, and placed the plate in the camera. But instead of leaving the plate there until an image appeared, he took it out immediately, and heated it over mercury vapors. An image soon developed, what we call a latent image. It was an astounding finding that would change the course of photography, yet no record remains of what led Daguerre to this discovery. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: We like to think that discoveries are done by geniuses who cry eureka after a moment of flash of inspiration. But I think, in fact, the invention was a somewhat gradual one. NARRATOR: Isidore Niepce rushed to Paris. Daguerre handed Niepce's son a new contract to sign. It changed the name of the firm from Niepce Daguerre to Daguerre Niepce. WESTON NAEF: Daguerre inherited all of the notebooks and research of his partner. And those notebooks were valuable, and allowed Daguerre-- who was, himself, an artist, and not a scientist-- to actually go ahead and successfully make a photograph, as we know it today. NARRATOR: In his theatrical style, Daguerre publicly announced his discovery. But his announcement was premature. A major problem remained. He could develop an image, but he could not make that image permanent. If it was exposed to further sunlight, the image would fade away. It would have disturbed Daguerre tremendously if he had known that he was not the only man closing in on a solution to this great riddle. In fact, a 31-year-old Englishman named William Henry Fox Talbot was working on the very same idea. On Talbot's honeymoon trip to northern Italy in 1832, he had tried to use drawing aids, including the camera obscura, and another gadget called camera lucida, to capture the natural beauty of Lake Como. Camera lucida used a prism to reflect the artist's subjects onto a piece of paper. Talbot traced the reflection at his hotel, and the lake. WESTON NAEF: And he looked at the drawings that he made, and because he was a smart man, and essentially a pragmatic man, he said to himself, these drawings are terrible. These are terrible. It was a magical moment. And on that magical moment, he got a brilliant insight, that wouldn't it be extraordinary to be able to make permanent the drawings that he was making with the camera lucida. NARRATOR: Unaware of Niepce and Daguerre's work, Talbot began to experiment with tiny cameras. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: We have to realize the Talbot wasn't just a kind of arbitrary tinkerer, this is a man who was probably as well educated as any man in Europe was at this time. NARRATOR: His strong background in chemistry and optics guided his experiments. Aware of sliver's sensitivity to light, Talbot worked diligently until he achieved a breakthrough. He soaked paper in a salt solution, then silver nitrate, and exposed the paper with an object laid on it to the sun. Talbot was immediately able to produce an image on paper, which he called a shadowgraph. WESTON NAEF: Immediately, he said, I've discovered how to fix a shadow. Isn't that a wonderful phrase? He created a new art. NARRATOR: But Talbot was just beginning. In 1835, he made an even more important discovery. In his notebook, he wrote of exposing paper in his little camera for several hours, to obtain a shadowgraph, or negative image. The lights and darks were reversed. He laid that shadowgraph on another chemically treated piece of paper, exposed it to the sun, and created a copy. The lights and darks were now normal. It is what we consider a positive, or print. His first print was a latticework window at Latcock Abby, his country home. Amazingly, he did not understand the magnitude of his discovery. Talbot set aside the notebooks that contained his great invention, and turned his attention to other scholarly pursuits. Less than 200 miles away, Daguerre continued to work obsessively in his laboratory across the channel. He tried chemical after chemical on his silver plates. Daguerre was determined to fix the image in the camera, so that it would not fade. He would not leave his lab for days on end. He neglected his business and his family. After two more years of struggle, in 1837, Daguerre announced that he had found the solution. Daguerre again sent for Isidore. When Isidore arrived in Paris, Daguerre triumphantly revealed his discovery. The method Daguerre discovered was oddly simple. After obtaining an image on the plate, Daguerre bathed the plate in a salt solution, which stopped the chemical reaction on the picture. Joseph Niepce's work was critical to Daguerre's discovery, would only be credited with the earlier chemical process. The magnificent invention would be named after Daguerre alone. He called his pictures daguerreotypes. Niepce's son, Isidore, was furious. He told a friend, all his conduct has been nothing but a heap of shameful and despicable charlatanism. Isidore felt that his father had been dishonored. But Daguerre insisted that his photochemical process was different from Niepce's. In the end, Isidore signed the new contract, agreeing to all of Daguerre's terms, in the hope of receiving some compensation if any money were made. Daguerre conveyed his incredible findings to the French academy of science. The Academy announced Daguerre's discovery, though not in detail, to the world in January of 1839. In the previous four years, the Englishman William Talbot had experimented no further with his camera. His mind was far from his shadowgraphs when he read of Daguerre's invention in the "London Times," two weeks after the invention had been announced. Talbot was horrified that Daguerre was receiving credit for a process Talbot believed he, himself, had discovered. WESTON NAEF: He immediately resurrected his old experiments, and made a few new ones. And two weeks later, on January 25th, 1839-- which is that what I call the birthday of photography-- Talbot made a presentation to a group of people, mostly scientists, in London, where the first public exhibition of photographs was made. NARRATOR: Talbot's contributions in developing a negative positive process were critical to photography as it is used today. But those contributions would bring him no financial gain, little reward, and a great deal of trouble. Daguerre, on the other hand, would be the one to gain great fame. In August 1839, Daguerre's photographic process was announced to the French Academy. The audience was thrilled. Within the hour, men rushed to the nearest chemist shops to purchase materials and try to make daguerreotypes. The French government awarded Daguerre an annuity of 7,000 francs, and to Niepce's son, Isidore, 5,000. The daguerreotype soon became enormously popular. WESTON NAEF: They printed handbooks and manuals, describing how to make a daguerreotype. And these handbooks and manuals were translated into a dozen languages immediately, shipped around the world, and very quickly to daguerreotypes were being made in practically every city that was itself also a trading port. NARRATOR: The government encouraged Daguerre to continue his research, but he knew his greatest achievement was behind him. He retired to a small city outside Paris where he puttered in his garden. Daguerre died of a heart attack in 1851. He was 64 years old. WESTON NAEF: So Daguerre is the ancestor of one line of photography, which is instant photography, which is the Polaroid process, and all processes like it. NARRATOR: The world was ready to receive the Daguerre's invention. The "Gazette de France" predicted photography would revolutionize the art of drawing. But problems remained. Exposure times were unacceptably slow, the equipment was bulky and impractical, the chemicals noxious. Great minds went to work to find the solutions. Within the first year of Daguerre and Talbot's discoveries, amateur photographers began carting their heavy equipment to the far reaches of the globe. Photography had arrived. From Athens to Egypt, exotic and far away places were captured and brought home. But photography was not a hobby for the weak of heart. Each glass plate used in a daguerreotype camera could easily weigh a pound or more, depending on its size. Chemicals in sealed glass bottles, heavy tripods, and other paraphernalia made the equipment awkward and unwieldy. In France, there was great enthusiasm for Daguerre's marvelous new invention. But the public soon grew disappointed with photography's limitations in making portraits. Cruel looking metal stands were designed, with arms that clamped the poser's head in place. The subject was required to sit perfectly still for as long as a quarter of an hour, usually in direct glaring sunlight, while his portrait was being taken. One satirical magazine of the time made fun of Daguerre's process. You want to make a portrait of your wife? You fix her head in a temporary iron collar to get the indispensable immobility, you point the lens of the camera at her face, and when you take the portrait, it doesn't represent your wife, it is her parrot, or watering pot, or worse. The difficulty in taking portraits was just one drawback in early photography. If the plate was developed incorrectly, the image faded. Papers used for printing were often flawed. The chemicals stank and were toxic, but there was money to be made. Incentive to improve the invention was very strong. William Talbot returned to the research he had abandoned four years earlier. He knew his original process was slow and imperfect. Soon he came up with an important improvement. By exposing wet, instead of dry, paper in the camera for a short time, he could develop an image on the paper afterwards, through further chemical treatment. The process was faster, and the image far sharper. Talbot named photographs made by this process calotypes, Greek for beautiful pictures. His mother advised him to call them Talbottypes, and did so herself until the day she died. With this faster chemical process, Talbot could not make portraits. His 1840 photograph of his wife, Constance, is one of the oldest surviving calotype portraits. She sat for it only five stiff minutes. Over the next two decades, Talbot continued to make improvements in developing and fixing photographs. But he was never to enjoy financial success from his invention, though he tried to protect his ideas. WESTON NAEF: Talbot did the unusual. Instead of sharing with the world at large his discovery, as a miracle that had been given by nature or by God, he patented the process. NARRATOR: He became embroiled in a number of nasty lawsuits over others' rights to use his processes. He lost most of the suits. Later in his life, Talbot would give up photography entirely. In 1877 he died of heart failure at Latcock Abbey. In several obituaries, his contribution to the invention of photography was barely mentioned. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: Of course, there was always rivalry between France and Britain about which of them had come up with the invention. But Talbot was widely recognized as the founding figure for the kind of photography we use today. Paper based, negative by positive photography. In that respect, Talbot is definitely the founding figure. NARRATOR: As portraits became possible, public demand for them grew quickly, and a wide variety of people. Though it may seem strange today, requests for portraits of family members who had died were not uncommon. Death rates in the 1800s were very high, especially among children. Sometimes the dead were propped up in chairs, or their bodies positioned in life-like poses. This practice was discontinued by the turn of the century when, for health reasons, Austria and other countries finally banned families from taking dead children to portrait studios. In the United States, daguerreotype portraits were extremely popular. In the 1850s, galleries sprang up everywhere. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: Well, it's hard for 20th century people to realize quite how amazing it was to experience a daguerreotype for the first time, say in the 1840s. They came in these beautiful leather packages, like a piece of jewelry. And in fact, when you opened up, and you saw the image, which of course, is on a silver plate, it flashes at you like a beautiful jewel. NARRATOR: Celebrities, judges, ordinary folks, and presidents all sat for portraits. In 1864, Abraham Lincoln posed for the American portraitist Matthew Brady. We all have a copy of that photograph, and most of us don't know it. It's the portrait on the $5 bill. Just as quickly as portrait photography became possible, erotica became popular. As with painting and sculpture, photographers immediately began to pose nudes, both for artistic and pornographic purposes. From 1840 to the early 1860s, the daguerreotype had a glorious run. But by the mid 1860s, its day had passed. The plates were so fragile they had to be sealed under glass, protected from damaging fingerprints or oxidation. Daguerreotypes did not duplicate well, and a portrait by a reputable salon could cost as much as $1,000, at today's prices. But more importantly, something came along to take their place. Frederick Scott Archer, an English sculptor, made an improvement in photography so significant that most photographers abandoned both the daguerreotype and the calotype in its favor. Archer called this process collodion. He coated glass plates with a compound made of gun cotton and ether. Unlimited prints could be made from the glass plates, and the images were pin sharp. The collodion process would dominate until the 1880s, when dry plates would replace it. But despite these improvements, photography continued to be a cumbersome and elusive hobby. JONATHAN GREEN: The early chemistry was, for the most part, fairly toxic. People became ill, deranged, and otherwise sick, from constant exposure to different kinds of photographic processes and fumes. NARRATOR: Revolutionary advances would have to wait for visionaries to rethink the camera, itself. One young man would claim that vision and be responsible for the prototype of what we think of as the camera today. Photography was not an invention born in perfection, but by its second decade, many hobbyists had improved the process. Exposure times were shorter, lenses faster. In the next 20 years, even more astonishing changes would come, and they would allow the camera to be used in surprising ways. Camera bodies were designed in a wide array of shapes and configurations. Some cameras were designed to use both daguerreotype and calotype backs. Others had an accordion bellows, so that the subject could be kept in focus at various distances. Studio cameras varied in size from small, to bigger than a man. Stereoscopic cameras became very popular. Paired images viewed through a stereoscope became fused into one image in the mind, and gave a startling illusion of three dimensions. Many inventors focused on ways to make photography more profitable. Andre Disderi, a Parisian, designed an ingenious camera, in 1854, that allowed up to eight exposures or negatives to be taken on one plate. He called them cartes de visite, or calling cards. They were wildly popular, and cheap to make. Photographs of famous people, like Princess Alexandra of Wales, sold like hotcakes. In the second decade of photography, a broad world was captured with a range of cameras. But one subject had not yet been chronicled, the arena of war. In 1855, the Crimean War was raging on the north coast of the Black Sea. Roger Fenton, an English lawyer turned photographer, set sail for Balaklava Harbor with 36 crates of photographic equipment, weighing thousands of pounds. His plates were so slow, Fenton could only film before or after battle. He developed his pictures in intensely sweltering heat, in a wine merchant's carriage he had converted into a darkroom. His war photographs shocked people. A few years later, Americans would get the same dose of reality. From the battlefield of Gettysburg to Cold Harbor, Fredricksburg to Chancellorsville, Matthew Brady and other cameramen would yield heavy wagons of photographic equipment close behind the battle lines. And sometimes, inadvertently, on the battle lines. Their photographs documented with great eloquence the dead, the dying, and every phase of the American Civil War. In the decade after the Civil War, the development of dry plates, and the invention of fast mechanical shutters, finally allowed photographers to record in motion accurately. That would turn out to be highly profitable for Leland Stanford. Stanford, a former California Governor, and a racehorse enthusiast, made a $20,000 bet with a friend in 1873 that all four of the horse's hooves left the ground at the same time during a gallop, but not in the manner in which artists depicted them. Stanford turned to a camera to prove his theory. Stanford hired Eadweard Muybridge, a British photographer living in San Francisco, to settle the question. Motivated by his fascination with motion photography, Muybridge had invented a fast mechanical shutter. In 1877, Muybridge lined 24 cameras in a row, a few paces apart, on the track at Leland's farm in Palo Alto, California. JONATHAN GREEN: Each camera shutter mechanism was controlled by a string. And as the horse went down the track, it broke the string, and clicked the shutter, and you got an image of a horse in that particular position. NARRATOR: The photograph showed, beyond a doubt, that a horse's hooves did indeed all come off the ground at the same time in his gallop. And in an unlikely place, under the horse's belly. Stanford won his bet. Muybridge's shots of progressive action heralded a new direction in photography, as with the ideas of a young man in upstate New York. A young bank clerk in Rochester, New York took up photography as a hobby in the 1870s. The clerk's name was George Eastman. Eastman's father had died when the boy was 14, and poverty forced George to go to work. Eastman loved tinkering. By his 20s, his routine was to work in the bank during the day, and in his photography lab at night. He was determined to invent a dry film emulsion made of gelatin, which hobbyists thought would be more practical than the chemicals in use at the time. After some months of experimenting, he came up with a workable emulsion. He designed a coating machine to apply it to the plate. Eastman took money from his savings and sailed for England, where he applied for patents for both his emulsion and coating machine. The emulsion sold modestly well, but more importantly, Eastman was building a reputation for reliability. That reputation would be important when he embarked on a new pursuit, designing a flexible base to replace the photographic plate. In 1884, after two more years of constant experimentation, Eastman began selling a paper base he called film. He also designed a holder from which to roll the paper. Film's weight and flexibility were wonderful, but developing it was tricky, because the emulsion had to be carefully peeled from the base. It also sold modestly. Eastman continued to develop new ideas and to market them. In 1888, he sailed to England again, to patent a trademark name he had been mulling over for quite some time. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: He was trying to find a name that was incredibly memorable, that you couldn't forget, you couldn't confuse it with anything else, that would satisfy all patent laws in a variety of different countries. And which he himself said, because of the two constants, ko dak, it sounded like the click of a camera shutter, so that it would always remind you of, in fact, what the company was associated with. NARRATOR: The first product Eastman introduced under the name Kodak would change the course of photography. It was a camera half the size of a shoe box, 22 ounces in weight. It wasn't the first small camera, by any means. Smaller camera bodies had been introduced by various companies in the 1880s. But Eastman added something ingenious, a 50 foot roll of film, capable of making 100 exposures. Loaded with film, the camera cost a steep $25. But Eastman's stroke of genius was that for $10, his company would process the film, reload the camera, and return the camera and prints to the customer. [clicking] GEOFFREY BATCHEN: He marketed this whole process under the slogan, you press the button, we do the rest. And this was his-- in a way, he revolutionized the whole business, because the most unskilled amateur could now take photographs. NARRATOR: The Kodak camera went on the market in July of 1888. In six months, to Eastman's astonishment, he had sold 2,500, and set a course for the future of photography. In the next century, Kodak cameras would be offered in every shape, size, and color imaginable. A camera marketed for children was called the Brownie. A camera targeted at women included a lipstick and compact. Eastman's company would reach into every arena of amateur and professional photography. Kodak became the household name in photographic supplies, and it is to this day. Eastman's real genius lay in his business sense. His advertising campaigns were brilliant. GEOFFREY BATCHEN: His advertising constantly played on ideas of memory, and desire, and loss. The idea that if one didn't take a photograph, one would lose this memory, and with it, your entire child's childhood, if you like. NARRATOR: Eastman's pioneering achievements in photography would extend to other mediums, as well. His work in film was in no small measure responsible for an invention on another frontier, the moving picture. New lenses, new cameras, and a new century would bring great changes to the way people use photography. But a large disappointment remained, how to turn a black and white world into color. As the 19th century drew to a close, the evolution of the camera and of chemical processes allowed photography to expand further into science and business. Police work, x-rays, and news photography were just some of its uses. People readily accepted photography's usefulness, but few accepted it as art. In fact, most early photographers did not see themselves as artists. But a few visionaries, like Julia Margaret Cameron, took photography to a higher level. In the 1860s, Cameron set out to create portraits that were art. She used dramatic lighting, and borrowed ideas from the classics. She converted a chicken coop into a darkroom, and composed personal dramatic portraits of her friends. Among her subjects where the scientist Darwin, the poet Tennyson, and the Alice, who as a child had inspired Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland." WESTON NAEF: I think she is one of the greatest of geniuses in the 19th century, and in the whole history of photography. NARRATOR: Critics mocked her soft focus. She never made a profit, and her work lay in obscurity for many years after her death. Photography would not find a welcoming place in art galleries until the 20th century. Its acceptance was due in large part to Alfred Stieglitz. A photographer, collector, and critic, Stieglitz opened a small gallery in New York in 1905. And for 30 something years, exhibited photographs side by side with great contemporary works of art. WESTON NAEF: Stieglitz believed profoundly that a photograph could be as important a work of art as any painting or any sculpture that he had ever seen. NARRATOR: It is clear from the works of Degas, Delacroix, and other turn of the century painters, that they drew inspiration from photography. The notion of photography as art came slowly, but by the 1880s, the camera had become a powerful political and social tool in the hands of some documentarians. The homeless and recent immigrants were the subjects of both Jacob Riis, a New York photographer in the 1890s, and of Lewis Hine, a decade later. Hine's photographs of children in sweatshops helped initiate the passage of child labor laws. In the dust bowls of the Midwest and the migrant camps of the far west, Dorothea Lange, Walker Evans, and other government photographers recorded rural lives displaced by drought and poverty during the Great Depression. In its first 50 years, the camera had been very limited by lighting conditions. The invention of flash powder changed all that in 1887, but it was not without danger. It also caught people's hair on fire, put acrid smoke in the air, and occasionally exploded. The flash bulb would not come into common use until the 1930s, to tidy things up a bit. With all the ingenious improvements in photography, why was the invention of color such a diabolically difficult task? The concept that colors could be made from three primary colors had been demonstrated by James Clerk Maxwell in 1861. JONATHAN GREEN: The problem was, of course, how to find a way to capture these three primary or secondary colors on a piece of film. NARRATOR: Two Parisian brothers, Claude and Louis Lumiere, would make an ingenious breakthrough in color in 1904. They died separate batches of tiny granules of potato starch in one of the three primary colors. They combined the different colored granules on film. The granules of potato starch acted like miniature filters. Their film, autochrome, rendered exquisite colors, but was expensive, and had limited sensitivity to light. Only a handful of professional photographers used it. Eastman's research department had explored color film for two decades, without much success. But the invention of 35 millimeter film, still photography, and motion pictures, would light a fire under the company. There was money to be made. JONATHAN GREEN: I think it was a major engineering task to figure out how to do it. And certainly, the incentive of 35 millimeter, I think, is what forced Kodak to find a way to make color practical. NARRATOR: Kodak marketed a 35 millimeter color slide film in 1932, but Eastman did not live to see it. In 1931 Eastman turned 78. He was wealthy beyond his dreams, a friend of the powerful and famous. Man of eclectic tastes, he loved big game hunting, and elegant dinners, camping, and classical music. After his 78th birthday, a party was given for Eastman at his home. Shortly after the guests left, his secretary heard a gunshot, and rushed upstairs. Eastman had ended his life with a bullet to his brain. The father of the modern photographic process left a note that said only, my work is done, why wait. Within two decades, a young man as keen in his business hunches as George Eastman, as visionary as Henry Ford, would bring photography full circle to its beginning. Edwin Land, a Harvard freshman in the 1920s, was walking down Broadway in New York City on a college trip. The marquee lights dazzled him, so did the headlights of the cars wooshing by. At that moment, he got an idea that was set the course of his entire career. What if a filter could be designed that would cut the glare of the car's headlights? Land immediately took a leave of absence from Harvard. He worked intensely for three years, in a makeshift lab, in New York City. Finally, he achieved his goal. He was able to make an artificial material that allowed only light rays moving in one direction through it, a term called polarizing. The result, no more glare. The Kodak company immediately saw the material's potential as a camera filter. In 1934, Kodak signed a contract with Land. He was in business. Land clearly wasn't thinking about the camera when he made this discovery. Even so, he had just laid the groundwork for a stunning breakthrough in photography. A breakthrough that land himself would make a decade later. Land's greatest invention would come to him in the same flash of insight his original idea had taken. Land was on a family trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico, in 1944, when his three-year-old daughter asked why she had to wait to see a photograph he had taken of her. In that moment, he visualized the elements that would be needed in a camera that could make a photograph almost instantaneously. He immediately realized that his life's work in plastics and polarizers had laid the basis for the invention of an instantly developing photograph. But it would take three years of research to develop the idea into a workable prototype. Land's film consisted of a positive and negative sheet, with chemical seal in between. When the photographer pulled the exposed film through the rollers at the back of the camera, the chemicals spread across both sheets, processing and developing the film within minutes. In 1948 the first Land camera was sold for $89.50 at Jordan Marsh in Boston. Over five million were purchased in the first year. Today, Polaroid cameras are popular around the world. Oddly enough, Polaroid pictures, which are direct positives, are the modern equivalent of the daguerreotype. The story of the camera had come full circle. The first pictures took eight hours to make. Today a picture takes a fraction of a second. We use photography to push nearly every scientific frontier. JONATHAN GREEN: It's hard to imagine, at this point in time, a world without photography. I think it's changed the entire human consciousness of the way that we look at, and perceive, and deal with the real world. NARRATOR: The vision of so many centuries ago, to capture the reflected image of light, is as magical today as it was then. And it is possible through a simple, but ingenious invention. The camera.

Results

1826 gubernatorial election, Illinois
Party Candidate Votes % ±
Anti-Jacksonian Ninian Edwards 6,280 49.47 N/A
Jacksonian Thomas Sloo Jr. 5,834 45.96 N/A
Independent Adolphus Hubbard 580 4.57 N/A
Majority 446 3.51 N/A
Turnout 12,694
Anti-Jacksonian gain from Independent Swing

References

  • Illinois Blue Book 1899
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