A Lens on an Era

Freeman was just starting out in his mid-20s when New York Times photographer George Tames, now deceased, pointed him to Asman for film-developing in 1963. Freeman, a young African American trying to navigate his way in a field dominated by white men, found in George Asman, known as "Mickey," a business owner who valued high quality but was, above all, gracious.

"When times were bad, and I needed $5,000 to $6,000 credit, Mickey would go ahead and give it to me," Freeman recalled.

As his career took off, Freeman stayed loyal to Asman. Asman's efficiency gave him an edge, he said.

The day President Richard M. Nixon resigned, most of the magazine and newspaper photographers positioned themselves in the garden outside the White House and focused their lenses on the red carpet, where Nixon and his successor, Gerald R. Ford, walked toward a waiting helicopter. Freeman, who couldn't get positioned to photograph the red carpet, guessed the best shot would happen at the helicopter door, so he pointed his camera there. Nixon stepped onto the helicopter, whirled around and held up two fingers in a V and . . . click, click, click.

Freeman, one of a few to get that shot, had a messenger waiting to dash the film to Asman with an order to put the job on "super rush," which meant the film would be developed in an hour and ready for the next flight to New York or wherever.

"All that fast-running news of the '60s, you'd shoot something on the Hill and run it to Asman's and put it on rush," Freeman recalled.

At its height in 1999, the business made about $1.2 million and employed 18 workers, Barry Asman said.

But times changed dramatically.

"Now, everybody and their cousin have a digital camera and a printer in the basement, and they don't need a photo lab," Freeman said.

As sales slipped, Barry Asman tried to keep up. In 2001, he bought a $210,000 digital imaging machine, then another for $114,000.

In 2002, the Supreme Court, a longtime customer, went mostly digital, said Steve Petteway, the court's photographer, who initiated the change.

"In the world we live in now," he said, "if you take a picture, someone calls an hour later, asking for a copy. If you don't have a digital image, you're in trouble."

By the time Asman's closed, sales had dropped to about $450,000. Just three workers remained.

Barry Asman said he paid off the expensive digital machines but began thinking three years ago that it might be time to move on. It was a tough decision for the son, who started in the lab when he was 10, standing on gallon cans to help wash and dry photos.

"Sometimes, people stay in business too long, and they end up leveraging their house," he said. "For me, it was a good time to reassess and get out."

He has sold some of the old equipment on e-Bay and plans to lease the Capitol Hill office space. He has a job as an account manager at Dodge Color in Silver Spring, a digital imaging company that does big jobs, such as retail signs and trade show exhibits.

George Asman developed Alzheimer's disease and kidney cancer and was living in a retirement community outside Annapolis when he died. Eventually, the company's business records and old prints will be archived in the District's public library. Soon, the old darkroom will be stripped and dismantled.