Calgary 1945. There used to be sidewalk photographers with big box cameras on tripods that would take pictures of people walking towards them.  They'd take the picture and then leap out at you with a little chit that the next day you took to whatever photographer's studio or camera store it was to pick up the print.  I remember them in Victoria when I was very little.  We never picked up the pictures, but the previous generation did, especially during the war.

I think they are wonderful and wish it still happened.  One holds one's face and body differently out shopping with your mother than you do standing still posing for a picture taken by your brother, or husband, or sister.  This one, Calgary 1945, shows a gaily defiant hat, lovely open-toed shoes despite it being winter, great coats, gloves carried elegantly in one hand, a slight aversion to being photographed on the left, a pleased-to-be-caught look on the right. 

This was a time when people dressed up to go downtown, the street was a stage, as it still is on European pavements.  These photographs show a situation where the subjects aren't entirely in control of when the photo will be taken, but they are half-prepared.  I think that today no one really feels that anyone is looking at them, so it is okay to dash about in jeans and sweaters and running shoes.  Streets here are a kind of zone of anonymity where not much matters.  Certainly no one will  invade your privacy by taking a photo of you.  Our loss I think.