Throughout these years I was the photographer, but for more than 14 years one man was the principal developer of these pictures: William Lin, the owner of Photo Master in the Pruneyard Shopping Center. After developing endless rolls for me, he too has ended up watching my children grow, knows where we've vacationed, who's come to visit and all the other major milestones. The progression of my family's life through these images took my relationship with William beyond the photo-developing stage. When I picked up my photos we often would chat about what was unveiled in those negatives.

Then a couple of weeks ago I learned he was permanently closing his business on Sept. 15. After 16 years in the Pruneyard, he had been unable to successfully renegotiate his lease. The news was sudden, and my reaction was that of good friend being put out to dry. I was concerned for his future. Where would he go? What would he do? When I asked him, he simply smiled and shrugged, a shrug that went all the way into his heart.

I know that business is business when it comes to the bottom line, but when you have known a person and utilized his services for almost as long as his doors have been open, you feel his sense of loss, his heartache and his uncertainty, even as he maintains a stoic front.

If William had chosen to retire or move, I would have been sorry to see him leave, probably just given him a hug and wished him the very best. I wouldn't have found myself walking around angry and discussing his situation with my family and co-workers, telling all who would listen that it was the classic story of David and Goliath—only Goliath was winning. I know if he could have worked it out with the landlord, William would have gladly stayed right where he has been for the past 16 years. Then his only battle would have been with the declining photo developing industry, not the property managers. But after a year of renting month-to-month, the pressure of the unknown became too great and he decided it was time to close shop.

With his departure, there will no longer be a business and a man in the Pruneyard who randomly does little things for his customers—handing out boxes of chocolate, bottles of wine and other small gifts as tokens of appreciation during the holidays. There will also be one less merchant in the shopping center that serves as a benchmark in customer service. William did more than just provide the personalized service that set him apart from the franchise camera and photo developing stores; he provided a complete package of features from black-and-white development to camera repair to customized holiday greeting cards. His way of doing business was the old-fashioned "knowing your customer" way, the small-town way that is rapidly becoming a thing of the past.

With only a week left, William still has frames, accessories and other store items to sell off at a 50-percent discount before he locks the door for the last time. Yet the other day I asked him how the inventory closeout was going. He said he'd sold quite a bit. Things were going well. I looked around the store and the shelves definitely looked thinner. Then I noticed something else.

In all the years I'd been coming to his store he's always had classical music trumpeting in the background. On hard days walking into Photo Master and hearing a lively symphony made things a bit more malleable, even downright uplifting. But not today: there was only silence, because the coda had already been played.

Moryt Milo is the editor of The Campbell Reporter. She can be contacted at 408.200.1051 or mmilo@svcn.com.