How do you feel about photographs? Do they fascinate you? Are you drawn to them? Most importantly, do you throw them away? I’m only asking because I cannot trash a picture.
Recently, I read about an author who researched letters of men who traveled to the gold fields via wagon train. These men seemed completely ignorant of what their trip meant to the natives around them, basically because they were too busy staying alive to notice. They carefully recounted their hardships and failures and, just as we do today, seemed oblivious to the mark they were making in history.
When I grew up, we kids both played cowboys and Indians and watched them on TV. I know, I know, I’m being insensitive, but we did not play cowboys and Native Americans, okay?
How much of TV and movies in that era depicted true accounts of the wild west? Probably not many, although there seems to have been a sincere attempt to provide an accurate visual reproduction.
I clearly recall references to Native Americans’ aversion to having their pictures taken and I decided to do some internet research. This proved disappointing. I found few references to this bit of history and the ones I did find were clearly not vintage as the word Indian was not used. I located some articles that suggested Native Americans were wary of having their photographs taken. Some refused, feeling the images disrespected the spiritual world. Native Americans eventually cherished photographs, using them as links to their ancestors. Over time, pictures were even integrated into religious ceremonies. How much of this is true? Perhaps the original assertion was merely a ploy to make the native population appear naïve and superstitious. How can we know? But my feelings about photographs are no less extreme.
I have boxes of pictures we’ve taken through the years. These have been augmented by boxes from my mom. I went in search of a photo of my family at the beach in the 30s knowing I’ve seen photos like that. One box of pictures my mom handed down was from Great Aunt Ruth. She’s been gone for quite a while and I believed I might find what I needed in her box. I was instantly rewarded with a photo of my great-grandmother as a young woman. Her name was Alice Afflerbach and I’d never seen a picture of her before.
I found myself sitting at a table sorting pictures: family members I knew; old, cool photographs; people I didn’t know at all; and lastly, people my cousin claimed were some distant relations I’d never heard of.
Oddly, I came across a snipped, yellowed newspaper article—the only one in the box. It was a Dear Abby column. The author of the question was distraught. Having retired, she set about labeling and sorting her photographs and couldn’t remember the places or people in her own pictures. Aunt Ruth certainly didn’t take the article to heart since only a handful of her photos were captioned. Undaunted, I continued sifting.
Through it all, I knew I wouldn’t discard a single picture, no matter how little it meant to me. There’s something sacred about a photograph. Maybe that’s the only record of how a person looked, even if I don’t know who they were. All my stuff is headed for the Goodwill anyway, what does it matter if it goes now or later?
I’m committed to labeling as many photographs as I can, but I know I won’t be throwing any out. And I truly enjoy looking at the really old ones—a glimpse of how people appeared back in the day. I guess that’s how thrift store shoppers will feel about me in my mini skirt from the 60s when they rifle through old photos one day. But just maybe, my grand-kids will keep a few.
Can’t help but share a few more photos.
Hope you enjoyed our photographic journey back in time. Say, can you share your feelings on photographs? I need all the support/ideas I can get!