1/23/15

A WEE CART in Scotland


I generally don't post images that are related to my family; I'm a private person. However, the prompt from Sepia Saturday this week was just too easy.

I give you my paternal grandfather in Scotland. I do not know the wee lassie sitting next to him. Perhaps she's family, but I'll never know. I like to imagine it's me sitting there bundled up for a nice ride through the countryside.


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My grandfather lived a hard life. When he was a teenager he contracted pneumonia and lost the use of one lung. Because of this he did not serve in World War I and my father has always wondered if he was treated badly by others because otherwise he looked to be a very healthy young man. He worked in a steelworks in Scotland before emigrating to California in 1921, first passing through Ellis Island. My grandmother, who had yet to marry, followed in 1922. They lived for the rest of their lives in Northern California. They had one son who is still alive today, my father. A second son died within hours of his birth. The third son, my uncle, died last year.

Of the four grandchildren, I am the only one who knew him. He died before any of my cousins were born. I have few memories of him, but I have rich stories my father has told me.
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1/22/15

Gone FISHIN' in 1956


A man in search of a beer bottle. Seriously, I keep thinking there's an invisible bottle of beer in his hand.


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1/21/15

Gone FISHIN' in 1956


Sittin' near the dock of the bay.


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1/20/15

Gone FISHIN'


It was July 1956 and Donald G. Schnabel was out on the water with some fellas for a day of fishing. The slides say "Greenport Trip" which means nada to me. I have no idea where Greenport is so I did a search and apparently it's on Long Island.


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Too bad the boat isn't named the Minnow. Since none of the gentleman in the photos I'll show over the next week are named, I'll let you decide which one is Gilligan and which one is the Skipper. It's up to you if you want to name one Ginger and another Mary Ann.


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1/19/15

LOST MAN in Paris


There's a story to be told for this photo, I just don't know what it is. A writer alone searching for the great American novel? A former soldier who has returned in hopes of finding a lost love? A spy waiting to make contact with another agent? There are thousands of stories to be told about Paris.


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Of course, he's not really alone, there is a photographer right next to him, but just as when we watch a movie and forget about the entire crew standing there watching, we can often suspend reality when we step into a photo; the photographer doesn't exist, just the person in the shot.
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1/18/15

A cold WINTER DAY IN PARIS


I generally don't have regrets; I find them pointless and annoying. But I do wish I'd seen the insides of Notre Dame. I still don't know why I never went in. I guess there just wasn't enough time and I had other things to see. I like to tell myself that someday I'll go back and see it, but I know that's probably not true. So I'll leave that as an almost regret in life.


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1/17/15

Our man in PARIS


A few more shots of our unknown man in Paris. In the first shot you'll see Donald G. Schnabel on the left. If you don't know Donald's previous photos just do a label search. I have hundreds of slides taken by him and will slowly sort through them. Remember Bahrain? Betty?






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FREE MAN in Paris


In 1956 this unknown gentleman was in Paris having his photo taken by Donald G. Schnabel.



For some of us 1956 is part of our lives, but for most it's ancient history; I still have trouble wrapping my brain around that. My time line reference points are often far different than those I meet. Today I told a young man about a local joint that makes incredible old fashioned milk shakes with real ice cream that's served in the cold metal containers that it was made in. I got back a blank stare. I hit my hand against my head and said, "But of course that means nothing to you." His reference point is a corporate milk shake in a cardboard container, mine is a mom and pop place with a jukebox. 

The man in this photo was probably around my current age when this was taken, maybe even younger. Imagine his time line reference points. His memories were colored by two world wars in which Paris played a part. Now here he was walking the streets over 10 years after the last war.




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I didn't get to Paris for another 17 years. Looking at these photos I feel like maybe we shared the same Paris even though time had passed. There's just something about Paris.

And now one of my reference points for Paris.



This is my submission for Sepia Saturday. The only thin connection to the theme is France and not understanding the reference point for the theme photo.
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