Every Picture Tells A Story

Black & White Photos

The box which was stored safely in the closet was opened. I had been anxiously waiting to look through these black and white photographs. Layer upon layer they were stacked in no apparent order. Atop of the photos was a short terse letter from our aunt and uncle who sent them to us for our pleasure as they really meant nothing to them. Patiently the photos waited for the right moment and right people to go through them.
My sister and I stared at the box of yellowed black and white photos supposedly of our maternal grandmother and family. They came in all shapes and sizes. Some were studio but most were taken by someone who thought the moment needed to be caught. The sad reality is that those stories will likely never be told. What we found was an assortment of people and places that were unnamed.
As hard as we tried, we could name very few of these people. They were pretty good looking photos from the 1920s, 30s, and 40s. A non restrained giddiness overcame us. Faces of stern men and women with children on their laps seemed to become all the same. Notes scribbled on the back such as “I suppose you can pick me out”, or “The Three Musketeers”, “little Betty” or “Our dog Johny with us” were not the least bit helpful. It did provide us with no end of comedy, but I guess you had to be there.
I packed them up to bring home. Someone, somehow must know who these long since dead but kind of funny looking people were. My first choice was to go to the oldest family member and have her scan them and see if she could name them. Luckily for me she agreed to meet one afternoon to help me go through them.
It must have looked overwhelming when I rolled up to her sidewalk with my 24 inch wheeled carry-on suitcase. This was the easiest way to carry around my dead relatives, believe me.
Slowly we went through the photos and she was able to help me sort them and put names to most of them. There are still a handful of questionable characters left hanging around in my suitcase, but I have another plan for that.
Pictures are the genealogists best friend when it comes to getting a story. As I poured through these with my sister Betty, stories poured out. Well some had to be pulled out while others needed to come out of the cob webs, but they came. The stories of family, farms, weddings, favorite brothers, working grandmothers, mother and sisters and more just flowed through the afternoon. I was overwhelmed and absolutely awestruck by the knowledge that people have locked inside of them just for the asking.
I loaded our pictures back into the suitcase careful not to dislodge the many sticky notes and organizational piles we attempted to put together.
I love a picture that tells a story. Not just the shiny one shown on the glossy side, but the story that hides on its not so shiny side. I want a story that brings to me pieces of “humanness” to the flat world it lives in. I want a story that extends beyond it's white boarders. I want a story that lies behind and around the picture.
I visualize in my bizarre mind that each picture extends outward in all directions; some wider, some longer, some deeper or more elevated in its meanings. I visualize that these individual pictures come together to form a connected story (like puzzle pieces falling together). I long for no missing pieces at all. Alas, it would take a miracle to piece all these pictures together into one coherent story.

Don't we all have pictures somewhere? Aren't they all unnamed and undated?. Now imagine your grandchildren or great grandchildren going through them. You can bet that the story that lies within them will not be the story that they will have. If every picture is worth a thousand words, then I plead with you to tell them in your words.

WendyKH