Hems and Hers

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There's a story in my family about a similar situation, which involves the word "severed." But as I don't want to embarrass my brother, who shall go nameless, Walter, I won't mention it here.

Valentine's Day, The Prequel

Mysterious Heart

More Joyful Noise

Check out this tiny troupe. They're armed with drums, tambourines, triangles, cymbals and more. Try to imagine the aural assault when this crew got things going. And most of the kids look eager and excited.

The Radiant Child

Remembrance of Things Past: Someone Else's Life

This post started out as just a few watermelon images I have, sort of lamenting the end of summer. But melon becomes madeleine today.

Instead, it's about what one of the pictures, above, shows and doesn't show. You see the photo and see an old man, enjoying the heart of half a watermelon and the company of his dog. Simple pleasures in the autumn of life. His name was Juan Fernandez McLean, of Scots-Irish descent despite the given names. The dog's name is Mike.

Here's some of what it doesn't show. (All this comes from a letter he wrote in 1884 to a niece, and some public records.)

At the age of 7:

"On the 4th of February 1846, just a little after sunset, Mama was stricken down very suddenly of a heart disease, and died almost instantly. Thus at an early age we were deprived of a fond, loving Mother, and right at a time when we needed her care and council the most. She was a devoted Christian and faithful Mother and her loss was irreparable. As young as I was, I felt that my best earthly friend was gone, and her place could never be supplied; and while I write this, tears flow in remembrance of her. It was a loss that none can know anything about except those who have been similarly bereaved. I can sympathize and weep with motherless children, and pray God to verify his promises to them. Our Father, it did seem, could not sustain such a shock. His grief was indescribable. It was so sudden and unexpected that he could hardly bear up under it; but his children had claims upon him, and like the noble and faithful father that he was, he tried to comfort and console them, although his own heart seemed to burst from his breast. He took his almost helpless children, and did the very best he could under the circumstances."

His father remarried, badly:

"She was young and tolerably handsome, but very ignorant and wholly incompetent to assume the responsibilities of such a family. I think this marriage was the greatest mistake of his life, and why a man of such prudence and discernment should make such a choice has been a mystery to his children."

It got worse:

"After being married nearly four years, Pa was taken sick, and after an illness of two weeks, he died on the 12th day of October 1850. We were now left in a wretched condition indeed. Our last and only earthly protector and councilor had left us..."

Having survived all that he did, Mr. McLean never lost his sense of humor. This is his description of his stepmother:

"A few month’s previous to sister’s death, an event took place that brought joy to all our hearts. That was no less than the marriage of our stepmother. No one after a long imprisonment, after being liberated from a prison, could have rejoiced more than we did. She married in Sept. 1853 to one David C. Mahaffy, a mean vagabond that no one knew anything about. After her marriage, she moved off three or four miles, taking her own children with her. Her husband lived with her a few months, spent what property she had, and then ran away to parts unknown. He has never been heard from since... She has suffered a great deal since she left the old homestead, but not more perhaps than she justly merited."

Then the bloodiest war in American history broke out. He joined July 8, 1861. He fought as a Confederate infantryman and was severely wounded at the battle of Cold Harbor on June 27, 1862. The doctor's report on his pension application describes the wound: "Ball entered right arm about half way between the elbow and shoulder blade on out side of arm ball ranged upward passing entirely through the arm & coming out inside of arm just below shoulder joint - ball shattered bone and cut muscle the bone never properly united and muscle perished away."

He went home to recuperate for a year, then returned to war, rejoining the fight until he was captured at Spotsylvania on May 12, 1864. Held in a prison camp until September, he was paroled and freed in exchange for Union prisoners. Then he went home. Three of his brothers had died in the war.

"When I reached home, I found many of the people in a destitute condition. Most everything that any of my brothers' families had, had been swept away. We had lost everything except what little land we owned. I took charge of brother Oliver’s children, and on Dec. 29th, I married his widow, and began to make some arrangements to sustain them, which I found exceedingly difficult, and for months we were hard run for the necessaries of life. But by hard work and economy we were, in a year or two, enabled to make something—at least a comfortable living."

There was more illness to come, but he bore it as he had his other tribulations:

"It is unpleasant to be afflicted, but I regret the condition I am in on account of my children, whom I was anxious to give a good education; However, I must not complain—no doubt it is all for the best."

I am sure it would astonish Mr. McLean that a stranger from the future is writing about him and his life, though I'm something less than a complete stranger. My great-grandfather was his neighbor, and had lost his left arm in the Spotsylvania battle on the same day Mr. McLean was captured.

When Mr. McLean died in 1916, the newspaper notice said this:

"Mr. J. F. McLane, of near Woolsey, died Wednesday of paralysis and the funeral exercises were conducted at Woolsey. Mr. McLane was seventy-seven years of age and since we can remember was considered one of the county's best citizens. He served as a member of the Board of Education for many years. He was active in his church and for more than forty years had superintended Sabbath schools in the county. The county and that section has lost one of its best men."

Surviving

There's something about an object that has survived despite being abused. I knew a collector who wanted things that had been repaired, including wood, ceramic and metal, and the more obvious and expressive the treatment, the better. She called them mends and make-do's. I enjoyed seeing the things she'd found, for the cleverness, the frugality, and the honest results of age they showed. There's a real authenticity to those things.

Occasionally I find photographs that have been repaired, like this one of some men who worked as traveling salesmen of lightning rods. Maybe their on-the-road lifestyle was the reason the picture sustained the damage it did. Anyway, here it is a hundred years later, showing some character.

Motionless Picture

Consider this thing: a photograph of a strip of motion picture film consisting of a sequence of frames showing only a motionless sign.


Gives a new meaning to film still.

Exposed

Keeping a blog, and reading those of others, is interesting both for what is revealed and what is concealed. I suppose that we're all practicing some form of self-portraiture. Thinking about that today reminded me of a real photo postcard in my collection that has a single scrawled word on it, "Me." I bought it for two reasons: first, for that lonely, concise and assertive inscription, and second, because it's a portrait of the photographer himself, who, for once, has stepped around in front of the camera. Leaning against his leg is a large case, and against it, a film holder with the word Exposed clearly visible.

Orange Efficiency

This snapshot of a structure built in the shape of an orange was found without any information as to its location, who created it, or its purpose. I like the curved slot doorway and that the surface is pebbled just like orange rind. Ma and Pa are both smiling.

Light and Dark

There was no context for this found photograph, so I have no clue of its origin. Loving black and white, or light and dark, imagery as I do, though, it was compelling. It seems to involve a long exposure time, and instead of being light reflected from a subject, the light is generated by the subject. Could it be anti-aircraft fire and tracers?

Not Diane Arbus

Sometimes a found object strongly recalls the work of a famous artist. If someone secretly mounted this in an exhibition of Diane Arbus photographs, I wonder if anyone would question its presence.