Black And White Photos
So there we were, in the finality of closing the house. The new owners stated it was to be “broom clean,” which means “every last piece of dust.” Every last piece of memories.
Here’s the small tea kettle with the slight dent in it I used so often; taking that with me. There’s the cigar box labeled “pieces of string too small to save”; guess we can finally get rid of that, as well. And here are some 78 rpm records. Didn’t know these were here. A little worse for wear, but I think they should play.
Bing Crosby … “White Christmas.” I’ve got that on a long-playing album now, but I’d love to hear the swishing sound of the 78 again. Here’s a Spike Jones and his City Slickers. I saw them in Bridgeport when I was about six years old; what a sight. My parents got me a little Spike Jones drum set a year later for Christmas.
These are the old “photos” of years past. I can remember hearing the Crosby record on that old, but modern for 1948, plastic Victrola in my grandparents’ house I’ve mentioned before. Good machine and we had some nice records. I even remember where it was in the room and the one-play needles we used over and over.
The memories are better than any photos because I am not only in them, but I can remember the details even after all these years. The Spike Jones likewise takes me back to memories of the Klein Memorial Auditorium in Bridgeport, the excitement of that evening when this famous band played the city.
Here’s the small tea kettle with the slight dent in it I used so often; taking that with me. There’s the cigar box labeled “pieces of string too small to save”; guess we can finally get rid of that, as well. And here are some 78 rpm records. Didn’t know these were here. A little worse for wear, but I think they should play.
Bing Crosby … “White Christmas.” I’ve got that on a long-playing album now, but I’d love to hear the swishing sound of the 78 again. Here’s a Spike Jones and his City Slickers. I saw them in Bridgeport when I was about six years old; what a sight. My parents got me a little Spike Jones drum set a year later for Christmas.
These are the old “photos” of years past. I can remember hearing the Crosby record on that old, but modern for 1948, plastic Victrola in my grandparents’ house I’ve mentioned before. Good machine and we had some nice records. I even remember where it was in the room and the one-play needles we used over and over.
The memories are better than any photos because I am not only in them, but I can remember the details even after all these years. The Spike Jones likewise takes me back to memories of the Klein Memorial Auditorium in Bridgeport, the excitement of that evening when this famous band played the city.
posted by Tom Carten at 12:51 AM
1 Comments:
I wonder about black and white photography. How is it that the shadings between these two colors can produce a product of infinate depth, something that communicates much better than a full-color portrait can. I notice the same thing listening to old-time radio shows. Very often, I can enjoy this mental imagery much more than watching and listening combined. It just somehow seems strange.
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