We live in a golden age of creativity the world has never before experienced and may never again. My creativity ebbs and flows like all artists, it is not a steady stream but a river that will burst dams and dry up within the same season. Lately I've been drawn to far more physical creative projects that require skill and care to avoid injury while bringing ideas to fruition. Then it dawned on me, I miss the physicality of analog photography far beyond any quality argument that can be made. Photography was until recently a hands on experience that resulted in physical objects. Rolls of fim, a sheet of negatives, a contact print, then finally a print that you could hold. I miss that, ones and zeros are fine, but having tangible results that aren't just flickers on a screen are far more satisfying. Then I came across of box of history lodged in the back of my safe. Family photos, momentos, heirlooms (valuable only to me) and holding those prints brought back a flood of memories, ones that can be viewed without power, no upgrades or plugins needed.
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| Les and Walt Hayes on the homestead circa 1925 |
I've shared stories of my grandfather Les, and thought it time to share another to mark this occasion of finding an old picture. The image above is of my grandfather Les (on the pony) and his older brother Walt on our homestead near Renner, South Dakota. While undated the image has to be from the late 1920's based on their age. These young boys would see a Hell that couldn't be imagined when the photograph was taken. Even for young men of hard upbringing things would forever change them before we would meet. I knew Les as kindly but stern grandfather that spoiled us grand kids more with every passing year. Walt was different, he was mean and scared me as a young boy. I found out later that while they had both served in Europe during WWII, Walt didn't make it through intact like Les did. He had seen to much horror and his mind had broke. He was forever bitter at the world and all who inhabited it, I cannot fault him, I would have to walk in his shoes to do that.
Almost a hundred years later I hold the image of these two brothers long before all this would happen. Simply two young men awaiting all the promises life has to offer. I fear we will loose this physical connection to the past with the absence of analog photography that seems so prevalent today. Holding the past in our hands is something we should be careful to not give up so easily. I curse a world that makes memories disposable.
Being from the Midwest I cannot help but tell a story about these brothers
Near the end of Walt's life he was confined to the VA and asked Les (his brother) to get him a pack of smokes. Les wasn't about to pay for them and Walt didn't have any cash, but he had some hid at the house. He told Les that there was a gas can out in the shed with some money, he could use that and get the smokes. Mind you Les wasn't hurting for money but wasn't about to part with his funds on this venture. Les went to the house and found the can, but couldn't get the roll of money out so he cut the can open and retrieved nearly $10,000 in cash. He took the money (less a pack of smokes) back to Walt with a receipt and relayed the story about the gas can. Walt demanded Les repay him for the value of the now ruined can.
Knowing how a story ends doesn't matter as much as how it started, I'll continue to hold my memories. But like I said, we live in a golden age.
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