Friday, March 30, 2018

Ladies Who Drink



Looks like the same era as yesterday's post, but with alcohol. 

Okay, I scanned a number of square format prints into the computer, and for some odd reason, I didn't bother to look at the back before uploading to the blog.  So, as an addendum, written on the back, "Maria Sompgna, Carol Mercusic, Feb. 56." 

Thursday, March 29, 2018

Ladies Who Lunch



I suspect I've used this title before, and if I have I probably wrote that ladies who lunch refer to a certain type of wealthy woman, quite often a trophy wife type, who either doesn't work or has a profession that can be thought of more as a hobby income rather than a true career.  Think our current First Lady when she was still a former model living in Manhattan. 

Dated "SEP 60,"  these ladies come from that post World War 2 era when an expanding middle class allowed for stay at home wives and mothers.  Too, after the war, (And the Korean War, as well.) it was considered bad form for women to work and deny jobs to returning soldiers.  Of course, this picture was taken just a few years before women started saying to hell with that.

Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Be More Specific



It wasn't that long ago where a reference to turn of the century meant a few years either way from 1900.  Now I have to be more specific.  My guess on this one is late 1890's to early 1900's. 

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

One Big Bottle



Quite a contrast between the two men in this picture.  One, a soldier, well dressed, looking like he's enjoying his weekend pass, with his hat askew..  The other, dirty, haggard, cradling a pith helmet in his lap.  And that big bottle, and perhaps I'm being too obvious in my judgement, probably containing something alcoholic.  I like the idea of a freed prisoner from someplace like the Philippines, sharing a drink with one of the men who helped with his liberation. 

Monday, March 26, 2018

Sixties Youth




Ah, the 1960's, and all things considered, a rather subdued fashion choice for the era.  Dated "APR 67." 

For what it's worth, I used the color correction setting on the scanner.

Sunday, March 25, 2018

We'uns At Westlake



The message is visable, but since it's sideways, "We'uns the two next the bank.. Taken at West Lake Park Los Angeles, Cal. Jan. 7.  Many thanks for the present comes in handy.  K. H. Gelleus, Ash Fork, Ariz."  It was mailed from Ash Fork on February 26, 1906 and made it to Miss Jesse Wilson in Caney, Kansas on the 28th of the same month.  I'm not sure the post office could make the same quick delivery today.

So, a few things.  It was actually Westlake Park, named for Dr. Henricus Wallace Westlake, a Canadian doctor who moved to L.A., was a successful physician, bought  and sold real estate, and was the president of a couple of no longer in existence companies.  He donated the land to the city for a park.  Today we would call it a wetland, but at the time it was considered a swamp, and a good place to dump garbage. It's name was changed to MacArthur Park after World War 2.  Yes, the same MacArthur Park of the weird, stoner song of the same name.

 Ash Fork is the self proclaimed flagstone capitol of the world.  I've been there.  It's in northern Arizona along one of the few remaining bits of old route 66, and I-40.  Truthfully, I have no real memory of the place, but I've driven the route.  Caney, Kansas is just a small town in the middle of the prairie.

I wasn't quite sure of the spelling of the Gelleus name, but after trying a few variations, I found it on Ancestry.com.  I wasn't willing to break out the credit card to do a detailed search, but in 1891, there was exactly one Gelleus family  in all of Great Britain.  They lived in London, and it's interesting to speculate that they ended up in northern Arizona, working at a flagstone quarry, or perhaps the Harvey House at the Ash Fork,  Santa Fe Station.

This card really shows how photographs travel.  The original photograph was taken in Los Angeles.  It was made into a postcard and mailed from Ash Fork, Arizona to Caney, Kansas,  I bought it at an antique store in Pasadena, in L.A. County.  How did it get back to California?

Saturday, March 24, 2018

The Here, There, and Everywhere Collection-Joe & Dick Again



Joe and Dick in front of a different house, reinforcing my father and son hobo theory.  Click on The Here There and Everywhere Collection for more photos and information.

Friday, March 23, 2018

The Here, There, and Everywhere Collection-Joe & Dick



After yesterday's mansion monstrosity photograph, the more modest home of Joe and Dick in Englewood, Colorado.   Then again, perhaps Joe and Dick were father and son hobos who stopped by the home of a distant relative. 

Click on The Here There and Everywhere Collection in labels....you know the drill.

Thursday, March 22, 2018

The Here, There, and Everywhere Collection-The Big House





So, awhile back I bought an envelope full of photos that the seller assured me was all from a single source, an estate sale to be precise.  Now, every time I'm told something like that, I have a tendency to take it with a grain of salt. Antique dealers surely know that photo collectors like true family collections.  Anyway, some of the images clearly go together, and some....well maybe. 

There are a lot of different houses in this collection, but this one is unique.  Let's just say that these are probably vacation pictures.  Maybe England, but then again one of the areas seen in this lot is upstate New York so a robber baron monstrosity is another possibility. 

If you want an explanation for the name I've chosen for these posts, click on The Here There and Everywhere Collection in labels.  There are no photographs on the other side of this loose album page.

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

A Girl and Her Kodak



This one is an incredibly small print.  About twice the size of my thumb, so no promises on how it will reproduce when blown up.  Still, for it's small size, it's still possible to tell that she's holding a folding camera.  I don't know what that hing is in the foreground, but I'm thinking it must be some sort of purse.  Written on the back, "July 1920." 

Monday, March 19, 2018

Fraternizing With Bicycles




So, if you were an American soldier stationed in England, France, or on occupation duty in Germany, and you needed to meet your girlfriend, you used your bike. 

Written on the back, "Myself, Lise, Davidson, Bottoms." 

Saturday, March 17, 2018

In the Summertime



With one winter storm after another pummeling the east coast, I thought I'd remind people that summer is coming with a look back at "JUL 69"  I grew up in a small town in western Pennsylvania, and every time there was a blizzard, people would wonder how they were going to survive the big storm.  Same way they always did. 

Friday, March 16, 2018

All Bundled Up



With one winter storm after another pummeling the east coast, I thought I'd publish a photograph of how people used to dress for cold weather.

Thursday, March 15, 2018

The Couple That Dresses Together Stays Together



I've written about this before.  I spent decades working in professional photo labs, and hardly a week went by were I didn't print "private" photographs.  There were a lot of amateur pinups, naked wives and girlfriends, the occasional naked man, and a few pictures of people having sex.  But, by far and away the most common of these private pictures were men dressed as women.  Some were obviously joke pictures, bearded men with hairy legs in ill fitting dresses.  There were also a lot of photos were an effort was made for the cross dressed male to look like the real thing.  Considering how many times I only knew it was a guy because I was told, I probably printed far more such pictures than I was aware of.  In other words, I'm never surprised when I find a photo with a man in women's clothes.  If anything, I'm surprised I don't find more.  I'm about 99% sure  the person on the right is a man.  I'm a lot less sure that the person on the left is a woman.

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Ladies, Parasols, and Burning Oil



It may be necessary to click on the image and bring it up in a bigger window to see, but there are ladies, with parasols who have come out to see the burning oil tank.  What a fun way to spend a sunny afternoon.  And for the record, I'd come out to watch a burning oil tank, though I would keep a greater distance.

Published by "HARRY H. HAMM, TOLEDO, OHIO." 

Monday, March 12, 2018

Music On Television



Imagine, if you will, you're a music crazed kid in the 1930's.  You've got a stack of big band 78 rpm records that you play all the time.  You've got society bands like Larry Carlton, swing bands like Benny Goodman, Glen Miller, and your favorite, Count Basie.  Every waking hour you dream of what it would be like to be with one of your favorites, touring the nation to sell out crowds.  Even a regional band would be great.  So you practice and practice until you're old enough to be a professional musician just like your idols.

And then it happens.  It's not a band that comes calling, it's the draft board.  The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor, and like every other kid your age, all your dreams are on hold until the war is over.  It's not music you dream of, it's survival.  Eventually, the war ends, you've come home in one piece, which is not something  a lot of your friends can say.

So,you get stateside and marry your sweetheart.  She waited for you, and after all the death you've seen, all you want is a normal life.  You take a good job at the car plant, have a kid or two and settle in to a nice, comfortable life in the new suburb.  But music keeps playing in the back of your head.  You can't let it go, so you take a part time job playing  in a restaurant.  The patrons enjoy their dates, and every once in awhile, one of them drops a dollar in your tip jar and makes a request.

This goes on for a few years, and you're beginning to hate music.  Something you thought would never happen.  One night you're sitting there going through your set list when this man approaches.  "Not Mona Lisa," you think.  "Please no, not Mona Lisa.  If I have to play Mona Lisa one more time I'll throw up."

But he doesn't ask you to play anything.  He hands you his business card and explains his dilemma.  He's a program director for this new thing called television.   The network provides a few hours of programming every day, mostly radio serials reworked for TV, but the rest of those hours have to filled with local content.  He has this idea for a morning talk show, with a couple of hosts who will chat up members of the local women's club, athletes, and whatever famous person who's passing through town, and he wants a musician to play intros, a few songs, maybe even compose a theme song.  He asks you to stop by the station the next morning and talk.  So, you call in sick, take the street car downtown and meet with the station manager.  You talk music, play a few songs, tell him you're confident that you can write that theme song.  Of course, the job is a bit more than the  morning show.  After that, you'll pull the same duty on a cooking show, the ten minute local news broadcast, and then after a three hour lunch, it's background music for the after school cartoon show.  And the money they're offering is amazing.  Twice what you're making at the car plant.

You go home and tell the wife, but she's not exactly thrilled.  "Television?  They're so expensive.   We don't know anyone who can even afford a television.  Why give up a good job for such a fly by night sort of thing."  There's a big fight, but you're getting a second chance at your childhood dream, and you're not turning it down.  It's bye bye assembly line and hello TV.

At first, it's just as the program director described.  You can play what you want, and it was easier to write the theme song than you expected, so while you're not ecstatic,  over all you're happy with your new job.  And then one day John and Karen, the show's two hosts, say something to you, live on air.  It's a little surprising, at first, but you've been shot at by a Panzer tank, so you don't really rattle.  Soon you're more of a regular part of the show.  People begin recognizing you on the street, as more and more people actually buy a television set.  Then one day, you get a call for a local business man.  He's built a super market, a first for the new suburb, and he wants you to play at the grand opening.  You call up a few guys you know and form a small combo.  After that, it's car dealerships, weddings,  a prom or two, and a regular Saturday night set at a local supper club.  No requests allowed. No Mona Lisa.

  And then one day, you read in the paper that Count Basie is in town.  No black man has ever appeared on the station before, but you go and beg your boss to have him on the show with John and Karen.  He's a little worried, but this isn't the south, so in the end, he relents, and for one wonderful morning you get to play with your idol.  After the show is over, the Count turns to you and says, "You got chops, man"

As the years pass by, the station moves more to prerecorded music,and rock and roll becomes the popular music that everyone wants to listen to.  But that's alright.  You're the station's music director, and you book the acts.  Chuck Berry may not be the Count, but he's not bad, and no one really cares if you hire a black musician.  You're thinking about retirement when another opportunity comes your way.  The dean of a local college asks if you want to teach jazz composition.  You tell him you went form high school directly into the army and never went to college.  "That's alright," he replies.  "We'll give you an honorary degree, and then you can teach a few classes every week.  All because the music kept playing in your head.

That's not the story of Larry Ferrari who spent years playing organ on a Philadelphia television  station.  He was drafted into the army, but it was right after the war ended.  He preformed on armed services radio before starting his TV career.  But I like my story better.