Photographs and Memories

Even in anonymity I'd like some dignity.

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Published: Jul 16, 2008

I love going to flea markets. I'm not interested in the well-worn kitchen products, old tools or cheap underwear that seem to be on sale at half the tables, but I love to poke around the kitsch, the ephemera and anything related to music. I secretly hope to stumble across a historic document or hidden masterpiece worth thousands, if not millions. It hasn't happened yet, but I'm happy if I come home with a Solomon Burke 45.

As I muck about, I'm always bothered and saddened by the old photographs of individuals and families for sale. Who are these people? Doesn't anyone care about them? Are they as forgotten as their photographs? I'm left wondering how their pictures ended up here.

Now I know how it happens.

With my father's recent death, my brothers and I have been divvying up the family photographs. My father was never shy with his camera, so there are lots of them in scrapbooks, and many loose in boxes.

Who are these people? We don't even know if some of these relatives are on my father's side or my mother's side. Or if they are relatives. Some photographs have a name or two scrawled on the back, but many do not.

These are my ancestors. For many of them, what they accomplished, their stories, their histories, are now completely gone.

If there is a picture of my namesake in the piles, my great-uncle Julius Rothstein, I don't know which one it is. That's a pity because he was a pretty interesting character. When he died, The New York Times obituary said that he was "president of the old Globe-Telegram Company when it published a morning newspaper in Utica. He also built motion-picture theatres in Watertown, Rome and Oswego." Uncle Julius was also an unsuccessful Republican candidate for state controller in 1939. He ran on a ticket with Thomas Dewey. Yeah, the "Dewey Defeats Truman" Dewey.

There are plenty of pictures of my mom around, from a near-child bride of 20 to a loving grandmother in her 60s, but will her great-grandchildren know anything about her?

She was a dental hygienist who later in life worked as a civilian under contract to the Navy. Before sailors ship out, they have to have a dental examination to make sure their teeth are in good shape. (Who knew?) So, before the first Gulf war, my mom cleaned thousands of teeth and helped ensure that our sailors had healthy and bright smiles before they went into battle.

My dad served in the Air Force during the Korean War. Along with my mom, he raised four sons and put them through college. My dad was a businessman, a Mason, a man I proudly think of as a solid citizen. Will his great-great-grandchildren know what a great guy he was or even who he was?

They will if I have anything to do with it. I'm going to wield a Sharpie in the next few months, identifying as many relatives as I can. But will future generations of my family care to know about their ancestors? Or will we just be names they've heard of, relatives to make fun of? "Hey, is that great-great-great Uncle Jay with his brothers? Look at those funny things they used to wear. Weren't they called pants?"

I suppose it takes hubris to think that I should be remembered — or even to use the word "hubris." I hope I'll do something that warrants my being remembered. In the unlikely event it's because I've done something Nobel Prize-worthy for humanity, that would be fantastic, but I'll be happy being remembered for being as kind and loving as my parents were.

If that's not the case, and my photos end up with some vendor at a flea market, I hope I'm on a table with cool records by Al Green and Wilson Pickett rather than anywhere near the cheap underwear.

Even in anonymity I'd like some dignity.

Jay Nachman is a writer in Philadelphia. To reply to his Slant, or submit one of your own, e-mail your 650- to 700-word opinion piece to Brian Howard (bhoward@citypaper.net).

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