It may be a dangerous thing for a procrastinator to end her day, folding her arms and resting in the thought that at least two thirds of the job has been completed. But that is just how my Saturday ended.
I am fairly certain, though, that the task at hand—scanning upwards of seventy turn-of-the-last-century photographs—will be completed soon. The reason: not only do I need to return them to my generous benefactor, but to then, with free conscience, follow the trail of these many mystery people to their identity, wherever that clue may be found.
Take, for instance, this angel. Who is this child? Probably someone not even with us as one of our elders at this point. Evidently not even someone any of us alive would know. A nameless, fanciful face is all we have left.
There is something so tantalizing that calls to me from these pictures. This child is not the only one in the collection without any identification. Face after face I scanned, wondering who these people were. I know it’s near impossible, but I want to know their names.
At this point, all I can safely say is that the photograph was taken by an establishment doing business in south Chicago, and that there is some connection to the William Tully family, or perhaps the Sullivan, Ryan, or Clifford families related to William’s wife, Sarah Swanton.
Yet, how I yearn to know more. While I don’t know these nameless people, I feel so strongly that they need to be remembered. And I feel fairly certain that there is someone out there who wishes that he or she could have had such a picture of the relative that this person grew to be.