Happy Trips, Sad Trips

While I’ve already shared with you the fun of my latest trips—and some of the vacation photographs from Bill Bean’s own forsaken collection of memorabilia—it looks like there may be another trip following close on the heels of the previous ones.

This one, however, may not turn out to be one of those happy trips.

When I think of all the trips photo-documented in Bill Bean’s collection, I see many happy times represented. They show activities that Bill evidently gained much pleasure from—like, for instance, his many fishing and camping trips.

Take this photo, unlabeled and undated as was Bill’s custom. Thankfully, the scene included the sign naming the location of this one fishing spot:

Richmond Court

Campbell River BC

Wherever Richmond Court on the Campbell River was located in British Columbia, I can’t determine. For the term, "Richmond Court," a Google™ search yields only locations of jurisprudence—hardly a stellar spot for recreation. The Richmond Court that I’m speaking of, however, did yield, apparently, a catch that one unidentified sportsman could be proud of making.

Or how about this next photo, uncharacteristically labeled with a date and partial identification:

Nov 10 – 57

       The Opera House

Went to see the Glass Curtain

Unfortunately, the question still remains: which Opera House? Since Bill lived for many years in the Bay area, I had presumed it was the War Memorial Opera House in San Francisco. However, taking a look at pictures available online, unless the San Francisco structure underwent radical earthquake retrofitting, the Opera House where Bill saw the Glass Curtain had to have a different identity.

Granted, Bill and his wife, Ellen, did a lot of traveling. See, for example, a trip to an undesignated exotic location such as this one (note: complete with fishing catch, though I presume not his own!).

These, however, are all tokens of happy memories. We rarely go out of our way to capture photographic memories of less joyful moments.

And yet, because of such less joyful moments, I may be traveling across country in the next few days.

Though as genealogists, we thrive on researching all the details on our long-gone ancestors, sometimes, like all people, we are called upon to set our daily tasks aside in favor of the needs of the family still with us. Usually, these are crisis times, admittedly. Who among us who value family, however, wouldn’t be ready and willing to do so?

For the past six months, one of my close family members has struggled with a health issue that appears to be at an irreversible point. I alluded to the struggle last winter, and during my trip east back then, managed to schedule enough posts to fill in for the days of my absence.

With this trip catching me so suddenly, though, I may have to take a rain check on our daily visits when you stop by to read A Family Tapestry. Some things simply allow us no time to prepare.

Hopefully, I’ll still catch a minute each day to check in—but I have to admit the stress of knowing what is facing a loved one has already taken its toll on me. On the other hand, having your company along the research way has been such a boost that I hate to miss any opportunity to connect with you each day.

If you are a praying person, I certainly appreciate your prayers for our family. And if you show up on these pages one morning and my customary post is not there to greet you, well…you’ll know I’m okay.

Just terribly sad.

The kind of sad that no one wants to capture in a photograph.

Ever Do This?

It’s vacation time. Time to travel to exotic destinations. Or cool ones. Somewhere away.

You’re in the picture-perfect place, and you decide to capture the ambience. You pull out your iPhone—or Android, if you are locked in our family’s perpetual battle of iPhone versus ’droid—and snap the moment.

Before you can tuck your camera back in its carrying place, a stranger approaches you with a question:

Would you mind snapping a photo of me?

Well, I don’t suppose it would happen exactly like that in this age of the ubiquitous smart phone. Perhaps during Bill Bean’s earlier years, however, the much-rarer camera-toting tourist would have achieved an enviable status.

In going through the many photographs Bill Bean left behind, I’ve puzzled over one shot taken in a very Yosemite-like vicinity. The sole subject of the photo had me stumped: wearing what looked like open-toed heels, this person could hardly be classified as a hiker.

That, however, wasn’t the main reason I was puzzled over this photograph. It was the note on the back.

Best I could make out, the scrawl said something like this:

                                                        Douglas 6565

J. P. Aikman [Arkman?]

2^nd floor

J. E. Sompkins

186 N. W. Montgomery

The “Douglas 6565” was most likely someone’s phone number.

The rest? Well, I just presumed Bill had done the equivalent of that small networking faux pas that we all find ourselves doing at some point: grabbing one of our own business cards to write down the contact information of someone we’ve met—and then forgetting to follow through, perhaps passing the slip of paper along to yet again someone else.

However that note got on this photograph—and whoever it was intended for—I’ll never know. I doubt it was for anyone significant in my own search for family history stories.

Today, though, it occurred to me that perhaps there was an alternate scenario playing itself out. What if Bill, the consummate shutterbug, had been taking pictures, was spotted and befriended by a tourist, and pressed for the kindness of his immediate services.

Yeah, sure, he’d get the photo back to the stranger as soon as he got it developed. Perhaps, when it was developed, he set it aside, scrawling the note on the reverse to remind himself of the tourist’s name and business location.

And then…life got hectic, as it always does, once we return to work after a vacation.

And the picture just sat there on the desk.

He meant well, I’m sure. But Mr. and Mrs. Aikman—or Arkman—it looks like you never got the photograph you were requesting.

It’s still in Bill Bean’s box of photographic memories.

And I have no idea, now, who you are.

Found Another Photo

From the universe of blonde sisters comes another photograph. I hadn’t noticed this one before in the collection handed down to me from Bill Bean’s box, mainly because it looked like it had landed on the floor and been stepped on—then shoved in a corner where it was wedged, out of view.

The more I look at it, the more I wonder if it belonged with the sets of two blonde sisters that we’ve already seen. One part of me wants to say, “Yes, this belongs”—but only because it’s getting wearying, poring over all these jigsaw puzzle pieces of pictures with no identification.

The other part of me wants to shout and jump, because at least this photograph includes some identification.

Warning: the identification in no way confirms the surname for the mysterious “Sid, Helen, Diana and Judy” of those Christmas cards from so long ago.

Actually, scratch any notion of Sid or Helen.

This photo proclaims, “Loretta + Husband + Children” and bears the date, “May 1967.”

While I’m nonplussed with the addition of this mystery family to the photograph collection, I have to admit this does add a bit of information to chip away at the puzzle.

A bit.

A very little bit.

Now, I’ll be on the alert to look for any signs of a Loretta in this family line—a family that seems to have more than its fair share of blonde sisters posing in cute Easter dresses.

“Gone Fishin’” — Me, Too!

How well I remember the occasional sign in the barber shop door in the little island town where I grew up. While my childhood home was a short train ride away from the big city of New York, our suburban enclave boasted its own downtown area, complete with post office, banks, coffee shop, dusty attorney’s offices, old fashioned butcher shop—including sawdust strewn on the floor—and, of course, the barber shop.

My dad, a professional musician from the time when he reputedly dropped out of high school because he made more money at his gigs than his dad did working a decent job, now spent his time at the music shop in this town, where he taught students in his own studio.

His studio was two doors down from the barber shop, on the way to the coffee shop—where all these reputedly hard-working men often met to exchange gossip. Some lazy summer mornings at home, my dad would ask my sister and me if we’d like to “go downtown.” That, of course, meant we’d check in at his studio, then saunter down the sidewalk past the barber shop on our way to the coffee shop. For dad, that meant he’d get a chance to hang out with his buddies. It also meant a refreshing raspberry sorbet for us—or maybe a treat from the chocolate candies made on the premises.

On the walk to the coffee shop, I’d wonder if anyone was actually in the barber shop—the morning sun streaming through the front window made it hard to tell. A sign on the door, however, would sometimes answer my question: “Gone Fishing.”

We don’t see those kinds of signs much anymore. Most people slave away as if to literally demonstrate that saying, “nose to the grindstone.” Eight to five is what they say they work, but in reality, many know they’d be laughed to scorn if they vacated their desk as early as five o’clock.

Despite that, I’ve actually spent the last week doing my own version of “Gone Fishing.” I took advantage of Blogspot’s scheduling capabilities and pre-posted several articles, hung my own virtual “Gone Fishing” sign on my blogging dashboard, and took off for parts heretofore undisclosed.

So, where did I go, you say?

Everywhere, it seemed. First, we flew to Texas—remind me to never do that again in the summertime!—to visit family in the Dallas area and to attend my husband’s high school reunion in Houston.

Then—and this is the part I looked forward to the most—we changed direction and headed to Burbank to attend the Southern California Genealogical Society’s Genealogy Jamboree.

While at the Jamboree, I had several items I wanted to “go fishing” for. First, I wanted to encourage my brother to sign up for DNA testing during the conference. We are hoping this will unlock the mystery of our father’s paternal line—a brick wall I still haven’t been able to break through. With the first steps of testing behind us now, here’s hoping for the big catch when we receive the results.

Then, of course, I wanted to hear specific speakers at the conference. For the most part, these were bloggers whom I’ve enjoyed following: Judy Russell of The Legal Genealogist, Lisa Alzo of The Accidental Genealogist, and Anne Gillespie Mitchell of Finding Forgotten Stories (who also writes for Ancestry.com’s Reference Desk blog).

On top of all that, I wanted to meet some fellow bloggers—longstanding, well-respected leaders who've served as mentors to many, like Thomas MacEntee of GeneaBloggers and Randy Seaver of Genea-Musings. I was absolutely delighted to bump into Gini Webb in the hallway. Gini has her own blog, Ginisology, but she is known by many as the columnist in GeneaBloggers who writes the “May I Introduce To You” series. I also got to know several Oakland area bloggers and members of the California Genealogical Society—like Kathryn Doyle and Kim Cotton.

Come to think of it, there were so many fellow researchers to meet and get to know that it wasn’t really possible to do it all and still attend all the wonderful sessions, take in the full contents of the exhibit hall, and manage to get some sleep, too. I guess I’ll just have to give it a try again next year.

Or perhaps brush up on my conference-attending skills at the upcoming Federation of Genealogical Societies Conference 2013 in Fort Wayne in August.

Whoever this unidentified man was, from the photograph collection of Bill Bean of Alameda, California, he certainly was proud of the two fish that didn't get away from his grasp, one fine fishing day many years ago.

Working Arrangements

Not everything saved in Bill Bean’s box was a photograph. There were other items—old letters, membership records, identification cards. For whatever reason, Bill had chosen to save odds and ends like these. Each one becomes a token for me of what was important to him in life.

After finding a photograph of a cigar-smoking young Bill Bean on board a boat named, I presume, the Empress, I later found a San Francisco Port identification card for Bill. The card, complete with an updated photograph, was issued in 1942—much later than the time of that first picture—and bore the occupational label of “Garage Owner.”

The card included a watermark from the United States Coast Guard. The reverse of the card showed Bill's age to be 46, his height at five feet eleven inches, with hazel eyes and “grey” hair. The card confirmed that he was a natural born citizen by the initials, “N. B.,” and listed his place of birth as Redwood City in California. Under the entry for his serial number were the stern words, “Federal Fingerprints Taken.” A sample of the proof was entered just to the right of that, with the print from Bill’s own index finger squarely planted in the designated box.

The card was issued to Bill during the war years. It was no surprise, during that time, to see the government duly cautious about identifying those with business in and around the ports of the Bay area. Of course, Bill had been working in the automobile business for years; perhaps he was required to go to the ports to accept shipments for his business.

Whether saving the picture of himself from those earlier working years in and around the Bay, or this token from his more successful later years in his car dealership, Bill’s choice in what he tossed in that box for safekeeping becomes in itself a spyglass for those like me who, at a distance, try to piece together the lives of our long-gone relatives.

Gone Fishing — Again

Whatever expedition was captured in yesterday’s post—camping or fishing—while I have no way of knowing whether it was a first, I’m certain it wasn’t the last. There are several sets of pictures in Bill Bean’s collection showing good times coupled with successful fishing expeditions.

I don’t even have any way to determine whether any of the men in yesterday’s series of photos found their place in today’s picture.

What I do like about this photograph, however, is the fact that the developer left his imprint. Even better, the imprint included a date.

While the photograph’s reverse proudly declares, “Krystal Gloss Guaranteed Forever,” the front bears no identifying marks. I’ll forever know that this photograph was preserved for me by the Bear Photo Service on December 19, 1939—but never know just who it is that I’m observing.

Putting People Together

One of the outgrowths of poring over unidentified photographs is finally discovering similarities after conquering what was once unfamiliar terrain. It has been six months now since I first began familiarizing myself with the unmarked photographs in Bill Bean’s collection.

As I mentioned the other day, sometimes I’m left with no other devices than to group pictures according to dimensions of the frames. Admittedly, that is a pretty weak technique, but when you are left with no further choices, any similarities are better than none.

After having repeatedly sorted through this stack of photos, some faces unbelievably started leaping out at me—or perhaps my eye, so wearied from the needle-in-haystack experience, began imagining similarities where none were entitled to exist.

You judge for yourself.

Actually, your feedback would be—and has been—rather helpful.

In today’s grouping of Bill’s photographs, I have gathered together some which have the same size, quality of paper, and type of border. While that is admittedly a weak link, I also have some facial hints to boost the possibilities.

And, best of all, I found a similar subject in another picture. And it has a date!

While I still have no names, at least I have groupings. Let’s take a look at what fell together in this latest iteration of the saga of the unidentified photos.

First, here is the picture with the date inked in on the top right corner.

The photo itself is faded—something you’d expect from a shot taken in 1919—but it’s the face that calls to me. See if you find this guy in any of the following photos.

The next picture is of three young men, dressed in the same style of clothing—appropriate for a camping trip. They are standing in a partially wooded area. While I’m not sure about this, the man in the middle might be the one from the previous photograph.

The next photo starts introducing some interesting connections. First, this shot is of only two men, and more of the surrounding area was captured. I’m guessing the man on the left in this duo below is one and the same as the guy on the left in the previous picture. Would you agree?

What I love about this particular picture is that I feel fairly confident the man on the right matches a photo I’ve posted previously—from a rest stop on a rocky hillside. Looks like he’s wearing the same outfit, too. This may provide the “rest of the story” for this grouping of photos.

I almost didn’t include the next photo. At first, I thought maybe it was overexposed. It looks like the men are lounging on a snow-covered hillside. That doesn’t seem quite right, though. They certainly aren’t dressed for such an expedition. While I suppose the white field they are surrounded by could be some sort of sandy area, the way the material cakes up on the boot of the older man makes that seem unlikely.

However, if this location is in California, based on a July expedition I’ve done myself, it could be possible that the men climbed high enough in the mountains to arrive at an altitude where they stumbled upon a yet-unmelted patch of snow. Yes, even in July. That's California.

What I’m interested in, though, is whether the man on the left in this shot is the same as the man on the right from the previous picture. What do you think?

This last photograph is one of my favorites. Oh, how I wish I knew who these people were! Like the previous photo, it was hard, at the start, to make out the details of the scene. Scanning the original and then manipulating it on Adobe Photoshop was helpful in getting the full story—down to such details as the fishing poles and the coffee pot perched by the campfire. Since the photo didn’t provide sufficient contrast, and since the black-and-white seemed to present such a mash-up of textures, I nearly missed even seeing the old man with the long beard and tall hat! Now being able to better see the three men in the picture, I’m wondering whether this might be a three-generation composition.

Unfortunately, I’ll probably never know the answer to this—or even find out the names of these men. That, however, is something I’ll have to agree to accept as my destination and choose, rather, to enjoy the journey.