Dr. Paul Miltenberger and Barbara
Barb Miltenberger
Dr. Paul C. Miltenberger
The Miltenbergers
Category Archives: Family & Friends
Barb and Steve
Late ’80s if I had to guess.
Beach Barb
Barb with Dive Master Fernando. Bahamas?
The photos below have been yellowing with age in a cardboard box in our attic. As Barb excavates, I’ll share some of them here.
Barb and Sister Jan
The ravages of time
The photo above was taken last September at the 50 year reunion of the Kennett High School Class of 1966. Richard Peck and Larry Mullen standing; Joe Browning, John Robison and another guy seated. I attended my ten year reunion but skipped all the others. I’m glad I went to this last one. Got to spend a little time with Joe whose energy was released back into the Universe this week.
I took the other photo in 1968 in Richard Peck’s basement. A place to drink beer and be as young as we would ever be. L-R: Richard Peck, Jim Bob Green, John Robison, Jane Marshall and Lynn Strickland. Charlie Peck and Joe Browning down front. This photo became (for me) iconic of that wonderful time. How we came to be the old men in the class reunion photo is a mystery.
Joe Browning: 1948-2017
Joe Browning was always an artist. He became an architect. And accidental intellectual. He’s the only person I know that looks good with a beard. He only speaks when he has something worth saying. I’ve held Joe upright while he peed next to his back door. (“No, there’s no problem Mr. Browning…Joe will be right in.”) Joe used to run away when he got drunk.
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- St. Thomas, VI
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- House on East Moreland Street, Memphis, TN. Morning after a big party.
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- L-R: Richard Peck, Jim Bob Green, John Robison, Charlie Peck (seated), Jane Marshall, Joe Browning (seated), Lynn Strickland
Henry
The following images were created using the Prisma app.
I took this picture a few days ago while on a walk with my friend +Henry Domke. Curious what the Prisma app would do with it, I ran it through a few filters (below). While looking at one of the resulting images it occurred to me that someone with the necessary skills and tools could create such an image from scratch. Either digitally or in some more traditional medium. Seeing the image, one might reasonably describe it as “art.”
If that is so, when does the “art” happen, and by whom? I’m reluctant describe a common smartphone photo as art. At least not this one. So did the art happen on the Prisma servers as their secret algorithm turned my photo into something art-ish? If yes, who’s the artist? The smart kids who wrote the code? They never saw my photo so I can’t comfortably call them artists in this instance. Can some lines of code create art (or anything)? Must there be an artist before we can have art?
John Mays
This photo was in an album my mother put together so I can assume this is a member of the family. Based on stamp on reverse, the photo was processed (and shot?) in Brookfield, Missouri, where my father grew up. He was born January 21, 1926 (in Elmira, New York) so he appears to be two or three years old in this photo. Let’s go with three.
The Great Depression started in 1929 (and lasted until 1939) and I recall my mother mentioning that my father’s family had a very tough time during those years. Like lots of folks. I don’t recall my father ever talking about growing up during the Depression. Nor my mom, except to say her family had it a bit easier because they lived on a farm and could grow most of their own food.
Their generation lived through The Great Depression and World War II. Chapters in a history book for me but day-to-day life for them. Seeing photos from that time makes it a bit more real.
Blane and Steve
Sometime in the 70s.
Baby Steve
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- Evelyn, Steve and John
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- John and Steve
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- Steve
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- Steve on the farm
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- Probably Steve
The photo with John and Evelyn was most likely taken in Kansas City where John’s parents lived. The shot with the horses in the background would have been taken on the Perry family farm near Broseley, Missouri. We’re guessing that last, blurry photo is Baby Steve because it was found with the others. The little bib overalls suggests this might have been taken at the same time as the two on the brick porch.
Junior High basketball team
My buddy John and I were two of five seventh graders that ‘made’ the junior high basketball team. (Sorry, can’t remember the other three) I remember this as a Very Big Deal at the time. I also remember that I wasn’t a very good basketball player. I didn’t handle the ball well and I wasn’t much of a shot. I was selected solely on the basis of “hustle.”
Coaches love hustle. They believe they can teach you how to be a better ball handler and improve your shooting skills… but they can’t give you that special mojo known as hustle. You have it or you don’t.
What Coach Proctor mistook for hustle in that skinny white boy was a near-pathological need to please this new male authority figure in my life. Throw myself headlong onto the hardwood floor? No problemo. Run “potato races” (sometimes known as “behind the lines”) until my lungs burst? I can do that.
None of which contributed very much to the final score but coaches know they need some of this second-string fire to keep the good players pushed (nudged?).
As I got older I discovered I could have much more fun in a pickup game at the park. Which is where I met Freddie B who lived in near-by public housing and played wearing rubber flip-flops. Freddie didn’t hustle. And he didn’t miss. From anywhere on the court. Swish.
These days, as I allow myself to move with the Tao, I sometimes flow, but I don’t hustle.