My mother, Evelyn Mays (far right), with college friends (Southeast Missouri State Teachers College) in May of 1944, a pivotal month in World War II, as the Allies prepared for the D-Day invasion while significant battles and political developments shaped the course of the war.
The photo above (my mom and Aunt Marie) was probably taken sometime in the mid-1940s on the family farm near Broseley, Missouri. I’ve seen this photo countless times but not sure I’ve noticed the camera in my aunt’s hand. A little history from ChatGPT:
The “Brownie” box camera, introduced by Kodak in 1900, was a revolutionary development in photography. Designed to be affordable and easy to use, it brought photography to the masses and helped popularize snapshot culture.
Key Points in Brownie History:
The photo below is one of hundreds I hauled down from the attic after my parents died. No idea who Mrs. Schluleter was but mom would have been living in St. Louis in November of of 1944. I get chills thinking about what mom’s hand-written metadata adds to this photo. (see ChatGPT info below) Allied forces had invaded Normandy just five months earlier and the outcome of the war was still far from certain. My father enlisted in the Navy in May of 1943 and was discharged in March of 1946 and saw a lot of action (which he never talked about) in the Pacific.
Some might argue that today’s digital images are rich in data but most people I know simply shovel hundreds (thousands?) of digital images into the cloud with little or no context.
On November 5, 1944, the world was deep into World War II, and several significant events took place:
These events highlight the intense and widespread military engagements occurring across multiple theaters of the war at that time.
I uploaded this photo (of my mother and her brother) to ChatGPT and prompted it to create a fictional narrative.
ChatGPT: In a small town that thrived on the heartbeat of its people, there lived a young couple that seemed to encapsulate the spirit of the era. The year was 1942, and the air was thick with the uncertainty of wartime. Yet in this photograph, Evelyn and James—lovingly known as Dubb—stood side by side, a picture of resilience and hope.
Evelyn, with her hair curled just so, wore a plaid skirt that swayed with the slightest breeze—a popular style of the time that echoed the strength and simplicity of the home front. Her smile was small but genuine, a reflection of the pride she felt standing next to James, her high school sweetheart who had enlisted in the army.
James, in his crisp service uniform, had the posture of a man who understood the weight of the world he was about to enter. His hat was perched perfectly on his head, and his eyes held a seriousness that belied his youth. Yet, when he looked at Evelyn, there was a softness there. It was the look of a man who found a reason to fight, a reason to return home.
The white siding of the house behind them was a common backdrop in those days, representing the homes and families that dotted the American landscape, each with their own stories of love, sacrifice, and courage.
As the sun cast long shadows on the ground, the couple held onto each other. They didn’t speak much about the war or the future. Instead, they spoke of small things—Evelyn’s new recipe for apple pie, the creaky step on the porch that James promised to fix when he got back, the way the stars seemed to shine brighter these days.
This photo, taken by a traveling photographer who knew the importance of capturing moments just like this, would sit on Evelyn’s mantle for years to come, a testament to a promise made under the watchful eye of a world at war: to wait, to hope, to endure. It was a snapshot of a chapter in their story that would inspire tales of a time when love was a beacon in the storm, guiding soldiers home and giving strength to those who waited with bated breath for their safe return.
Broseley, Missouri High School Senior Class of 1943. My mom (not in this photo) would have been 18 in 1945. She had a sweater like the one the young man on the left is wearing. I had (and wore) it for a while. Major news events of 1943:
I can’t recall if it was he or she but someone named it Collie. I love this photo. I literally started life in a field of clover with a good dog and a loving mother.
I’m still thinking about photos. Specifically, the story behind photos. The ease of taking, sharing and storing photos has created a tsunami of digital photos. The moment (and the photo that captures it) passes through our hands so quickly, there’s no time to consider the story behind the photo (if there is one). Besides, I know who’s in the photo and where it was taken and I’ll be around forever so why bother with descriptions and such. And there’s something to that. I have dozens of photos of the beach near our place in Destin, FL. There might be a story but there might not. Sometimes the photo IS the story.
Our relationship with photos was very different when cameras used film. Days (weeks?) might pass between the time you took the photo and and when you held the print in your hands. It took some commitment to sit down with a stack of photos and make notes on the back about the people, the place, the event. Perhaps it comes down to who the photo is for. If it’s just for me, well, I know all that and when I’m gone, who cares. If you think of the photo as having a life longer than yours, the back story is priceless.
The photo of my mother and father kissing on a park bench (on their honeymoon) is a good example. What if my mom had written a few lines (on the back) describing where they were and what they had been doing?
I’m not going to write descriptions for the 1,900 photos in my collection. At least not all of them. But I have hit on a way to connect to the story behind the photos. My blog. I’ve been blogging for fifteen years and and have written (and tagged) 30 posts about Destin. I’ve added a link to those posts to the descriptions of the photos in my collection. I have a couple of hundred photos of KBOA and I’ll add http://www.kboa830.com to the description field of those photos. And so on. (If you’re a half-empty type, you’re thinking, “Yeah, but your blog will be gone when you die.” I’m working on that.)
This is all well and good if you’re retired with lots of time to manage your photos. True. But I think the case can be made that a photo that’s not worthy of a brief description might not be worth keeping. And a lot of them aren’t, in my opinion. Folks are fire-hosing photos to the cloud with little or no thought. Google Photos is an attempt to address this.
The sign on the door suggest we had ice delivered. That’s how old I am.
There are no shortage of good photos of John and Evelyn from their wild and fast younger days. But the years took a toll and there just didn’t seem to be many good pictures of them from their later years. I really like this one.
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.