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I’ve always been one to drop into an antique store, particularly those in an out-of-the-way town I visit—which I try to do as state highways expand to resemble interstate freeways and bypass those towns they used to run through.
Those shops, as opposed to those in a touristy spot, often supply a history of the surrounding area, such as a now-gone industry that was the reason for the town’s founding (logging/sawmill/paper mill, cannery, railroad hub), or the general lifestyle and livelihood of its residents, past and present (agriculture, for example).
The details can get more personal, from kitchen equipment to clothing, and of course, photographs. Turning the pages of family albums (often those filled with those black pages with the photos tabbed in at the corners) or carefully thumbing through stacks of single photos separate from any narrative, is always interesting. But the act also brings on a tinge of something that closely resembles sadness, but not quite that. Perhaps the feeling is the reinforcement, there in one’s hands, that a record of our lives can indeed be left to strangers to preserve. And even then, as an anonymous visage that is merely interesting enough for that random stranger (that is sometimes me) to pass a dollar or two into the shop owner’s hand, to stick in a book for later inspiration for…something.
One wonders how these photos and albums can be left behind. How could there not be someone in the lineage that would be interested in preserving family history? But we know how it goes—particularly those of us that have crept into middle age and watched ours and our friends families splinter and spread, losing touch and building our own networks—families without the bloodline.
In those small towns, family photos winding up in an antique store can be understandable. The “end” of a family line might be, simply, the end. There’s no one to claim anything.
More perplexing, perhaps, is when family members clear out the detritus in the attic—or in a well-kept cabinet—without having the curiosity to check boxes for those albums. Or the cameras they toss in a box to pawn at the antique store or local camera shop without checking for any film within. Or, selling a box of undeveloped rolls at an estate sale.
Perplexing, unless one considers that they might be totally overwhelmed at what could be a monumental task: having to sift through an estate that not is not only the contents of a home, but several storage units that had not been culled by its owners when they were alive. Sometimes all that’s left to do get rid of the stuff to avoid being buried in it.
That’s all part of that odd feeling those of us have when we look through those photographs, or, if we’re lucky enough, pull some images from decades-old film.
There is joy in it, also—especially when one can post those images and give them some life. That is particularly true for that old roll one develops. Those old prints at the antique store were held, looked at and appreciated by someone a-way back when. But those images from film? It’s really a privilege to be the first, if you think about it. Think about it a little longer and one can feel some responsibility to get them seen by others—maybe, eventually, by those who can identify the faces in those photos.
There are many on “the socials,” Instagram in particular, that devote accounts, in full or partially, to developing these “recovered” rolls and posting the images. (Two I have taken a liking to recently is darkroomdetective and lapin.analogique.) I’m happy to be able to contribute with the few items I have developed successfully.
There is no guarantee, of course (yada yada), that a roll you find in a camera will have anything salvageable. Storage, film type, whether the camera has developed light leaks as seals dried through the years or was opened accidentally are the primary factors. Emulsion type (and its durability) is another. My first “found roll” (in 2015, from Kodak Duoflex) I sent off to Film Rescue International, as I was not developing film at the time. They pulled two faint images (above) from a color roll developed in black-and-white chemistry.
Last year, I developed two color rolls (one c-22 and the other a c-41) in c-41 chemistry. The c-22 emulsion got goopy and green, but I did get a few images. The group of three and a cat (above) in front of the Christmas tree is the best of the bunch. The c-41 roll yielded more results (below), showing what an appears to be a family and friends on vacation. My narrative is that they are visiting the Twin Cities from Duluth (given the shot of the Duluth Herald newspaper box), perhaps at Como Park, as the landscape and how the cars are parked looks oddly familiar.
I could be wrong on that location, of course. But, I place those photos’ era at late 1970s-early ‘80s, given the style of vehicles. The Christmas scene is a little more difficult. Late 1960s? Early 1970s?
Any of these adults and kids look familiar? It would be most interesting—and rewarding—to reunite these images with the people in them, as Laurie Hasan at darkroomdetective has done.
