Homeless old photos have always made
me sad. I was antiquing long before I
was addicted to genealogy and they made me sad even then. I wanted
them from the antique shop owner and say, "Who will buy these? Who
want them? What are the chances that any relation will even come
shop? Just give them to me and I will find their owners.
Do the right
I wanted to put them in the
historical society here in
Cincinnati--or have them posted on a library bulletin in my very excellent
(for genealogy research) library downtown. I wanted to have an "Old
week where maybe the newspaper would publish old photos. The
great--where would I be without it--but the newspaper reaches those who
are afraid of computers, and those in nursing homes.
When we used to visit my father's
family in St. Louis, my aunt Della brought down the box of photos from
the attic. She said, "Karen you look like Mama." And she showed
me this photo of my father's mother and I did! I think that was
what hooked me on genealogy. That moment. Or maybe it was
my father's bedtime stories.
Right before my father died, my
relatives in St. Louis sent me this big
box of photos. For the first time in my life I "met" my father's
Jack, his sister Florence. I saw pictures of my dad when he had
hair. I saw my beloved g-g-grandmother Elizabeth Darenkamp--an
from Cloppenburg Germany--sitting all in black in her back yard in
Newport, KY with her pet chicken on her lap.
Long live old photos!