Believed to be somewhere in Portland, Oregon.
Probably about 1985.
That’s me under the “Prepare” sign. Meda’s mother, and one of her sisters, are behind me, looking at the building.
Were we looking for Powell’s Books? A thrift shop?
It will likely remain one of those little memory mysteries, I’m afraid.
Throwback Thursday, and another look back into the dim, dark past.
It’s Christmas Day. December 25 1953. We were posing for a family portrait in the driveway of our next-door neighbors’ house. He was a photographer with a darkroom set up on the side of their garage, and produced several wonderful images of our house over the years they lived there.
Yes, that’s me in Santa’s latest delivery, a new cowboy outfit, complete with toy gun and fake boots that were really just covers that slide down on top of my regular shoes, if I recall correctly.
And a friend commented: “Check Waialae Iki and Hawaii Loa in background – with nary a structure. Nice.”
It’s a whole image that certainly smacks of some kind of weird, media-driven cultural colonialism that obviously spread to our little spot on these tiny islands far from Hollywood’s cowboy fantasies.
