Who was she?

In 1962 I bought an 8 mm movie camera. I eventually transferred those home movies to video tape. They’re out of sequence, the quality is poor, but viewed on a small screen, such as a computer, the image is fine.

I should know all the people on those films. I know most with no idea where they are today. First is a woman in Atlanta. The short clip was shot at what was Georgia Baptist Hospital. My extended family met for lunch following a meeting of the hospital trustees, which my father attended. I stood outside taking pictures of things I saw.

I saw the woman. She was not “positively stimulated” by having a youngster point a camera at her but was too polite to object. She ignored me. I wonder what her life was like.

There is two years of my grandmother’s family reunion, the McClure bunch. I know who they are, her brothers and sisters, but if I don’t permanently “tag” the individuals I’ll be the last who knows. Adults in the videos are gone but some cousins are still around. I have no idea where they are.

There is Charles Jarrell showing off his new kid. We worked at a radio station together but he left for honest work, law enforcement, I think. I wonder if he’d like to have a copy of that clip. I don’t know where he is.

Vickie Chastain and I ran in the same circles around Vidalia, Ga. I took a few seconds of video of her at the city swimming pool. She died very much too young, but she is forever a teenage girl in my home movies.

I lost contact with Lynn Hunter. I bumped into her in the Atlanta Airport one day. I knew who she was but she didn’t remember me. Then she did. We sat at the same table at a radio/tv luncheon in 1963. As she and a friend walked through the parking lot they stopped and waved at the camera. She still waves from 1963.

I told her about that movie clip and she wanted a copy of it. Numbers and addresses have changed. I found her on Facebook, the little good that did.

Dear me

Starting in the late 1950s the east-west route through Vidalia became known as “The Strip.” Scores of local, slow-moving cars cruised The Strip. Lucky ones snagged a spot at Jack’s Drive-In, known for burgers, club sandwiches and bags of fries.

Louise Gibson, wife of “Jack,” could identify many outdoor customers by their voice as they called-in orders via the remote speaker system. One afternoon a gang of a dozen teenagers decided to walk the strip and I caught them on film. Their trek looked like a parade, some riding on the shoulders of others. At one time I knew all of them. Today I don’t recognize any.

Friends are forever young in my home movies. Mable Wilson walking into the York Motel Restaurant, Stan Rocket at the radio station, Jane Stout walking her dogs, Delores Thompson hurrying somewhere, Tommy and Helen Drew with their young son. And me. I know where I am.