When I am traveling in my RV along rural roads that pass through main streets of tiny towns, I like to stop at antique shops. I seldom buy anything because I already have too much junk and, besides, there isn't much space in my pint-sized motorhome. But what I sometimes do buy are old postcards and old photographs.
I'm not sure where I purchased the photo of this man, and I know nothing about him other than he has a frightening haircut. I do know that the photo was taken in Eureka, California. I have purchased dozens of photos of people of the past. I don't know when this photo was taken -- the 1930s, maybe? What do you think? My guess is that this man is dead now. He looks distinguished. I will take a wild stab here and say he was a banker.
Every few months or so I pull out my collection of old photos just to stare at them and think. I don't know why they fascinate me so, but they do.
One day after I am gone, maybe someone will find a photo of me and will wonder who I was.
I don't need to buy those old photos. I got my grandmother's and great uncle's photos from as far back as about 1860. I have many that have no names on them, but they were somehow connected with my family. I scanned them all into my computer and gave the originals to my brother and some cousins. They are wonderful pictures into our history.
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