Jan. 19, 2015: The shutter falls.
January 19, 2015 by kblumenau
One of my most loyal readers, Maryanne, said last week she enjoyed seeing pictures of the Springdale Methodist Church before and after it partially burned in 1967.
That got me thinking:
– I’ve got a whole lot of my grandfather’s old pictures, many of which capture sights around the Springdale neighborhood of Stamford.
– My grandfather much enjoyed photography, and would probably have liked the idea that people around the world could see his pictures.
– Nobody’s really going to be disappointed not to read 800 more of my words.
So this week I’m going to post a bunch of my grandfather’s photos from the 1950s through the ’80s. The photo buffs and local-history fans will dig it; others might enjoy a look back in time, not to mention more glimpses of my grandfather’s artistic vision.
Click to see the pix larger, if you’re interested:
1957 or ’58. Maybe the Stamfordites in the crowd know where this was taken; I don’t.
Same year, probably same parade; this is the Dolan Junior High Band. My dad is visible in this pic but I am more intrigued by the detached (perhaps hostile) young lady in the foreground whose lipstick adds a flash of colour to the proceedings. I imagine her playing Julia in a movie treatment of “1984.”
Circa 1958. My aunt Elaine, newly conscripted into the Eisenhower Youth, stands ready (sits ready?) to ward off attacking Commies.
Model trains, late 1950s. How much to ride on the All-American Turnpike?
Speaking of trains, this is somewhere in Stamford, 1959. I think it looked uglier than it really was.
Crowd, Darien High vs Stamford High football game, 1958.
Stamford High football, this time 1959. Not sure who they’re playing, but it appears to be an extremely confusing visual matchup of orange vs. red.
Springdale Methodist confirmation class with Pansy, the neighbors’ dog.
My grandma at some rest stop, 1959. I love this pic but couldn’t tell you why.
Hammonasset Beach State Park, Madison, Connecticut, 1959.
Merritt Parkway, somewhere in Connecticut, 1959.
Talmadge Hill commuter rail station, New Haven, c. 1960.
Dancing at a Methodist church youth retreat, 1960. Everyone’s hands appear to be where Jesus can see them.
More from the Methodist church retreat. This is one of the reverends, believe it or not. Google suggests he went south, joined the Freedom Riders and got arrested a year or two later. Wonder if Little Rock’s finest let him keep his cigarettes?
Cove Island, Stamford, 1960. In the days before pollution controls, lots of big hairy stuff used to just float around in the air.
Springdale train station, probably fall 1960, with a cameo by the New York, New Haven & Hartford. I can’t barely remember the last time I went out into a public place and saw multiple men wearing hats.
Easter sunrise service, somewhere in Stamford, 1960.
This appears to be the sorriest-looking strawberry festival ever held, Springdale, 1963. Several of the people seem to be looking at the camera with outright hostility.
The same strawberry festival, this time with the Blumenau family Ford in the foreground, gleaming as if it had just rolled out of a magazine ad.
Backyard picnic, Hope Street, 1964. Check out my grandpa, digging blithely into what appears to be a chicken leg.
Trip to the beach, summer 1964. That’s a lot of kandy-kolored Detroit metal right there (and two representatives from Wolfsburg).
World’s Fair, Queens, 1964.
My grandma and aunt plot their next course, World’s Fair, 1964.
One of my great-grandma’s piano recitals, 1966. Anyone spot themselves?
My great-grandma, 80 years old, 1967.
A look out onto a surprisingly placid Hope Street, circa 1970-72. Dunno whether the fruit basket was coming or going.
The three Mrs. Blumenaus, Penfield, N.Y., 1975.
My brother, not sure he likes either slides or cameras. Stamford, 1975.
As verdant a portrait of suburbia as has ever been taken. The family is treated to a swim in the neighbors’ pool, summer 1975. The garage of 1107 Hope Street is in the background, as is my family’s ’73 Plymouth Satellite. I am the little kid stood up on the stool, clutching the beach ball.
In the shadows of 1107 Hope Street, 1983, a year before my grandparents sold the place. The front door with the glass butterfly leads out onto the porch facing an increasingly busy Hope Street. The house lives on in the shadows of memory; maybe this is a good place to leave off.