richhodg66
Well-Known Member
Jean Moore Kneels And Kisses Her Fiancé, Wheelchair-Bound World War II Veteran Ralph Neppel, 1945v
Some old Photos for your enjoyment
- Thread starter JWFilips
- Start date
richhodg66
Well-Known Member
Rosa Parks' mug shot.
Matt_G
Curmudgeon in training
Speaking of the B-17 Texas Raider, the NTSB has released the public docket associated with the investigation into this crash.
Here is a link to a good video by Juan Browne and Scott Perdue, breaking down the information that was released by the NTSB.
RicinYakima
High Steppes of Eastern Washington
I was told that this was a high speed traffic police response vehicle in post war Briton.
richhodg66
Well-Known Member
I have always liked the idea of a motorcycle with a side car. It would be fun to take the dog for a ride in.
Dusty Bannister
Well-Known Member
Well, I see the head light, but suspect that if a siren was needed the officer would just reach over and squeeze hard on a sensitive part of the dog.
richhodg66
Well-Known Member
Five young girls dressed for Easter Sunday, Chicago, Illinois,1962
richhodg66
Well-Known Member
Young Japanese girls training for the anticipated invasion of mainland Japan, 1945.
richhodg66
Well-Known Member
The Hornet leaving San Francisco in 1942 with Jimmy Doolittle's B-25's on board. The first strike against Japan's mainland.
Missionary
Well-Known Member
That is one very historical photo ! That was the 1st combat mission Hornet went out on.
oscarflytyer
Well-Known Member
From "Traces of Texas" FB page... "Traces of Texas reader Stan Watty was nice enough to share this circa 1905 photo of a gunfight in El Paso. R.G. McKinney, El Paso photographer, took this and wrote on the back "Gunfight, 7th & South El Paso Streets, El Paso, Texas. City Detective in black suit, back of pole, is firing at a fugitive holed up in (or on roof of) the Popular Saloon." Amazing. For some reason, I love the bicycle at the detective's feet ... like a kid just left it when gunfire erupted. I have never seen this before."
Part that kills me is, someone was able to get a photo, AND the people standing at the front of the saloon/no panic apparent!
Part that kills me is, someone was able to get a photo, AND the people standing at the front of the saloon/no panic apparent!
oscarflytyer
Well-Known Member
"My dad remembered that when he saw the Hatfields on the streets of Logan, and they always carried guns in the open. He said nobody seemed to notice. It’s neither good nor bad. It’s part of Logan history. Back in the day, when I was out on some stories, I sometimes had two friends deep in my camera bag (Smith & Wesson)."
— Emery Jeffreys, journalist and friend of the Hatfield and McCoy Feud Facebook page. Posted in 2019.
Photo: This famous 1897 photo is of a few members of the Logan County Hatfield clan. The image includes, extreme left to right, family friend William Auxier “Ock” Damron, Elias Hatfield, Detroit "Troy" Hatfield, Joe Hatfield, William Anderson “Cap” Hatfield Jr. (holding Winchester lever action rifle), and W.E. Borden, who organized the photo session. In the doorway is, sitting, Levicy (Louvicey) Chafin Hatfield (wife of Devil Anse), and a daughter. In the front center, sitting, is family patriarch William Anderson "Devil Anse" Hatfield.
The two seated children in front, Tennis and Willis Hatfield. Legend has it that Tennis, front left, was annoyed by the entire photo session since he was not allowed to hold a gun of any type, due to his young age.
— Emery Jeffreys, journalist and friend of the Hatfield and McCoy Feud Facebook page. Posted in 2019.
Photo: This famous 1897 photo is of a few members of the Logan County Hatfield clan. The image includes, extreme left to right, family friend William Auxier “Ock” Damron, Elias Hatfield, Detroit "Troy" Hatfield, Joe Hatfield, William Anderson “Cap” Hatfield Jr. (holding Winchester lever action rifle), and W.E. Borden, who organized the photo session. In the doorway is, sitting, Levicy (Louvicey) Chafin Hatfield (wife of Devil Anse), and a daughter. In the front center, sitting, is family patriarch William Anderson "Devil Anse" Hatfield.
The two seated children in front, Tennis and Willis Hatfield. Legend has it that Tennis, front left, was annoyed by the entire photo session since he was not allowed to hold a gun of any type, due to his young age.
Missionary
Well-Known Member
Post 2572 Side wall of the Saloon below the adds that puff of smoke I would think has the culprit behind it.
462
California's Central Coast Amid The Insanity
Residual smoke from the previous shot?
Dusty Bannister
Well-Known Member
I took that to be the smoke from the detective's gun shot. Scattered smoke near the saloon entrance could be tobacco smoke. Not a lot different from current scenes except in the old days still photos, present days, cell phone videos from bystanders.
StrawHat
Well-Known Member
This was also discussed on the Colt Forum. Turns out it was a 5 hour(!) gunfight! The utility pole in front of the detective had more than a few bullet holes in it.
Kevin
I've wanted to post this for some while, but it's been a special and private part of my life, insignificant in the greater scheme of things and probably had little bearing on the course of humankind's vector in time. I never wanted to subject it to the potential for a "meh" response of someone who saw it. It's THAT special.
And then I realized that I was short-changing the character of those who frequent this forum. THIS is really the kind of stuff which is important to those who appreciate the elemental forms which work as subsets to a greater scheme. This particular "subset:"
Oscar Brown was my 'cross th' road neighbor" in Cooper Ohio. If you've never heard of Cooper, Ohio, don't feel badly. People who pass through it every day miss the signs. There are, and have been as long as I can remember FIVE households. I was related to two of the other households, but didn't know the fourth family, because they lived on the other side of the "crick," and we were forbidden from crossing it. Whatever law the matriarchs laid down, let NO menial (but loved and nurtured) child neglect to obey, for we truly believed in those days that those women, who managed some of the wildest and toughest men in the County were legally obliged to cull (kill and bury) miscreant offspring on "the other side of the store." "The store" is another story. For now, it's a geographical push-pin.
"Brownie," was the "fifth" family in that little clutch of homes. He was a 'coon-hunter and a farmer. He used an old Ford XN and used that exclusively, if it gives you an idea how many acres he cared for. His place was immaculate - house, garden, hen-house, yard. It gave the impression he was well-off, in fiscal terms. Back over a draw was his barn, which was never painted, but straight, plumb ad level. He kept a mess of 'coon-dogs over there in the shade of a few big, old oak trees and their barking was a constant part of the overall rural background "noise." All were chained to a house and had the dirt burnished to a dustless hard-top in a fan as long and wide as the radii of their chains. They seemed to be always "ON." They also seemed to always be happy.
"Brownie" was what familiars called Oscar Brown. I was enthralled with this old fella, who was "old" when I was six years old in the mid-sixties. He was always in a good mood, wore a perpetual white stubble and bib overalls. His hall mark was a trickle of Redman juice in the stubble of one of the corners of his mouth. I thought this guy was just awesome. I was allowed to cross the country road to his house on occasion, to buy eggs. His wife was one of the most cordial and refined women I'd ever known and kept a stone-walled basement absolutely and impeccably SPOTLESS (somehow), where she kept the eggs in a a fridge.
Depending on the time of day, "Brownie" might be exhibiting the natural angle of repose of a hard-working farmer in the hottest part of the hottest days of summer when I showed up. Mrs. Brown would show me to the front room, where I'd mimic his posture, probably in HER chair, in the shade of that cool, dark front room. No AC in those days, people just knew how to build houses.
Beside his chair was a small tabourette, with nothing but a framed photo (see attached) of him, his surly son and a couple 'coon-hunting buddies, on an immaculate and purest-white, hand-made doily. I was entranced by that photo. A WALL of 'coon hides! Enough to cover the side of his corn crib! The pictured dogs were serious as heart attacks about their business and cared for nothing BUT their business. They WERE a bit scary.
I don't even remember what he told me about that photo as I studied it and ate those thick, round, pink, minty-tasting candies Mrs. Brown set out in a rather glamorous dish (for the rural-type) near her chair. I'm not sure I ever UNDERSTOOD a word that old man said as he forced his wind through his pipes and chuckled hoarsely in lieu of a period at the end of a sentence, but I loved that old man and was so impressed with that photo that it never left my mind's eye.
Decades later, as an Army Vet, world-traveler, grown man, etc., I told my mom about that photo. Brownie had passed and we heard of it through a local paper, because he had lived into his late nineties (Redman and all). At a spontaneous, mini-wake for Brownie at my mom's kitchen table, just her and me, we mused and recounted our recollections of the man. I'd mentioned that I sure would have liked to have had that old photo, because odds were that no one else would have thought much of it and who knows - it could have ended up in a dumpster when they cleaned up his estate for the auction.
Maybe a month or two later, I was having coffee with my mom at her kitchen table again. She blurted "OH, WAIT! I have something for you!" She shuffled off and left me at the table. I could hear drawers sliding, papers ruffling, and after a few minutes she returned and handed me the ORIGINAL print that I used to ogle, while "Brownie" aquiesced about... I'm not even sure. I never understood his flatland-Ohio version of Highland Scot! Hell, he could have been telling me how good I'd taste basted in butter, lemon and thyme, but I suspect not. I loved that old man and he seemed to like me, pretty much. He always smiled when he gabbed, so I took my six-year-old intuition at face-value and assumed he meant no harm.
I was astounded that I was holding the very same print I used to be mesmerized by as a child. Our family wasn't close to Brownie's family. We didn't really know him that well, let alone his surviving relatives.
My mom then explained how she assembled and worked a network from "some lady at the laundromat" to an existing relative of Brownie in OREGUN, who had inherietted a bunch of "stuff" from Brownie, who then dug through it and found the original photo. No idea where the frame went - probably in a dumpster to save space. Save the photos, pawn them off on someone and make them responsible for the currative failure of them not surviving in perpetuity. Easy-Peasey estate execution.
This was all pre-Internet and my mom never had a phone. She tracked that lone photo down in a month or two! While many men feared the men in my family, the WOMEN were the ones to really be afraid of. The things they managed to pull off. The men they managed to... MANAGE. We kids knew, if the grown men didn't.
I share this as a very personal and private part of my life. I've kept this photo to myself, in a book on Mausers for a long, long time. Not very exciting, but mine. I realize a lot of lurkers will see it too, but maybe some determined woman in one of the related families will hit this site on a search result too and find Oscar, Walter, Robert or Homer. I shouldn't hoarde this memory - it's too selfish. Not world-changing, but REAL-WORLD and I just wanted to share it with those who post here.
My apologies for the LONG post, but I could write a BOOK on my "relationship" with that old man in Cooper, Ohio, IF I could actually WRITE.
Left to right: Oscar Brown aka "Brownie," Walter Spotts, Robert A. Brown (Oscar's aloof son), and Homer Dearsman.
NOTE: I have no idea when the photo was taken, but it seemed "old" in 1967. It's 7.25" x 7.25 ", has a .25" white border. "LOOKS" like sepia, but I assunne that it's a B&W ravaged by time. There's a true-to-life professional photographer, with a Polish-sounding name, who lives in PA, on board who may be able to make something of that information. He's actually famous, as far as I'm concerned, since he did AMAZING work for some muzzle-loading-affiliated concerns. He's the master - I'm just a spectator.
And then I realized that I was short-changing the character of those who frequent this forum. THIS is really the kind of stuff which is important to those who appreciate the elemental forms which work as subsets to a greater scheme. This particular "subset:"
Oscar Brown was my 'cross th' road neighbor" in Cooper Ohio. If you've never heard of Cooper, Ohio, don't feel badly. People who pass through it every day miss the signs. There are, and have been as long as I can remember FIVE households. I was related to two of the other households, but didn't know the fourth family, because they lived on the other side of the "crick," and we were forbidden from crossing it. Whatever law the matriarchs laid down, let NO menial (but loved and nurtured) child neglect to obey, for we truly believed in those days that those women, who managed some of the wildest and toughest men in the County were legally obliged to cull (kill and bury) miscreant offspring on "the other side of the store." "The store" is another story. For now, it's a geographical push-pin.
"Brownie," was the "fifth" family in that little clutch of homes. He was a 'coon-hunter and a farmer. He used an old Ford XN and used that exclusively, if it gives you an idea how many acres he cared for. His place was immaculate - house, garden, hen-house, yard. It gave the impression he was well-off, in fiscal terms. Back over a draw was his barn, which was never painted, but straight, plumb ad level. He kept a mess of 'coon-dogs over there in the shade of a few big, old oak trees and their barking was a constant part of the overall rural background "noise." All were chained to a house and had the dirt burnished to a dustless hard-top in a fan as long and wide as the radii of their chains. They seemed to be always "ON." They also seemed to always be happy.
"Brownie" was what familiars called Oscar Brown. I was enthralled with this old fella, who was "old" when I was six years old in the mid-sixties. He was always in a good mood, wore a perpetual white stubble and bib overalls. His hall mark was a trickle of Redman juice in the stubble of one of the corners of his mouth. I thought this guy was just awesome. I was allowed to cross the country road to his house on occasion, to buy eggs. His wife was one of the most cordial and refined women I'd ever known and kept a stone-walled basement absolutely and impeccably SPOTLESS (somehow), where she kept the eggs in a a fridge.
Depending on the time of day, "Brownie" might be exhibiting the natural angle of repose of a hard-working farmer in the hottest part of the hottest days of summer when I showed up. Mrs. Brown would show me to the front room, where I'd mimic his posture, probably in HER chair, in the shade of that cool, dark front room. No AC in those days, people just knew how to build houses.
Beside his chair was a small tabourette, with nothing but a framed photo (see attached) of him, his surly son and a couple 'coon-hunting buddies, on an immaculate and purest-white, hand-made doily. I was entranced by that photo. A WALL of 'coon hides! Enough to cover the side of his corn crib! The pictured dogs were serious as heart attacks about their business and cared for nothing BUT their business. They WERE a bit scary.
I don't even remember what he told me about that photo as I studied it and ate those thick, round, pink, minty-tasting candies Mrs. Brown set out in a rather glamorous dish (for the rural-type) near her chair. I'm not sure I ever UNDERSTOOD a word that old man said as he forced his wind through his pipes and chuckled hoarsely in lieu of a period at the end of a sentence, but I loved that old man and was so impressed with that photo that it never left my mind's eye.
Decades later, as an Army Vet, world-traveler, grown man, etc., I told my mom about that photo. Brownie had passed and we heard of it through a local paper, because he had lived into his late nineties (Redman and all). At a spontaneous, mini-wake for Brownie at my mom's kitchen table, just her and me, we mused and recounted our recollections of the man. I'd mentioned that I sure would have liked to have had that old photo, because odds were that no one else would have thought much of it and who knows - it could have ended up in a dumpster when they cleaned up his estate for the auction.
Maybe a month or two later, I was having coffee with my mom at her kitchen table again. She blurted "OH, WAIT! I have something for you!" She shuffled off and left me at the table. I could hear drawers sliding, papers ruffling, and after a few minutes she returned and handed me the ORIGINAL print that I used to ogle, while "Brownie" aquiesced about... I'm not even sure. I never understood his flatland-Ohio version of Highland Scot! Hell, he could have been telling me how good I'd taste basted in butter, lemon and thyme, but I suspect not. I loved that old man and he seemed to like me, pretty much. He always smiled when he gabbed, so I took my six-year-old intuition at face-value and assumed he meant no harm.
I was astounded that I was holding the very same print I used to be mesmerized by as a child. Our family wasn't close to Brownie's family. We didn't really know him that well, let alone his surviving relatives.
My mom then explained how she assembled and worked a network from "some lady at the laundromat" to an existing relative of Brownie in OREGUN, who had inherietted a bunch of "stuff" from Brownie, who then dug through it and found the original photo. No idea where the frame went - probably in a dumpster to save space. Save the photos, pawn them off on someone and make them responsible for the currative failure of them not surviving in perpetuity. Easy-Peasey estate execution.
This was all pre-Internet and my mom never had a phone. She tracked that lone photo down in a month or two! While many men feared the men in my family, the WOMEN were the ones to really be afraid of. The things they managed to pull off. The men they managed to... MANAGE. We kids knew, if the grown men didn't.
I share this as a very personal and private part of my life. I've kept this photo to myself, in a book on Mausers for a long, long time. Not very exciting, but mine. I realize a lot of lurkers will see it too, but maybe some determined woman in one of the related families will hit this site on a search result too and find Oscar, Walter, Robert or Homer. I shouldn't hoarde this memory - it's too selfish. Not world-changing, but REAL-WORLD and I just wanted to share it with those who post here.
My apologies for the LONG post, but I could write a BOOK on my "relationship" with that old man in Cooper, Ohio, IF I could actually WRITE.
Left to right: Oscar Brown aka "Brownie," Walter Spotts, Robert A. Brown (Oscar's aloof son), and Homer Dearsman.
NOTE: I have no idea when the photo was taken, but it seemed "old" in 1967. It's 7.25" x 7.25 ", has a .25" white border. "LOOKS" like sepia, but I assunne that it's a B&W ravaged by time. There's a true-to-life professional photographer, with a Polish-sounding name, who lives in PA, on board who may be able to make something of that information. He's actually famous, as far as I'm concerned, since he did AMAZING work for some muzzle-loading-affiliated concerns. He's the master - I'm just a spectator.
Last edited:
richhodg66
Well-Known Member
The Lyford House being saved from demolition and moved by barge across Richardson Bay Tiburon California.
December 1957.
December 1957.