Back in 1973, Paul Simon wrote a catchy tune he called “Kodachrome.” The refrain went something like this, “Kodachrome. They give us those nice bright colors, they give us the greens of summers, makes you think all the world’s a sunny day.”
I was a freshman in high school that September, walking the halls of THS with great trepidation and even a bit of fear at being in such a vast building. How would I find my locker? Who would be my friends? What would other students think about me?
It was a scary time for me, but, like everything else in my life so far,
it all turned out just fine. I got through the angst of those teen years, went on to college, grad school, marriage and the work world.
But that song was never too far away from my memory.
Just yesterday morning as I was driving through Tecumseh, I was thinking of “those nice bright colors” as I looked up at the sky and the “greens of summers” as I drove down W. Pottawatamie. Those shades may not be quite so green as they were in spring, but they remain with us even as the leaves and grass and crops are starting to yellow under the late summer sun.
Kids are in school now, their summer vacation officially over, even though the astronomical fall doesn’t begin until Sept. 22, the Autumnal Equinox. I think that likely explains why McDonald’s and Starbucks already have added “Pumpkin Spice” to their menus. The streets Tuesday were quiet, the sunlight falling between tree limbs and dappling the sidewalks of my hometown as Kodachrome memories filled my mind. I drove past my elementary school, Tecumseh Acres, and recalled how we’d play in the field next to the school where Spafford Drive is now. One of my friends from elementary school and Brownies lived at 601 Blanchard, just a couple of blocks from the school. In those days, I lived at 604 Cairns and others lived on Orchard Lane and Shady Lane. Those neighborhoods and those houses still look pretty much the same to me, although there are many more houses now.
My dad bought my sister Carol and I matching bicycles in 1964 from Martin’s, then the Don Martin and Son Gambles store. The bikes were emerald green, just our size, and Dad patiently helped us learn to ride them on the sidewalk in front of our house. We had training wheels at first and we’d pedal furiously between our driveway and the Harper’s driveway next door, Dad’s hands firmly in place so we didn’t fall. One day, the training wheels came off. He gave us a gentle shove and let go. We pedaled perfectly for several yards, eventually mastering the two-wheel bicycles.
My father shot all of his photos on an Argus fixed-lens camera that was made in Ann Arbor. He mostly used Ektachrome and Kodachrome film and when he had it processed, he’d get slides. He had a Bell and Howell projector that he’d load up with slides and we’d watch them on the wall of the kitchen after the sun went down, no silver screen needed. We delighted in seeing the slides from our parents’ wedding and honeymoon and photographs of the farm where my dad grew up. And of course each of those moments of our own lives, carefully catalogued and preserved–baptisms, First Communions, birthdays, Christmas, Easter, summer vacations, even Neil Armstrong’s moon landing. That latter photo was taken from the television set my dad purchased from Wolf’s Appliance.
Photographs and photography have changed tremendously since those days of Kodachrome film and its “nice bright colors.” Today, we all carry a camera with us that is arguably 100 times better than an Argus or even Paul Simon’s beloved Nikon. Yet, despite the convenience of the phone camera and its high-tech results, there still something to be said for the old ways of making a photograph. Capturing memories on film is a lot like recalling the ways in which those captured memories shaped us as a generation and told our stories, however grainy and faded they have become.
In my Kodachrome replay, I see the gray Formica table top in the kitchen and feel the cool metal legs of the vinyl padded chair as I sit and watch our lives unfolding on the yellow kitchen wall.
SQUIBS 