Glen Sorestad

Under the Orange Crush Billboard

In this well-preserved sepia print the baby’s parents pose on the walkway leading to adjoining homes, 369 and 371 East Broadway, theirs the former. The baby cannot know this, nor the extent to which these digits will adhere to memory.

His beaming father, in tan topcoat, fedora tilted, a touch rakishly, holds his young son, who is tucked inside a baby wrap, head covered with a knitted cap.

The smiling mother hovers, as if not yet prepared to concede her firstborn’s safety into the hands of the man she married a little over a year before.

Their wooden tenement home abuts Moore’s small corner grocery. The baby is not aware of this either, but he will come to know this store very well. His parents stand outside, along one wall, a large Orange Crush sign is backdrop, a rolled canvas awning for the store front visible in the upper right corner. His mother holds a handbag shaped like a medical valise, though it contains mostly diapers.

It is early December and they may be returning from a visit with friends. Notice traces of snow near their feet, (a catalyst for the capture of this photo?) Christmas is near and this snapshot is intended to satisfy distant family and friends, all eager for a first look at the reported firstborn son.

This photo will arrive in scattered, small village and town post boxes, tucked inside a Christmas card. On the back-side of the snapshot the proud mother will note her son now weighs 22 pounds at six and a half months.

Bob Mackenzie

Portrait

She reminds me of a woman from long ago, sometimes slightly scandalizes herself... Do you know what I mean though?

The kind of woman who says something ever so slightly shocking, and then she puts her hand over her mouth.

While the rest of us around her swear like sailors ... she is an island of peace and tranquility

in the eye of the storm ... a woman from long ago with her hand over her mouth.