If you’ve kept up with these posts, either here or social media, you likely know about my increasing desire for actual printed photos. Think about it. We live in an age where people are snapping away on their digital cameras and smartphones, but where do these files exist? Most, I’m guessing, are on your hard drives, not in albums or on walls. When the Atlanta Journal & Constitution made me a guinea pig for some of the first mass-produced digital cameras in the mid-90s, I balked. And balked more when I saw the results (terrible). Since then, however, technology has progressed quickly. Digital cameras, smartphones included, can do incredible things now. A few years ago, I began to realize that most of my images were living lives as files on numerous external hard drives. There was nothing tactile. Now, although it’s costing me more than I care to spend, I’m starting to print again with the help of a pretty good photo printer. I’ll never make up for lost time, but it’s important to try. The images posted here are relevant. The first is an old leather box containing bits of my family’s history. A number of the photos, though family members on my father’s side, are unknown to me. Still, I have them. I just love the family portrait, which looks, judging by the clothing, to have been made in the late 1800s or early 1900s. Occasionally, I dig these, and other boxes, out of a closet and just look. And hold. And smell. The other photo, which hangs on the wall of my home office, is a photo taken of American Indian activist Russell Means in 1986. Writer Ron Martz and I spent copious amounts of time in the 80s working on stories related the Native Americans. Means, a Lakota Sioux, was a prominent figure. We only had a general idea where we’d find him. In the 80s, you’ll recall, we couldn’t email someone or give them a ring on our mobile devices. Writer Ron Martz and I finally found Means at Devil’s Tower, Wyoming, where he was getting ready to take part in a Sun Dance. Although photos weren’t allowed of the actual dance, Mr. Means allowed us to stay and interview him for a profile. This candid photo is one I liked, and still do. It’s why it’s on my wall. I’ve missed holding prints in my hands. I’ve missed the history. It’s important for all of us.


















































