Revisiting my Hometown: Childhood Memories

Our grocery story building (now a dance studio)

Yesterday, I drove up to visit my mother and go to lunch. She’s 78. As we’re driving through town, I looked over at the building that my father used to lease, when I was a kid. We had a chain of grocery stores, similar to a Mapco, or SevenEleven. Right in the main drag of Bowling Green, Kentucky. From the time I was twelve years old or so, I worked in this building, bagging groceries, and later running the cash register. It’s so strange when you spend so much time in a building, and then you come back later, and it’s another type of business. What caught my eye, as we drove by yesterday, was that the entire length of all the plate glass windows — maybe thirty running feet — was made up of these trophies. Very surreal, even if I’d never spent any time there. There were these red curtains covering all the plate glass, so that added this odd mystery to the building. What was going on inside? No sign of any sort; just red curtains. At first glance, it came off more like a porn place than a dance studio. But then, these trophies in the window, running off into eternity.

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I’ve always liked that Winogrand quote, about how he liked to wait a good while to edit a project, to let the related emotions wear off of the images. Like they were attached to the photos or something, but eventually, they would fade away. He didn’t want his memories of the being there to affect how he judged the photos. For me, looking at this image of this building, with these trophies, this picture means SO MUCH to me, but it’s because I spent about seven formative years of my life there, learning how to talk to people, and how to show up for work on time, and how to stock a grocery shelf. Yet, I can see how someone detached, unrelated, would look at this photo, and think WTF? it’s just a brick building.

I can remember back to maybe the mid 60’s, and in this small town, there was a very old law on the books — they called it “The Blue Law” for some reason. It required every business to be closed on Sunday. (Small town in the south). But my father saw it otherwise, and he began to open this store on Sunday, and then the Christians clamped down, so the word got out that the Sheriff would be there to arrest him when he opened on one particular Sunday. The local TV news crew was there to photograph it. He turned the key to open the door, and they arrested him on the spot. Seemed highly dramatic and scary at the time, but now, seems hilarious.

So then, going home on I-65, I look over and see this classic mobile home, sitting alone in a large field, but decorated with Christmas lights. This golden light coming out of the blue darkness. All that was missing was the required Trans-Am, or ‘69 Camero, parked out front. Somewhere in the distance, a banjo was playing.

Mobile Home, right off of 65.

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