More Than Words

“Words are never enough. The eye sees. The mind knows. The heart feels. But the words do not exist to make us see, or know, or feel what it is like, what actually happens.

—Life magazine, 1943

It’s hard to imagine in these times of immediate media and a 24/7 news cycle, but in World War II, news coverage of most of the battles didn’t come until weeks after they had happened. Photos and newsreels were carefully curated, and there was no citizen journalism like there is today, on social media. Pearl Harbor was attacked on Dec. 7, 1941. Yet, despite the more than 2,000 people who died that day, there was never a photo in any news outlet of a dead American until September of 1943 when Life magazine published a photo of a dead Navy sailor in New Guinea, in the South Pacific. Editors of the magazine explained the choice with the quote above, which was featured in the Ken Burns documentary “The War.”

PBS pic, via the Library of Congress

Very different from today, when the instant an IED goes off, or another building is attacked, the film is available online, sometimes even as it happens. This is our world now. Pictures are a powerful way to tell a story, to preserve memories, and to document history. It can be too much, however, and with the news now being all corona, all the time, I know it’s not just me stepping back from the press conferences, the news shows, the Twitter feeds and Google alerts. It’s simply too much, at least for me. What I have found helpful is to turn to a big plastic bin of photos and souvenirs that are hopelessly unorganized and likely will always remain so. It’s worth going down to my dusty basement and digging it out now and then.

It’s kind of a time capsule of my family, with baby pics of my brother and me growing up, our parents, my own kids, family vacations, Christmas tree shots and homemade birthday cards. I like that it’s not all neatly cataloged because it means I can reach in, at any time, and come up with a different handful of history. Pictures from my high school trip to Paris, faded shots of prom night and flowers, drooling babies and Lego blocks are all mixed in there, anytime anyone wants to wade in and remember.

We’re all feeling more than a little cooped up lately; it’s impossible not to be going a little stir crazy. My big bin of pictures has been wonderful for this because it’s nearly impossible to go through with the urge to lock a housebound teenager in a closet when you’ve just been perusing the baby pictures of when she was tiny, cute, and couldn’t talk. That’s the thing about pictures: They show just an instant of time, but that’s all it takes to capture some moments and it can be all we need to get past a few lousy moments.

I’m a digital girl; it’s all about my phone, laptop and other tech gadgets. Still, there is something about faded Polaroids, and prints that are still in envelopes from Fotomat, that really bring the old days back into focus. This quarantine is doing my head in. Half the time I’m unsure of what day it is, but when the shoebox that holds pictures, my degree and the commencement program from my college graduation is emptied out on the dining room table, I remember exactly who I was with, what my friends and I said to each other that day and how crisp and blue the sky was on the campus of Saint Michael’s College that first Sunday in May of 1986. Earlier this week, I may not have been sure if it was Tuesday or Wednesday, but when it was too windy and rainy to go for a walk, that shoebox was a lifeline to another time and honestly, it did more for me than a Netflix binge or another batch of chocolate chip cookies.

I am trying to capture some fun pictures of what this time has been like, even if it’s just a shot of Penny pug at the beach or silly selfies of my kids in their face masks. Even a pandemic can yield some happy snaps, right? Stay safe, stay sane and take out the old photo albums. You’ll be glad you did.

Brenda Kelley Kim is a longtime Marblehead resident and the author of “Sink or Swim: Tales From the Deep End of Everywhere.”