A Portrait of Doug and Sally

A Portrait of Doug and Sally

My grandfather, Doug, has always told me stories from his life, the same ones many times, scenes on repeat: when he and grandma first met, their wedding day, having Uncle Doug, losing Uncle Mark, their fights when grandma walked out on him. Why does he tell them again and again? Is he trying to grasp a reality that isn’t there? Or does he really not remember that he’s already told us these a hundred times?

Some of the stories that follow are exactly how they were told to me, some were imagined where major details were left out; some of the images are from photographs and some from my imagination. My task is now to patch these stories together and try to make sense of them, stitch together my Grandparents lives. I want to capture these moments in time, hold on to them, and not let them slip away from me, even though the people are.

It was the summer of 1949 at Fish Creek Pond in the Town of Saranac Lake, Upstate New York, just south of the Adirondack Mountain range.

            Doug's blonde hair was slicked back, the white from his tee shirt, carefully tucked into his favorite pair of jeans, popped out from under his black leather jacket, while a skinny cigarette hung from his lips--all to try to look older, and cooler, than he did. His baby face gave the impression that he was years younger than the twenty three years he had lived. Doug was walking on the dirt road that snaked through the tents populating the campground with his friend, Don. They were discussing which flies they would use fishing the next morning. Doug’s heart started racing, palms became sweaty, and throat a little dry. A pair of girls were walking toward them, the one on the right took Doug’s breath away.  He stopped in his tracks and held out his hand to stop Don who had not seen the girls that he did.

Sally wore her golden brown hair in a high pony tail that swung at the rhythm of her long stride along with the swish of her long skirt. She was on her way back to her parents’ campsite with her sister, Bobbi. Though Sally was the younger of the two, she was also the better looking one. While Bobbi had a boyish look to her and her cheeks bulged out like a chipmunk hiding an acorn for safe keeping. Sally was slim and beautiful; she looked like she came right off the front page of Vogue magazine. Even at the age of fifteen she could turn the head of any man or boy, no matter their age. Sally was updating Bobbi on what she wanted to do with her life.

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