My father, among his many avocations, took up photography, becoming quite good at it (in part because, as he oft said, I never show my mistakes). Tonight, I had a flash remembrance. Every Saturday morning, Dad would take my brother Wayne and me on an excursion to Ferguson, MO, to Karl R. Krammenachers Camera Shop, not far from the site of the Michael Brown shooting and death. There for a boring hour or two - at least, for me - Dad and Mr. Krammenacher would talk photography. That was in the day when Ferguson was largely a white community. I can remember the looks askance the three of us would receive when walking into the store. Not from Mr. Krammenacher, who could not have been more kindly welcoming, even to rambunctious, fidgety little boys, but from the other customers. Some things stay with you, even if it takes a tumultuous current event to dredge them up from the depths of memory.
Posted on: Sat, 16 Aug 2014 01:57:38 +0000
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