I was watching a piece about Rosland Cash, daughter of Johnny Cash, on CBS’s Sunday Morning today. She had a picture of herself sitting on the porch where they lived in Memphis as a toddler. And now that she is a very grown up, she went and sat in the same place and had another picture taken. It was a nice. To see yourself like an article in a magazine article, complete with the labels of then and now. It made me think. Every house from my toddler-hood is physically gone.
The city of Chicago decided that the two-flat that I came home to as a baby was sitting on property that needed to be turned into a playground for a school. So, when I was seven years old, we moved to another two-flat at the western edge of the city, just outside of Cicero.
The house that was hand built by my great grandfather and his friends was torn down a couple of years ago down in Virginia to make way for a water pumping station.
So, there isn’t a place in existence that I could go to and make a picture of the before and after echo of me. I guess I didn’t become famous enough fast enough to save the old homesteads. Just as well, if I could see them today, I probably wouldn’t enjoy it.