One Slide at a Time

Rediscovering history before it fades away

I’ve been putting off the slide viewing for years. Sorting my stuff for the American Heritage Center motivated me to go through them.

The task seemed simple enough. I have boxes and carousels of slides and photographs accumulated over decades. I’ll take the hard copies to the AHC. My plan is to digitize them and create an online archive by signing up for another Google Drive.

Kodachrome was top quality in its day. A status symbol. The best prints. Kodak quit making Kodachrome, and I don’t want photos on the walls.

Now, all I want are fuzzy reference shots.

The thought of reviewing the slides daunted me, since I haven’t looked at them in decades. Some are labeled. Others are complete mysteries. I know there are family photos, travels, community projects, and who knows what else. There are stories worth preserving in those boxes. The challenge is finding and remembering them.

I stopped procrastinating.

I dug out my analog Kodak Carousel projector and created a makeshift digitizing station in the basement. The projector throws images onto a portable screen. An iPhone mounted on a flexible arm photographs each slide as it appears. The arrangement would horrify a professional archivist, but perfection wasn’t the goal. I just needed reference images good enough to identify people, places, and events.

The setup looks ridiculous, but it works.

In about 90 minutes, I clicked through four carousels.

Some images brought immediate recognition.

“That’s my uncle’s living room in Peru.”

“There’s Grandma.”

“I remember that train ride to Machu Picchu.”

Others were complete puzzles.

“Who are these people?”

“Where was this taken?”

Why did I think this was important enough to photograph 50 years ago?

As the images appeared one after another, I realized the project is about photography and about memory. Photographs freeze a moment in time, while memories fade. The two are complementary. The people who can identify the faces in old pictures don’t stay around forever. If nobody writes down the names and stories, eventually the photographs become anonymous.

I mentioned my progress to a neighbor. He wasn’t nearly as excited as I was, probably because he’s not ready to cut loose. My neighbor on the other side of the sidewalk is purging his mothballed business and saw my setup in the basement. I told him I’d keep it set up if he wanted to look at his slides.

The process reminded me why I’ve been engaged in a bit of Swedish death cleaning. The goal is to leave behind fewer mysteries for friends and family.

Before anything can be preserved, it has to be identified.

Because the sun comes up early, It’ll take me a few more days to look at everything in the relatively dark room.

The setup may be imperfect and takes up a lot of space. Analog slides are cumbersome, having to manually load them, being sure they’re right side up and not backward. I had two piles ready to store, but the apparatus irritated one of my neighbors who tossed them in a box out of disgust. It took up a lot of space in a common area. I should have rubberbanded them together.

The images I record will not be museum quality, but each click of the projector reveals another piece of my otherwise forgotten puzzle.

Some mysteries are solved instantly. Others require a little detective work, but every slide I identify is one less story at risk of being lost.

Those old carousels turned out to be time machines after all. I visited Peru for a family reunion, explored the Superstition Mountains in search of the Lost Dutchman, attended Nixon’s 1973 Inauguration, and, in high school, traveled to Alaska and met my long-lost Uncle Buck.

The real destinations are the stories that the photos bring to mind.

Before Dismissing Democratic Socialism, Ask Why It’s Growing

Every time the phrase “democratic socialism” pops up in a political discussion, someone inevitably reacts as if a Soviet submarine has surfaced in the neighborhood swimming pool.

For many Americans, especially those who grew up during the Cold War, the word “socialism” comes with a lot of baggage. It evokes memories of school drills, the Iron Curtain, and endless warnings about communism. To some, the term sounds less like a political philosophy and more like a 1962 emergency broadcast.

Before dismissing democratic socialism outright, it might be worth asking a simple question:

Why is it growing?

The answer has less to do with Karl Marx and more to do with rent.

Younger voters aren’t advocating for government ownership of everything. Most aren’t spending their weekends debating nineteenth-century economic theory. They’re looking at housing costs, healthcare bills, student debt, stagnant wages, and wondering why the American Dream require a six-figure salary and three side hustles.

For them, democratic socialism serves as shorthand for a belief that the economy should work for more people, not just those at the very top.

Whether that diagnosis is correct is a matter for debate, but the concerns themselves are real.

The conversation becomes more interesting when demographics enter the picture.

Every day, roughly 10,000 Americans turn 18 and become eligible to vote. Every day, roughly 10,000 Americans also turn 65 and enter retirement age. One generation is stepping onto the political stage while another gradually exits it. That’s not a criticism of older voters. It’s how time flies. Elections are always a contest among the past, the present, and the future.

Political parties ignore these demographic shifts at their peril.

The emerging electorate is more diverse than any generation before it. Demographers project that by around 2045, the United States will become a “majority-minority” nation, meaning no single racial or ethnic group will constitute a majority of the population.

Whether that development excites or worries people, it represents a profound demographic change that will influence politics, culture, and public policy for decades.

In that context, the question are why young voters are embracing new ideas and why anyone would expect them not to.

After all, every generation rebels against the assumptions of the previous one.

The Baby Boomers challenged the norms of the 1950s. Generation X questioned institutions. Millennials entered adulthood during economic turmoil. Generation Z inherited housing prices that make Monopoly look affordable.

Given those circumstances, it shouldn’t be surprising that younger voters are exploring alternatives and asking questions about wealth, opportunity, and economic fairness.

Critics of democratic socialism argue that expanding government programs increases taxes, create inefficiencies, and weaken economic incentives. Supporters argue that today’s economy has produced a widening gap between those who have accumulated extraordinary wealth and those struggling to keep up with the cost of living.

Both sides make points worth discussing.

What gets lost in the shouting match is that many of the policies associated with democratic socialism already exist in America. Social Security, Medicare, public education, unemployment insurance, rural electrification, and public libraries were all controversial at one time.

I remember a political cartoon from the 1950s of a Russian truck dumping wheat in the ocean to prop up prices. The U.S. government subsidizes ag businesses the same way.

Today, most Americans view them as normal parts of civic life.

This doesn’t mean democratic socialism is right. It doesn’t mean capitalism is wrong.

It means the debate is more complicated than the labels.

For older Americans, “socialism”still conjures images of Cold War adversaries like Joseph Stalin’s work camps . For younger Americans, the term means affordable healthcare, attainable housing, stronger worker protections, and a chance to build a stable life.

The disconnect is less about ideology and more about vocabulary.

Before dismissing democratic socialism as a relic from another era or embracing it as the answer to every problem it’s worth listening to what its supporters say.

Political movements rarely grow by accident.

They grow when enough people feel that something isn’t working.

The label isn’t the story.

The story is why a growing number of Americans, especially younger Americans, believe the current system needs repair.

If that many future voters are asking the question, both political parties might want to pay closer attention because if something keeps surfacing in the political pool, it may be less useful to shout “submarine” and more useful to ask what’s driving it to the surface in the first place.

The Papa Burger and Princess Leia

Sorting through old myths, one cheeseburger at a time.

There’s a Swedish television show where three cheerful Scandinavians arrive at cluttered American homes and gently remind people of an inconvenient truth.

When you die, your relatives will either fight over your stuff, donate it to Goodwill, or haul it to the dumpster.

The Swedes call it “death cleaning.” Americans call it “my garage.”

I’ve been doing my own version lately. A few boxes at a time. Not because I’m planning an imminent departure from the planet, but because I’ve reached the age where I open a box and wonder why I thought it was important enough to move across three states.

This week’s excavation uncovered two sets of toys I once used as visual aids during gender-bias trainings when I worked in domestic violence prevention.

Leia and Luke over the years.

I’d pull out old Star Wars figures and Barbie dolls to make the point that popular culture starts socializing children early. Boys become dominant. Girls become decorative. By adulthood, everybody needs therapy.

The original 1977 Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker figures looked like underfed exchange students. Skinny. Plain. Awkward.

Over the years, both evolved into action heroes with toned abs and revealing wardrobes.

Ken especially transformed from suburban boyfriend into a plastic MMA fighter. Barbie’s proportions stayed pretty much the same, emphasizing that thin is better than otherwise.

Ken has bulked up over the years.

The toys worked well in trainings because every participant understood the point. You could physically see cultural expectations hardening in molded plastic.

Eventually, my teaching props became clutter.

So I sold the Star Wars collection to a collector in Berthoud. After an acupuncture appointment in Longmont, I drove over to make the delivery. One more box removed from the archive of my former lives.

Of course, no trip to Berthoud is complete without stopping at the A&W Restaurant.

The drive-in feels like a surviving artifact from “American Graffiti.” I pulled in, pushed a button and ordered through a two-way speaker, The curbhop brought out a tray that hooked onto the partially rolled-down car window.

Baby Boomers somehow managed to eat entire meals in their cars without permanently staining the upholstery, although now that I think about it, my old Ford Falcon may have always smelled faintly of french fries.

I ordered the Double Papa Burger combo: fries and a large root beer float, another stop on my ongoing cheeseburger field research project.

Double Papa Burger Combo

The Papa Burger today is wetter than I remember. Not worse. Just overcommitted to condiments.

The burger arrived dripping special sauce and sliced tomato fluid. I inhaled the monster with no evidence of chewing, which may explain indulgent health trends.

Compared to the other burgers I’ve sampled over the past few months, the Papa Burger holds up well.

There’s no brioche bun or truffle aioli. It’s a big, messy American cheeseburger served at a drive-in where you’re expected to eat like napkins are optional.

The afternoon felt connected in a strange way.

I sold toys that represented old ideas about masculinity and femininity. Then I celebrated by eating a burger large enough to challenge modern cardiology.

America remains a land of contradictions.

The trip would have been perfect if the kids meal had come with a Mandalorian toy.

Of course, that’s the domain of Burger King.