In addition to diving into my own memories of the early-to-mid 1970s, another project I’ve undertaken for this year is collecting my dad’s photos of his year in Korea, when he was serving in the U.S. Air Force, just a little more than four decades back.
There are several pages’ worth of these black-and-white pictures, unlabeled, collected in one of my mom’s earliest photo albums. I also seem to recall a box of color slides from Korea that used to be in our attic. I’ll have to ask about those and maybe look into getting them digitized. I figure I’ll post them a few pages at a time, publishing smaller images here, and linking to the collected Flickr set of larger versions. (Clicking on any of the photos will also take you to that set and the original 600 dpi scans.)
They’re a regular, everyday mix of scenic photos, posed pictures, and context-free slices of whatever life was going on at the moment.
All of these pictures were taken between July 1971 and August 1972, but not during February 1972, since Dad was home on leave then. Possible locations are near the USAF Osan Air Base and a radar site at Kojin, which seems to have been just south of the DMZ on the east coast, near a body of water named “Hwajinpo.” (I have a baseball-style cap of Dad’s embroidered with “Kamp Kojin Korea” on the front, “Doc” along one side and “Commander USAF Hospital” on the back. Another cap I have says “USAF HOSP Osan ’71-’72″ on it.)
I welcome any feedback, input or insight into the locations and situations captured in Dad’s pictures, so if you know someone who served in this area around this time, feel free to get in touch with me through the comments or by emailing me at booth(at)fieldsedge.com.
From time to time, I’ve written about the 1980s. They mattered to me. As I wrote in 2008:
In practically every sense of the word, I grew up in the 1980s: I turned 10 the year they began, when the Empire struck back and Tom Hanks cross-dressed on television. In 1989 I saw Robin Williams make studying poetry rock, graduated from high school, started college, listened to the Cure disintegrate and turned 19. The popular culture of that decade is as addicting to me as a two-pound bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and a two-liter of Coke Classic.
In my memories, the late 1970s – say, 1977-79 – mesh easily with the eighties, for the most part. Maybe because that’s when I started elementary school, and you begin having those shared experiences with your friends that eventually shape and define you collectively.
But over the past few years, I’ve found myself drawn repeatedly to pieces from the earlier part of that decade, which I recall with little specificity, large swaths of sensory impressions, and vague memories attached to large, blurry-edged chunks of time and place.
The early 1970s were the years when my mom and I lived in her childhood farmhouse in Upper Sandusky, while my dad was serving in the Air Force; when mom & dad & I lived in Lima, Ohio, and I made my first best friend, Albert.
Movies like Snoopy Come Home, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, The Towering Inferno and Earthquake take me back there in powerful, intangible ways. (Yes, I saw those last two in the theatre with my parents, and re-watched them within the last couple years for the first time in decades: Inferno totally holds up. Earthquake does not.) So do songs like Billy Don’t Be a Hero, Song Sung Blue, Bad, Bad Leroy Brown, and Band on the Run (oh God, BAND ON THE RUN).
For a long time, my love for the ’80s made it easy for me to kind of file the early 1970s away in a lumped-together preschool haze of funky stripes and plaids, wavy hairstyles, and peanut butter sandwiches, without giving much thought to the lasting impressions and the things that mattered.
My parents, I realize now, were at an age I’d now grin at and shake my head, saying, “Ah, they’re still just kids.” And my grandparents still had many years ahead of them – they were only about 10 years older than I am now.
I’m going to try to regularly revisit those years through pictures and memories for awhile. Adam and I have talked about it occasionally, and recent conversations with my friend Mo about Walt Disney World got me looking for pieces from an early ’70s trip there with my parents.
The ’80s will still be there for me. But I’m looking forward to spending some time going further back.
Growing up, I heard the term “tornado slide” used to describe this piece of playground equipment, and I’ve always loved it. This one’s in Harrison Smith Park in Upper Sandusky, Ohio, and I’m pretty sure it’s The Best One In The World.
I mean, look at it. All metal. Three full revolutions. Angle of descent: Approximately badass degrees. Turns tight enough to cause right-leg friction burns on the center pole. An ascent that includes a landing, for Pete’s sake, presumably so you can acclimate to the altitude and get even more scared. Look at the bottom of the slide: I’m pretty sure that kid was kissing the ground out of his thankfulness for having survived – Oh, God, no, wait! Look closely! I think there’s another kid down there. THE SLIDE WAS BAITING US INTO COLLISIONS AND TRYING TO KILL US ALL.
Yeah, I loved this thing. I’m pretty sure it was installed in 1976, in tune with the nationwide bicentennial celebration, and that around the time of this photo, it was brand new. Check out that line of thrill-seekers. I’m one step up from the halfway landing, five years old. That’s my mom – also an adventurous type – right behind me.
Playgrounds have changed a lot in the three-plus decades since this slide was installed, including the park in Upper Sandusky. But the World’s Best Tornado Slide lasts. My daughter’s tackled it. Maybe my nephews, too. Last I checked, it’s still there – visible on Google Maps, even. Waiting.
In terms of quantity, I had kind of a lousy year in 2013: I only finished 11 books, and five of those (marked with asterisks below) were re-reads.
- What I Talk About When I Talk About Running – Haruki Murakami
- Star Wars: Scoundrels – Timothy Zahn
- Await Your Reply – Dan Chaon
- Han Solo at Stars’ End – Brian Daley*
- Han Solo’s Revenge – Brian Daley*
- Codex Born – Jim C. Hines
- Beyond the Blue Event Horizon – Frederick Pohl
- The Ghost Brigades – John Scalzi*
- The Fault in Our Stars – John Green
- Maus I: My Father Bleeds History – Art Spiegelman*
- Anathem – Neal Stephenson*
On the other hand: Quality. I really enjoyed all of them, and my six first-time reads were a nice mix of popcorn fun, mind-bending, gut-punching, and thought-provoking.