Opening Up, Investing, and Reaching Out

Tuesday, December 29th, 2020

I spent the whole morning avoiding the box in the attic. Instead, I began what turned into a dizzying process of conducting research about different stand-alone and heavy duty slide scanners. I felt a sense of urgency in terms of getting Lenny’s slides converted to images to be preserved. I wasn’t sure what to expect in terms of the condition of the slides. It had been almost two decades since I had seen them.

If I wasn’t currently unemployed, I probably would have invested in a professional grade, heavy duty scanner in order to obtain the highest DPI possible. Lenny’s slides deserve nothing less than high quality. In fact, early in my research, I came across a video (Best Scanner for 35mm Slides?)by a man by the name of Darryl Carey. Carey succeeded in getting me excited (perhaps his accent played a role) about a specific device, the PowerSlideX (sounds sexy, or?). The balloon burst when he mentioned that it was pricey - about $900…on sale. Moving on.

I spent a good two hours reading (and rereading) about the pros and cons of different models, always coming back to the PowerSlideX and one or two other very expensive scanners. I even bought one of them via Amazon - for a few minutes. I cancelled the order after reminding myself what my checking account looked like. As much as I feel as though I want to do this project justice, I have to be realistic. I ended up placing a compromise order of a scanner that I convinced myself was worth it just for the name alone: The Wolverine Titan! I wanted to get to work and Amazon Prime offered 2-day free shipping.

Before finally heading up to the attic, I texted my mom to find out if she knew the contact information for a woman who was very special to Lenny. I must admit that my very young girl-self had stars in my eyes for her. I thought she was one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen. And her energy seemed so serene and kind. I quietly admired her (and her children).

I was able to locate one of her children on Instagram. He doesn’t seem to have aged at all. He looked almost the same as I had remembered him. Okay, so at the time of writing this, I had 3 posts on Instagram. I avoided it for some time and so I am quite clumsy with it but I managed to scroll through several of his “posts” (or are they called “pages”?). James Baldwin. Prince. Gordon Parks. Top Dog Underdog. Gregory Hines. Maya Angelou. Ghana. Eventually, I saw a picture of him with Lenny and Excalibur (my uncle’s English Bull Terrier). I figured out how to “heart” it and then was like, crap - what do I do now? Will he see it? Had I made contact? Still curious, I scrolled down a bit further and found a picture of him with his mom and his sister. This is nice, I thought. I think I am starting to see how Instagram can be a force for good in a way…maybe. Well, I gave that image a heart too but then I got stuck. I promised myself I would find another way to reach out once the project was underway and decided, for the time being, to switch gears.

My re-introduction to Lenny’s slides was somewhat clumsy and anti-climatic, at least initially. But at least the experience had a good soundtrack: Paul Winter’s Sun Singer and Cyndi Lauper’s She’s So Unusual (on vinyl, of course). I associate both artists with Lenny because he first introduced me to them. He had such a range of musical tastes. I am still discovering music today, because of him. And I still invest in vinyl. I would go to thrift stores and casually peruse the record section, scanning for treasures.

Actually, just a few days before my treadmill epiphany, I took on the (to me) daunting task of putting together a solid wood record cabinet I had bought on sale. I was determined to follow the mostly visual instructions, all on my own. It took me about 2 hours and I did need to ask OG for help at the very end. I couldn’t attach the sleek sliding doors because, unbeknownst to me, I had put the top railing piece on backwards. But it’s all good because once it was finished, I was just beaming. I guess I was proud of the fact that I took on something that seemed overwhelming and I had come out on the other side with this sexy mid century style object that is bringing me much joy. But I digress…but actually, not really. Because I got to house dozens of records I bought because of Lenny. Real treasures. Nothing can mimic the sound of a record. Hands down. And then I have the acoustics of the pitched attic roof! Stop it.

Okay, so why was the initial slide experience clumsy? Well, I have the awesome Ena-Assembled record cabinet up in the attic but that is about it. There is an EZ-Bed that has a semi-slow leak and then I do have a small work desk that my beloved built for me with leftover hardwood from when we had the attic floors done. I bought a basic adjustable stool to go with it but it is ridiculously uncomfortable (due to no back support) and I often gracefully bang my head against the ceiling as I sit and type. So I ended up sitting on the floor, opposite the record cabinet. It wasn’t yet evening so there was some natural light coming from the nearby window by the stairs. Also, I had done such a good job of sealing the clear plastic slide boxes with packing tape that I had to use scissors to cut it off and it sucked, to put it mildly. It was a mess that left me almost laughing because I almost broke out into a sweat over it.

The viewing of slides didn’t last long. Actually, it lasted two 33rpm records long. I had been here before, sort of. Attached (expertly with that same damned tape) to the top of the plastic casings were Post-It notes with numbers on them, probably corresponding to the sets of slides in the sections below them. It is definitely my 20 year old handwriting (which I miss dearly). I had likely looked at all of the slides by holding them to the light. I know I did not have access to a projector at that time, much less a fancy slide scanner. Interestingly enough, the main box not only held slides but also an old projector with a carousel. That explains why it was somewhat heavy. I may try seeing if it still works. The bulb is probably no good. And I also know that I do not have enough wall space in the attic to set it up. As curious as I was, I decided to hold off on that adventure. When I am ready, I will use the one naked wall in our family room and OG will certainly have to be somewhere near, on standby.

So among the images I saw that both excited and somewhat pained me were a few of tugboats with the World Trade Center Towers in the background. Lenny also captured tugs near the Statue of Liberty and the Staten Island Ferry. And then there are just some very dramatically angled shots of parts of the tug boats, black and grey and brownish-blue against vivrant (that’s for you, Q-Tip) red. The bright white lettering of the tugboat names. Amy Moran. Margaret Moran. Dorothy Moran. Patricia Moran. All sisters? Michael Turecamo. David & Victoria McAllister. Are the tugs names after specific people and if so, how was that determined? I am hopeful that Jan Stacy addresses this in his writing. If not, I can certainly look into it. I suspect that Tugboats of New York (Matteson) explains it. The book was published in 2007. I can’t help but feel frustrated that Lenny was not able to complete his work. I suppose it is not about who does what first. So much that people think of doing has already been done but the thing is, the way you do it is going to be unique, regardless. And you can build on what exists. I try to think this way when I have an idea and then realize that someone else has already come up with it. It’s okay. Lenny’s work will stand on its own. It is his eye to the lens and no one else’s.

So as the needle made its way over the dead wax, I started to feel like I had been like a slow cooker of emotions for the past 75 minutes (give or take). Somehow the knob had ended being switched from “slow” to “medium” and I went from a simmer to a low boil of of sadness and anger. I needed to turn things off for a bit. I carefully placed Lenny’s things in a corner and decided not to return to the slides until “The Wolverine” arrived and I had come up with some sort of plan for cataloguing/storing. I feel excited, anxious, impatient and exhausted.