Later that night, CCB dragged the boxes out of the bedroom and into the TV’s warm, glowing, warming glow. Exploring. Nothing remarkable at first—manila envelopes and leather-bound ledgers embossed by year: 1966, 1967, etc. The only color, an old noisemaker with a bright-green feather glued to it. A couple of silverfish.
Amazing, though, the kinds of images you can piece together from business calendars and travel receipts. Like a flip-book cartoon: The more pages we sorted through, the more the names animated.
Leonard Leetzow, and later Lorence, (a son, we think), sold “backlighting equipment” in the 1960s and ‘70s. These boxes seem to contain their entire careers. Papers upon papers of everyday occurrences—receipts and duplicates, business cards and sales diaries, “March 4: Wrote letters; March 5: sick in bed.” Less than banal. But from 40 years away, we invented significance, both personal and historical. As though, just by being in our rented attic, they connected us—and Bradenton—to something universal, a collected memory of the 20th century.
Then, insurance pictures from a car accident. Palmer’s Steakhouse, Kountry Kitchen and Ta-ho Lounge in the background.