Use childhood memories to paint a picture of times gone by.

Posted on by steve

Horse-drawn wagons clip-clopping down city streets, frosty deliveries from the ice man, candy store bins filled with penny candy, the challenges of cooking on a coal-fired kitchen stove, getting from place to place by trolley – these sights, sounds and activities, once so common to daily life, have long faded away. But they live on in the memories of many of the storytellers recording legacy videos today – and you can use these memories, enhanced with archival photos and films, sound effects and music, to paint a vivid picture of life in days past.

Case in point: I recently finished the video biography of a wonderful lady who was born in Queens, New York, in 1916. Knowing that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren would love to learn what her world was like when she was a youngster, I made sure to ask her lots of questions about her neighborhood and her way of life in the early 1900s. She recalled a time when three sticks of gum cost a penny, sanitation men called ash-haulers came to take away the ash generated by coal and wood-fired stoves and hand-cranking was the only way to start the few automobiles around. Some research turned up archival photos to help illustrate her descriptions. Combined with period music, these elements combined to create a vivid picture of the world that existed during her childhood.

As the opening chapter of her legacy video, the segment provides her family with a very fun and fascinating glimpse into the past. But it also helps put the storyteller’s life in context. None of us live on a blank canvas. We are all products of certain when’s and where’s that influence and inform our lives. Painting in those “background elements” helps flesh out a life story, giving viewers greater insight into the storyteller’s motivations and life choices.

So don’t forget to pay attention to context. It’ll help you craft a much more complete picture of that important storyteller in your family.

Summer memories: The ice cream man.

Posted on by steve

While doing research for a video biography I unearthed a couple of photos of Good Humor trucks from years past. They really brought back happy memories for me. So with summer here I thought I’d share some of my sweet remembrances.

Pavlov could’ve been an ice cream man. That’s because the stimulus response he pioneered with bells and dogs worked its magic years later on me and the other kids in my neighborhood. Only we weren’t salivating over savory canine treats, but frosty ones in cones and cups and on sticks.

I remember a number of mobile vendors servicing my New Jersey neighborhood during the 1960s. We had a fix-it guy who’d drive around with a workshop on wheels. He’d repair household tools and sharpen knives – or anything with a blade. There was also a farmer who sold fresh produce out of his truck. It was a real roving farmer’s market; I can remember him stopping right by our corner so my mom could buy some corn-on-the-cob.

Of course, the real stars on wheels as far as the neighborhood kids were concerned were the ice cream and Italian ice guys and gals who materialized every summer. Good Humor, Mr. Softee, Carvel, Little Jimmy Italian Ices and Mama Rosa’s Italian Ices all competed for our nickels, dimes and quarters. You could hear them coming from blocks away, their approach announced by either ringing bells or canned music. In my mind I can still hear the rhythmic tinkling of the Good Humor bells and the tinkly, music box-like tune Mr. Softee played. The trucks were all different, too. You had the white Good Humor truck with the open cab and the freezer on the back. Mr. Softee offered soft ice cream in cones made on the spot and sold out of white vans. Carvel trucks were big and silvery, almost like an entire ice cream store on wheels. You could get a variety of soft ice cream, in addition to ice cream cakes, from them.

I was also a big Italian ice fan. I loved all the flavors, from basic lemon to bubble gum. One of my greatest treats, when I had a quarter to spend, was a freshly-scooped rainbow ice from Little Jimmy, featuring not one, not two, but three flavors of my choice. Truly icy heaven in a cup. Wow, I’m salivating just writing this.

Summer just wouldn’t have been the same without the sights, sounds and tastes offered up by the ice cream and Italian ice guys. I’ll never forget them. How about you?

Giving archival family albums new life.

Posted on by steve

Family Legacy Video, Inc. is known for award-winning, highly-crafted custom video biographies. But a fascinating project has us delving into the print world.

It all began when we were approached by a member of a prominent Tucson family. He’d recently discovered three family photo albums bursting with images spanning over a hundred years. He was looking to have the albums reproduced in a form he could distribute to his family. Plus, he wanted to have each photo individually scanned and organized on DVDs. The job involved over 300 album pages and 800+ photos. A challenge, to be sure, but an exciting one.

The albums had been kept on a shelf, unprotected. So the first step was to obtain archival storage boxes in which to protect the fragile volumes. We then logged the contents of each book, page by page. After that, each page and each photo was carefully scanned. The process has been painstaking, but fascinating, as we’ve been treated to glimpses of Tucson, Arizona and generations of family members that have been long lost in time. The final reprints closely approximate the looks of the original albums, from the page layouts to the covers. We feel gratified to have been chosen to help the family preserve, celebrate and share its fascinating pictorial history.

Locate U.S. Navy history ship photos at NavSource Naval History site.

Posted on by steve

I recently interviewed a WWII veteran who is a fellow member of my Rotary club. He was a Navy man during the war, serving as Executive Officer aboard a Landing Ship Medium (LSM), an amphibious craft he and his crew sailed all the way from the mainland United States to Okinawa. He didn’t have any photos of his ship, so I took it upon myself to try and locate an image or two. I fired up my computer, went online and searched the name of his LSM. In next to no time at all, I found a page dedicated to his ship at a site called NavSource Naval History. The page featured three photos of the LSM, which I forwarded to the vet (to his great delight).

NavSource Naval History is a volunteer-run site devoted to preserving naval history, in large part through a comprehensive collection of photos. Some of the shots were taken by U.S. government employees; others come from private collections. The site is a labor of love and offers a wealth of information. If you’re a naval history buff or would like to find images of a particular U.S. Navy ship, check out NavSource Naval History. Chances are, they’ll have what you’re looking for.

UPDATE – 7/2/17: Over the last few days, readers have been asking why the NavSource site is offline. I have no connection with NavSource and can’t answer that question. Let’s hope the problem is temporary. Steve Pender

Keep your storyteller on track.

Posted on by steve

One of my favorite Mark Twain stories is called, “His Grandfather’s Old Ram.” (I have a recording of Hal Holbrook performing this – it’s a hoot.) The tale features an elderly gentleman who starts to tell a yarn about a fellow’s encounter with a rather cantankerous ram. Unfortunately, the storyteller keeps digressing from this account to another and then another and then another – all hilarious, until he falls asleep without ever finishing his original story. Now, this makes for great reading and engrossing theatre – but you can’t afford to let your video biography interviews spin out of control like this. You can waste time and tape (or memory) and wind up not getting the material you were after in the first place.

So, if you have a storyteller who you know is prone to meandering off onto tangents, what can you do to keep him focused and on track?

Do some homework. Before the interview, chat with your storyteller and discuss the subjects you’d like to cover during your session. If you need to, ask him for some background information related to the stories you want to capture. Also, ask him whether there’s anything he feels is important to relate.

Create your questions. Use the information from the step above to draft a list of questions. Show them to your storyteller so that he can see exactly what you plan to ask. This will help him to mentally prepare for the interview. He may also have a helpful change or addition to the list.

Control the interview. The interview is a bit of a dance between you and the storyteller. You have an agenda, but you need to be flexible enough to allow your storyteller to be spontaneous and follow the occasional tangent. The challenge is to keep your storyteller from wandering too far afield. Here’s what I recommend: Keep a list of your questions on a clipboard on your lap – and make sure you have enough room on the list to make some notes. Listen carefully! When your storyteller takes a detour, make a mental note (and then a physical one on the question list) of where he left the previous story. Now, focus on what he’s currently relating and give him a chance to return to the question at hand. If it’s clear that he’s not coming back and that you need to rein him in, simply note on your question sheet what it is he’s talking about. Politely interrupt him, tell him that you’ll gladly return to what he’s saying later in the interview – but that you’d like to finish up with the subject you were addressing before he took that left turn. Then, ask him a follow-up question that’ll get him back on track. For example: “Before you started talking about B you were telling me about A. Please tell me what happened after…”

Of course, keep your word later and ask about the subject he was addressing before you needed to interrupt.

With someone who tends to go off on tangents, you may need to do a lot of “reining in” during the course of the interview. But, if you are patient and gentle about it, you’ll not only get all your main questions answered – you’ll capture some interesting and unexpected tidbits as well.

Video biography connections – a personal story.

Posted on by steve

Video biographies are all about making and reaffirming connections – between the past, present and future and with the family, friends and sometimes complete strangers who help us on our journeys through preproduction, production and post production. Here’s a case in point:

Ever hear the story about the shoemaker’s kids? Their dad was always so busy mending shoes for customers that he neglected his own children, who went around with ever-growing holes in the soles of their own shoes, and maybe even barefoot.

Now, my business is custom legacy videos, not footwear. But the old cobbler and I share a common dilemma: How to shoehorn family projects into a schedule dominated by “paying” work. Well, not too long ago I went the shoemaker one better and finished a family project I started years ago: my mom’s video biography.

The three years since her interview just flew by – and I finally resolved not to let a fourth slip past. So I started devoting free hours to the project. My initial goal was to have the video finished in time for Christmas. Then my wife, Halina, and I invited Mom to visit us for Thanksgiving, giving me an incentive to finish earlier so we could premiere the video during her stay. Having that deadline did the trick. I felt a great sense of accomplishment (and relief!) as we screened the video in our Tucson living room, as well as the joy that came from sharing the video with family and friends as my Christmas gift that year.

So where do connections enter into the picture?

To start with, the video gave me an opportunity to reconnect with my mom’s cousin, who lives in Guatemala. I haven’t seen or spoken with her since I was a youngster, but since a portion of my mom’s remembrances touched on her husband (my grandfather’s brother) I thought she might enjoy a copy of the video. I asked Mom for her cousin’s address, packed up the DVD and shipped it off to South America, all the while keeping fingers crossed that it reached the intended destination. What a surprise I had when, a few weeks later, I opened my inbox to find an e-mail with the subject heading, “Hello from Guatemala!” My mom’s cousin was overjoyed by the video and had already shared it with many members of her family. She called the video “a travel through time” and invited me and Halina to visit when we could.

I made new connections and resurrected old ones throughout the process. From the antiques vendor who sent me photos of many of the makeup compacts and lipstick cases produced by a company my grandmother once worked for, to the friendly real estate agent in New Jersey who provided pictures of the retirement community where my mom’s parents lived for a time, to an old friend of my mom’s who e-mailed me some images from their days as Army wives in North Carolina – and to a former next-door neighbor I tracked down who fished out an old snapshot that showed what my boyhood home looked like just before my parents bought it in 1959.

In a larger sense, this personal project left me feeling more connected to my passion for video biography than ever before. It’s a passion I know will continue to drive me to help others to preserve, share and celebrate their life stories on video.

Dreaming up a career in personal history.

Posted on by steve

Dreams are funny things. Most disappear from my memory in an instant, like flash paper kissed by a burning match, as soon as I open my eyes to the light of day. Others, for no particular reasons I can fathom, remain inked indelibly onto my long-term memory. I like to re-examine these dreams occasionally to see if time and life experience bring additional insights into their meanings. Once in a while I get lucky:

This is one of those dreams where I’m both a participant and an observer. It’s spring or summer. I see myself playing in the backyard of my boyhood New Jersey home with one of my brothers. I’m about eight years old; Bob is around two. Suddenly, it’s time for me to leave. I stand, and in an instant I’m walking by myself, way in the distance. Bob immediately notices that he’s alone and he begins to cry. Even though I’m miles away, I hear his distress. I turn, and in a moment I’m back with my brother. I take his hand in mine. Then, in another instant, we’re walking together, far, far away.

This is the oldest of my “inked-in” dreams, staying with me since I was eight years old. It’s always resonated with me in a very strong and visceral way. I could never put my finger on just what gives this dream its staying power. But looking back on it nearly forty-five years later, I think its imagery sheds some light on why I became a personal historian and video biographer.

On a basic level, the narrative is about me leaving my brother behind, then realizing my mistake and taking him with me on my journey. But when I approach it a little more creatively, I see that the two figures can also represent generations of a family, one older and one younger. We often get separated – sometimes by distance, sometimes by time, many times by both. How can we bridge these gulfs and stay connected? In the dream my brother and I link hands. From my current perspective as a video biographer and personal historian I help generations create links by sharing stories.

Preserving, sharing and celebrating personal and family stories is the greatest way of fostering and maintaining connections between generations that I know. When you commit your story to video in a video biography or audio or print, you’re reaching out to your family’s younger generations and generations yet to come. You’re saying, “Hi. We’re family and we’re connected. I’d like to introduce myself and pass my experiences, observations and insights along to you. This is my gift to you and I hope you enjoy and profit by what I have to say. And please, pass my life story and yours along to the next generations of our family.”

Speaking from my own experience, hearing stories about my grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts and uncles made me appreciate them and feel connected to them as flesh-and-blood people, instead of flat and faded images in a photo album. And thanks to today’s video technology, I can help folks capture their stories as never before, creating legacy videos that will allow future generations to see and hear ancestors speaking directly to them.

Generations “holding hands” and staying connected through the power of story – that’s what this dream now means to me. And if dreams are signposts, I’d say this one had me pointed towards a career as a personal historian long ago.

A pilgrimage to a very special eatery.

Posted on by steve

Pizza, spaghetti with marinara sauce, lasagna, eggplant parmigiana – all standard items you’d expect to find on most Italian restaurant menus. But at Spirito’s, a neighborhood eatery in Elizabeth, New Jersey, these dishes are part of an on-going, inter-generational feast.

Spirito’s opened in 1932. Seventy-seven years later, the business is still run by the Spirito family, and descendants of the original customers continue to patronize the place. The restaurant occupies a nondescript stone building on the corner of 3rd Avenue and High Street, a neighborhood of busy, narrow streets and not nearly enough parking. The bar’s in front; dining room is in back. It’s a no-frills kind of place, clean enough and featuring wood paneling and green-painted booths. Hanging on the walls, framed photos and newspaper reviews and articles celebrate the histories of the Spirito family and the restaurant.

My maternal grandparents introduced me to Spirito’s when I was a youngster. We always started with a cold antipasto, featuring celery, peppers, olives, cheeses and meats. Next came the “pizza pie” (as Grandpa always called it), a cheese pie with lots of tomato sauce and a very thin, crispy crust (what Garden Staters call a “bar pie”). The main courses followed. I can still remember the ravioli – large plump pasta pillows with a feather-light and creamy cheese filling. And the eggplant – wow, my mouth is watering as I write this.

The restaurant does have it quirks. Plenty of bread, but no butter. Soda is served by the pitcher, but you can only buy beer by the bottle. No coffee. And if you want desert you can stroll on down to the Italian ice stand at the other end of the street. But hey, these are the things that give Spirito’s its charm – like the wait staff.

The waitresses were, and still are, fantastic. I’ve heard them described as gruff – but to me they’re pure “Jersey” – friendly, no-nonsense ladies who also happen to have great memories. They never write down an order and they never make a mistake. In fact, years after my grandfather and grandmother moved from Elizabeth and my grandfather had died, I remember going to Spirito’s with my grandmother and finding a waitress who remembered them both.

Memories, I think, even more than the food, are what make this place so special. On a recent trip to New Jersey, I returned to Spirito’s for the first time in two decades and enjoyed a meal with my mom, two of my brothers, my sister-in-law, two nieces and a nephew. Nothing about the place had changed – and that was a good thing. I was happy to see a new generation of our family enjoying the same dishes I savored as a kid. And as I worked my way through the antipasto, the “pizza pie” and my eggplant, the tastes brought with them memories of happy times with my mom, grandparents and brothers around these very same tables. We were all part of a wonderful continuity – a very tasty legacy, if you will.

As we got up to leave, I told my mom that, while we had three generations gathered around our table, I’d felt as if my Grandma and Grandpa had joined us as well. Mom nodded and smiled. She’d felt their presence, too.

A legacy of tulips.

Posted on by steve

Did you ever play Wiffle Ball? Growing up, it was the summer pastime of choice in my suburban New Jersey neighborhood. Every day, kids would congregate on the side street by my house, choose sides and have at it. Games were noisy affairs, punctuated by lots of arguments over close calls, and could last for hours. It wasn’t unusual for us to suspend a game for dinner and then reconvene afterwards. In fact, I remember finishing one game under the glare of a neighbor’s headlights. It was a pretty safe game, too, thanks to the hollow plastic Wiffle Ball. It would glance harmlessly off just about anything it hit.

The exception was Mr. Daly’s tulips.

Mr. and Mrs. Daly lived on the other side of the street. They were a very pleasant, elderly couple and they tolerated us kids pretty well. Unfortunately, Mr. Daly insisted on planting tulips outside the chain link fence bordering his backyard. He was quite proud of those tulips and the bright red and yellow blooms they provided each spring – and he became quite upset whenever a sharply hit foul ball lopped the top off one of them. Or two. Or three. Not that we wanted to damage the flowers; they were just innocent bystanders that occasionally got caught in our Wiffle Ball crossfire.

The 1960s, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Daly, are long gone. But a recent experience brought all those memories back to me. In early July, my wife Halina and I traveled back to New Jersey to visit family. One day, we drove through my old neighborhood. I couldn’t resist stopping to look at my old house, now vastly enlarged from the little bungalow in which I grew up. I walked around the house and took a few pictures – and it wasn’t long before I caught the attention of one of the neighbors, who probably figured I was casing the place for a robbery. He strolled over, a glass of beer in hand, and asked if I needed some help. I introduced myself and told him I grew up in the neighborhood. We started chatting, and soon I found myself in the middle of a small crowd of neighbors, answering questions about what things were like in the old days, and who used to live where. During the course of our chat, I mentioned our Wiffle Ball games and the many tulips we beheaded.

Finally, the time came to say goodbye. As I was about to leave, the neighbor currently living in the Daly’s old house said, “You know, I’m glad you mentioned about the tulips. They keep sprouting up and I had no idea where they came from.”

As Halina and I drove away, the thought of those tulips – Mr. Daly’s legacy to the neighborhood – filled me with a warm glow. The experience reminded me that legacies can take many forms, be they video biographies or tulips – and that they enrich and inform the lives of the generations that follow.

Nice job, Mr. Daly.

A new website for Family Legacy Video!

Posted on by steve

Family Legacy Video’s website still has the same address, but as of August 18, 2011 it has a whole new look! The Family Legacy Video website team worked intensely over the past month to create a site that’s warm and inviting, informational, professional and user-friendly. The major goal was to create the most effective and informative video biography site possible. I think you’ll find that our new platform successfully shows off our custom legacy video services – as well as our range of do-it-yourself products and services, like guides, music and webinars. Have we succeeded? Please let us know!