Just walking around Main St and its vicinity I found so much life, even in inanimate objects. Light playing with buildings, or the juxtaposition of a bulldozer(?? tractor) and a boat. A man riding his bike, and convenient store that even though I've only been in there a few times, stands out as an iconic feature of Gloversville to me. This is a Collection of images again from early 2006.
My experience in Gloversville lived and died, quite literally, with bowling. My fathers family was so engrossed in bowling well before my time, my father, his father, mother and brother were all in the Fulton County Bowling Hall of Fame. At 15 my father was in contention to be in the Guinness Book of World Record for the youngest person in the world to roll a perfect game, he lost out by 80 days.
I never got this bowling bug, just never got any good. I did spend so much time in bowling allies I just felt this topic deserves its own, If not several, posts.
used bowling pins
the office and workshop out back bihind the machines..
this is the bar in Arterial lanes, I always saw it like this, before it opened, with the light streaming in the windows.
shoes...i love the old phone
this guy, rich (i think) has been coming around for years sitting and watching bowling. when i walked in and saw him i felt like a kid again...
lockers, chair and bowling lanes..
I don’t want this to be a complete depressing tale about mortality, but I said I wanted to provide a complete cross section of life, Beginning to end. One of the most prominent memories I have of Gloversville is my Fathers death.
It stands out not just because it was to date the single hardest period of my life, an 11 year old kid, looking forward to a summer of camping and hiking with his father only to have that possibility taken away. That time really stands out because of the people, the people of Gloversville, who banded together for my family, they lined up several hundred deep at his wake to give my family their condolences, they brought flowers, food and comfort, and had a benefit bowling tournament in honor of my father.
My classmates made huge cards, and my neighborhood friends collected things they had around, bundled them together and gave it to me in hopes it would make me feel better. Until then I never really knew what “it’s the thought that counts” meant. But that sole gesture gave me so much understanding into the comradery, and selflessness of true neighborhood friends.
Above: inside a bowling pin machine. (not sure the technical name) these are the machines that stand up bowling pins after a frame. My father worked back here, and in bowling most of his life.
Above: This is wrote on the wall in the back of Arterial lanes, the wall has been painted several times but this area has not been painted over. I went to the lanes my father worked at in early 2006, for the first time in 16 years. I want to thank Herb for showing me around.
They’ve held my attention for years, these photos and many others like it. These images were my father’s. These shots in particular were, most likely, not the select images (the images that would go in his projector that he would show his family and friends) but images he kept in a box in the attic. When I was young I would sneak a peak into this box and try to figure out where a photo was taken or how long ago.
No matter the quality, all of us have these images, images we hang onto. Out of focus, ripped, damaged from coffee spills or mold in the basement. We wont let them go for just the thought of these images conjure a simpler time or wipe the dust from a memory almost forgotten, that can be enjoyed for a moment once again.