![\"archival,](\"https:\/\/blog.archivalmethods.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/Horror-Story-Nancy-O.-2.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Horror Story Contest Winners <\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\nAfter reading through the many submissions to Archival Methods’ Horror Story contest, the judges have made their selections. <\/span>The themes that characterized many of these stories were water damage,<\/strong> non-archival materials used,<\/strong> negative issues<\/strong>, miscellaneous catastrophes, and near misses<\/strong>.<\/span><\/p>\nThere are some real horror stories listed here, but the good news is that none of them need to be experienced again by their victims or by you. The moral of these stories is use the right archival materials, and never store your precious photographs, negatives, family artifacts, or collections in your basement, attic, garage, or outdoor storage facility. Keep them close and archivally preserved.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
![\"archival,](\"data:image\/svg+xml;base64,PHN2ZyB3aWR0aD0iMSIgaGVpZ2h0PSIxIiB4bWxucz0iaHR0cDovL3d3dy53My5vcmcvMjAwMC9zdmciPjwvc3ZnPg==\")
<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
First Place – $500 Archival Methods Gift Certificate<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n <\/p>\n
The Sheer Ferocity of Mother Nature Unbridled<\/em><\/span><\/p>\nBy Ira L.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nSo, you really want to hear about damage and destruction? The loss of fifty years of photos, art work, sketchpads, portfolios, art supplies, mat board, framing tools, books, the usual files, bills, receipts, letters, recorded music, antique furniture, plus every pack-rat item that defines a complex, urban creative life.<\/span><\/p>\n Shortly after 8pm on Monday, October 29, 2012, Superstorm Sandy, aka “The Frankenstorm,” inundated our ground-level art and photo studio in the Southwestern corner of low-lying Hoboken, New Jersey \u2014 an enormous hurricane-driven surge of Atlantic brine, combined with the abnormally high tide, funneled into the Hudson harbor and delivered a brackish mix of river and seawater into our workspace!<\/span><\/p>\n Anticipating the coming storm creeping steadily north from the Caribbean, my partner Ann and I began moving all we could to our second-story living space and got everything left below off the floors and high up on shelves. It was an enormous task, made all the more difficult due to an inguinal hernia I was supposed to have repaired on October 30 \u2014 I was told to “take it easy” before the surgery, and NO heavy lifting.<\/span><\/p>\n About three feet of angry, swirling water burst open the studio doors, carelessly lifting anything that might float \u2014 a steamer trunk, a small refrigerator, file cabinets \u2014 knocking anything we thought would be high and dry into the funky soup. Box after box of silver gelatin and Cibachrome photo prints \u2014years of valuable work \u2014 plopped into the drink and floated about. Notebooks, sketchbooks, books, books, books!<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Knowing there was nothing else we could do, we were advised to evacuate. After a week, when the waters receded and electricity returned, we arrived to the sheer nightmare that had once been a productive workspace and storage space for our combined creative lives. Fortunately, we managed to remove the vast majority of Ann’s framed oils and pastels to our upstairs living room. Nevertheless years of her correspondences, assorted works on paper and childhood art were drowned. Most of my original negatives and slides were safe upstairs but the loss of thousands of carefully rendered prints \u2014 8x10s, 11x14s and 16x20s \u2014 was immeasurable. We tried in vain to pull apart the gloppy mess and air-dry what we could, but the filthy water had done its worst \u2014 it was hopeless! Days later, I actually found some of my photo prints that had washed down the street, crusted in sludge\u2026what a surreal reminder!<\/span><\/p>\n We can only estimate the total amount of work that had to be black-bagged and hauled out to the street for daily trash collection. Yet we tried to rescue what we could. Ann doggedly laid out some of her most precious works on paper to dry in the autumn sun, while I carefully washed and dried the few negatives and slides that hadn’t escape disaster. As traumatized as we were, we had to reflect that we were still alive and well, and now would have to face the task of demolition and the eventual rebuilding of our studio.<\/span><\/p>\n But life goes on, and things slowly returned to normal. The horror of this tale wasn’t completely over, however, as there were the insurance adjusters, FEMA and the contractors \u2014 that’s a scary story in itself that’ll just have to wait for some future telling!<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Second Place – $100 Archival Methods Gift Certificate<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n <\/p>\n
A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words – So This Will Be Short<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\nby Kevin M.
<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nMy sainted mother loved having all her family photos with her. Everything from her childhood (c.1935) and adolescence, through my father’s experiments with his Brownie camera, to the photos of me and my siblings made with our Kodak Instamatics and all our school pictures. She had all the prints and negatives, including some Polaroids I had taken during my service in the Air Force. Everything<\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n As I took up photography more seriously, I came to realize there were many valuable materials sitting in her cardboard box that were probably deteriorating and needed care. One Christmas thirty years ago I sent her a consignment from Rochester containing some archival scrapbook materials – folders, paper, sheet protectors, adhesives – everything she needed to organize and preserve these old photos. I helped her create the first of three books so she understood what to do and, importantly, why she should do it. After about six months the project was complete, and we all marveled at the fine job she had done.<\/span><\/p>\n Fast-forward twenty-five years: Mom gave me the albums and left the rest of her belongings with my brother (not a photographer). Five years later, she passed. My siblings asked me to scan and digitize all these treasures for safekeeping, but before I could comply the storage unit I had the albums and other memorabilia stored in caught fire. What wasn’t burned was drenched. Bummer.<\/span><\/p>\n Although some of those treasured images were prints that could never be recovered, most were originally from negatives I knew my Mom had kept for years in boxes. I called my brother to get them in order to scan and re-print those that had been lost. To my utter horror he said:<\/span><\/p>\n “Oh, Mom threw those out years <\/strong>ago. After all, we have the pictures, right?”<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Third Place – $50 Archival Methods Gift Certificate<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n <\/h3>\nCivil War Casualties<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\nby Dan L.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nI\u2019ve long been a collector of coins and currency, and of particular interest to me is paper money from the 19th century. Part of this interest came from my grandfather, who had also collected currency all his life. He had told me many times of his uncirculated Civil War-era currency collection, yet for years I\u2019d only heard of it and had never seen it. To my mind, it became something of a family legend.<\/span><\/p>\nAs I grew up and my collection grew along with me, I learned the value of proper archival storage. I spent a considerable amount of money on all the best museum-grade sleeves, holders, and boxes for all of my pieces. After all, what\u2019s the point of having a collection if it isn\u2019t going to last long enough for my future children to enjoy? Knowing the importance of archival storage, when the next opportunity arose I asked my grandfather about his collection and how it was stored. He described the album in which the Civil War currency notes were housed, and assured me that they were safe. Since I\u2019d never seen it for myself, I trusted his word.<\/span><\/p>\nI\u2019m still not entirely sure why he never showed me the notes while he was still alive. Perhaps he was just overprotective of them and felt safer with them locked away. It\u2019s ironic then that it wasn\u2019t until after he had passed away earlier this year that I was finally shown\u2014and given\u2014his paper money collection. The near-mythical Civil War currency album and another small cardboard box of inexpensive foreign paper money were delivered to me, a somber but meaningful inheritance.<\/span><\/p>\nWith his album of Civil War currency finally in my hands, I eagerly yet carefully opened it – and it was incredible. As he had always said, most pieces were perfectly uncirculated, uncreased, and the paper was still white. Although I had no intention to sell any of it, I knew there was considerable value there. Held onto the album\u2019s black paper pages by adhesive photo-corners under sheets of mylar, I felt confident that they had been properly stored, as he had always told me.<\/span><\/p>\nA few days later I took the album to a respected and trusted currency dealer, and as he flipped through the pages he was quite stunned at the apparent quality of the notes. Lofty values were described to me, with individual notes quoted at hundreds of dollars each. Yet mounted (in corners) against the black paper pages, we couldn\u2019t see the bills\u2019 backsides. To assess their true grades and values, we began to carefully pull them out of the album.<\/span><\/p>\nWhat we saw made my heart sink. Though the front of the notes were as crisp and white as the day they were printed, the backs had dramatically yellowed, the inks had faded, and their shadows were \u201cburned\u201d into the black, acidic paper. Every note was ruined, and their values were slashed. The dealer re-evaluated many of them at less than one-tenth of what they should have been worth. Though the sentimental value is still strong, their monetary worth is almost non-existent.<\/span><\/p>\nI carefully put each note into archival holders, even though the damage was already done. It\u2019s still my grandfather\u2019s prized collection, but to me and only me.<\/span><\/p>\nThe final irony came when I opened the small, beat-up cardboard box of inexpensive, common foreign notes. Though they were loose, tossed in the box without any of the loving care with which the Civil War album had been constructed, they were perfectly preserved, white and crisp without any hint of yellowing. Whatever the box was made of must have been quite archivally sound, and these notes, some worth less than a dollar each, had survived the decades unscathed.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Honorable Mention: <\/strong>\u201cWater Damage\u201d Category<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n <\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Splash<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\nby Nancy O.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nWhen an early winter snowstorm came rolling in a couple of years ago, it hit the east coast and my place pretty hard. We lost power, the lifeline for my house\u2014and the sump pump\u2014for a number of days. I live over an underground stream, and with all the rain (and frozen ground), the stream swelled and the water came into the basement and started filling it up. The only thing I could do was bail water. During this several-hour process I heard a splash, and looked over to see that all my photo albums had hit the water, falling off a box they had been propped on that had given way. There was no saving them. They were soaked. I spent the evening pulling all the wet pages apart so that the fronts of the images would not stick together. I laid them out all over the place to dry. I was able to do that with most of them but now was left with a stack of very curled photographs that I have done nothing with since. They are all out of order now, and stained. The original books are empty and moldy, with all the little black corners still stuck to the stained and faded pages. It is kind of sad. It is my family history. <\/span>
<\/span><\/p>\n<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
40 Years of Work, Gone in a Flash<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\nby Whitey W.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nThere’s nothing more to say, it’s over! Water destroyed our many years of work and memories in a photographic flash, no pun intended. Over 10,000 photographs and records were lost.<\/span><\/p>\nAs a photographic instructor for 40 years I would be very interested in making your readership aware of the enormous stress and heartache involved with seeing your life’s work wiped out, not to mention the economic cost. Everything filed from W through Z gone – including personal family photos.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\nAttached is a full photographic documentation of the results of this disaster and my attempts to save what little I could, and how I did it. This could be used to help others avoid this tragedy and teach them how to save the most important items should they have a similar experience.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Cinderella and the Broken Water Pipe<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\nby Donna H.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nPhotographs tell such a powerful story.<\/span><\/p>\nPhotographs document historical records.<\/span><\/p>\nPhotographs have been a passion of mine since early childhood. They record a timeline of family features, family fashion, and family culture.<\/span><\/p>\nMy treasured childhood memory, captured in a photograph of me adorned in the Cinderella gown of my dreams on our elegant stairway entrance, was long preserved by my mother yet was destroyed by an unexpected water pipe break while on vacation.<\/span><\/p>\nNever to be viewed again.<\/span><\/p>\nThe memory, however, will always linger in my head.<\/span><\/p>\nSince then I have committed all my family documents to the expert care of quality archival products. What a delight it is to be able to sort a diverse range of images and sizes into one binder. My adult son has recently told me that my best investments of time have been to chronicle my husband’s career upon his retirement; my gift of several volumes containing decades worth of heirlooms for a 40th birthday gift; and my current project building a travelogue of family adventures.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Honorable Mention: \u201cNegative Issues\u201d Category<\/span><\/h2>\n <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
My Photographic History Is Down In The Dumps<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\nBy Steve D.
<\/strong><\/span>
When I was leaving Maine in 2013 to travel to Ecuador, I needed to leave all of my photographic materials with friends. I asked my friend David if he could hold on to a large archival box, measuring 14 x 18 x 3\u201d. The box contained my entire collection of hand-processed black and white photographic negatives, stored carefully in archival sleeves and going back as far as 1975. He stored the box for me in his walk-out basement, which comprised the entire first floor of the house he was renting. Fourteen months later, and three weeks before I was due to arrive back in Maine to reclaim my negatives, my friend David asked a couple of his friends to help him clear out his basement while he was present to supervise them. Late in the day David got called away to handle an important matter, and his helpers were left on their own for ninety minutes. It was then that David\u2019s helpers filled a pickup truck full of stuff, including the box containing all of my negatives, and drove it to the local trash dump. The next day David discovered what had happened, too late to save my box that had contained hundreds of 120mm and 35mm black and white negative strips that were now forever lost. <\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
New Baby \/ No Film<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/h3>\nby Regina S.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nSo this horror story goes back 27 years when we used a thing called \u201cfilm.\u201d I was pregnant with my first child and in labor. My husband and I were in the Labor Room waiting for the OR to open up because it was determined I was going to need to have a c-section. My husband was very disappointed because the anesthesiologist would not allow him to be in the OR. Hence he would not be able to see our daughter being born.<\/span><\/p>\nHe begged the doctor to please take pictures for us. She agreed. He ran to the car to get the camera, as for some reason he didn\u2019t bring it in when we arrived at the hospital, perhaps because he was too focused on the pain I was in. So he rushed to the car and rushed back inside and made it in time as I was being wheeled into the OR. I opted to be put out as I was a little frightened of the whole process.<\/span><\/p>\nFinally, I was awakened, brought into recovery and then to my room. The hospital staff wheeled in my beautiful daughter Cassandra. We were so excited that we just kept clicking away taking those “first moment” pictures. After a few days in the hospital, and now going home, we continued to click. But it got to the point where the number of shots on the frame counter was reading over 36. This was unusual, as film was limited to either 24 or 36 exposures. It was then that we realized that film was never put into the camera. The nice doctors who agreed to take pictures at our request did so, and as new parents we took those special shots in the hospital of our daughter\u2019s first moments and days on this earth – only to be dismayed that there was no film in the camera.<\/span><\/p>\nNeedless to say a lesson was learned.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Ruined Film (x2)<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\nby Gregory D.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nI travelled from Kentucky to Colorado for an artist residency and asked the security personnel at the airport to hand check my film to avoid X-ray exposure. This film was packaged as sheets in a sealed box. Despite the warning labels not to open the box in light, they went ahead and opened it, ruining 100 sheets of film. When I arrived in Colorado, I asked a friend to send my other box of film. It went to the city department in charge of the residency. They didn’t know what it was and ignored my name on the box. Even though it had the same \u201cdo not open in light\u201d label as the one that went through airport security, they opened it and ruined another 100 sheets. By the time I finally got the film I needed I only had 2 days left in a 2-week residency.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Honorable Mention: \u201cMiscellaneous\u201d Category<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nCat Photographs (the Bad Kind)<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/h3>\nby Coletta C.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nMy sister had recently taken photos of my brother and had sent them to me when my brother died suddenly at the age of 39. Now, ALL of my photos are usually stored in archivally-safe pages, however at that time finances were a little thin and the photos were stacked\/spread on my work table. Sadly, my kitty contracted a urinary tract infection. If anyone knows what kitties do when that happens\u2026. Suffice to say, I no longer have those photographs. Need to order ahead.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
There are some real horror stories listed here, but the good news is that none of them need to be experienced again by their victims or by you. The moral of these stories is use the right archival materials, and never store your precious photographs, negatives, family artifacts, or collections in your basement, attic, garage, or outdoor storage facility. Keep them close and archivally preserved.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Sheer Ferocity of Mother Nature Unbridled<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n By Ira L.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n So, you really want to hear about damage and destruction? The loss of fifty years of photos, art work, sketchpads, portfolios, art supplies, mat board, framing tools, books, the usual files, bills, receipts, letters, recorded music, antique furniture, plus every pack-rat item that defines a complex, urban creative life.<\/span><\/p>\n Shortly after 8pm on Monday, October 29, 2012, Superstorm Sandy, aka “The Frankenstorm,” inundated our ground-level art and photo studio in the Southwestern corner of low-lying Hoboken, New Jersey \u2014 an enormous hurricane-driven surge of Atlantic brine, combined with the abnormally high tide, funneled into the Hudson harbor and delivered a brackish mix of river and seawater into our workspace!<\/span><\/p>\n Anticipating the coming storm creeping steadily north from the Caribbean, my partner Ann and I began moving all we could to our second-story living space and got everything left below off the floors and high up on shelves. It was an enormous task, made all the more difficult due to an inguinal hernia I was supposed to have repaired on October 30 \u2014 I was told to “take it easy” before the surgery, and NO heavy lifting.<\/span><\/p>\n About three feet of angry, swirling water burst open the studio doors, carelessly lifting anything that might float \u2014 a steamer trunk, a small refrigerator, file cabinets \u2014 knocking anything we thought would be high and dry into the funky soup. Box after box of silver gelatin and Cibachrome photo prints \u2014years of valuable work \u2014 plopped into the drink and floated about. Notebooks, sketchbooks, books, books, books!<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Knowing there was nothing else we could do, we were advised to evacuate. After a week, when the waters receded and electricity returned, we arrived to the sheer nightmare that had once been a productive workspace and storage space for our combined creative lives. Fortunately, we managed to remove the vast majority of Ann’s framed oils and pastels to our upstairs living room. Nevertheless years of her correspondences, assorted works on paper and childhood art were drowned. Most of my original negatives and slides were safe upstairs but the loss of thousands of carefully rendered prints \u2014 8x10s, 11x14s and 16x20s \u2014 was immeasurable. We tried in vain to pull apart the gloppy mess and air-dry what we could, but the filthy water had done its worst \u2014 it was hopeless! Days later, I actually found some of my photo prints that had washed down the street, crusted in sludge\u2026what a surreal reminder!<\/span><\/p>\n We can only estimate the total amount of work that had to be black-bagged and hauled out to the street for daily trash collection. Yet we tried to rescue what we could. Ann doggedly laid out some of her most precious works on paper to dry in the autumn sun, while I carefully washed and dried the few negatives and slides that hadn’t escape disaster. As traumatized as we were, we had to reflect that we were still alive and well, and now would have to face the task of demolition and the eventual rebuilding of our studio.<\/span><\/p>\n But life goes on, and things slowly returned to normal. The horror of this tale wasn’t completely over, however, as there were the insurance adjusters, FEMA and the contractors \u2014 that’s a scary story in itself that’ll just have to wait for some future telling!<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n by Kevin M. My sainted mother loved having all her family photos with her. Everything from her childhood (c.1935) and adolescence, through my father’s experiments with his Brownie camera, to the photos of me and my siblings made with our Kodak Instamatics and all our school pictures. She had all the prints and negatives, including some Polaroids I had taken during my service in the Air Force. Everything<\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n As I took up photography more seriously, I came to realize there were many valuable materials sitting in her cardboard box that were probably deteriorating and needed care. One Christmas thirty years ago I sent her a consignment from Rochester containing some archival scrapbook materials – folders, paper, sheet protectors, adhesives – everything she needed to organize and preserve these old photos. I helped her create the first of three books so she understood what to do and, importantly, why she should do it. After about six months the project was complete, and we all marveled at the fine job she had done.<\/span><\/p>\n Fast-forward twenty-five years: Mom gave me the albums and left the rest of her belongings with my brother (not a photographer). Five years later, she passed. My siblings asked me to scan and digitize all these treasures for safekeeping, but before I could comply the storage unit I had the albums and other memorabilia stored in caught fire. What wasn’t burned was drenched. Bummer.<\/span><\/p>\n Although some of those treasured images were prints that could never be recovered, most were originally from negatives I knew my Mom had kept for years in boxes. I called my brother to get them in order to scan and re-print those that had been lost. To my utter horror he said:<\/span><\/p>\n “Oh, Mom threw those out years <\/strong>ago. After all, we have the pictures, right?”<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n by Dan L.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019ve long been a collector of coins and currency, and of particular interest to me is paper money from the 19th century. Part of this interest came from my grandfather, who had also collected currency all his life. He had told me many times of his uncirculated Civil War-era currency collection, yet for years I\u2019d only heard of it and had never seen it. To my mind, it became something of a family legend.<\/span><\/p>\n As I grew up and my collection grew along with me, I learned the value of proper archival storage. I spent a considerable amount of money on all the best museum-grade sleeves, holders, and boxes for all of my pieces. After all, what\u2019s the point of having a collection if it isn\u2019t going to last long enough for my future children to enjoy? Knowing the importance of archival storage, when the next opportunity arose I asked my grandfather about his collection and how it was stored. He described the album in which the Civil War currency notes were housed, and assured me that they were safe. Since I\u2019d never seen it for myself, I trusted his word.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m still not entirely sure why he never showed me the notes while he was still alive. Perhaps he was just overprotective of them and felt safer with them locked away. It\u2019s ironic then that it wasn\u2019t until after he had passed away earlier this year that I was finally shown\u2014and given\u2014his paper money collection. The near-mythical Civil War currency album and another small cardboard box of inexpensive foreign paper money were delivered to me, a somber but meaningful inheritance.<\/span><\/p>\n With his album of Civil War currency finally in my hands, I eagerly yet carefully opened it – and it was incredible. As he had always said, most pieces were perfectly uncirculated, uncreased, and the paper was still white. Although I had no intention to sell any of it, I knew there was considerable value there. Held onto the album\u2019s black paper pages by adhesive photo-corners under sheets of mylar, I felt confident that they had been properly stored, as he had always told me.<\/span><\/p>\n A few days later I took the album to a respected and trusted currency dealer, and as he flipped through the pages he was quite stunned at the apparent quality of the notes. Lofty values were described to me, with individual notes quoted at hundreds of dollars each. Yet mounted (in corners) against the black paper pages, we couldn\u2019t see the bills\u2019 backsides. To assess their true grades and values, we began to carefully pull them out of the album.<\/span><\/p>\n What we saw made my heart sink. Though the front of the notes were as crisp and white as the day they were printed, the backs had dramatically yellowed, the inks had faded, and their shadows were \u201cburned\u201d into the black, acidic paper. Every note was ruined, and their values were slashed. The dealer re-evaluated many of them at less than one-tenth of what they should have been worth. Though the sentimental value is still strong, their monetary worth is almost non-existent.<\/span><\/p>\n I carefully put each note into archival holders, even though the damage was already done. It\u2019s still my grandfather\u2019s prized collection, but to me and only me.<\/span><\/p>\n The final irony came when I opened the small, beat-up cardboard box of inexpensive, common foreign notes. Though they were loose, tossed in the box without any of the loving care with which the Civil War album had been constructed, they were perfectly preserved, white and crisp without any hint of yellowing. Whatever the box was made of must have been quite archivally sound, and these notes, some worth less than a dollar each, had survived the decades unscathed.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n by Nancy O.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n When an early winter snowstorm came rolling in a couple of years ago, it hit the east coast and my place pretty hard. We lost power, the lifeline for my house\u2014and the sump pump\u2014for a number of days. I live over an underground stream, and with all the rain (and frozen ground), the stream swelled and the water came into the basement and started filling it up. The only thing I could do was bail water. During this several-hour process I heard a splash, and looked over to see that all my photo albums had hit the water, falling off a box they had been propped on that had given way. There was no saving them. They were soaked. I spent the evening pulling all the wet pages apart so that the fronts of the images would not stick together. I laid them out all over the place to dry. I was able to do that with most of them but now was left with a stack of very curled photographs that I have done nothing with since. They are all out of order now, and stained. The original books are empty and moldy, with all the little black corners still stuck to the stained and faded pages. It is kind of sad. It is my family history. <\/span> <\/p>\n by Whitey W.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n There’s nothing more to say, it’s over! Water destroyed our many years of work and memories in a photographic flash, no pun intended. Over 10,000 photographs and records were lost.<\/span><\/p>\n As a photographic instructor for 40 years I would be very interested in making your readership aware of the enormous stress and heartache involved with seeing your life’s work wiped out, not to mention the economic cost. Everything filed from W through Z gone – including personal family photos.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Attached is a full photographic documentation of the results of this disaster and my attempts to save what little I could, and how I did it. This could be used to help others avoid this tragedy and teach them how to save the most important items should they have a similar experience.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n by Donna H.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n Photographs tell such a powerful story.<\/span><\/p>\n Photographs document historical records.<\/span><\/p>\n Photographs have been a passion of mine since early childhood. They record a timeline of family features, family fashion, and family culture.<\/span><\/p>\n My treasured childhood memory, captured in a photograph of me adorned in the Cinderella gown of my dreams on our elegant stairway entrance, was long preserved by my mother yet was destroyed by an unexpected water pipe break while on vacation.<\/span><\/p>\n Never to be viewed again.<\/span><\/p>\n The memory, however, will always linger in my head.<\/span><\/p>\n Since then I have committed all my family documents to the expert care of quality archival products. What a delight it is to be able to sort a diverse range of images and sizes into one binder. My adult son has recently told me that my best investments of time have been to chronicle my husband’s career upon his retirement; my gift of several volumes containing decades worth of heirlooms for a 40th birthday gift; and my current project building a travelogue of family adventures.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n By Steve D. <\/p>\n by Regina S.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n So this horror story goes back 27 years when we used a thing called \u201cfilm.\u201d I was pregnant with my first child and in labor. My husband and I were in the Labor Room waiting for the OR to open up because it was determined I was going to need to have a c-section. My husband was very disappointed because the anesthesiologist would not allow him to be in the OR. Hence he would not be able to see our daughter being born.<\/span><\/p>\n He begged the doctor to please take pictures for us. She agreed. He ran to the car to get the camera, as for some reason he didn\u2019t bring it in when we arrived at the hospital, perhaps because he was too focused on the pain I was in. So he rushed to the car and rushed back inside and made it in time as I was being wheeled into the OR. I opted to be put out as I was a little frightened of the whole process.<\/span><\/p>\n Finally, I was awakened, brought into recovery and then to my room. The hospital staff wheeled in my beautiful daughter Cassandra. We were so excited that we just kept clicking away taking those “first moment” pictures. After a few days in the hospital, and now going home, we continued to click. But it got to the point where the number of shots on the frame counter was reading over 36. This was unusual, as film was limited to either 24 or 36 exposures. It was then that we realized that film was never put into the camera. The nice doctors who agreed to take pictures at our request did so, and as new parents we took those special shots in the hospital of our daughter\u2019s first moments and days on this earth – only to be dismayed that there was no film in the camera.<\/span><\/p>\n Needless to say a lesson was learned.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n by Gregory D.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n I travelled from Kentucky to Colorado for an artist residency and asked the security personnel at the airport to hand check my film to avoid X-ray exposure. This film was packaged as sheets in a sealed box. Despite the warning labels not to open the box in light, they went ahead and opened it, ruining 100 sheets of film. When I arrived in Colorado, I asked a friend to send my other box of film. It went to the city department in charge of the residency. They didn’t know what it was and ignored my name on the box. Even though it had the same \u201cdo not open in light\u201d label as the one that went through airport security, they opened it and ruined another 100 sheets. By the time I finally got the film I needed I only had 2 days left in a 2-week residency.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n by Coletta C.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n My sister had recently taken photos of my brother and had sent them to me when my brother died suddenly at the age of 39. Now, ALL of my photos are usually stored in archivally-safe pages, however at that time finances were a little thin and the photos were stacked\/spread on my work table. Sadly, my kitty contracted a urinary tract infection. If anyone knows what kitties do when that happens\u2026. Suffice to say, I no longer have those photographs. Need to order ahead.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\nFirst Place – $500 Archival Methods Gift Certificate<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n
<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\n<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\nSecond Place – $100 Archival Methods Gift Certificate<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n
A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words – So This Will Be Short<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\n
<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nThird Place – $50 Archival Methods Gift Certificate<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n
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Civil War Casualties<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\n
Honorable Mention: <\/strong>\u201cWater Damage\u201d Category<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n
<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\nSplash<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\n
<\/span><\/p>\n<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\n40 Years of Work, Gone in a Flash<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\n
<\/a> <\/a><\/p>\nCinderella and the Broken Water Pipe<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\n
Honorable Mention: \u201cNegative Issues\u201d Category<\/span><\/h2>\n
<\/a><\/p>\nMy Photographic History Is Down In The Dumps<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\n
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When I was leaving Maine in 2013 to travel to Ecuador, I needed to leave all of my photographic materials with friends. I asked my friend David if he could hold on to a large archival box, measuring 14 x 18 x 3\u201d. The box contained my entire collection of hand-processed black and white photographic negatives, stored carefully in archival sleeves and going back as far as 1975. He stored the box for me in his walk-out basement, which comprised the entire first floor of the house he was renting. Fourteen months later, and three weeks before I was due to arrive back in Maine to reclaim my negatives, my friend David asked a couple of his friends to help him clear out his basement while he was present to supervise them. Late in the day David got called away to handle an important matter, and his helpers were left on their own for ninety minutes. It was then that David\u2019s helpers filled a pickup truck full of stuff, including the box containing all of my negatives, and drove it to the local trash dump. The next day David discovered what had happened, too late to save my box that had contained hundreds of 120mm and 35mm black and white negative strips that were now forever lost. <\/span><\/p>\nNew Baby \/ No Film<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n
Ruined Film (x2)<\/em><\/span><\/h3>\n
Honorable Mention: \u201cMiscellaneous\u201d Category<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n
Cat Photographs (the Bad Kind)<\/em><\/strong><\/span><\/h3>\n