Wow, just the other day I was remembering how I listened to WABC on a transistor radio until I got a stereo with FM radio for Christmas. My boyfriend recommended WNEW, and I spent hours in my room listening to Alison Steele “The Nightbird” and Bobby Wayne “The Wizard.”
The town in which I work must have once been resplendent with painted ads. As building have come and gone, or simply have been renovated, many ghost signs have appeared. Ine proclaimed that Wrigley's Spearmint preserces the teeth. Another, still visible, was for a Dry goods' store.
As a preserver of family history, I also follow a FB page called Forgotten Galicia, which often posts pics of ghost signs that appear in and around Lviv. Those are so interesting, being in numerous languages, as well as containing symbols which might assist a person unable to read
I spent my early years not too farfron Vancouver, BC. Driving into the city was an event. I recall some of the many forms of over-the-top advertizing techniques.
Some years ago, a book called Giganthropology was printed. In it were many examples of those barely recalled images. Enormous pickle bottles. The gigantic hand holding a loaf of bread high up in the air. Not quit the same as ghost signs, but it does have a similar effect on my brain!
Not so many left here in Portland OR but I just had fun searching 'abandoned billboards' images. The word 'palimpcest' comes to mind, which I first heard from my highschool English teacher. The idea that we are always creating just one more layer in what is already a much written over record.
Here is a link to the recently unearthed fast food stand from Pompeii - pretty classy !!
Ah yes palimpcest. I wrote an academic paper on that many years ago.
I was working on a psychogeography project about loneliness and depression in elderly people. It involved interviewing the elderly folk with a tape recorder whilst walking around their neighbourhoods with them, and asking them to reminisce about how the place used to look.
It turned out that the elderly folk were living in a ghost world that was populated by streets and buildings which no longer existed.
Here in small town GA a wall has been saved with old painted adds. Even though I see them frequently, I only remember the one for baking grease. The other has a horse on it but is barely readable anymore, probably quite old.
As a teen in Belgium I disliked the Dutch and Flemish music scene and mostly listened to the pirate stations, which had to close down in the 70s, and th AFNshape, which diuring the weekends had American music. During the week they did more talk shows.
I’ve been noticing the ghost signs in my city for years, and many times I hit the library and Sanborne(?) maps to find out who it was and when. Some you figure just by the ad: “5 and Dime”. Many are nearly a hundred years old. I have always felt I was born several generations too late.
Lovely! A friend and I used to collect bad signage; she and her husband had a city, client list of ad businesses in the Bay Area, and they always did such a beautiful job. We would each remark on ugly business signs and especially, on bad grammar. For one, I can’t stand seeing apostrophes in the wrong place, as “two bedroom’s,” “our video’s” Eeeeek!
I have written inspirational thoughts at times, and this reminded me of one from years ago about a difficult office environment…To wit:
…..Now I was driving down the boulevard in the early evening, feeling close to tears. The lights on the store fronts were blinking on and, as I passed one shop, my eyes caught the words of the sign, “Printing and Mauling Services”. I burst out laughing and was still giggling several blocks later. Unfortunately, things would be the same until I could quit that job, but the laughter had lifted my dark mood and put it all in perspective. I could manage, one more day…..
Yes, especially the ones on barn roofs while one is driving through the Midwest, ads for tobacco and such or….wondering what stories they could tell, from years of looking down on the Highway. And who was the painter who travelled for country miles to touch up their signs, have lunch with the family and hear of the new grandchild. Humans, aren’t we fascinating….
I know, isn’t it magical? We’re all standing and balancing ourselves, holding on to virtual hand straps in one huge Substack bus, chatting and griping until we reach our stop, “see you tomorrow morning,” “hope you find your dog.”
Sharon, I love the old barn roof paintings as well. They make my heart sing and cry at the same time! Always loved the old ghost paintings on tall brick buildings, too, esp in my hometown, Mickey! All of these like a weathered, quilted time capsule carrying the texture, fragrance, memories of another time, from many hands, artisans, craftspeople...
I was thinking of Mail Pouch tobacco signs painted on barns in Ohio, Sharon, before I read your comment. And then there were the Burma Shave signs -- little signs by the side of the road that you read one after the other as you rode by. Also little signs asking if you had been saved yet, which fit in well with the lighted cross I saw hanging in the fog one night in Hilliard, Ohio! (Attached presumably to a church but that was invisible.)
When you're a kid who reads absolutely everything and you're sitting in the back seat of the car when driving county roads to visit your grandparents you can't help but take notice. I haven't been back to Ohio since 1994 and I was just wondering the other day about tobacco signs. In case people aren't familiar with them, farmers were paid to have the signs painted on their barns.
Mickey, I don't know how else to get this to you, so forgive me. This is from a recent Linh Dinh post and explains why I read him in spite of his bitterness.
Man Carrying Books
It is true that a man carrying a book is always accorded a certain amount of respect, if not outright awe, in any society, whether primitive or advanced. Knowing this fact, Pierre Bui, an illiterate bicycle repairman from the village of Phat Dat, deep in the Mekong Delta, took to carrying a book with him wherever he went.
Its magic became manifest instantaneously: beggars and prostitutes were now very reluctant to accost him; muggers did not dare to mug him; and children always kept quiet in his presence.
Pierre Bui only carried one book at first, but then he realized that with more books, he would make an even better impression. Thus he started to walk around with at least three books at a time. On feast days, when there were large crowds on the streets, Pierre Bui would walk around with a dozen books.
It didn’t matter what kinds of books they were—“How to Win Friends And Influence People,” “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” “Under a Tuscan Sky,” etc—as long as they were books. Pierre Bui did seem particularly fond of extremely thick books with tiny prints, however. Perhaps he thought they were more scholarly? In his rapidly growing library one could find many tomes on accounting and white pages of all of the world’s greatest cities.
The cost of acquiring so many books was not easy on Pierre Bui’s tiny bicycle repairman’s salary. He had to cut out all of his other expenses except for food. There were many days when he ate nothing but bread and sugar. In spite of this Pierre Bui never sold any of his precious volumes. The respect accorded him by all the other villagers more than compensated for the fact that his stomach was always growling.
Pierre Bui’s absolute faith in books was rewarded in 1972 when, during one of the fiercest battles of the war, all the houses of his village were incinerated except for his leaning grass hut, where Pierre Bui squatted trembling but essentially unscathed, surrounded by at least ten thousand books.
Wow, just the other day I was remembering how I listened to WABC on a transistor radio until I got a stereo with FM radio for Christmas. My boyfriend recommended WNEW, and I spent hours in my room listening to Alison Steele “The Nightbird” and Bobby Wayne “The Wizard.”
Yes! Plus Carol Miller, Scott Muni, and more!
The town in which I work must have once been resplendent with painted ads. As building have come and gone, or simply have been renovated, many ghost signs have appeared. Ine proclaimed that Wrigley's Spearmint preserces the teeth. Another, still visible, was for a Dry goods' store.
As a preserver of family history, I also follow a FB page called Forgotten Galicia, which often posts pics of ghost signs that appear in and around Lviv. Those are so interesting, being in numerous languages, as well as containing symbols which might assist a person unable to read
I love this, Jaye! Whenever I discuss ghost signs, I end up being thrilled by how many others appreciate this forgotten practice.
I spent my early years not too farfron Vancouver, BC. Driving into the city was an event. I recall some of the many forms of over-the-top advertizing techniques.
Some years ago, a book called Giganthropology was printed. In it were many examples of those barely recalled images. Enormous pickle bottles. The gigantic hand holding a loaf of bread high up in the air. Not quit the same as ghost signs, but it does have a similar effect on my brain!
Likewise! Back when I did long-distance driving in the U.S., I'd often go well out of my way to see such signs, etc.!
Not so many left here in Portland OR but I just had fun searching 'abandoned billboards' images. The word 'palimpcest' comes to mind, which I first heard from my highschool English teacher. The idea that we are always creating just one more layer in what is already a much written over record.
Here is a link to the recently unearthed fast food stand from Pompeii - pretty classy !!
https://sm.mashable.com/mashable_me/image/default/uploads252fcard252fimage252f1586719252f8c020645-fc6c-4d2e-9e_ma7e.jpg
Ah yes palimpcest. I wrote an academic paper on that many years ago.
I was working on a psychogeography project about loneliness and depression in elderly people. It involved interviewing the elderly folk with a tape recorder whilst walking around their neighbourhoods with them, and asking them to reminisce about how the place used to look.
It turned out that the elderly folk were living in a ghost world that was populated by streets and buildings which no longer existed.
I suppose those streets and buildings will exist for as long as there as humans still alive who remember them!
Yes I suppose.
I concluded that it was understandable that the elderly folk were depressed.
I don't think human beings are equipped to deal with the current speed of change.
Thank you, J. I had never heard that word before!
Here in small town GA a wall has been saved with old painted adds. Even though I see them frequently, I only remember the one for baking grease. The other has a horse on it but is barely readable anymore, probably quite old.
As a teen in Belgium I disliked the Dutch and Flemish music scene and mostly listened to the pirate stations, which had to close down in the 70s, and th AFNshape, which diuring the weekends had American music. During the week they did more talk shows.
Thanks, Ingrid. I find it fascinating to witness the allure of ghost signs.
that cleaners with the fresh meat is a keeper LOL
Makes you wonder where they got it!
I’ve been noticing the ghost signs in my city for years, and many times I hit the library and Sanborne(?) maps to find out who it was and when. Some you figure just by the ad: “5 and Dime”. Many are nearly a hundred years old. I have always felt I was born several generations too late.
My mom said I had an old soul.
Thanks, George. I also feel a strange but clear pull toward them.
I sometimes think time is not entirely linear. Maybe there are folds and leaks that tickle the edges of human perception.
I'm with you on that contemplation, James!
1111%!!
Lovely! A friend and I used to collect bad signage; she and her husband had a city, client list of ad businesses in the Bay Area, and they always did such a beautiful job. We would each remark on ugly business signs and especially, on bad grammar. For one, I can’t stand seeing apostrophes in the wrong place, as “two bedroom’s,” “our video’s” Eeeeek!
I have written inspirational thoughts at times, and this reminded me of one from years ago about a difficult office environment…To wit:
…..Now I was driving down the boulevard in the early evening, feeling close to tears. The lights on the store fronts were blinking on and, as I passed one shop, my eyes caught the words of the sign, “Printing and Mauling Services”. I burst out laughing and was still giggling several blocks later. Unfortunately, things would be the same until I could quit that job, but the laughter had lifted my dark mood and put it all in perspective. I could manage, one more day…..
Yes, especially the ones on barn roofs while one is driving through the Midwest, ads for tobacco and such or….wondering what stories they could tell, from years of looking down on the Highway. And who was the painter who travelled for country miles to touch up their signs, have lunch with the family and hear of the new grandchild. Humans, aren’t we fascinating….
We sure are, Sharon...thank you for sharing!
I know, isn’t it magical? We’re all standing and balancing ourselves, holding on to virtual hand straps in one huge Substack bus, chatting and griping until we reach our stop, “see you tomorrow morning,” “hope you find your dog.”
Sharon, I love the old barn roof paintings as well. They make my heart sing and cry at the same time! Always loved the old ghost paintings on tall brick buildings, too, esp in my hometown, Mickey! All of these like a weathered, quilted time capsule carrying the texture, fragrance, memories of another time, from many hands, artisans, craftspeople...
I was thinking of Mail Pouch tobacco signs painted on barns in Ohio, Sharon, before I read your comment. And then there were the Burma Shave signs -- little signs by the side of the road that you read one after the other as you rode by. Also little signs asking if you had been saved yet, which fit in well with the lighted cross I saw hanging in the fog one night in Hilliard, Ohio! (Attached presumably to a church but that was invisible.)
Thanks, Susan. I love how so many people take such sharp notice of these artifacts!
When you're a kid who reads absolutely everything and you're sitting in the back seat of the car when driving county roads to visit your grandparents you can't help but take notice. I haven't been back to Ohio since 1994 and I was just wondering the other day about tobacco signs. In case people aren't familiar with them, farmers were paid to have the signs painted on their barns.
Mickey, I don't know how else to get this to you, so forgive me. This is from a recent Linh Dinh post and explains why I read him in spite of his bitterness.
Man Carrying Books
It is true that a man carrying a book is always accorded a certain amount of respect, if not outright awe, in any society, whether primitive or advanced. Knowing this fact, Pierre Bui, an illiterate bicycle repairman from the village of Phat Dat, deep in the Mekong Delta, took to carrying a book with him wherever he went.
Its magic became manifest instantaneously: beggars and prostitutes were now very reluctant to accost him; muggers did not dare to mug him; and children always kept quiet in his presence.
Pierre Bui only carried one book at first, but then he realized that with more books, he would make an even better impression. Thus he started to walk around with at least three books at a time. On feast days, when there were large crowds on the streets, Pierre Bui would walk around with a dozen books.
It didn’t matter what kinds of books they were—“How to Win Friends And Influence People,” “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” “Under a Tuscan Sky,” etc—as long as they were books. Pierre Bui did seem particularly fond of extremely thick books with tiny prints, however. Perhaps he thought they were more scholarly? In his rapidly growing library one could find many tomes on accounting and white pages of all of the world’s greatest cities.
The cost of acquiring so many books was not easy on Pierre Bui’s tiny bicycle repairman’s salary. He had to cut out all of his other expenses except for food. There were many days when he ate nothing but bread and sugar. In spite of this Pierre Bui never sold any of his precious volumes. The respect accorded him by all the other villagers more than compensated for the fact that his stomach was always growling.
Pierre Bui’s absolute faith in books was rewarded in 1972 when, during one of the fiercest battles of the war, all the houses of his village were incinerated except for his leaning grass hut, where Pierre Bui squatted trembling but essentially unscathed, surrounded by at least ten thousand books.
I'm not judging you or anyone for who you follow but thanks.
I would never think that you were. That's the difference between you and me.
A sentence for the record books: "Thanks to a flood of complaints, the local Community Board denied Heaven a liquor license."
WABC and WNBC! Those were the days.
💕
Wow! From Cousin Brucie to Scott Muni. From Frankie Valli to Jim Morrison. In the space of 2-3 years.
🙂