Page Two of Grandma’s Boxes
Yet no matter what, that fragile newspaper clipping defied logic. I even gave up and tossed it into the trash once. As soon as I did, I could envision Grandma’s face scowling at me and, with a sigh, I retrieved it. Who am I to argue with my elder, even considering she was long deceased? That clipping haunted me!
Four years after I settled my parents’ estate my husband and I were attending a model train show. I had my eye out for affordable railroad dining car china made by a specific manufacturer while he was focused on model trains. Mike decided to haggle over a price at a table we had visited earlier. We happened to be standing in front of booth featuring some large, beautiful B&W photographs of trains and I said I would wait for him there. I had noticed this dealer from previous shows, but had only admired his work from a distance.
That particular day I felt compelled to approach the table. My father had taught me B&W photography from bulk-loading film in reusable canisters to developing photographs in trays in our darkroom. It’s now nearly a lost art, especially in an age of digital cameras. I admired the detail this photographer achieved with a challenging subject matter. It reminded me of Dad and how he’d appreciate the quality. I glanced at the photographer’s business card and the name had a familiarity about it, but I couldn’t quite figure out why.
Mike returned wearing a smile and with a new purchase tucked under his arm and we walked away. We didn’t get very far; as we browsed at nearby booths, something clicked in my head. Was the name on that business card the same as the one in the newspaper clipping Grandma saved? How could that possibly be?
"Mike, I’m going back to where the train pictures are. I … think … I think I just might know who he is," I explained.
The man was engaged in a conversation with a potential customer, so I picked up his business card and studied it. I felt the tingle of anticipation. The next few minutes felt like a lifetime.
The business at the table concluded and I stepped forward, mouth dry from nerves, "Did you ever know a fellow named Gilbert ‘Mike’ Costley?"
The reaction was immediate. Mr. Beier transformed from the persona of a professional dealer into an animated individual who excitedly explained how Mr. Costley had mentored him and taught him so much about photography while he was a high school student photographer for the yearbook. He told me that whenever he visited the camera store, Mr. Costley would patiently answer all his questions and encourage him with his hobby. He explained how he learned skills that would lead to his career and even helped him get his first job.
"He was a wonderful man and although I was younger, we became good friends," he continued. The words tumbled out of him too fast for me to interject. I contentedly listened as his praise flooded my heart with warmth. The puzzle piece fit.
The tone of Glenn’s voice changed when he mentioned that he had learned some time ago that his mentor had died. He hadn’t heard until after the funeral and didn’t know who to contact to express his condolences, or share about the influence his friend had made in his life.
I wiped the moisture from my eye and gently told him, "You just did. I’m his daughter."
Glenn couldn’t believe his ears and wanted to know what possibly could have prompted me to ask if he knew my father. What an amazing conversation we had as I told him about how my grandmother left me a single clue that led me to him.
We crossed paths again a year later during the summer of 2000 and I reintroduced myself. Glenn told me that for the past several years he had been working on a book featuring his train photography. I told him I thought it would be a wonderful endeavor and wished him much success.
"Are you close to getting it to the publisher?" I wanted to know.
