Back when I attended Community College of Denver, I always enjoyed presentations from a photography instructor who tried to impress upon us the fact that whenever we took a picture, we froze a moment in time. I've forgotten this instructor's name, but I remember her words whenever I pick up a camera.

She emphasized that we should occasionally take pictures of the ordinary images of our lives, since these glimpses would tell future generations the most about the present day. And she's right about that. Anybody who's ever glanced through family photos can see this instantly. I recently watched some Super 8mm movies I'd shot back in college and was immediately struck by how alien the hairstyles, gas prices and automobiles appeared.

And just the other day, I was sorting through some photos I shot of Jefferson Park commercial buildings -- and was glad that I'd photographed the outside of the barber shop where I had my hair cut for so many years because it's now closed.

It's true: Press the button and you've recorded history.

Thanks to the World Wide Web, it's easy to see historical photos -- most of which probably were not considered to be anything special at the time. Yet time itself has given these images power and meaning.

One of my favorite repositories of images is The Library of Congress. I spend most of my time there searching through the Prints & Photographs Online Catalog. I especially enjoy the color photographs in the Farm Security Administration section, which provide a much different visual record of the Depression than the usual Dorothea Lange "Migrant Mother" stuff does.

A cynical observer might even suggest that the FSA knew that stark black-and-white images would have greater propaganda value than the warm-hued slides a minority of its photographers shot. There's no denying that color tells a very different story -- or at least compels the viewer to infer a very different one. Maybe that's why so few color photos were taken; or maybe color work was so expensive they didn't have the budget for it. Whatever the reason, the differences are striking.

At the top of this posting are black-and-white and color versions of one of my favorite photos from the FSA color archives titled "Negro boy near Cincinnati, Ohio." The record states the photo was shot in 1942 or 1943 by John Vachon, but there's no other information.

Looking at the monochrome version of the photo (which I created in Photoshop), it's not difficult to imagine this kid's tough life and the gritty, hardscrabble existence his family might have endured. This little boy's world is gray, his clothes are gray, and there's little optimism here.

By contrast, the original slide (probably shot in the still-relatively new Kodachrome process) allows us to see that although he's probably poor, this kid has on clean clothes and has even completed the ensemble with a derby. His life no doubt has its challenges, but maybe this was a good day for the little guy. Maybe he's on his way to the store on the right, whose bright red Coca-Cola sign is all but lost in the black-and-white version. Maybe he's getting a Coke -- or perhaps a Nehi!

It's also insightful to view FSA photos of places in your own town. I liked the photo at right, taken of the Wrigley Building and Chicago Tribune Tower from a vantage point in the Illinois Central train yards -- now occupied by the Illinois Center office, hotel and retail development.

This photo by Jack Delano from April 1943 suggests that the Tribune Tower is long overdue for a steam-cleaning. The original image is a 4-by-5-inch Kodachrome transparency -- and the Library of Congress site allows visitors to download a high-resolution TIFF version, which provides for a lot of close-up inspection of building windows and human activity. Lots of photos on the Library of Congress site are like this.

Another great photo resource is the Denver Public Library's Western History and Genealogy Section. I often enjoy searching through the DPL's visual record of how the Denver I knew as a child grew up and grew old.

However, I've never found a photo of one of my most-vivid childhood memories of visiting the library's main facility at the Civic Center: a little circle of desks in the children's section made to resemble a merry-go-round.

Or perhaps I only imagined it.

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