This is one of those dramatic landscapes that, if it were a painting, one would think the artist had exaggerated the scale. We see some tents on the canyon floor, and traces of a road winding its way along — but they are all tiny compared to the massive rock walls and natural spires. To the left we see a rectangular block that looks like some ancient monument built by giants with and intricate but obscure carved facade. To the right are towering monoliths, resembling Egyptian obelisks.

The photographer who recorded this dramatic scene was one of the finest artists of the 19th century, Timothy H O’Sullivan (ca 1840-1882). He learned the basics of photography from Mathew Brady, then joined Alexander Gardner in recording the scenes of the Civil War. After the war he joined various Western Expeditions and recorded scenery such as we see here. Despite the fact that his massive talent was recognized even in his lifetime, we know relatively little of his personal life. Some sources say he was born in Ireland and came with his parents to the U.S. when he was two years old; other sources say he was born in New York City. About 1875 he married Laura Virginia Pywll, who was 15 years younger than he. They had one child that mis-carried, but no surviving children. We see them listed in the 1880 census, tenants in John Phelps household in Washington D.C. O’Sullivan is not shown in the 1870 census, probably because he was on an expedition to Panama at that time, where they were exploring the feasibility of digging a canal across the isthmus. Nor can we find him in 1850 or 1860 censuses, there are no Timothy O’Sullivan listings for someone that age, and far too many listings for Timothy Sullivan. One of the 1860 listings for Timothy Sullivan born about 1840 is for a clerk, the rest are laborers or bricklayers. All show Ireland as their birthplaces.

Here we have a car full of Eskimos. The car looks like something from the late 1910s, but that is just because it is ahead of its time. This public domain photograph, and the car, were produced in 1905. The car is a Rolls Royce, and in those days way ahead of its competitors in style. This was probably the first automobile in Nome, Alaska, and the photographer had the stroke of genius to fill it with Eskimos for this image. They look like they are having fun.

The photographer was Frank H Nowell (1864-1950), born in New Hampshire. Frank’s father Thomas Nowell moved to Alaska and took up some mining claims, and in the mid-1880s Frank joined him there. He came back south in the 1890s, met a Michigan girl (Elizabeth Helen Davis) vacationing in Florida, and married her in 1894, and soon afterward took up photography as a hobby. By 1900 they were on the outs and he is found living in California, and lists his marital status as Divorced, and his occupation as secretary of a mining company (his father’s).

Luckily, the couple reconciled, as it is said she brought his camera with her when she joined him in Alaska, where he had gone late in 1900. He began to document Alaskan life, and set up a studio in Nome. In 1909 the family moved to Seattle Washington, and Frank opened a studio there. We find them listed in the 1910 and 1920 censuses in Seattle. His biography claims he had a photographic studio up until he retired in the late 1940s, but the 1930 census shows his occupation then was as a distributor for an oil company. He was 66 years old by then, it seems unlikely he continued operating a photographic studio into the late 1940s, when he would have been over 80.

Here is a nice view of the lighthouse that was built on the east end of Eagle Island in 1839. Eagle Island is in Penobscot Bay, and the lighthouse was constructed to help ships navigate into Bangor, which was establishing itself as a major lumber shipping port. The first light burned whale oil, and emitted a steady white light. The light was automated in 1959, so the Coast Guard tore the house down in 1964. The light tower still stands, though today there are so many trees it can only be seen from out in the bay.

The photograph was taken by Joseph John Kirkbride (1842-1899) about 1890. Kirkbride was not a professional photographer, but a talented amateur. He was a physician from Philadelphia, and the son of Thomas S Kirkbride, M.D., who had been physician to the Pennsylvania Hospital for the Insane. In the 1860 census their house is the next listing after the list of inmates, so they must have lived next-door to the asylum.

In this image we see downtown New York City, probably along Wall Street where the photographer had his studio. Flags and ticker-tape, it is a wild celebration. The photographer has written the tile on the negative: Germany Surrenders. On glance at the cars parked along the street tells us we are not talking about 1945 and Hitler’s defeat. This is the at the end of the First World War (the War to End Wars), November 11th, 1918.

The photographer was W L Drummond, who had a studio at 72 Wall street. Now, by far the vast majority of Drummond’s whose first name starts with W are named William, with Walter a distant runner-up. So I checked the 1910 and 1920 New York City censuses for William L Drummond, William Drummond, and Walter Drummond — in that order. Found carpenters and clerks, and various other occupations, but no photographers. The problem, of course, is that workers in New York could live fairly far away even in those days, and commute. A wider search on Google found a couple other references to the photographer, but gave no further clues other than an indication he was in business ‘before WWI’ or ca 1913-16 (depending whether the writer was referring to the real start of WWI or just the U.S. involvement).

This dramatic image of the Grand Canyon was apparently taken in April of 1872, at a time when many easterners were still scoffing at the verbal descriptions of the West as gross exaggerations. Barely visible in the distance, a man is seated at the very edge of one of the upper ledges of the nearest cliff on the left. The Colorado River snakes its way far below, and disappears around a bend. As far as the eye can see are rocks, rock cliffs, rock mountains, rocky plains, with only the lone person seated in the distance giving any evidence of life.

That person is John K Hillers (1843-1925), who was to become one of the most important photographers of the American West. This photo was taken on John Wesley Powell’s second expedition through the Grand Canyon. Hillers had been hired to help row one of the boats, but he became interested in the work being done by the expedition photographer E O Beaman. In January 1872 Powell fired Beaman, and his place was taken by his assistant, James Fennemore, who took this picture. Hillers became Fennemore’s assistant and learned the mechanics of wielding the large plate camera and developing the glass negatives. By the summer of 1872 Fennemore became too ill to continue, and Hillers took over, beginning his distinguished career in photography. Some of our future posts will feature his portraits of Native Americans.