Finding "me" - Mary von Rosen's photo album

Afterimage, May, 2002 by Catherine Whalen

The von Rosen family moved to Detroit amid a huge influx of newcomers. Large-scale industrialization necessitated a vast labor force, and the city attracted one. During the 1910s, Detroit's population more than doubled. It reached nearly a million by 1920, making it the fourth most populous city in the United States. The high wages offered by the rapidly expanding automobile industry made Detroit especially attractive. As for Ernest von Rosen, city directories confirm that during the 1910s and early 20s he held managerial positions with several different car companies, including Dodge Brothers. The city's unprecedented growth strained its geographic and social boundaries. In the late nineteenth century, Detroit's neighborhoods were typically ethnically rather than socio-economically homogeneous; there was a German section, a Polish one, and so forth. But in new communities like the von Rosen's, the residents tended to share the same race and class status rather than ethnicity.

My Story: 231 Pingree, renumbered 897, still stands today. The front porch steps are identical to those that Mary von Rosen sat on in the photograph pasted to her album's first page. The door beyond bears the same glass panes. The facade is still clad with light-colored brick. As I stood on the front sidewalk and snapped a picture with my camera, a taxi pulled up. A couple stepped out and walked toward the duplex. Somewhat suspiciously, the man called to me, "You taking a picture of this house?" "Yes," I replied, adding "I know of someone who used to live there." He looked surprised. "Here? When?" I tell him, "In the 1920s." He broke into a smile and exclaimed "The 1920s! That was a long time ago." Our dialogue is not merely about time; it is also about race and place. In the 1920s, mostly native-born whites lived in this neighborhood, whereas today primarily African Americans do. Only by invoking the past can I satisfactorily explain to him, a black man, why I, a white woman, photographed his home.

I compare my snapshot of 897 Pingree's front porch to those in Mary von Rosen's album. Mine looks slightly different: the paint is peeling, the viewpoint is higher. Undoubtedly Mary's photographer used a camera held against the chest rather than up to the eye. I wonder who took her picture, and if she photographed her dolls herself.

Leafing through her album, it becomes clear that Mary crafted her self-portrait not only by including certain kinds of images, but also by excluding others. Even though she presented herself as a child on her album's first page, she foregrounded herself alone, away from her family. Moreover, she chose images that depict her mothering toy infants, as if retrospectively affirming her own agency rather than her submission to choices that her parents made for her. Grouped together on a single sheet, these initial photographs constitute a portentous prologue to the narrative that follows in the rest of her album. That narrative continues for another 90 or so pages. Through my tripartite mode of interpretation, I add others, conjuring up "me" past and present. Between us, we have many stories to tell.