Passage II

Ghost Signs

[1]

Seeing remnants of outdoor advertisements from a bygone era, they are called “ghost signs.” I search for them on city streets, in town squares, and along country roads. Some are weather-beaten billboards; others are faded murals painted years ago on the sides of old buildings. Whatever words remain Fruiterer... Apothecary ... Gramophones ... Pan-Handle Coffee—are often barely legible, pale fragments of yesterday’s consumer culture should strike me as silly or sad. After all, there they are: advertising products and businesses that no longer exist. Yet, they themselves survive without apology, with instead, their simple claims and complex colors. The contrast draws me in every time.

[2]

I collect ghost signs. Not the signs themselves, but photos of them. Driving home from school one chilly October evening, my collection got its start. I had made the same drive countless times before, but I had never noticed the sign.

[3]

Then there it was, an ad for “Joe’s Café,“ perched atop a metal pole, which was upright under a cape of kudzu vines. Maybe it was the way the setting sun’s illumination of the yellowing plastic. Maybe it was the small hole, a clue to vandalism or of a hailstorm. Instead, something about the sign touched me. I pulled over. In the twilight, I got out of the car, snapped a picture with my phone, and sent it to some friends. I vowed to return with my camera to better capture the forlorn, luminous beauty of my discovery. Since that dusky evening, I have been happily haunted by ghost signs.

[4]

Once in a while, I take a friend with me on my searches. People who know of my fascination will point me to where they think they have seen a ghost sign. Favorite finds include an ad for sliced bread, one for a ‘‘modern” motel, and yet another for fountain pen repair services. As fun as it is to have company, my best hunts have been solitude trips. I appreciate the beauty of ghost signs more when I like the signs, am alone.