Enjoy this album of Christmas greetings from the Posted Past. Wishing you peace and prosperity in the years ahead.
It’s Christmas Day and maybe you have a stack of Christmas cards – not just from this year, but from many seasons past. Each one is a thread in the tapestry of your life, too precious to discard. Like treasured ornaments, they tell stories that span generations.
Christmas cards aren’t merely paper messengers of the season – they’re artifacts of connection, physical reminders of the hands that chose them, the words written inside, the relationships that flourished across years and miles. Each card is a small time capsule, preserving moments of joy, celebration, and remembrance.
It’s fine to recycle your greeting cards, let’s not be too precious. But why not try something new? String them into a garland, tuck them into a memory box, or preserve them in an album. Let them be your Christmas story, told in paper and ink, holly leaves and winter scenes, building year by year into a cherished archive of holiday memories.
For today, take in all the love and laughter enclosed, and enjoy this album of Christmas greetings from the Posted Past. Wishing you peace and prosperity in the years ahead.
When held up to the light, this 1943 wartime postcard reveals a play on names and a hidden orchestra – but that’s just the beginning of its secrets.
On a dark December day in 1943, someone in Chicago mailed an extraordinary postcard. At first glance, it appears to be a silver gelatin photograph of sheet music and a pair of scissors, artfully arranged and lit. But when held to the light, the card transforms – silhouetted orchestra members emerge from the shadows, and the scissors become a conductor’s upraised arms, creating a miniature theater of light and shadow. The message at the top reads MAY THE MUSIC BE JUST THE WAY YOU WANT IT ALL THROUGH ’44, signed playfully by Glen Shears – a silly pun referencing Glenn Miller, America’s most popular bandleader, and the scissors in the image.
The technical sophistication of this artifact presents an intriguing mystery. Its foundation is a silver gelatin photographic print, created using the same process that Eastman Kodak had popularized with their 1903 postcard camera. But the card’s creator went further, adding to the photograph a second iridescent overlay to create the hidden orchestral scene – a remarkable innovation combining two distinct images. During wartime rationing, when the War Production Board strictly controlled access to photographic papers and printing supplies, the mere existence of such an experimental piece raises questions about its origins.
Two theories emerge: The card might be the work of an individual artist-photographer, one of the creative practitioners who had embraced Kodak’s democratization of the postcard medium. The careful composition, masterful lighting, and precise registration of the overlay suggest someone with both technical expertise and artistic vision.
Or, it could be an experimental piece from the American Colortype Company of Chicago (or one of a handful other production houses) known for innovative printing techniques and possessing both the technical capabilities and wartime authorization to access restricted materials.
But as we look closer, deeper historical resonances emerge. The card was postmarked December 15, 1943, and addressed to Staff Sergeant J.M. Ellison of the 937th Engineer Aviation Combat Battalion at Barksdale Field, Louisiana. The sender’s casual inquiry – “Does it look as if you’re going over?” – hints at the imminent deployment of Ellison’s specialized unit.
The 937th was part of the Army Air Forces’ engineering force tasked with rapidly constructing and maintaining combat airfields. These Aviation Engineer Battalions could build a 5,000-foot runway in as little as 15 days, creating the infrastructure that would support the Allied advance across Europe. Following D-Day, units like the 937th pushed forward with combat operations, often working under fire to establish the forward airfields necessary for tactical air support and troop transport.
The card’s musical theme and playful signature unknowingly connected to another Army Air Forces mission. By December 1943, Glenn Miller had transformed his career from civilian bandleader to Captain in the Army Air Forces, modernizing military music through his Training Command Orchestra. In June 1944, Miller brought his band to England, where they performed hundreds of concerts for Allied forces preparing for the invasion of Europe.
As Allied forces advanced across France in late 1944, Miller became determined to bring his music to the troops at forward bases. He began planning an ambitious series of concerts at the very airfields being constructed by the Aviation Engineers. The precise coordination required for these performances – ensuring runways were operational and facilities ready – meant that Miller’s musical mission and the work of units like the 937th were deeply intertwined.
Here the card’s hidden theater of light and shadow takes on new meaning. The sender could not have known that exactly one year after posting this cheerful greeting – on December 15, 1944 – Glenn Miller would board a small Norseman aircraft in England, bound for Paris to arrange performances at forward bases. His plane disappeared over the English Channel in poor weather, creating one of World War II’s enduring mysteries.
The card’s wish for music “all through ’44” became both prophecy and elegy. Somewhere in France, Sgt. Ellison and his fellow engineers might have been preparing the very airfields where Miller hoped to perform. The innovative combination of photography and theatrical lighting effect, created in Chicago a year earlier, had unknowingly captured the intersection of American technical ingenuity, cultural influence, and the human tragedies of war.
Today, this hold-to-light card stands as both artistic innovation and historical artifact. Whether created by an individual photographer or a commercial outfit, it demonstrates the creative adaptation of pre-war techniques to serve wartime needs for connection and morale. In its transformation from simple photo to magical light-show, it embodied the same spirit of innovation that characterized both Glenn Miller’s military music and the rapid-deployment airfield construction of the Aviation Engineers.
More than just a technological curiosity, the card captures a moment when American creativity – musical, photographic, and engineering – was being mobilized for war. The coincidence of the postmark date and Glenn Miller’s final flight reminds us how individual stories weave together to create the larger narrative of history, sometimes in ways that only become apparent when held up to the light.
Arizona’s Verde Valley has inspired generations. Journey through this dramatic landscape where red cliffs greet green river valleys, and where an old mining railway now carries visitors through one of the Southwest’s most stunning canyons.
A striking watercolor dominates the front of a vintage postcard. The scene captures the essence of Arizona’s high desert: massive red rock canyon walls rise dramatically against a blue sky dotted with billowing clouds, while a silver passenger train glides across a trestle bridge below. The unknown artist’s watercolor brushwork renders the desert vegetation in soft greens, with prickly pear cactus dotting the foreground. The painting masterfully conveys both the monumental scale of the landscape and the delicate play of light across the rocky surfaces.
When the Verde Canyon Railroad winds through the high desert country of central Arizona, it follows ancient pathways. The Verde River carved this dramatic landscape over millennia, creating a riparian corridor that has attracted humans for thousands of years. Today’s passengers on the scenic railway see much the same view as the Sinagua people who built cliff dwellings here between 600 and 1400 CE, though the comfortable rail cars are a far cry from the precarious edges those early inhabitants deftly defied.
The river remains one of Arizona’s few perennial waterways, sustaining a complex ecosystem where desert meets riverbank. Towering cottonwoods and velvet ash trees create a canopy over the water, while sycamores and willows cluster along the banks. Native grape vines twist through the understory, and prickly pear cactus dot the rising canyon walls. This environment supports a rich variety of wildlife, from yellow-billed cuckoos and great blue herons to river otters and mule deer. Native fish species like the razorback sucker still navigate the waters their ancestors swam for millennia.
The human history of the valley reflects waves of settlement and industry. After the Sinagua, Yavapai and Apache peoples made their homes here. Spanish explorers gave the river its name – “verde” meaning green – marking the stark contrast between the river corridor and the surrounding desert. The late 1800s brought miners seeking copper, gold, and silver, transforming places like Jerome into boom towns. The railroad itself was built in 1912 to service the United Verde Copper Company’s mining operations, an engineering feat that mirrors our ancient ancestors.
Notable Arizona artists have interpreted this landscape. Ed Mell’s geometric, modernist approach emphasizes the monumental character of the canyon walls. Early pioneer Kate Cory combined artistic and ethnographic interests, documenting both landscape and culture during her years living among the Hopi. Merrill Mahaffey mastered the challenging medium of watercolor to capture the desert’s subtle light and atmosphere, teaching and inspiring so many along the way.
The artistic legacy of the region is inextricably linked to its unique quality of light. The clear, dry air creates what painters describe as crystalline clarity, especially during the “golden hours” of early morning and late afternoon. Artists employ various techniques to capture these effects: watercolorists leave areas of white paper untouched to suggest intense sunlight on rock faces, while building up transparent layers to show subtle color variations in shadowed canyon walls. The phrase ‘purple mountain majesties’ from Katharine Lee Bates’s “America the Beautiful” finds visual truth here, where the red rocks shift to deep purple at dawn and dusk, challenging artists to capture these dramatic transformations.
These artistic traditions remain vibrant today through institutions like the Sedona Arts Center, which hosts workshops, exhibitions, and the annual Sedona Plein Air Festival. These events draw artists from around the country to paint the red rock landscapes, continuing a legacy of artistic response to this unique environment.
The Verde Canyon Railroad itself represents a remarkable transformation from industrial resource to cultural attraction. When mining operations declined in the 1950s, the railroad continued operating for freight until the late 1980s. Its reinvention as a scenic railway in 1990 preserved both the industrial heritage and access to the canyon’s natural beauty, offering new generations a chance to experience this remarkable landscape where nature, history, and art converge.
In recent decades, the Verde Valley has emerged as a significant wine and food-producing region, adding another layer to its cultural landscape. The same mineral-rich soil that once yielded copper now nurtures vineyards, while ancient irrigation techniques inform modern water management practices. Local wineries have revived the area’s agricultural traditions, some of which reflect Spanish and Mexican heritage. The region’s restaurants increasingly reflect Native American heritage, too, combining indigenous ingredients with contemporary techniques. Native foods like prickly pear, mesquite, and local herbs appear on menus alongside wines produced from vineyards visible from the train’s windows.
Tourism in Arizona has evolved beyond simple sightseeing to embrace the complex tapestry of the region’s heritage. Visitors to the Verde Valley today might start their morning at an art gallery in Jerome, taste wines produced from hillside vineyards at lunch, and end their day watching the sunset paint the canyon walls from a vintage train car. This integration of historical preservation, artistic tradition, and culinary innovation exemplifies how the creative spirit that first drew people to these dramatic landscapes continues to evolve. The Verde Valley is home to each generation, who find new ways to interpret and celebrate the enduring connections between people and place.
The Posted Past 