The gift of old home movies

R.C. Vaughan, my granddaddy, died in 1998 never able to imagine the gift he gave us - the gift that presented itself this past Christmas.

In the mid-1950s, my grandfather invested in an 8 mm home movie camera. He also bought a projector and a screen. Then, with my grandmother, friends, and in-laws, he began traveling and along the way shooting these short, silent movies that chronicled his travels. Gatlinburg and then further out west along two-lane roads through the desert.

He also chronicled our lives through home movies. One of the classics involves a random Saturday evening. My mother was pregnant with me, which is mind-blowing. (I'm actually able to watch a movie and say, "Hey, there's video evidence she is my mama.") There's my beautiful glowing mama watching while her in-laws kill and pull the feathers off a chicken that I guess my Granny was going to fry for everyone's supper.

When I was born in 1959, my Papa R.C., who first owned a hatchery and then owned his own meat packing operation, had become quite the filmmaker. My life was chronicled - all the way down to the day I came home from the hospital with a large "Welcome Home, Scotty" banner across our carport. (I became Scott in the second grade).

Papa R.C. loaned that camera to my dad, who was more than happy to shoot silent footage of birthday parties, Christmas mornings, dressing up on Easter mornings, the rare North Georgia snow, and beach vacations throughout almost all of the 1960s.

The film-making Vaughans of Brookwood Road. Who knew?

My Papa R.C. and my daddy were equally smart about storing their films. They clearly marked the subject matter on each film carton. When movies were shown, I remember the strict instruction to remove one film, show it, and return it to its appropriate box before removing another film. Home Movies were serious business.

We lived within an easy walk to my grandparents home. It was not unusual two or three times per year for someone to suggest watching those films. We would gather in my Granny's front room, set up the projector and the screen, and then watch them one at a time. Because there was no sound to the films, I remember how much fun it was to hear the grown-ups provide commentary to what we were all watching. Someone always popped popcorn on the eye of a stovetop, and we had Coca-Cola. It was like going to the movies only more fun.

Over time, the 8 mm gave way to videotape, which came with sound. The box of old home movies was buried under the stairs at my parent's house. After my dad died in 2014, we were looking through old closets and found that box of films. This past summer, I asked my mama if I could take them, have them restored and then copied to DVD. She agreed.

Richard Webb and me, about 1962

This past Christmas night, as a family, we sat around my mama's living room and watched three hours of old home movies. There was some vintage film of my first birthday parties, and it was fun to see those first friends who I still call friends today. There's even a shot from my third birthday when Richard Webb (Charlie Keller in my book, Elm Street), my first friend, walked up and kissed me. We were best of friends - maybe a little European, but the best of friends.

Watching those movies, it was a little sad to see the family members who have gone on to be with Jesus, and there were some sniffles recalling times and places that are gone forever, but what a blessing to have those memories now stored and saved for generations to remember.

Thank you, Papa R.C. Thank you, Daddy. 

www.scottdvaughan.com