We called him Randy. Imagine, if you will, a cross between Chuck Norris and Robert Goulet. He leaned toward the camera with his weight on his right arm, looking confident in his wide-collared polyester chest-hair-revealing shirt and powder blue blazer, which contrasted nicely against the woodland backdrop. It was a softly-lit professional portrait, a glamour shot–that’s right, glamour with a "u"–but the airbrushing couldn’t hide decades of fast living: the smoker’s face, the alcoholic’s girth. My housemate had found the photo on the street somewhere, or it might have been wedged into the nether regions of the thrift-store couch. We attached Randy to the fridge with a complimentary magnet from the auto parts store, and he became our celebrated house mascot/muse/hero. Was that mean-spirited? Or would Randy enjoy his position in the house of co-eds? We would never find out.

You may ridicule or covet the fashions and decor in any old photo, but the allure of the found photo goes beyond that: it poses a mystery that is essentially unsolvable. Who is this person? Who is the photographer? Where are they now? Would they care that a stranger is looking at them? Why did this image end up in my hands?

Collecting found photos, along with found notes, poetry, sounds, art, has become a small movement with an attendant legion of websites. Los Angeles pop culture historian Charles Phoenix is one such collector. While he dabbles in other people’s 8mm home movies and prints, his obsession is slides, and he’s rescued scores of them–20,000 and counting–from thrift stores, estate sales, and the like. And what else do you do with slides but have slide shows? Phoenix has reclaimed the living-room exercise in familial torture and turned it into a cottage industry. God Bless Americana, as Phoenix had dubbed his found-photos slide show, currently enjoys packed houses at Hollywood’s Egyptian Theatre and gushing reviews from local critics.

Phoenix’s lifelong obsession with collecting retro ephemera and his former career as a classic car dealer led to him authoring four books on mid-20th-century Southern California, Hawaii, and Las Vegas. These pursuits certainly primed him to appreciate other people’s discarded treasures, but, as he tells it, it all began as sort of a fluke.

Phoenix was, as usual, in a thrift store. It had not been a good shopping day, and he was exhausted, wondering to himself whether he should be looking for more out of life than one more objet de kitsch to stuff into his already crammed house. He was ready to throw in the towel when he spotted a blue shoebox from clear across the store. On examination, he discovered the box, marked "Trip Across the United States, 1957," was full of old 35mm Kodachrome slides. He made a mad dash for the cash resister, fearing someone would stop him and inform him the slides weren’t for sale.

Phoenix quickly amassed more collections and gathered his friends for old-fashioned slide shows at his home. This led to a public show at a map and travel store, which in turn led to the Egyptian run. Phoenix narrates the shows himself, stringing together the few facts he has gleaned from the slides’ annotations with his vast store of pop-culture trivia, plus the occasional storyline constructed from juxtaposing slides from different collections.

God Bless Americana is actually split into two shows–the first is structured as a road trip around the U.S.; the second focuses on Southern California. For those of us who can’t make it to L.A., part one is available in book form, and Phoenix says he’s eager to take his show on the road, perhaps with a part three showcasing foreign travel. He also runs a "Pic O’ the Week" club, which anyone can join through his website www.godblessamericana.com.

Though God Bless Americana is as much about the timeless romance of the road trip, and about ogling at the tourist attractions, signage, fashions, and food of yore (ambrosia, that delectable concoction of canned fruit cocktail, marshmallows, and Cool Whip, shows up again and again), what makes it magical is the people. We meet "Violet," the middle-aged woman who never changes out of her bright purple suit during her entire trip along the East Coast with her husband. There’s "Mrs. Polehugger," who always poses next to signs, her hand grasping the pole. We meet a group of nubile young southern ladies lounging around on their Florida motel beds, smoking and being silly. In one slide, a man is standing outside in broad daylight, holding a cocktail. He has a sports jacket on, but no pants. In another slide, a mysterious stranger points a revolver straight into the camera. Who are these people, and why would anyone toss them away?

I recently spoke with Charles Phoenix over e-mail about God Bless Americana and giving new life to discarded memories.

Why do people sell these slides? Why would they sell family photos and why would they even think a stranger would want them?

Tons of old slides (and photos and home movies for that matter) get thrown away. I've not to proud to say that I've dug 'em out of Dumpsters a time or two, so I'd much rather they be made available for sale. I never ask why the slides are for sale. I just buy them. A lot of people don't care about looking at old slides even if they are of their own family.

Have you had any interesting interactions with slide-sellers?

They always, always, always ask, "What do you do with them?" To that, my stock response is "I'm an historian and I learn history from them." That always puzzles them.

Has anyone in your audiences randomly recognized the everyday people in the slides?

One time while showing a slide of Mr. Scheffield and the San Pedro Drama High School Drama Club of 1957, a woman yelled out "He was my Drama teacher!" I said, "What can you tell us about him?" She said, "Well, he lived at home with his mother and never married." I answered, "Perhaps that’s why he took so many pictures at Muscle Beach." And the next slide was one of his Muscle Beach slides. It was great—the audience went crazy!

(All photos from God Bless Americana; click on them for super-sized fun!)

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