I wish my ancestors would have done this. I inherited some black and white photos, most of which are of my deaf great-uncle Coleman, and few are marked. I keep these two dozen vanilla hued photos in a wood box lined with green felt. Some of the corners are bent and margins marked in curlicue pencil. One is a man in a straw hat atop a 20-foot ladder pruning tree limbs. Behind him is a barnwall and he's looking at the camera biting a drooping Sherlockian pipe. Another is my great-uncle's friend, Speck, sleeping (resting? faking?) on a brass bed. His white shirt and tie loosened like rope, his dark oiled hair rakish against the pillow, and morning light imprinted on him and the fern wallpaper. I study these pictures every now and then, pics taken in the late '20s in Alabama, and imagine what was going on in these people's lives. They once breathed our air, embraced their families, laughed at dumb jokes...until they had to let go. Yes, label. We need to remember.