Once worn to work daily, ID badges are now a hot collectible.
Images courtesy of Ricco/Maresca Gallery, New York

What Do You C in Employee IDs?

Above my computer here at home hangs an old worker’s ID badge. This vintage portrait moves and intrigues me, offering a glimpse into the life stories of American workers who punched clocks day in, day out.

A friend gave me the badge, partly because it’s from my hometown of Cleveland. I often look at worker number 338 and wonder what his days were like.

A worker from the past watches over a worker from the present.
© Bruce Goldstone

I love this ID, with its worn leather tab and rubbed finish. But mostly I love the almost-smiling portrait of a man I know almost nothing about.

A quick search reveals that Harris Seybold Potter Company was an Ohio-based printshop founded in 1895. Today, it’s the Harris Corporation, an international communications group based in Florida, but with branches worldwide.

I’ve thought about buying more worker badges, but have noticed that prices on eBay are rising. Apparently, I’m not the only one fascinated by these haunting faces from the past.

From Jacket Lapels to Gallery Walls

Serendipity strikes the curious. Just as I was starting to gather my thoughts to write about these badges, I found out that an exhibit at the Ricco/Maresca Gallery here in New York City had a wonderful collection of about 250 worker badges.

How did these ID badges end up in an art gallery?
Images courtesy of Ricco/Maresca Gallery, New York

Displayed in a single, eye-level line on white walls throughout the Chelsea gallery, the badges are transformed into artworks. Once used to establish identity and confer credentials, these small, strong portraits from the 1930s, 40s, and 50s now speak eloquently of individuals unrecorded by the official record of history.

What do work portraits really tell us about workers?
Images courtesy of Ricco/Maresca Gallery, New York

In the art world, these portraits are “vernacular photographs,” artworks created unintentionally, for utilitarian purposes far removed from the lofty goal of art. Examples of this genre include family snapshots, travel photos, yearbook images, and other forms of identification, like passports or driver’s licenses.

Filling in the Blanks

Every badge holds a life within it. Who were these workers, and how did they spend their time?

It’s impossible to proceed from face to face without forming connections, asking questions, and trying to imagine these workers’ daily tasks, challenges, complaints, and triumphs.

What life stories are hidden here?
Images courtesy of Ricco/Maresca Gallery, New York

At the exhibit, I felt the excitement and tension of the first day at a new job. How would I have fit in at each of these companies? I felt grateful for each smile, intimidated by each scowl, and intrigued to find what lay behind the blank stares.

When Jerry Saltz wrote in New York Magazine  to recommend the exhibit,  he shared even more powerful reactions—he says he fell in love just seeing the portrait of a young naval nurse from the Great Lakes . . . and considered whether another badge might show the face of a murderer.

The badge designers and photographers—what do these IDs say about them?
Images courtesy of Ricco/Maresca Gallery, New York

Teamworkers

Several groups of badges came from the same company. The exhibition included more than a dozen badges from the United States Rubber Company, encouraging gallery visitors to play a sort of workplace fantasy football, assembling teams and envisioning relationships among these individuals.

Which of these workers do you think were friends?
Images courtesy of Ricco/Maresca Gallery, New York

Forgotten Workers and Forgotten Work

These badges are particularly valuable because we have so few documents of our working days. Even now on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, workplace images are far from the norm.

Why don’t we document work more often?
Images courtesy of Ricco/Maresca Gallery, New York

Why don’t we pay more attention to such a huge part of our lives?

I am reminded of photographer Carl Corey’s impressive and important project, Blue, which seeks to document today’s blue-collar workers.

Unlike Corey’s subjects, none of these people ever imagined that their faces would be in an art gallery—or on the Internet.

Thinking about the circuitous path that led them here, I have an “Oh, I see” moment: We can’t control the traces we leave behind, but we can admire and be inspired by the traces left by others.

What do you C?
Images courtesy of Ricco/Maresca Gallery, New York

But what about you? What do you see when you look through this gallery of vintage portraits? How would you feel if your own work ID—or passport or driver’s license—ended up in an art gallery in eighty years or so?

Leave a comment to let us know what you see, feel, and think about these recaptured life stories.