Because music leaves such a permanent stamp on the brain, Julie, the heir and seller, sensed these records would trigger old memories of growing up as a family on Cape Cod in the 1970s. They did that, and more. In that old cardboard box, softened to velvet by years of humidity and heat in the attic, Julie found the sounds of her childhood and her parent's too.
Long before there were television informercials of Time-Life CD collections, there were "books" of records like this one. I was transformed to my parent's own collection of 1940s music in the built-in colonial style cabinets in the livng room of our home near Tatnuck Square in Worcester.
What a poignant reminder that the Greatest Generation wouldn't think of stepping onto a dance floor without knowing the steps. At weddings, I watch with envy the older couples who are the only ones who know what they're doing on a dance floor.