Annie Colley Bell, 1857 - 1932

As Annie Colley lay dying on a cold, gray Halloween in 1932, in the home of her youngest son on College Point, Long Island, she was slipping away from a life that had, for decades, preserved the faces of the known and unknown on fragile plates of glass. She was surrounded by family—her devoted son Colley, his wife Francis, and their three young boys, Colley Jr., George, and William. She had been the wife of Charles Milton Bell, one of Washington, D.C.’s most renowned photographers, a man who had captured the likenesses of presidents, justices, and ordinary citizens alike. But Annie’s own life, though often defined by his legacy, had been shaped by resilience, by loss, and by the profound transformations of her time.

She was just 36 years old in 1893 when her husband returned from a cold, wet trip to Fort Monroe, Virginia, fell ill, and died at Washington’s Windsor Hotel. His sudden passing left her with two sons and a business that bore his name. Charles Jr. would leave Washington to pursue his passion for electrical engineering, while Colley, a lawyer, remained close to his mother, working as the personal secretary to Chief Justice Melville Fuller and later Justice Charles Evans Hughes. In 1910, young Colley married Carl Bushby, the daughter of Rev. William Bushby, an Episcopal minister and teacher at the National Cathedral School for Girls. Their marriage was short-lived—Carl, already suffering from tuberculosis, died just seven months later. Decades later, Colley Jr. would discover the remnants of this chapter tucked away in the back of his father’s rolltop desk—a small, forgotten paper box containing Carl’s white gloves, shoes, lace, and personal papers, silent witnesses to a grief that had bound Annie and her son even closer.

As Annie Colley lay dying on a cold, gray Halloween in 1932, in the home of her youngest son on College Point, Long Island, she was slipping away from a life that had, for decades, preserved the faces of the known and unknown on fragile plates of glass. She was surrounded by family—her devoted son Colley, his wife Francis, and their three young boys, Colley Jr., George, and William. She had been the wife of Charles Milton Bell, one of Washington, D.C.’s most renowned photographers, a man who had captured the likenesses of presidents, justices, and ordinary citizens alike. But Annie’s own life, though often defined by his legacy, had been shaped by resilience, by loss, and by the profound transformations of her time.

She was just 36 years old in 1893 when her husband returned from a cold, wet trip to Fort Monroe, Virginia, fell ill, and died at Washington’s Windsor Hotel. His sudden passing left her with two sons and a business that bore his name. Charles Jr. would leave Washington to pursue his passion for electrical engineering, while Colley, a lawyer, remained close to his mother, working as the personal secretary to Chief Justice Melville Fuller and later Justice Charles Evans Hughes. In 1910, young Colley married Carl Bushby, the daughter of Rev. William Bushby, an Episcopal minister and teacher at the National Cathedral School for Girls. Their marriage was short-lived—Carl, already suffering from tuberculosis, died just seven months later. Decades later, Colley Jr. would discover the remnants of this chapter tucked away in the back of his father’s rolltop desk—a small, forgotten paper box containing Carl’s white gloves, shoes, lace, and personal papers, silent witnesses to a grief that had bound Annie and her son even closer.

The legacy of C.M. Bell Studios was just as fragile as the glass plates it had left behind. The great photography houses of Matthew Brady and Alexander Gardner had vanished by the 1870s, and by the early 20th century, the revolution ushered in by George Eastman’s Kodak camera had fundamentally altered the landscape of photography. By 1900, the introduction of the Brownie Camera made personal photography ubiquitous—"the Kodak moment" was born, and professional portrait studios like Bell’s struggled under the weight of an industry forever changed. That same year, Annie sold the studio, along with over 30,000 glass negatives, to new proprietors who would continue operating under the name C.M. Bell Studios until 1910. By then, Charles Jr. and Colley had embarked on careers of their own—one in engineering, the other in law—leaving behind the world their father had so carefully documented.

For decades, Bell’s photographic legacy remained boxed away in museum storage facilities, seemingly lost to history. Then, in a twist of historical irony, as Kodak itself faced decline in the digital age, the Library of Congress meticulously reopened C.M. Bell’s crates, carefully digitizing and cataloging thousands of glass plates. It was Alexander Graham Bell (no relation) who had ensured the negatives’ survival, transferring them to the Smithsonian Institution, where they would remain until their rediscovery in the 21st century. Now, through the careful work of curators, librarians, and historians, Bell’s photographs live again, offering a window into an America that was rapidly evolving—an America of ambition, loss, and resilience. The Bell family, through this collection, now brings these images forward, not just as relics of the past, but as an ongoing study in artistry, history, and human experience. What had once seemed lost has been found again. And in that, Annie Colley’s work—her struggle, her perseverance—lives on.