A Record of Happiness

I don't know what her name was.  I do know she was in love in 1935.

Not everything from her estate sold during the two "official" days of the sale.  So the estate sale company posted a notice online:  Everything left in the house would be given away at no charge on a first-come, first-served basis.

Naturally I took advantage of this offer.  

I found, among a pile of used books and office supplies, three pages torn from her old diary.  Just three pages.  They must have been the most important ones, the ones she made sure she saved.   Her survivors didn't treasure them like she did.  So I did.

I didn't take the time to read the three pages until I got home.  They are the (partial) story of her romance, set in the midst of  the Great Depression.

Tuesday, June, 11, 1935

11:00 p.m. The chimes are just striking.  Only 45 minutes ago I said good-bye to Burke.  I have no idea when I'll see him again.  It may be the end of another chapter in my life -- I hope not, but it may be.  Things look very dark -- I wish I could see ahead, but perhaps it is better that I cannot.  It is strange how "alone" a parting can make one feel.  Close friends are so few in this world & so dear.... I think I'd better get into bed & to sleep before I begin "slopping over."

Monday, July 22, 1935

Had 3 letters from Burke today.  He has a job!  Not so much of a one to begin with but it has a future -- with Standard Oil.  He is very happy about it & is actually making plans for the future -- that's something for him.  I'm so happy about this!  He wants me to come in fall if the job works out all right & he likes it.  He writes:

"I'm sure you'll like it out here and at least we can start by ourselves and build our own little world."

Does that sound like a proposal of marriage?  Is it just that distance lends enchantment -- or has he discovered that he really needs me? 

Perhaps this year will be quite interesting before it is over.  But I am very happy tonight.

Tuesday, September 3, 1935

Tonight is a very special night.  I wrote to mother & dad and told them I'm going to be married the first week in October.  Mother has thought of it already, but I wonder what Dad will say.  Told Mrs. Rudolph tonight that I'm leaving the 15th.  It all seems rather hazy yet -- it doesn't seem like it's really true.  It is hard to realize that I will be married in a little over a month.  Only 10 more days to go of work.  Wonder what Townsend will say? 

It's all like a dream, but it's a dream coming true!


I don't know what her name was.  I do know I'm glad she wrote down her love story as it unfolded.   Because now I can apply the Sonnet 18 theory to her words, and the words of her loved one, once destined for a green recycling bin if someone didn't rescue them.

William Shakespeare -- even though he never dreamed of cyberspace as a library for the memories of love -- was right!

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Write down the story of your love.  Even if you don't share it with anyone else.  Write it down.

The Ghosts of Christmases Past

I didn't know Irene personally.   But I know she absolutely loved Christmas.  She saved the December issues and "Christmas Specials" of dozens of magazines between about 1957 and 1970 in a bookcase in her home office.  When her family had an estate sale a few months ago, I bought all the magazines I could load into a paper grocery bag for $5.

Every holiday season, people say they wish that Christmas was "the way it used to be."  With the help of the feline blog assistants, I decided to explore some of these old magazines on Christmas Eve day.   Maybe I could see how Christmas used to be, 40 or 50 or more years ago, at least as it was presented to the public in print.  I came to the conclusion that things haven't changed all that much.

Most of the old magazines in Irene's collection featured inspiring Christmas stories from contemporary writers -- Rumer Godden, Norah Lofts, Richard Armour, Ogden Nash and others were well-represented.  Dr. Spock wrote an advice column for parents.  (Look him up, kids.  No relation to the other Spock, except that they were both good at calmly giving advice.)

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., penned a Christmas play for children in one issue.  Another Christmas play for kids featured illustrations by Joan Walsh Anglund.

Not to be outdone, the artists at the Disney studios created "A Christmas Carol" featuring a family of mice, in December 1957.

Christmas fashions, particularly for women and children, were prominently displayed.  In the make-it-yourself magazines, the focus was on homemade dresses.

By contrast, the December 1957 Ladies' Home Journal featured a multi-page spread of fashions modeled by two young socialites who were sisters.   This picture is of one of them -- the young Mrs. John F. Kennedy. 

(McCall's magazine from the same month featured a story on "President Eisenhower's Diet."   Needless to say, it did not have the same appeal.  However, McCall's promoted an upcoming article in its January 1958 edition, by this young lady's husband, on "Three Women of Courage.")

All the magazines featured articles on how to decorate your home for the holidays, usually by making some of the decor yourself.   This picture of a Christmas-themed living room in 1957 is a "retro" fan's dream.

Many articles explained to readers how to create their own Christmas ornaments and toys.

Of course it wouldn't be Christmas without food.  All the magazines devoted a lot of space to holiday recipes.  "Over 100 Tempting HOLIDAY RECIPES" read one headline. Feature stories told readers how to create the perfect holiday feast.

Millions of calories' worth of meals and treats, cheek-by-jowl with ads for tomato juice and Sucaryl and Sweeta tablets to help the reader stay slim.  (That paradox hasn't changed!)  One magazine advertisement suggested a set of scales (available in a variety of designer colors) as the perfect Christmas gift for the person on a diet.  (I hope whoever received a device to weigh themselves for Christmas, threw it straight in the direction of the sadistic giver.)   A small article, lavishly illustrated, recommended giving socks for Christmas to the man who already "has everything."  So that's where the tradition started....

Even the recipes in the old advertisements are familiar.

To provide a sense of balance, magazine articles explained to parents how to make the holidays more meaningful for their kids.

 

 

Stories for children and parents to read together were significant parts of most of the Christmas magazines in the 1950s and '60s.  Only they were relatively new stories back then.



The cartoon Christmas story that actually tells the real "good tidings of great joy" to all people, was the same then as it is now.  Woman's Day, December 1968, featured illustrations by Charles Schulz.

Christmas commercialism was alive and well in the 1950s and '60s.  Does it seem more innocent?  Or is that just the voice of nostalgia speaking?  Like them or not, the ads are great snapshots-in-time.

Christmas characters from TV programs were featured in 1960s print ads as well.

Ads showed appliances (washing machines, refrigerators, hand mixers) in pastel pink and turquoise blue in the late 1950s-early 1960s; they changed to gold and avocado green a few years later.  Getting your family new phones for Christmas had a different (and much more iconic) look back then.

Of course, some of the things in the collection of Christmas magazines don't stand the test of time.  This article, for example, explained how to make jewelry out of pop-tops from soda cans.  It's just as well that we let that sleeping ghost of Christmas past, lie.

I'm grateful Irene saved her Christmas magazines, so we can read over her shoulder today.  Merry Christmas, everyone.

The Orphan Flatware

The holidays are a time for tradition.  Often, traditions are passed down from one generation to another:  a menu, a recipe, a certain old movie or football game to watch on television.  A holiday is a time to get out "special" or "best" things to set the table for a family meal.

My mother only used her "best" silverplated (sometimes just called silverplate) flatware for Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter.  The rest of the year, the 1847 Rogers Bros.* knives, forks, spoons and serving pieces lived in their special wooden felt-lined case in a cupbord.   About once a year the silverplate pieces were taken out and polished, gently washed and carefully dried, then returned to their case.  Cheap stainless steel flatware, which could be hand-washed (or later, put in the dishwasher), air-dried, and generally mildly abused was the choice for everyday use. 

(*1847 wasn't the year they were made, by the way.  That's the name of the brand.)

Silverplated flatware like this was an integral part of the lives of many families after World War II and throughout the mid-20th century.    

A piece, or a set, of flatware was an excellent wedding, anniversary or Christmas gift. If you needed to replace a piece, or buy another place setting as your extended family grew larger, you could do that as well.   If you were very fortunate, you would receive a set (or often just one-piece-at-a-time) of sterling silver flatware, for those special occasions.  The flatware came in a variety of pretty patterns.  Flatware sets were widely advertised in women's magazines in the 1940s and '50s. 

"Adoration" was my parents' silverplate flatware pattern.  Dad's older sisters pooled their resources and bought a set for the newlyweds, carefully packaged in a small wooden chest with cutout slots for each size and style of knife, fork, spoon and serving piece.  The set included exotic items such as long-handled teaspoons, soup spoons, a ladle and butter knives, which were used even more sparingly than the rest of the flatware.  My mother passed this set on to me.  "Use it for special occasions," she told me.  Years later, I acquired another set of silverplated flatware, still in its original case, by the same company in a different pattern when some friends were liquidating their parents' estate.

And then a few weeks ago, I spotted a handful of pieces of silverplate in a plastic bag at an estate sale. They were bright and shiny, almost like they'd never been used.  The pattern was different than the other two sets I already owned.

Only a few pieces.  Where was the special wooden case with the felt lining?  Where were the knives, the dinner forks, the serving pieces?  No one at the sale knew.  There were just a few regular spoons and salad forks, a handful of soup spoons, six butter knifes, and an olive fork.  Someone had cherished them once, but now they were orphans -- silverplate flatware without a special occasion.  Their pattern is called "Daffodil."

I couldn't leave them there. 

I will use them, as well as some pieces from my other two complete sets, for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner this year.   But it won't be the first time I've used them.  I've already used them for a meal of soup, whole wheat bread and olives last month; with a chocolate peppermint loaf cake I made two weeks ago; with my tea this morning.  Each time I use them, I wash and dry them carefully and put them back in the drawer with the "everyday" stainless steel flatware, where they belong.

Because every day we're alive is a special occasion.  Because we live throughout the year, as the Apostle John once wrote, receiving "grace upon grace" to help us.  We should celebrate.

The Old Magazine

I love looking through old magazines.   At a recent estate sale, I found a copy of the November 1933 Better Homes and Gardens.  I can imagine my grandmother sitting at her kitchen table reading this same magazine, planning what she will cook for Thanksgiving dinner.  It’s interesting to leaf through the fragile old magazine pages and see the similarities between life in America 79 years ago, and today.

Electrical gadgets -- okay, appliances -- were a big deal in 1933.  This magazine features more than one article extolling the virtues of the latest models of electric mixers.  (They weren’t widely used in homes until the 1920s.)

In 1933, as now, they used images of beautiful women to sell stuff.  Granted, this young lady in from the Depression era is wearing far more clothing than her counterpart today.  (This is a good thing.)

The country was in the grips of an economic disaster in 1933.  Many of the magazine ads feature the National Recovery Administration emblem, signifying that company’s participation in FDR’s New Deal strategy.   Advertisements communicated messages about how rich people also used inexpensive products that the “average person” could afford.

This ad for Listerine toothpaste features an illustration by Paul Desmond Brown (1893-1958), who has been described as the “pre-eminent American illustrator of equestrian subjects.”  Brown was probably best-known in the 1930s for his images of polo matches – that was the heyday of the sport.  He’s also known as an illustrator of children’s horse books.

In an article entitled “Good Stories for Your Christmas Gift Lists,” the writer reviews a book called Little Man, What Now? and makes this ominous sidebar comment:  “How in the world has Germany gotten this way?  Ever since the bewildering Hitler regime, I’ve been wondering, haven’t you?”

So many ads, large and small.  Floor wax.  Bran flakes.  Dog food.  A coupon to send away for information on raising chickens for fun and profit.  Cyclone fences.  Eatmor Cranberries (it was November, after all).  Electric space heaters.  Food, food, and more food.

One of my favorite ads features a recipe for gingerbread.   I thought it was only appropriate at the end of this nostalgia trip to see if the gingerbread they were eating in 1933 stands the test of time.  I’m happy to report that it does.

½ cup sugar

½ cup butter and lard mixed (I used all butter)

1 cup molasses

1 egg

2 ½ cups flour

1 ½ teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon ginger

½ teaspoon cloves

½ teaspoon salt

1 cup hot water

(since my grandmother in 1933 would have added a pinch of black pepper to bring out the flavors of the spices, I added that too)

Cream shortening and sugar.  Add beaten egg, molasses, then dry ingredients which have been sifted together.  Add hot water last and beat until smooth.  The batter is soft but it makes a fine cake.  Bake in greased shallow pan 35 minutes in moderate oven (325 to 350 degrees).  Makes 15 generous portions.  Serve it every week.

Another ad, for Washburn Crosby Gold Medal Flour, shows a thick slice of gingerbread from their recipe ("FREE inside every sack of GOLD MEDAL 'Kitchen-Tested' Flour) cut in half, stuffed with fluffy cream cheese and drizzled with lemon sauce.  Perhaps I'll try that method as well.

The War Diary, Part Two

(To read "The War Diary, Part One," click here:  http://estatesalechronicles.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-war-diary.html )

I've spent a bit more time deciphering our soldier's handwriting, as he recounts his last days in France after the end of World War I.    His spelling didn't improve with time.

Nov. 30  Up early packed left Camp De Meucon 1130 arived in Vannes 1230 -- eight mile in narrow guage train.

Dec. 1, 1918  No sleep all night left Vannes 430AM had lots of fun throwing bread at French kids.  Arived in Brest [a port city in Brittany, France] about 6 oclock on baggage detail missed awful hike of five miles through mud came to camp ate late supper went to bed.

[Dec.] 2 In bed got up ate breakfast back in bed.  Awful muddy camp worst I ever been in.  Done nothing all day.  Bed 8 o'clock. Rec'd. first letter from Preacher.

[Dec.] 3  B Battery on guard and camp detail for day.  Thanks to my being Btry. tailor miss all detail.  All I have done to-day is to lay in bed and listen to all the wild rumors about going home.  Only a little after 5 ashamed to go to bed yet don't know what to do.

Mitchell spent several more days in a similar fashion, then found a variety of other ways to pass the time.

Dec. 6  Up early ate fooled around all day reading.  About five thirty started to drinking rum using port wine for chaser.  Killed all off with [apparently some sort of liqueur].  Got wild cursed the whole battery out went wild, no fights.

Dec. 7 Oh my head is as big as a barrel.  sick.  going to bed 5 oclock dark.

Dec. 8  On detail for work.  Went to town.  Quite a time with the ladies.

Mon. Dec. 9  Apointed Btry. cartoonist but refused to do any work.  Received letter from home.

Tues. Dec. 10  Up eight rained all night.  Went to Reg. Hdq. drew several sketches for History of Btry. B.  7 bells going to bed.

Wed. Dec. 11  Up too late for Breakfast cut Cpt. Cheneworth's slicker off.  Fooled around all day doing absolutely nothing all day but draw two cartoons for history.  Arkie and I are in bed eating candy.  Rumors are that we leave tomorrow 7 bells.

Then something significant finally happened.

Dec. 12, 1918  Up for breakfast ate fooled around went down drew several cartoons.  Got permission to go to town tomorrow to see Pres. Wilson land. 

The website History.com notes:

After nine days at sea aboard the SS George Washington, Woodrow Wilson arrives at Brest, France, on December 13, 1918, and travels by land to Versailles. There, he headed the American delegation to the peace conference seeking a definitive end to World War I. The visit marked the first official visit by a U.S. president to Europe.

Brennan Mitchell gave us his perspective:

Dec. 13, 1918  Up early ate.  Went to town 1030 stationed on street to meet Pres. Wilson.  [He] came by about two o'clock in open top machine.  Salute was given, 21 shots.  Marched back to camp ate.  Orders to leave for US tomorrow.

On December 15 (a day later than he expected), Mitchell and his comrades caught a ride on the SS George Washington back to the States:

On boat 1130 Geo. Washington same as Pres. came over on.  "Oh boy."  Eats fine, good show.

The on-board entertainment apparently included movies; in other diary entries during the crossing of the Atlantic, he mentions seeing films he enjoyed starring "Doug F." (Douglas Fairbanks) and (Mary) "Pickford."

Finally, on December 23, 1918, Mitchell's sojourn was over: 

Up 630 rolled pack ate two meals came in harbor was met by Mayor's Committee of NJ.  Got off boat 430 in J.C. (Jersey City?).  Set out on hike to camp ate took bath now getting ready for bed. 

Mitchell's narrative ends there.  The diary contains a few more blank pages.  Then tucked in the back of the diary is a page of semaphore drawings:

In doing some background research for this post, I discovered that there's footage of the parade with President Wilson in Brest on December 13, 1918, on YouTube. Somewhere in that crowd is Brennan A. Mitchell, whose diary is sitting on my desk as I write:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pK1mAjTGN9k&feature=relmfu

For all that I occasionally felt I'd like to knock him in the head for his foolish behavior and atrocious spelling, I'm still glad Brennan Mitchell took notes.  He never knew we'd be looking over his shoulder at history, almost 100 years later.  Thank you, soldier.
________

I donated the War Diary and the large group photo to the Center for American War Letters at Chapman University, where they will be preserved and eventually digitized so students, historians, genealogists -- and you! -- can see and use them.  http://www.chapman.edu/research-and-institutions/cawl/index.aspx

The War Diary

I often see war-related items at estate sales.  Recently I found a battered small notebook that served as the diary of a serviceman from World War One.  (It was a dollar.  I couldn't leave it there.) 

The soldier, Brennan A. Mitchell, was a member of Battery B, 139^th Field Artillery, American Expeditionary Forces in France.   With the diary was a photograph of soldiers in front of a building with a Red Cross sign.

A man of few words, this soldier from Sherman, Texas was part of history in 1918, even if he was often bored and had a little trouble with spelling as he recounted his adventures:

July 17 Arived in NY.

July 22 AWOL three days sent to hospital.  AWOL ever night till Sept.17.

Sept. 19-20 Met Miss Zachary splendid time made the City ever other day till Sept. 29.

Sept. 30 Goldbricked till left on Oct. 6.  [ I had to refresh my memory on this term.  "Goldbricking" is slacking off at work while pretending to be busy.]

After reading through his diary and looking at a number of websites online, I came to the conclusion that Mitchell went to war on the HMS Cedric out of Long Island:

Set sail [to Liverpool] Oct. 6 enjoyed trip until night of 16 Wed. [at] 10:55 ship struck by torpedo or depth bomb. All was in an uproar until we found out we could make port.

Oct. 17, 1918 Thursday we landed in Liverpool Endland. Had a glorious reception by all. Red Cross served coffee.  Hiked through city to camp arrived 1:45 after a two mile hike with full pack. 

Up next morn Oct. 18 7 o’clock took bath walked around camp saw first German prisoners also New Zealand soldiers wer in a English camp.

Oct. 20 Sunday Up early washed went to church.  After, went up to vilage with [indecipherable other soldiers' names] drank lots of beer.  Real quaint village.

Shortly after that, Mitchell and his comrades took a train to Southampton and then sailed to Cherbourg, France.

Oct. 23 Left Cherbough in box cars 8 horses or 40 men 50 in our car…rode all night arrived in Aldmans [?] had supper. Arived in Plorenel [Ploermel?] France 12:30 a.m. bed. 

Apparently they ended up in the ancient city of Vannes, where he bought two postcards.

Oct. 25 Up early after a very bad rest on floor in old Catholic convent built in 1400 and 1689 a very interesting building still occupied by French peasants. Went to town drank first French wine no good.

Nov. 8 Same things so I wrot nothing. 

Nov. 9 Up early left for Camp De Meucon [American artillery training camp a few kilometers outside Vannes] road 16 miles in trucks hiked 15 miles with full pack. 

Nov. 10 Up early ate washed went to church.  After ran around camp.  Saw captured German guns.

Nov. 11 Up early.  Made gunner so practiced hard all day.  Bed early.

Note the date:  November 11, 1918.  They finally gave him something useful to do, on the day the war ended.

Nov. 12 Same schedule gun practice.  Awful happy heard armisti was signed war won drank too much wine that night had to tie my bed down.

Nov. 13 & 14  Went out to the guns in morning came back was made Battery tailor excused from all formations.  Went to Y. can show came back turned in.

I hadn't realized that the YMCA was involved in serving soldiers during The Great War.  But they were.

Nov. 15 PAY DAY Nothing special only word was that we would leave for US soon.

Nov. 20 Went to range fired four shots.  Nothing else but tailor work.

Nov. 28 Nothing of importance since Nov. 20 only Y.M.C.A shows and some tailor work. Tonight we have orders to leave tomorrow ever one happy.

Only they didn’t leave France for several weeks.  Something of importance finally happened to him a few days later.  I’ll continue in my next blog post…

http://estatesalechronicles.blogspot.com/2012/10/the-war-diary-part-two.html

Priceless Papers

I always look for old books when I go to estate sales.   I have a habit of feeling sorry for the old book that no one else seems to want, and I end up bringing it home with me.

That was the case at a recent estate sale, when I found a hardback copy of a King James Bible published in the mid-1930s.  This Bible was different than most, though; it was printed without the (man-made) chapter and verse breaks, so it could be read as literature.

This sale was professionally managed by a Russian immigrant woman and her family. I asked her the price.

"The Bible is priceless," she replied, with her beautiful accent.  "But for you, five bucks."

At another recent sale in an old historic neighborhood, I spotted a very old book with a faded cover that no one else had touched.  It's called The Children's Bread.  No author was listed; it was published by Dana and Company, NY.

The Children's Bread is poems and Bible verses, such as, "Little children, walk in love" and "O that it were my chief delight / To do the things I ought / Then let me try with all my might / To mind what I am taught."   Then I looked at the flyleaf:

That's less than two months after the Civil War began. 

For two dollars, I couldn't leave it there.

Sometimes I find things tucked inside old books that really should not be sold.  That happened at an estate sale a couple of days ago.  Inside a scruffy, nondescript self-help paperback (which I didn't buy; it had no character) I discovered some old letters, a marriage certificate from 1934, and a folded square of paper with a large red cross at the top.  The message was sent by the Red Cross in Geneva, operating inside Nazi Germany.  It was addressed to someone in New York City, and was dated December 1942.  On the back a message, in German, was typed. 

I showed the paper to the woman putting on the sale, and asked her not to sell it.  She and I worked out the message from the sender:

Happy Christmas.  We are well.  Please don't worry about us.  Many hugs and kisses.  Grandma. 

The date the message was received in New York was stamped on the front:   February 1946.  Grandma's family didn't get the message until after the war was over.  (Had she been a prisoner of the Nazis?  Did she survive?  There was no one to ask.)

"Oh, my,"  the estate sale manager.  She was quiet for  a moment.  "I'll send this to the family.  You're right.  It shouldn't be sold."