Honoring Mom

A lady in my church has been known to say, “Every day that ends in ‘Y’ should be Mother’s Day.”

She may be close to the truth.  Around the world, people in various countries honor their mothers on a multitude of days – from the second Sunday in February in Norway to December 22^nd in Indonesia, and many more days in between.

In many places, though, the second Sunday in May is the one set aside to honor Mom.  This modern tradition was began by a woman named Anna Jarvis from Webster, West Virginia, who got the date nationally recognized in 1914.  It’s said that by 1920, though, she was disappointed in the commercialization of the holiday.

Commercialization or no, as long as there’s been a Mother’s Day, there has also been the problem of what to get Mom for Mother’s Day.  Do you believe her when she tells you, “Just a card would be fine”?  Do the kids serve her breakfast in bed (so she ends up washing the dishes afterward)? Do you take her to a calorie-laden brunch in a crowded buffet restaurant when she decided the day before to go on a diet?  Do you get her flowers?  A book?  Jewelry? 

A Mother's Day card is usually a pretty safe bet.  When I go to estate sales, I see Mother’s Day cards all the time – usually signed by the husband and/or the kids, carefully tucked into a box and saved by the recipient. 

At the recent sale of the estate of a long-retired local jeweler and watchmaker, I spotted a number of mid-century “mother’s brooches” from his store’s old stock. Each brooch was a different design – a tree of life, a bow, a circle. 

 

 

 

The buyer would have had to have planned ahead, to give one of these as a gift. The jeweler would need some time to mount a different colored birthstone (or rather, a rhinestone colored to look like the real gemstone) representing each family member in the sterling silver gold-filled brooch.  (If there were more spots for stones on the brooch than the mom had close family members, the extra stones would be clear rhinestones. She could always have the brooch updated every time a new kid or grandkid came along.)  And then the brooch would be proudly given to Mom on Mother’s Day, with love from all her family. 

When these vintage brooches were made – probably in the 1950s and 1960s – Mom would have proudly worn hers on the lapel of her jacket when she went to church on Mother’s Day, then throughout the year on other special occasions.  Judging from the number of these mother’s brooches for sale on eBay and etsy, it looks like they’re still pretty popular. 

Mother's Day is a time-honored tradition.  Actually, we’re giving one of the brooches that came from the estate sale to a certain mom this year.  My friend Peggy, a vintage jewelry expert and craftsperson extraordinaire, set the stones in one of the new-old-stock brooches.  It came out nicely, don’t you think? 

 

Not as nice as the lady who's receiving it, of course.

Happy Mother’s Day. 

___

The American Gem Society has a list of birthstones here: 

http://www.americangemsociety.org/birthstones

Peggy’s work can be seen at http://stores.ebay.com/On-Coyote-Mountain-Art

 

 

 

If At First You Don't Succeed, Drive, Drive Again

I was intrigued by this full-page ad for a little car, which I spotted in a 1959 issue of Holiday magazine.  (It goes without saying that I found the magazine at an estate sale.)

 

What in the world was a Toyopet?  Okay, obviously it was a car.  But why had I never heard of it?

 

The ads in these old Holiday magazines show lots of automobiles, both large...

 

1959 Cadillac

...and small.

Triumph TR3

 

So where did the Toyopet fit in?  The CNN Money website gives us some insight on the automobile industry in the late 1950s-early 1960s:

 

"European imports - sporty cars and the strange but popular Volkswagen Beetle - were causing some stir and forcing Detroit to respond with cars like the Chevrolet Corvette and Corvair and the Ford Mustang. Cars from Japan, a nation synonymous with exporting cheap toys, hardly seemed a threat.

 

"Some on the American side of Toyota's new venture were worried that shoppers might not take a car called the Toyopet very seriously. But Americans were embracing a car called the Beetle, weren't they?"

It turns out there was a good reason we don't hear the name "Toyopet" any more.  Even the official Toyota website is brutally honest about the failure of the company's first attempt to sell cars in the US:

 

"In September 1957 the first two Toyota Toyopets were unloaded at the port of Los Angeles, representing some of the first Japanese passenger cars ever to be exported to America.

"Confident in their product, Toyota extended the warranties against defective parts and workmanship for 1959 Toyopets to six months or 6000 miles compared to customary automotive warranties at the time of 4000 miles or four months.

"When road testing the Toyopet, engineers discovered that it did not have enough horsepower to pull the vehicle over the hills near Los Angeles. Under these mountainous conditions, the engine overheated, power plummeted and loud, threatening noises radiated from under the hood."
 

And it isn't like the mountains around LA are the Swiss Alps.

 

Toyota continued to sell the Toyopet, though, and its executives continued to analyze why not that many Americans were driving off their showroom lots:

 

"It was quickly realized that the Toyopet was not engineered for American roads or American drivers. Used as taxis in Tokyo, the Toyopet was ideal for duty on the rough and bumpy roads of post World War II Japan, but unsuited for high speeds and easy steering, weighing over 3,000 lbs. and powered by a mere 58 horsepower engine. 

 

"As one American executive later observed, the Toyopet was 'underpowered, overpriced ($700 more than the number one import, Volkswagen) and built like a tank.' Additionally, it was plain, uncomfortable and had serious mechanical shortcomings.

 

"American Sales Administrator James F. McGraw, hired by Toyota for their US division, had issues with the name 'Toyopet.'  He claimed that the name was all wrong, stating that  'Toy' sounded like a toy, and toys break, and 'pet' sounded like a dog. Other American executives concurred."
 

 

According to the company, only about 2300 Toyopets were ever sold in the US.

 

In retrospect, though, at least some things were right about the Toyopet.  It did come with that extended warranty.  And a 1960 road test showed it got 34.5 miles per gallon when driven around Chicago for 12 hours straight.

 

In 1965, Toyota replaced the Toyopet with the first Corona, which was specifically designed for the American market.  CNN Money notes:

 

 

"With its 90-horsepower engine, the Corona was almost twice as powerful as the VW Beetle, the nation's best-selling import at the time.  "It was available with air conditioning, an automatic transmission, arm rests, a glove compartment and white sidewall tires.

"In 1967, Toyota sold 32,000 Coronas, pushing the company to fifth place among import brands in America. After that, Toyota was more than just a curiosity...".

----

A guy who restored an old Toyopet has written about the car and the process.  He notes that his car has a crank start, and that the Toyopet's gas cap was originally attached to the vehicle with a piece of string.  (Another good innovation.)

http://frenchysrides.com/1958toyopet.html

 

 

Short Note: Rules of Engagement, Vol. 1

"Is there a list?"

That's the first thing almost anyone says when they arrive at an estate sale in my town.  People who frequent estate sales know that they are popular (especially in this economy) and  that getting into the sale as early as possible ensures you have a good chance at scoring a bargain.   People who resell antiques and collectibles, as well as amateur Estate Sale Junkies (as they call themselves), can be quite passionate about Who Gets To Go Inside the House First.  So the practice of making a numbered list for orderly entry to an estate sale has evolved.

Usually only a few people at a time are allowed into an estate sale.  But not always.  I remember standing patiently in line at an estate sale in a very large house last year.  The seller came to the front door promptly at 8 a.m., squared her shoulders, and looked over the list and the crowd of two dozen adults waiting their turn to go in.  When they saw her, the buyers fell silent.  When the seller spoke, her voice carried for half a block down the street in the cool morning air:

"ALL RIGHT, PEOPLE.  This house is big enough, and I have enough staff to supervise you, that you can all come in.  I want to see TWO STRAIGHT LINES.  YOU ARE WALKING IN.  NO SHOVING. NO SHOUTING. NO RUNNING.  IF YOU BREAK THE RULES, YOU'RE OUT OF HERE.  UNDERSTOOD?" 

It worked like a charm; two quiet orderly lines of grownups were formed and we entered the house meekly.  As I passed the seller at the door, I asked, "Are you, by any chance, a retired schoolteacher?"

"First grade," she said firmly, with a twinkle in her eye.
______

Remembering this former teacher in action reminded me that I often see teaching supplies at estate sales.  Some of the most colorful were these beads made by the Ideal Toy Company.   The address on the side of the box "Chicago 20, Illinois" indicates they were made prior to 1963, when ZIP codes came into use.

Short Note: R.S.V.P.

Usually in this blog, I take an item or two that I've found at an estate sale, post many photos, and describe/discuss the item and the circumstances surrounding its discovery at some length.  I want to vary that pattern from time to time with a "short note" about something small and of no particular significance, that is interesting to me nonetheless.

Every so often one of the neighbors will knock on the front door and ask if she can set up a "play date" for her big dog and the Irish Setter (who is sprawled at my feet as I write).  A doggy play date allows them to race around the backyard barking, happily slamming into one another and periodically wilting the vegetation through various means. 

The first time this happened, I thought, "Dogs have 'play dates'?" but told the neighbor she could bring her dog over to play any time. 

In years past, dogs didn't have play dates and kids' schedules were not as organized as they are today.   Mom or Dad would tell them to "go outside and PLAY!"  So they wandered the neighborhood, often in packs, and usually settling in at one house where the mom didn't care (too much) if they made a lot of noise during their games.  It always helped if there was an ample supply of cookies and Kool-Aid available.

The only thing planned in advance back then was a birthday party.  Invitations were mailed with instructions to "rizz-vip" and the birthday cake was baked or ordered.

I was charmed when I came across some leftover party invitations at an estate sale.  I thought you'd like to see them, too.

Dr. Owl

You can tell, or at least guess, a lot about people's lives and hobbies by the things you see in their estate sales: 

Three sewing machines + several boxes of pieces of pretty cloth = She liked to sew.

A box of carnation pink square tiles in the garage of a house built in the 1950s = There is, or was, a fashionable pink bathroom (or kitchen!) inside.

Six Norwegian-English dictionaries and phrase books, all dated prior to 1920 = Someone's older relative moved to the US from Norway.

And so on.

I often see owl figurines and other owl-related collectible items at estate sales.  Owls are, and were, popular (if dust-catching) objets d'art.

(I knew what these little guys were the minute I spotted them at a recent estate sale.  They were made by Hagen-Renaker, a Southern California pottery.)

Why do people collect owls?  Well, they're cute (some more than others).  They represent wisdom.  Or a collection of owls might mean that the word got out that Beatrice liked owls so all her friends, co-workers and family members started giving her owl figurines and plush toys for her birthday and Christmas (and she didn't have the heart to tell them that while she liked owls, she didn't like them that much).

I found another sort of owl collectible at another recent estate sale,  This time, the sale featured the estates of a man who had served in World War II and of his father, who came to the US from Norway around the turn of the 20th century.  (Thus, the presence of all the dictionaries.)  On a table inside the house were a large number of owl figurines -- more than I'd seen in one place in awhile -- all dating from the time that the son and his kids were adults, during the 1940s through about the 1990s.  I remember thinking, "That's a lot of owls for this family to collect over the years...."

As I was getting ready to pay for my other items -- a box of pens and pencils (always fun to explore) and a couple of vintage tablecloths (coming soon to a blog post near you), I spotted a box full of very old cases for glasses.  I selected a couple and put them in my bag of things-to-pay for.  

When I got home, I examined the glasses cases.  Dust and crumbs, the stuff of age and storage, were inside this case, and so was a paper sticker in an odd shape.  I didn't realize what the shape was, until I turned the case sideways.

And now we know not only who the optometrist was, and where he practiced, but also how he pronounced his name.   And I bet he had a good sense of humor.  (This also explains the large number of owl figurines in the estate, that his family had collected after he passed away in 1948.)

 

A few minutes' worth of research on the Internet showed me that C.N. Oulie had a jewelry shop in Wisconsin before he came west to Los Angeles.  The Wisconsin Historical Society has a photograph of his jewelry shop in 1906 on their website:

http://www.wisconsinhistory.org/whi/fullRecord.asp?id=90307

 

And there he is, looking out at us more than a hundred years later. 

 

I looked up the location of C.N. Oulie's shop in downtown Los Angeles.  Unfortunately, it now appears to be a parking lot.  Thanks to some old postcards and photo collections, we can look back into Dr. Oulie's day and see what the area around his office looked like.

 

 

 

 

A little more online research and I can see that Dr. Oulie probably was indeed a wise businessman.  In 1913, shortly after he moved to Southern California, his practice was in a mostly-residential neighborhood a few miles from downtown LA.  By 1921, Dr. Oulie had relocated to Spring Street, right in the thick of the growing business and banking district.  Neon lights would soon illuminate the streets at night.  Hollywood was only a few miles away. 

 

"Dr. Owl," his legacy and the images of his time, look out at us from our computer screens.  How surprised he would have been, to see us looking back at him.

____

 

More images of Spring Street in old downtown LA are available here:

 

http://www.csulb.edu/~odinthor/socal3.html

 

And the USC project LA As Subject has many more vintage views of the city:

 

http://www.laassubject.org/

 

 

From the Library of the Walt Disney Studio

When I saw the card paper-clipped inside the old Holiday magazine at the estate sale, it took me a minute to realize what I was looking at.

At first I thought the magazine must have been part of a public library's collection.  But why would it be available for check-out?  And why would the check-out dates span almost 20 years?

Then I noticed the front of the magazine:

"Library of the Walt Disney Studios," the stamp read.   So the people who signed the library check-out card, must have been Disney employees.  That got me started on a quest to find out what some of these people did for Disney, in the 1940s through 1960s.

Yale Gracey was the first to check out the magazine.  He was a writer, a layout artist and later an Imagineer for Disney.  He worked on The Three Caballeros and Fantasia, and designed many of the special effects for the Disneyland rides Haunted Mansion and Pirates of the Caribbean. 

Milt Schaffer worked as a writer on more than 100 different titles for Disney and other companies.  Among his credits are some of my favorite Disney animated shorts, including many that starred Chip 'n' Dale.

George Goepper worked for Disney and later Hanna-Barbera as an animator.  His career spanned The Reluctant Dragon and Bambi (early 1940s) and Paul Bunyan (1958) at Disney, to classic TV cartoons including The Flintstones, The Jetsons, Hey There, It's Yogi Bear, Magilla Gorilla, Jonny Quest, Secret Squirrel [are the theme songs running through your head yet?], Moby Dick and the Mighty Mightor, The Perils of Penelope Pitstop, Cattanooga Cats, Scooby Doo, Where Are You!, Where's Huddles? and more. 

Freeman Butts worked at Disney as a young man, then later relocated to Montana, where he was revered both as a landscape artist and as a community member.

Dorothy Esgate was an ink-and-painter at Disney from 1937 until her retirement in 1977.

John Mansbridge began his career as a draftsman on Orson Welles' Citizen Kane in 1942.  He was Art Director for many episodes of the TV classic The Adventures of Superman, then  served as Art Director on many episodes of Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color.  Buried in the list of his work for Disney Studios is his credit as Art Director for The Incredible Journey (1963).  He was born in 1917, worked until 1991, and was twice nominated for Academy Awards.  Rather than retype more about his career, I'll quote from a press release posted online by the Art Directors Guild:  Legendary Production Designer John B. Mansbridge, a two-time Academy Award nominee for Best Art Direction (for The Island at the Top of the World, 1975, and Bedknobs and Broomsticks, 1972), will be presented with an honorary Lifetime Achievement Award by the Art Directors Guild at the Tenth Annual Art Directors Guild Awards ceremony on February 11, 2006....  He was a long-time supervising Art Director for live feature films at Walt Disney Studios and before that a 24-year veteran of the RKO art department. His filmography includes 102 theatrical film and 18 television productions during a prolific career that spanned four decades from the 1940s through the 1980s. At RKO he worked under the supervision of another legendary Production Designer, Van Nest Polglase, one of the initial inductees into ADG’s recently established Hall of Fame. In 1988 Mansbridge won a Primetime Emmy Award for his Production Designs on the pilot episode of Beauty and the Beast. He served as Production Designer on both the 1971 theatrical Superman film and the 1952 Adventures of Superman TV series. While not credited per se, Mansbridge also worked as a draftsman early in his career on the classic Citizen Kane.

(Whew.) 

Otto Englander was a "story man" for Disney and MGM.  His credits include adapting the story for Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Pinocchio, story development for the "Pastoral Symphony" segment of Fantasia, story direction for Dumbo, and writing many episodes of Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color.

And here's their magazine, sitting on my desk.  A lot of talent perused these pages.  Their work helped shape more than one generation of animation and Disneyana fans.

Big Red and Big Red

It's Kentucky Derby Day, and the eyes of the sports world and the horse-loving world will turn, at least for a few minutes (depending on how many commercials one wishes to endure) to the fabled "Run for the Roses."  One of the feature stories you're likely to see today will be on the fact that 15 of the 20 horses in the Derby are descended from Secretariat -- or, as TV commentators will (rightly) call him, The Great Secretariat.  He won the 1973 Triple Crown of racing (Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes, Belmont Stakes) and was, arguably, one of the best race horses who ever ran.

He had a lot of nicknames, including Big Red and Super Horse.  Legendary track announcer Chic Anderson described him as running "like a great machine."  I found a picture of Secretariat at a recent estate sale. 

It's by the artist Merry Kelly Stevens, who painted under the name "Kelly."  I think she did a good job of capturing him, although any painting of Secretariat standing still can't entirely do him justice.  Take a look at this video of his 1973 Derby win, and see if you don't get a little frisson of energy running up your spine: you're watching greatness.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffvXiSjPp6c

Watching Secretariat run in 1973, people remembered another horse who had the nickname "Big Red."  Can you fill in the blanks?  Back in the day, people called Secretariat "the greatest race horse since ___ _ ___." 

Give yourself ten points if you responded "Man o'War." 

I found a postcard of the statue of Man o'War at a recent estate sale.  It was mailed in 1966, after the sender had visited his gravesite at Faraway Farm in Kentucky.  (The grave and statue have since been moved to the Kentucky Horse Park.)

Man o'War raced in the era right around World War I, but people still remember him today.  Blogger Anne Peters wrote of him:

His groom called him "de mostest hoss that ever was" and that about sums it up for Man o'War in the eyes of most American racing fans. Man o'War was not just a great racehorse -- he became the standard by which all runners have been compared then and ever since.

Here's a neat little documentary showing some rare film footage of Man o'War:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aESLobHGVeM

After Man o'War's career as a race horse was over, he retired to stud at Faraway Farm.  As the documentary points out, he was a tourist attraction.  People used to travel to Kentucky just to see him, hoping to pat his nose, have their picture taken with Man o'War.  They did the same for Secretariat in his day. 

Horse racing fans like to debate (or argue) about which horse was "greater," Man o'War or Secretariat, or some other famous Thoroughbred. 

I like 'em both. 

____

Perhaps one of Secretariat's most famous wins was the 1973 Belmont Stakes.  Watch this and feel a pang of pity for the other horses in the race.  Some days, the victory just belongs to the legend.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfCMtaNiMDM

Here's a link to Anne Peters' tribute to Man O'War:

http://www.tbheritage.com/Portraits/ManOWar.html