Memories of the Magic Kingdom

I recently had the chance to visit Disneyland with a small group of people, including my 1o-year-old nephew and his mom.   Coincidentally, the weekend after our visit to the Magic Kingdom, I picked up a bunch of old Disneyland memorabilia at an estate sale.

The family who saved these memories from their own trips to Disneyland, must have visited there several times during the early 1960s and the early 1970s.  

Four-fifty.  Four-seventy five.  Six dollars for a teenager to get in and ride all those rides.   Amazing.  And yet there was a leftover E Ticket loose inside one of the ticket books!  (This was long before "E" stood for "electronic.")

(Which ride to go on?  Hard to choose, but probably "Pirates.")

The pocket guide to Disneyland, shown above, has a date of 1971 on it.  It was obviously well-used.  I bet the previous owners had a good time while they were there.

The souvenirs from my most recent trip to Disneyland are different than the ones I found at the estate sale: a PDF printout confirming my online ticket purchase; a receipt for a Build-Your-Own Lightsaber at the "Star Wars" gift shop in Tomorrowland (I told you I went there with a 10-year-old); a folder on my computer full of digital photographs.  

Even though the admission price to Disneyland has gone up (understatement!), it's certainly easier and better to pay a flat admission fee and ride all the E Ticket rides you want without having to buy another coupon book.  And digital technology certainly makes it easier to get the tickets in advance and navigate around the park. 

But I wonder:  How can we make sure we save our best memories to share them with future generations, when the records of those memories exist only in cyberspace as a string of ones and zeros, or can be deleted from a cellphone or a file with one wrong push of a button?   

The paper memories trigger the remembrance and the sharing with others.  How will we remember to explain what an E Ticket was, to someone who was born long after E Tickets were history?

I think I'd better print a few of the best photos and put them in a scrapbook or photo album, just to be sure these memories can be passed along.  And when I pass them along, I will remember to explain about the importance of E Tickets. 

(The horse-drawn trolley.  The "Mark Twain" riverboat.  And Donald Duck.  It's good to know some things never change much.)

___

Wikipedia.org explains E Tickets (officially E Coupons):

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/E_ticket

There are tons of websites devoted to the history of Disneyland.  This is an interesting one:

http://www.yesterland.com/

Viola's Memorable "Estate Sale Purchase" (or Home is Where Your Stuff Is)

Someone recently asked me where I got my love of going to estate sales.  That's easy to answer: from my grandmother.

Viola just loved antiques and, for many years, actively sought them out at yard sales, estate sales, antique shops, thrift stores, and flea markets.  This was long before the Internet allowed buyers with a cell phone to look up the resale or investment value of an item at a sale on the spot, as I see today.  Armed with a paperback antiques price guide and a magnifying glass, Viola sought out and brought home teapots, mechanical banks, carnival and cranberry glass, Indian jewelry, pots and baskets, Victorian-era dolls -- even a matching cobalt blue onionskin Tiffany glass vase ("vahse") and plate that she paid $2 for at a yard sale.  Once when she was traveling, she bought an antique brass bed that she shipped home disassembled on a Greyhound bus, but usually the things she found would fit inside a brown paper grocery bag and could be stored in a bookcase.

Native American pot, American carnival glass, etc.,
found by my grandmother at estate sales and elsewhere, circa 1970

Most of the time when I go to estate sales, I transport the treasures I find in my handy L.L. Bean tote bag (which I also found at an estate sale).  Okay, I keep two tote bags in the car, just in case I find a lot of good stuff.  By restricting my purchases to those that will fit in the tote bag(s), I can easily get them home.

Even though I've found a few larger items that I needed help transporting (like the oak pub table), I don't think I'll ever find something as large as Viola once found at an estate sale.  

She not only bought the entire contents of a nine-bedroom, four-bath, 6000 square foot brick house...she bought the house as well.  

If the outside of the house, built in the early 1900s, was spectacular, the inside was even more so.  The small, now-smudged photos Viola took more than 40 years ago don't do it justice, but they are good enough to give me an idea of what made the house so appealing.

Dining room with European cut glass chandelier

Staircase

Entry Hall

Kitchen, complete with happy family members and cowboy hats.
(Not sure what the cowboy hats were about.)

Living Room

I only visited the house a handful of times -- not nearly enough -- but even after all these years I think I could draw a pretty accurate floor plan. 

The leaded glass around the front door, the secret "servants' stairwell" leading from the ground floor upstairs, the massive claw-foot bathtub on the second floor (that took forever to fill), the prisms on that unbelievable chandelier in the dining room casting rainbows of morning sunlight on the walls, my grandmother's delight in living in such a place  -- all engraved themselves on the inside of my brain, and there they remain to this day.  

The house had been built to impress, but it still conveyed a companionable peace and friendliness to the teenaged me. As British author Elizabeth Goudge wrote of another old house in her 1948 novel Pilgrim's Inn:

...[She] had a feeling that this house had a personality of its own, some sort of great angel who grew with the house and was enriched, or otherwise, by those who lived here; and she felt too that this angel was well disposed towards her.  It was a genial sort of angel, and remarkably patient....

I remember the house so well.  I wonder if the house remembers me?  

I will find out.  The people who own the house now run it as a bed and breakfast inn, and (Thank You, Lord) they have a vacancy next week.

To be continued....

This story is one in a series on the historic red brick house at 801 Flynn in Alva, Oklahoma.  This Prairie-style mansion was built in 1906 by local businessman George W. Crowell. 

My grandmother bought it from his heirs in 1968, and lived there for several years. 

The house has changed hands several times since then; it’s now The Vintage Inn, a bed-and-breakfast.  

I went back to visit in October 2013.   All the blog posts I wrote on the visit are collected here: 

 http://estatesalechronicles.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-historic-house-at-801-flynn-alva.html

The Herb of Grace

Going to an estate sale and finding a copy of an old book that I've already read and enjoyed, gives me a connection with the other person who owned the book too. If the pages are well-thumbed and the dust jacket is falling apart, I know the book was read often and kept for a reason.

And, of course, if I need to replace my copy of the book that I've loaned to someone else, I'll buy the one at the estate sale (if it's cheap enough).  Last weekend, I found a 1948 copy of Pilgrim's Inn by Elizabeth Goudge (1900-1984).

Not only did it still have its dust jacket, it also had the original Wings Literary Guild book review that came with it:

Goudge is probably best-known as the author of Green Dolphin Street, which was made into a film in 1947, but she wrote a number of other books which I've enjoyed more.  Pilgrim's Inn is one of them.

"What's it about?" you might ask.  I could say that it's about a family, and some other people, who find themselves living in a very old house in England after World War II, but that's too pedestrian a description.  The editors of Wings admitted:

Pilgrim's Inn is difficult to describe, because as in Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca, the old house plays a part as important as any of the characters.  Tired, distressed people find within the old inn's walls a peace and a magic spell that, once felt, changes their lives.

I think there's a little more to it than that.  Elizabeth Goudge's great strength, which appears in all her books, is her ability to make a seamless connection between the earthly and the spiritual, the living and the inanimate, the mundane and the holy. 

In Pilgrim's Inn, the Eliot family, reunited just after World War II, discovers that their new home, The Herb of Grace, is really an ancient maison dieu, a pilgrim inn, built as a hostel for pilgrims near a great abbey or cathedral in the era before Henry VIII.  Goudge describes the father and children of the family entering the house for the first time:

...Immediately they had a wonderful feeling of being most royally and loudly welcomed, almost as though some generous, glowing personality had shouted aloud at the sight of them.  They looked about them, but there was no one with them in the stone-flagged passage....

As they look around the entryway, The Herb of Grace's personality manifests itself:

...George's eye was caught away...by the glory of the staircase that exactly faced the front door.  It was of black oak and highly polished with age, each stair sagging in the middle like a bent bow.  It sloped up between high paneled walls, then divided and curved away to the right and left beneath an alcove in the paneling where there must once have been a cupboard, and that now held some strange little carved figure that he could not make out in the dim light.  The sweep of this dividing staircase was most beautiful and gracious, and gave one a feeling of welcome like strong arms held out, the arms of that glowing personality who had welcomed them in.  And Ben noticed, though George did not, that the whole structure of the staircase, with the arms held out beneath the upright panel, was like a cross.

Goudge's more practical characters are initially embarrassed or angry at the idea that the house has the personality of a benevolent saint.  But others embrace the idea, as the Herb of Grace seems to embrace them.  

If you've ever lived in a house that seemed to have a personality of its own, you may understand their experience. I wonder if the person who owned this book before, ever lived in or visited a house with a welcoming personality all its own?

I've been blessed to know a house like that, although it was not nearly as old as the Herb of Grace in Goudge's book.  I'll tell you about it soon.
___

Elizabeth Goudge's books are all over Amazon.com and eBay, often at very reasonable prices.  You might enjoy:

A City of Bells (fiction, 1936)
God So Loved the World (non-fiction, 1951)
The Little White Horse (children's fiction, 1946)

If you enjoy The Little White Horse, you're in good company.  J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, once said that it was her favorite book as a child and that it had a direct influence on the Harry Potter books.

The Elizabeth Goudge society has a website:  http://www.elizabethgoudge.org/

Fancywork

Older generations spent their time differently than many of us do today.  They took time to read, to cook, to write, to create.  This is evident in the items I see at almost every estate sale I attend:

* Back issues of National Geographic and Arizona Highways magazines

* Pyrex bowls and casserole dishes

* A drawer, a box, a glass jar full of pens and pencils

* Free notecards sent by Paralyzed Veterans of America (hey, they were free)

* A sewing machine

* Hardcover books

* Embroidery, usually on pillowcases, tablecloths and tea towels

Some of the embroidered items are beautifully done.  I thought I would share some of them with you.

The Southern Belle is a recurring theme in pillowcase art

She also appears on slipcovers and sometimes in wall hangings

Floral motifs were also popular, both small...

...and large.

But I don't think I've ever seen any embroidery as cute as the kittens on this tea towel:

With Love from Zoe

My grandmother used to say, "I never met a stranger."   Her collection of friends included people she met at work, people she met at estate sales (it runs in the family), and a number of artists, some of whom I met when I was a kid.   (I'll tell you about them sometime.)

But I never got to meet her friend Zoe.  (Her given name was Alice Adelaide Moser, but she painted under the name Zoe', putting a little dash after the "e.")

My grandmother and her friend from work, Georgia, met Zoe the artist in Arizona many years ago, when all of them were middle-aged. 

Georgia and Zoe, in particular, got to be very good friends.  When Georgia died in the 1970s, some postcards affectionately signed by Zoe were among the items left by Georgia to my grandmother.  The signed postcards were long ago sold to a collector, but we made color photocopies of them first.

"Love to Georgia, Zoe'"

"To my dear little Georgia, the best friend one can have.  Love, Zoe' Mozert"

"To my dear, dear Georgia, with much love, Zoe'"

"To sweet Georgia, Lots of love, Zoe'"

I think I know why my grandmother didn't talk much about her friend Zoe when I was young.  It's because Zoe, the artist who painted the lovely all-American mid-century girls on Georgia's postcards, was Zoe' Mozert (1907-1993), one of the best-known American "pinup" artists of all time. 

Back then, you didn't explain pinup art to a little kid.   Nor did you explain to a kid that, back in the day (as they say), Zoe often used herself as a model.  It was enough to say to a kid that Zoe was an artist, and look at how good she was at painting people.  

And she was good.  Zoe's art adorned countless magazine covers and ads for everything from perfume to swimwear to makeup.  She created iconic (and sometimes controversial) Hollywood movie posters.  Her critics have called her a "pastel master" and noted that, regardless of what they were (or weren't) wearing, the young women in Zoe's art did not all look the same; they were portrayed as individuals.

How did my sweet conservative Christian grandmother come to be friends with a pin-up artist?  I have no idea.  Perhaps it's because she was true to her motto:  She never met a stranger.  


_____

This is a "family" blog.  :)  If you want to see examples of Zoe's pinup art, you won't have any trouble finding them online.

Zoe was a well-known commercial artist.  Here are some examples of her work that appeared in magazines: 
http://www.americanartarchives.com/mozert,z.htm

The Blue Plush Bunny Rabbit

I have a soft spot for harmless things that are not particularly useful.  

This is a problem when I go to estate sales, because estate sales are packed with objects large and small that the previous owner acquired and which really don't make a lot of sense to own.  Gathering up a gallimaufry of odds and ends wouldn't make much sense.  This, combined with my inherent tightwaddishness, has kept me from any number of really silly purchases.  

But every so often I see something that I just can't leave at the sale.

Like the ceramic jam pot, minus the rest of its matching set.

The ornate sugar bowl, missing its lid.

I feel sorry for them.  

I bring them home -- if I can get them for 25 cents or less, that is.  That way, if I do end up asking myself, "What were you thinking when you bought that?" I can donate them to the Salvation Army and not be very much out-of-pocket.

I can reuse the jam pot -- to hold toothpicks.  I can reuse the sugar bowl, to hold potpourri.

But of what use was the blue plush bunny I spotted during the final hours of an estate sale a few weeks ago?  No one else wanted him.  

His ribbon was frayed.

His tail was loose.

His worn plush fur had more gray hair than I do (inch for inch).

His whiskers went in different directions.

He's shy.

But he's darling.  And he was ten cents.

I think I'll keep him.  

Remembering Sissie

As readers of this blog know, I often find (at estate sales) items left by members of the "Greatest Generation," the men and women who served during World War II.   Sometimes I can learn the provenance behind the items I find; other times, their origin is a mystery.

In talking with family members at the sales, I often hear them say, "Dad never talked much about his experiences in the war, unless he was with other people who'd served.  He said unless we'd been there, we just couldn't understand."

That makes me wonder:  How did the people who came under fire keep their composure, their sense of direction, their sense of humor -- their sanity?

There must be several answers, and they are probably different for each serviceman or woman.  One answer might be that, even in a time of war, there are small instances of "normal" life that transcend the horror of battle, that give perspective and humor, grace and hope, to the men and women fighting for their country.  

I found a couple of scrapbooks at an estate sale this week, and I think perhaps the items carefully pasted and taped inside provide us with some insight.

Corporal Schultz, who assembled the scrapbooks, had been a member of the 165th Infantry Regiment during World War II.   I looked up the 165th on the Internet and found a page devoted to them:

The 165th Infantry Regiment, originally the famous 69th New York Infantry or the “Fighting Irish” traces its roots all the way back to 1775. The first elements of the Regiment fought throughout the Revolutionary War and later became Company A of the 69th New York Infantry. 

Since its inception, the 69th served in the Civil War, the Spanish-American War, the Mexican Border dispute of 1916, World War I, and World War II. The long legacy of the 69th, and then the 165th has earned the Regiment fifty-two battle rings on its flag, more than any other United States Army Regiment.... 

During World War II the 165th contained 12 companies, all of which were recruited solely from New York City.

The website noted that the 165th served in the South Pacific during World War II.  Apparently Corporal Schultz was a member of the 27th Division:

...Following a lengthy period of maneuvers and training, the 27th was ordered to California in December following the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor.... The first elements of the Division boarded ships bound for Hawaii on February 27th 1942, the first Infantry Division to leave the states following Pearl Harbor.

The Division remained on Hawaii for a number of months....  On November 20th 1942, the 27th Infantry Division embarked on its first combat assignment, the capture of the coral atoll of Makin. ...Units from the 27th Division also occupied the Majuro atoll on February 1st 1944 and successfully assaulted Eniwetok Island on February 19th of the same year. In June 1944, the Division landed on Saipan, where its regiments fought together for the first time as a full Division. Following Saipan the Division was rested and reinforced at Espirtu Santo for seven months before any further operations. 

On April 12th, 1945 the Division landed on Okinawa, where it would remain until September when it was sent to Japan briefly for garrison duty. The Division was mustered out in late December of the same year. 

Since its arrival in the Pacific, the 27th Infantry Division had suffered 1,512 killed in action, 4,980 wounded in action and 332 who later succumbed to their wounds.

I flipped through the pages of the scrapbooks.  Most of what Corporal Schultz saved were newspaper clippings about the war, cartoons (he was particularly fond of "The Sad Sack")...

Some greeting cards he sent his wife during the war...

But my attention was caught by a picture of a mother dog and her puppies.  Schultz had written the dog's name carefully under one of the photos with his fountain pen:

A few pages later, there was another photo, this time of three soldiers each holding a puppy or two:

More newspaper clippings, more pictures.  And tucked inside one of the scrapbooks was a copy of an Army newsletter, the Galla Vanter, from January 1945.  

Inside, along with inspirational messages, jokes and sports reports, was an obituary:

I like to think that having Sissie and her eternal litter of puppies, helped the fighting men deal with the stress of battle.  As author Andrew Carroll wrote in Grace Under Fire:

...I discovered, like most who have lost faith at some point in their lives, that [God] never stops sending us messages of hope.  Sometimes we're just unable or unwilling to see them.

Somewhere on the South Pacific island of Espiritu Santo, there may still be a small grave with a marker that reads:

Sissie 

Dog -- In Name Only

The Greatest Generation is passing away, and with it their memories.  So on their behalf we say thank you, Sissie, for helping keep a few of them entertained and uplifted during their most difficult and challenging times.  

___

Thanks to the website of the New York State Military Museum, I was able to research the history of the 165th for this blog post:

http://dmna.ny.gov/historic/reghist/wwii/infantry/165thInf/165thInfMain.htm