Roller skates, circa 1910s

Today we have a rather unusual pair of three-wheeled roller skates from the early 20th century.  They are made of metal, with hard-rubber treads on the wheels; each skate is 16 inches long, and weighs three pounds.

These babies were donated to us in rough shape; they were found in a Rockville basement during a building demolition (more on that in a bit).  The metal is rusted; the orange and black paint, what’s left, is flaking off; the rubber treads are deteriorated, dented and flattened.  Any original marks or labels are long gone.  One skate is missing its adjustable toe-cap, and the cap that remains is bent out of shape and useless.  Presumably there was some kind of strap at the rear, now gone, for the wearer’s ankles.

Without a maker’s mark, their general history is proving elusive.  The only other example I’ve found is this skate, in rather better condition – contrast the curled-down toe-cap, and the shinier paint job, with our pair – but still without a name.  My 1902, 1908 and 1927 Sears catalog reprints only advertise ‘regular’ strap-on quad skates (invented in 1863; earlier skates were in-line); no three-wheeled jobs to be had.  However, a patent search revealed a number of three-wheeled skate designs – similar to ours with one in front, two in back – all from the 1910s.  None are an exact match to our pair, but the concept (which never took off, I guess; this style, at least, appears rather cumbersome) seems to date to that decade.

The specific history of the skates is a little easier to trace.  Our catalog records indicate that they were donated by the Rockville Urban Renewal Project in the early 1970s, after being found in the basement of “Stein’s Store” during demolition.  The problem is that there wasn’t a “Stein’s Store.”  Presumably our cataloger meant either Stern’s Modern Furniture or Steinberg’s Department Store.  I’m inclined toward the latter, because Morris Stern opened his first store in 1926, perhaps a little late for our skates, whereas Steinberg’s opened in 1908.

Let’s say Steinberg’s, then, for now.  Lithuanian immigrant David Steinberg opened his grocery store in 1908, quickly adding clothing and accessories to his stock; the name was changed to Steinberg’s Department Store around 1930.  The building, which included the store on the ground floor and the family’s apartment above, was on East Montgomery Avenue in downtown Rockville. David and Bertha Steinberg raised three sons in their home over the shop: William, born 1910; Isadore, born 1913; and Joseph, born 1916.  The family (including son Joseph) ran the Department Store and several other shops until the 1960s, when Urban Renewal came and the old downtown shopping district was torn down to make way for a mall (now demolished in its turn). Steinberg’s was one of the last old buildings to go; it was razed in 1972.

Steinberg’s Department Store, the three-story brick building in the foreground, shortly before it was demolished in 1972. The building under construction is the Americana Centre. MCHS Library collections.

Though a lot of the skates’ poor condition can be attributed to basement-living for 50-odd years, the fact that there are pieces missing leads me to believe that they weren’t just forgotten store merchandise – these were used.  The proposed date of the skates, and the ages of the Steinberg sons, are a nice match; I think these were enjoyed by one or more boys, tooling around the sidewalks of Rockville.

***

These simple, if slightly mysterious, roller skates could serve as the jumping-off point to a wide variety of stories:  The history of roller skating.  Patents and inventions. The effects of time on metal and rubber.  Urban Renewal’s impact on the City of Rockville.  The life of the Steinberg family, the first Jewish family in Rockville.  The problems caused by a simple typo or mis-transcription (“Stein’s Store”) when researching the past.  So many directions to go in!  I charge you, blog readers, to look at objects both familiar and unfamiliar and think about the many stories, big or small, they can tell.

 

Wheelwright account ledger, 1903-1906

October is American Archives Month, declared by the Society of American Archivists as “an opportunity to raise awareness about the value of archives and archivists.” Before you rush out to celebrate by visiting, and perhaps donating time and money to, the archival repository of your choice, take a moment to read today’s blog highlighting one of the many fabulous items in the Historical Society’s archives.

The Sween Research Library’s archival collections include an incredible variety of resources: diaries, letters, audio recordings, research notes, directories, minute books, theater programs, yearbooks, land deeds, diplomas, insurance records, newspapers both big and small . . . . The list goes on. I originally planned to put several brief examples on today’s blog, but everything I chose seemed so blog-worthy that I decided to stick with one, and save the rest for future posts. So without further ado, here is Hiram Grady’s account ledger for the years 1903-1906.

Mr. Grady (1841-1911) was a coachmaker and wheelwright. He worked in the eastern part of the county until the mid 1880s, when he settled in Rockville. The 1900 census shows Hiram Grady, Wheelwright, living in the town of Rockville with his second wife Harriet (1853-1903), daughter Olive, and granddaughter Mary Gandy.

The account ledger includes an index of names in the front; each customer has his or her own page, listing goods and services by date, as well as notations on payment. (Some account books in our collection are organized alphabetically; this one is not.) Around 200 people and organizations are included, most from the Rockville area; the customer list includes men and women, doctors and dentists, reverends and merchants, farm owners and farm workers, even the Montgomery County Commissioners (precursor to the County Council) and the Rockville Cemetery Association. Just like today, almost everyone had a vehicle that occasionally needed expert attention.

The ledger shows that Mr. Grady’s work encompassed more than making and repairing vehicles. His invoice letterhead (conveniently tucked inside the book) notes that painting and trimming will be “promptly attended to” along with repairs. On July 17th, 1905, the Rockville Mayor and Town Council paid $2.50 for a “frame for grind stone” (well, technically they received said merchandise on the 17th; they paid, in cash, on the 21st); other services include sharpening and repairing blades, such as saws, grain cradles, and even lawn mowers. Grady’s credit system seems lenient; several pages note an “amount carried over” from the previous year, and often months go by before a client settles up his or her bill.

Here are two contrasting customer pages – below, our own John Dawson (who lived in the Beall-Dawson House, our museum), noted in the 1900 census as a farmer; and above, Ed Brown, “Colored,” who may be one of two African-American gentlemen of that name in the Rockville area, both listed in the 1900 census as farm laborers. (Click on the images to enlarge and read!)

Mr. Brown paid $2.00 for a “pair [of] shafts” – that is, the long poles that connect a vehicle to the horse(s). They were ordered or delivered in December 1905, and paid for in cash four months later. Compared to many of the other pages, this is a pretty short list; perhaps Brown usually patronized a different shop, or perhaps he could take care of most of his repairs himself.

Mr. Dawson’s page is more complex, with a variety of wagon and buggy parts plus some saw-sharpening. Payment over the two years occurred in small amounts and, interestingly, was made in both cash and corn – one barrel (bbl.) on January 30, 1905, and two barrels on March 31, 1906. At the bottom of the page is noted “[Remainder] Transferred to other book page 56.” As a farmer (as opposed to Mr. Brown, who worked on someone else’s farm), Dawson was in charge of a variety of equipment as well as his own family’s vehicle(s); like many other customers, he appears to have kept a running tab with this frequently-patronized business.

Other fun things to learn through this ledger: Here’s an “exploded” carriage diagram, showing some of the basic parts refered to throughout Mr. Grady’s notes.  Curious about the price comparisons between 1905 and 2012? Unfortunately the Consumer Price Index calculations don’t work for dates before 1913, but some less formal sources are available, and they can make these ‘old-timey’ account entries more immediate; for example, the Town Council’s super-cheap-sounding $2.50 purchase would be around $60 in today’s money.

Mr. Grady’s ledger is but one example of the goodies to be found in our archives; I’ve featured many before, and there are more to come. So don’t forget about the MCHS Archives when you’re doing your local history research.  We are small but mighty!

 

Sales training books, 1920s

John Ignatius Ward (1895-1963), oldest son of Ignatius H. and Alverta Davis Ward, grew up in Damascus and Gaithersburg. His father was a carpenter; John went into sales. The 1920 census shows him living at home with his family on Walker Avenue, with the occupation “clerk, store.” His 1917 draft card (which calls him “Johnnie”) is more specific, naming his employer as Carson Ward.

The Carson Ward general store stood at the corner of Frederick Road (Rt 355) and Brooks Avenue in Gaithersburg. (Carson was John’s second cousin, through mutual great-grandfather Ignatius Pigman Ward.) Mr. Ward’s store has been featured on the blog before, in the form of a 1919 “Season’s Greetings” postcard. I hadn’t paid much attention to the people shown in the photo, but the image’s donor identified them for us and, sure enough, there’s our boy Johnnie, second from the left.

Everyone else in front of the store – including fellow clerk Russell Plummer, at the far left next to the truck, and Carson Ward himself at the right – is pretty casual, but John Ward is standing at polite attention, feet together, hands behind his back, collar high and starched, looking ready to serve.

A few years ago Mr. Ward’s son donated a set of five course books owned by his father: Volumes IV-VIII of The Art and Science of Selling, published in 1922 by the National Salesmen’s Training Association. Each volume is inscribed on the flyleaf, “John I. Ward, Gaithersburg, Md.” Volume VII (“Making the Sale”) has pencil notations next to some headings, perhaps from John’s careful study.

How-to sales courses and books were popular in the 1910s and 1920s as the sales industry, “a uniquely American story” according to author Walter A. Friedman (Birth of a Salesman), took a place of prominence in our economy: “By the 1920s, sales management had ‘arrived.’ American businesses recognized salesmanship as an essential component of modern strategy.” The National Salesmen’s Training Association – one of many such companies that promised to improve your technique and fatten your bank account – advertised its free book, Modern Salesmanship, in “Popular Mechanics” throughout the 1920s, with rhetoric that is entirely familiar to us today (though perhaps the word choices are a little different): “If you will learn these principles, there is awaiting you a brilliant success and more money than you ever thought of earning. . . . In this book [men have] found an easy way to go from low pay to big earnings. . . . We are not making any extravagant claims about what we will do for you. We don’t have to. The records of the real successes for which we are responsible are so overwhelming a testimonial of the fact that any man of average intelligence can become a Master Salesman that we are willing to leave the decision entirely up to you.”  (A little fancier than today’s hand-written-sign-on-the-telephone-pole favorite, “Make Big Bucks at Home!”)

It’s not clear whether John Ward intended to try his hand at traveling salesmanship, or if he simply hoped to use the books’ persuasive techniques on the customers at Carson Ward’s store (or maybe to open a store of his own); his career between 1920 and 1930 is unknown. In 1928 he married Mary England of Rockville, and moved to that town; in 1930 he was employed by the Census Bureau; in 1938 he started at the Washington Loan & Trust branch of Riggs Bank in DC, where he worked until his retirement in 1960. Something about Mr. Ward’s attentive stance in the 1919 photo makes me imagine an earnest, serious young man, hoping to better his prospects through the Art and Science of Selling – less Harold Hill, more George Bailey. . .but I am the first to admit the dangers of building a narrative around a photo, some census data, and five well-read textbooks.

 

Greetings in shorthand, 1910

I’d planned to use this postcard for July anyway, but last week’s crazy wind-and-lightning storm made it a teeny bit more appropriate.  Though the card’s image of the Smithsonian Castle was probably intended to convey ‘Impressive Edifice at Night,’ it seems hilariously Gothic; no actual lightning bolts are striking the tower, but they’re gathering in those looming clouds!  All it needs is an imperiled girl with a billowing cape, running frantically away from the forbidding castle.

But on to the message.  The card is addressed to Miss Ethel Walters (actually Waters) of Gaithersburg, postmarked in DC on July 22, 1910, and signed Annie Bartle.  The rest is in shorthand. (Click to enlarge.)

This presented something of a problem.  Thanks to a few of the Society’s volunteers [Hi Dorothy!] I have some Gregg shorthand books in my reference bookcase, but once I got beyond the guessable  greeting of “Dear” I was stuck.  Happily, our Office Assistant volunteered her mother, the talented Diana Malament, who translated Miss Bartle’s message for us easily:

July 20, 1910.  Dear Ethel, Received a package from Helen.  Hope you are having a nice vacation.  Mr. Kelley is staying in our class; Mr. Barnes will leave the fifth of August.  When are you coming back to school?  Let me hear from you soon.  Annie Bartle 340 10 St SE

Nothing terribly earth shattering there, just your average over-the-break card to a friend. In this case, it’s the language, and the people, that tell us a little more.

Sixteen year old Annie Bartle can be found in the 1910 census on 10th St SE, living with her grandmother, a grocer.  Ethel Louise Waters was also born in 1894; she attended Gaithersburg High School and DC’s Strayer Business College.  In 1919, she married Merle T. Jacobs, and they raised their family in Gaithersburg.  (Their son Charles, and his wife Marian, donated this card, among others.)  Mrs. Jacobs worked for the Montgomery County Public School system for many years, as a clerk in the Superintendent’s office from 1916 to 1924, and as the principal’s secretary at Gaithersburg HS from 1934 to 1956.  (Below is the Superintendent’s Office staff, from the 1918-1919 Maryland State Board of Education report; if the image is cut off on your viewer, you can click it to see the whole thing.)

There are different official methods of shorthand (not including the ones invented by individuals for their own use), Pitman and Gregg being the most famous; they are still in use today, though in much more specialized ways.   I’d always associated shorthand, and the stenographers who used it, with the early 20th century, but it’s a much older concept than that; Samuel Pepys’ 17th century diary is in shorthand, and the Pitman method was developed in the early 1800s.  By the late 19th century stenography was an important skill, one that made you much more employable.  Business schools sprang up in cities across the country; in DC, where the Federal government was one of the main employers, they were particularly popular.  Strayer – where Ethel eventually studied – was founded in 1892, and opened a branch in DC in 1904.  The July 24, 1910 classified ads* in the Washington Post include an ad for Strayer’s “Special Summer Courses, day and night, in shorthand, typewriting, bookkeeping, civil service, &c.” as well as ads for other schools and shorthand courses. The “help wanted” section on the same date includes several ads looking for both male and female (slightly more for the former) stenographers and typewriters (the skill, not the machine).  Plus, rather touchingly, someone lost their Pitman shorthand book in Judiciary Park (sic) and offered a reward for its return.

By the early 20th century stenography was being slowly replaced by typewriting. Both skills, and the professions that used them, were also shifting from a male domain to a female one.  This chart shows the growing percentage of female “clerical workers” in the 20th century America, and this article in the London Review of Books (2008) cites examples of shifting attitudes toward shorthand’s appropriate gender.  Ethel and Annie took advantage of this new avenue for employment and independence by learning shorthand and other skills; though we don’t yet know what happened to Annie, Ethel put it to good use in her career with the school system.

*If you ever need an idea for a novel, read old classified ads.  Dozens of stories spring just from this day’s listings.  Other than an unfortunate emphasis on “colored” or “white” preferences, and a feeling that some ad responders are about to be scammed out of their life savings (you can make extra money by growing mushrooms in your cellar!), they’re pretty fantastic.

 

Adding machine, 1970s

April is both National Poetry Month and National Financial Literacy Month, and I was torn – but ultimately I decided to go with the money. (Maybe next year, Poetry.)  Here is an Olivetti Summa Quanta 20 printing calculator, purchased in D.C. in 1972 and used in Silver Spring.

We have four mid-20th century adding machines – or mechanical printing calculators – in our collections. One, a Victor Champion (like this one) from the 1950s, has no known history; the other three, including this Olivetti, were donated by Allen Hillman of Silver Spring. Mr. Hillman, a CPA, worked for Sinrod & Tash in D.C. until 1967, when he left to start his own accounting firm; his first office was on 16^th Street, and he later moved to Colesville Road in Silver Spring. The machines he donated show the course of his early career: an electric Remington Rand from the 1940s, purchased used by the donor from Sinrod & Tash when he started his own firm, and in use until 1973; a hand-cranked Olivetti Summa 15, in a traveling case, bought new in 1958 and used at his home until 1975; and this Olivetti Summa Quanta 20.

According to Mr. Hillman, when the Summa Quanta 20 came out, “everybody bought one.” He got this one in 1972 from Leon Office Machine Co at 623 H St NW, and used it in his Silver Spring office until 1980, when he – like many of his colleagues – switched to a new, just-introduced electronic calculator. 

Olivetti is an Italian company, founded in 1908. Our electric (but not electronic) Summa Quanta 20, made in Argentina, has a green metal cover and a reddish-brown plastic base. It still has its cord and plug, as well as a gray vinyl dust cover. According to the donor, part of the appeal was that it was “portable;” while it’s not exactly a hand-held machine it is, at only 11″ long and 5″ tall, rather smaller and lighter than the other machines in our collection.

Vintage adding machines, or mechanical printing calculators, come in many different varieties and perform different functions; woe to the ignorant person who thinks a calculator is a calculator is a calculator. Fortunately, there are collectors and fans out there who are happy to share their collections online. Though I personally have never thought much about mechanical adding machines – I grew up with electronic calculators, and had never seen a hand-crank machine until Mr. Hillman’s donation – I can understand their appeal. Like typewriters, they are interesting on several levels: as aesthetic objects, reflecting the design sensibilities of their time; as historical artifacts, telling the story of changing technologies and changing economies; and as functioning machines, still valid and useful even in our digital age. Just don’t ask me to actually use one.

Want to see some more machines? These websites – here, here, and here – have both technical information, for those of you interested in the mechanics, and photos, for those who want to admire the design.  Wikipedia also has a fairly thorough history of mechanical vs. electronic calculators, here. These sites are only a sampling; if you enjoy them, I encourage you to while away an hour or so with your preferred internet search engine and a few keywords. 

Edited: to correct the name of Mr. Hillman’s first CPA firm. 4/25/12

**NOTE!!** Next week’s blog will be a day late, as I’ll be at the American Association of Museums conference in Minneapolis.  Your monthly dose of postcard history will arrive on Thursday the 3rd!

 

Carpenter’s plane, mid-late 19th century

This beech and applewood carpentry plane – more specifically, an adjustable-fence plow plane – was owned by William E. Pumphrey (1816-1887), a Rockville carpenter and undertaker.

There are planes to level planks, cut beads and chair rails and crown molding, and join boards together. Plow planes like this one are used to cut grooves in wood boards and panels, a necessary part of the tongue-and-groove join. The main block, or stock, is 13.5″ long and has the iron bit – held in place with a wood wedge – and the toat (handle); the fence (held on with long wooden screws) is on the side. The iron bit protrudes out the bottom to cut a groove in the board. The distance of the fence from the stock can be adjusted, to accommodate different board widths. Here is a photo of the profile (minus the iron bit), plus my approximation of how it would work.  Actual carpenters, feel free to comment on whether I came close.

This plane was donated in the 1950s by J.E. Douglas of Rockville, who appears to have been a collector and relatively uninterested in the tool’s specific history. Fortunately for us, 19^th century carpenters were no different than people today who worry about losing their favorite, broken-in, and/or expensive tools: they put their names on things. Many of the planes in our collection have owner’s names stamped or carved into the sides. This plane, in addition to the now nearly illegible manufacturer (someone in New York), has the name “W.E. Pumphrey” stamped onto both ends.

William E. Pumphrey is listed in the 1850, 1860 and 1870 Rockville censuses as a carpenter. In the 1880 census, his occupation is “undertaker.” The switch was not an uncommon one, as carpenters had the necessary skills to make coffins; many undertakers were also carpenters and/or cabinetmakers, and the change probably shows the trend of Pumphrey’s existing business. One of his sons, William Reuben Pumphrey (1846-1928), added embalming and other necessary functions to the practice, which eventually evolved into the Robert A. Pumphrey Funeral Home, a long-time county establishment, and still family owned. According to their website, William E. began making coffins in 1854. Was this particular plane used to make coffins? It’s difficult to say for sure, but it seems entirely possible; after all, you can buy metal-free tongue-and-groove coffins today. (I checked. Isn’t the internet a wonderful place?)

William E. Pumphrey, donated by Elizabeth Owen.  MCHS Library.

Carpentry tools might not be the first thing that springs to mind when you think “elaborate and decorative items.” A plane is a plane, right? Not so! (I suspect I’m preaching to the choir for some of you.) Many are made of expensive wood, carefully finished, with elegant shapes and extra decorative touches. Pumphrey’s plane would function just as well with plain knobs on the screws, but it has fancy finials and carved ends. The handle is ergonomic – the 19^th century version, anyway – and shows a nice curve. A well-made tool lasts longer, but also tells the world that you use, and are worth, the best. Likewise, a well-made tool is something to be repaired, not replaced; Pumphrey (or a later user) added a twist of sturdy wire to one of the wooden washers when it split. Some of the planes in our collections have multiple owner names, added as the tool changed hands; this one has only the one, but it seems possible that it was used by later Pumphreys or their employees after William E.’s 1887 death.

 

Calendar plate, 1909

It’s almost time to say goodbye to 2011, and hello to 1909!

This 8.25″ diameter calendar plate, “Compliments of W. Hicks, Rockville, Md.,” was given or sold by Washington Hicks, owner of a general store in downtown Rockville, 104 years ago. 

Calendar plates have been made since the late 19th century, and are still produced today (though in my experience, modern freebie advertising calendars tend to be paper, not ceramic).  They were particularly popular as an advertising medium in the early 20th century; a search of the internet, or your local collectibles/antiques store, reveals many such plates, with their pleasant images, useful (if often extremely small) calendar markings, and an added “Compliments of…” inscription.  The history of our plate between leaving Mr. Hicks’ store and arriving at the Society (donated by Mrs. Merritt Techter) is unknown, but the wear marks indicate that it was used as a plate, not as a decoration (though perhaps it did spend a year serving as a functional calendar).

Washington Hicks operated his general or dry goods store in Rockville from the late 19th century until 1940 – hey, when you’re 90 years old, I guess you can retire (he died in 1944).  His son W. Guy Hicks continued to run the store until his own retirement in the late 1950s.  We have a few other odds and ends from the store, including letterhead from the 1900s proclaiming Hicks to be a “Dealer in Foreign and Domestic Dry Good, Notions.”  The photo below shows the storefront in 1910; signs above the door advertise “Dry Goods, Notions, Shoes, Clothing, Etc.  Crockeries, Queensware, Hardware,” and displayed outside are rakes, wash tubs, a lawnmower, and what I think might be ice cream makers. 

Charles Brewer collection, MCHS Library

 

Season’s Greetings from 1919

Good morning, blog fans!  Happy second day of Hanukkah and Merry four days before Christmas!

These seasonal greetings are brought to you by the Carson Ward General Store in Gaithersburg, 1919.  The remarkably un-festive image above (donated by E. Russell Gloyd) shows, from left to right, Russell Plummer, John Ward, Robert Case, Laura Ward, George W. Darby and Carson Ward in front of the store on Frederick Avenue.  Added to the lower right corner of the postcard is the inscription, “Seasons Greetings, Christmas 1919.”  (In case you weren’t sure which season.)

The building, which is still standing, sits on the east side of Frederick Avenue (Rt 355), just north of the railroad crossing.  It has had a varied history: opened as a dry goods and general store in 1890 by Carson Ward, it also served as the Town Hall, a public library (on the second floor), and the first meeting place of the local lodges of the Knights of Pythias and the Masonic Lodge.  Today it is a mattress store, still recognizable thanks to the distinctively uneven double gable roof.  (Carson Ward himself was important to the city’s history, serving as Mayor from 1904 to 1906, on the town council for several terms, and in the Maryland legislature from 1921 to 1924.)

I was interested to see that the more generic “season’s greetings” was used in 1919 (though whoever designed the postcard did qualify it with “Christmas” immediately following).  There were Jewish merchants in Gaithersburg around this time (sorry, I’m not in my office and I forgot to email myself the notes on those stores) but Mr. Ward may not have been trying to appeal to his neighbors; versions of the phrase appeared on Victorian Christmas cards, and by the 1920s “Season’s Greetings” was commonly used in advertisements.  (Here’s an article on holiday greeting cards.)  Maybe the fact that there’s virtually nothing “seasonal” about the image called for a less specific greeting. It is also one of the reasons I love this picture.  We have a variety of similar images – “Hey, everyone, let’s stand in front of our home/store/place of business and have our picture taken!” – which are great, and the imposed festivity here just makes it all the better.

 

Bank deposit bag, 1950s

This jaunty little canvas pouch with drawstring closure is a bank deposit bag, manufactured by Rifkin & Co.  It measures 10 inches tall (long?) and a little over 6 inches wide.  Lest you forget which bank you’re aiming for, it is printed with the name and image of the Farmers Banking and Trust Company of Montgomery County, Maryland.

Though three locations are given (Poolesville, Rockville and Kensington), the image shown is of the 1931 Farmers Bank building in Rockville, which is still standing (and is still in use as a bank, complete with fabulous 1930s lobby decor).  Farmers Bank was founded in Rockville in 1900; the slogan “Over FIFTY YEARS of Banking Service in Montgomery County” at the top of the bag gives us our dating clue for this particular item.  The original building was on the courthouse side of Commerce Lane (a.k.a. East Montgomery Avenue, or Courthouse Square), but when the 1931 “Gray Courthouse” was built, the bank moved across the street and erected a fancy new building.

This view of the corner of N. Washington St and E. Montgomery Ave, circa 1955, was taken from the front of the Gray Courthouse and shows the Farmers Bank at left, behind the town clock. 

As for the bag itself, the Rifkin Company is still in existence and still manufacturing bank deposit bags; I love a company with a good online corporate history.  This bag might seem flimsy compared to modern deposit bags, but the canvas is sturdy, and the cord closure – which seems newer than the bag, but appears to have the original (or at least vintage) plastic “R” caps on the ends - is heavy-duty, and not easily broken. 

This bag was donated to us several years ago by Arthur Green.  In a nice bit of continuity, the old Farmers Bank is now a . . . well, I’ve lost track of what bank it is actually, but it is where the Society does its banking today, and we walk our deposits down there ourselves.  (Though not in this bag, however amusing that might be.)

 

Shopping bags, 1980s

Today’s post might seem a little bit random, but there’s method to the madness. Mostly, this is a very busy week here at MCHS as we get ready for the Strathmore Museum Shop Around (feel free to visit us there!), so a brief post on shopping bags seemed appropriate. Here we have three small paper shopping bags from Garfinckel’s, circa 1983-85.

Julius Garfinckel & Co was an upscale department store founded in the early 20^th century by Julius Garfinckel (1875-1936). In 1929, a two million dollar building was constructed at 14^th and F Streets downtown (a block away from the earlier store at 13^th and F); this became the flagship store in the 1950s, when the chain expanded into the surrounding region. The first suburban branch was at the Seven Corners Shopping Center in Virginia, opened in 1956; the second one, at Montgomery Mall in Bethesda, opened in 1968. (There was also a second D.C. store, in Spring Valley on Massachusetts Avenue.) In the 1970s and ‘80s several more stores opened, but in 1990 the company filed for bankruptcy, and all the locations quickly closed.

Advertisement for “Julius Garfinkle & Co” [yes, it's spelled wrong] in the 1922 “Greeter’s Guide” to Washington, D.C.

Why does Montgomery County care about a D.C. department store? Before the city stores started moving out to the ‘burbs, many county residents ventured downtown for their consumer needs, especially high-end goods. Making a highly unscientific judgement based on clothing and accessories in our collections, Garfinckel’s and Woodward & Lothrop* were the main stores of choice, with Hecht’s coming in a distant third. (Sorry, fans of Jelleff’s, Lansburgh’s, Kann’s, Palais Royal, etc., which are represented by only one or two items each.) Montgomery County, along with Virginia’s Seven Corners, was the first place these stores moved to when expanding into the suburbs in the mid 20^th century: Woodie’s in Chevy Chase, Hecht’s and Jelleff’s in Silver Spring, and Garfinckel’s (rather later than its competitors) in Bethesda.

These bags were part of a larger collection of bags and boxes saved from local stores, brought in by an MCHS volunteer many years ago. They were clearly saved, though whether to reuse** or out of sentiment is unclear. I did an exhibit on local department and specialty stores a few years ago, and I was surprised by the affection many people still hold for these stores. As an example: Garfinckel’s has a fan website, and also-closed Woodward & Lothrop has a Facebook page. I wonder if that will be true of today’s stores: Will there be passionate collectors of H&M ephemera in 50 years? . . . What am I saying? There probably already are. Nonetheless, based on what I heard while planning that exhibit it seems that the experience of shopping at a major department store is different today, despite the best efforts of the advertising departments. In this era of national chains, ubiquitous outlets, and internet shopping, the relationship between store and customer is a little more impersonal.

* To be honest, Woodies wins.

** Perhaps this frugal shopper anticipated the bag tax.