“After the tornado,” 1929

At about 9 p.m. on Thursday, May 2, 1929, northeastern Montgomery County was struck by a tornado, part of a large storm system that caused devastation from Florida to Ohio.  The weekly Montgomery County Sentinel reported on May 10th that the “wind storm of cyclonic power . . . was of limited width and serpentine on its course.  Everything in its path met with destruction.”

The damage in the county was limited to the rural Unity area, north of Brookeville. The Sentinel article detailed each affected farm in turn, noting that “thousands of persons from far and near visited the scene for several days to look upon the indescribable wreckage.”  One of those visitors was Gladys Benson (1905-2000); her father’s farm was the first one hit.  Miss Benson donated several photos taken “after the tornado of May 2, 1929,” providing us with visual evidence to accompany the newspaper’s written descriptions.

Many spectators view the wreckage at the Benson farm, May 1929

From the Sentinel: “The storm showed its first violence upon the farm of Mr. J. William Benson.  There it destroyed every building – the dwelling house, large barn, 117 feet long, including an attached shed, and all other outbuildings.”  The farm was unoccupied, but furniture belonging to “a prospective tenant” was destroyed.  Mr. Benson’s apple orchard was also significantly damaged, and the article claimed that “many [trees] were lifted into the air, carried over woods and landed several miles away.”

The next farm belonged to the Childs family; here “every building was blown down, except the barn,” and three members of the family were killed.  The fire departments of Rockville, Gaithersburg and Sandy Spring responded to the call made by farm worker James Leizear, who “extricated himself from the wreckage” and ran half a mile to a neighbor’s house to summon help. Miss Benson did not include any photos of the Childs home in her donation.

The Haight home, May 1929

The tornado next struck the 200 year old Haight house.  “The force of the wind broke windows, blew down doors . . . . A large hole was made in the side of the building as if by a dynamite blast.”  Mr. and Mrs. Charles Haight were “on the first floor reading, when the storm struck,” but Mrs. Haight’s mother, Amelia Knapp, was elsewhere in the house.  Mr. Haight “rode a mile and a half through the storm” to find neighbors who could help him extricate his mother-in-law, who did not survive.

Two unidentified children pose in front of the Burroughs home, May 1929

The “still furious” storm “swept the roof off the dwelling of Mr. George Burroughs.”  The family escaped uninjured, but “the furniture inside the house was broken into small pieces by the force of the wind, which beat it about like paddles of a churn keep in motion the cream.”

An intrepid person on top of the remains of William Royer’s barn, May 1929

“The last in the county to be assailed by the violence of the storm was the property of Mr. William Royer, whose barn and other outbuildings were destroyed.”  No mention of casualties at the Royer farm are found in the Sentinel or the Washington Post.

The Post reported on May 4th that 28 people in Maryland and Virginia had been killed by tornadoes during the storm; most of the casualties were in Virginia, where an elementary school was struck full-force and at least 18 children died. In Montgomery County, the local Red Cross Chapter formed a citizen committee to raise funds “for relief of the sufferers.”

***
And now for the Public Service Announcement portion of today’s post.  I’ve been working on updating and improving the Historical Society’s emergency response plan, but as often happens, everyday concerns can take precedence and “what if” plans get pushed a little ways down the to-do list.  It sometimes takes an example of real-life disaster to remind us that preparation should stay high on that priority list.  I chose today’s historical-storm post not to compare it to the devastation from the gigantic tornado that hit Moore, OK earlier this week, but to remind readers – and myself – that “what if” can quickly become “here and now.”  People, get ready!

There are lots of places to look for advice on creating family emergency plans – and remember, I can tell if anyone’s clicked on these links, so click away! The Red Cross, FEMA, and the CDC have advice for you, as do many state and local agencies (including the Maryland Emergency Management Agency and the Montgomery County government).  Don’t forget your pets!  The Red Cross and FEMA links above include advice on pet disaster planning, as do the HSUS and the ASPCA.  And, though the living should take precedence, this curator asks you to spare a thought for important/irreplaceable documents and belongings, whether it’s a passport, baby album, great-grandmother’s wedding dress, or files of genealogical research/your novel/what have you.  The Library of Congress and the National Archives, among others, have advice on both pre-disaster planning and post-disaster recovery of papers and things.

 

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.

 

Margaret Beall’s book (part two), 1900

One of the early A Fine Collection posts concerned a small book that belonged to Margaret Beall (1817-1901), life-time resident of the Beall-Dawson House (now our museum).  In that post I noted how excited we (well, I and my intern) were to discover it, in a collection of uncataloged books, particularly as we have little enough of Margaret’s belongings.  And it’s happened again!  This time, our exciting discovery comes thanks to a donation from one of Margaret’s cousin’s descendants.

Harry A. Dawson (1874-1944), son of Margaret’s cousin Amelia Somervell Dawson, grew up in the Beall-Dawson House.  He married Mary “Polly” Hoff in 1901; eventually they settled into a house a few blocks away from Harry’s childhood home, where his father and sisters still lived, and the branches of the Dawson family remained close. Recently, Harry and Polly’s granddaughter (also named Polly) donated a variety of artifacts, including books; most belonged to Polly Hoff Dawson, but among them was a copy of Early Days of Washington (1899).  This was a nice surprise – it’s a rare-ish book (though there are ebook versions) – but even better was this note inside:

“A little Birth Day token of love for dear Cousin Margaret J. Beall with the earnest hope that there may be in store for her many more happy Birth Days.  Her loving Cousin – Louis Mackall  May 30 1900“

The author, Sally Somervell Mackall, was another of Margaret’s many cousins, and much of her book describes the extended Beall-Somervell-Mackall-etc. family’s posh social life in Georgetown in the early 19th century.  Early Days of Washington contains a few stories about Margaret’s father, Upton Beall, and is particularly notable for being the only place to see an image of Upton; a photograph of a painted miniature appears on page 65.  (The pastel portrait in our museum is not an original; it was copied from this image, in the 1980s.)  Though we have the book in our library and we’re familiar with its contents, I think there’s something rather special about having Margaret’s own volume.

Unfortunately, Mr. Mackall’s wish for his cousin did not come true; Margaret died on April 18, 1901, a few weeks short of her 85th birthday.  But as far as we know, she was still active in 1900 despite her relative age – after all, the census that year described her not as “keeping house” or with “no occupation,” but as a “capitalist” – and I’d like to think that she enjoyed reading about her father and his cronies back in the day.  I do wish she’d made some editorial comments in the book, anything that might help us to confirm or deny Sally Mackall’s anecdotal stories… but you can’t have everything.

 

Doctor’s bag, 1920s-40s

Today’s artifact is a leather doctor’s bag, owned and used by Dr. William Linthicum (1902-1991) of Rockville.  The “Top Grain Cow Hide” bag is 16″ long and 10″ tall, and was made by Kruse in the early 20th century.  Though currently empty (except for one last bottle), it originally held a variety of medicines and tools to aid the doctor in his housecalls.

A lifelong Rockville resident, Dr. Linthicum practiced as a GP and obstetrician for 60 years. He was the son of local doctor Otis Linthicum, and grandson of Dr. Edward E. Stonestreet; a 1982 article in the Montgomery Journal noted that the three generations “kept Rockville residents hale and hearty for 1.3 centuries.”  When Dr. Stonestreet’s office was donated to the Historical Society in 1972, Dr. Linthicum helped us furnish it – but he did not give us his own medical items. Instead, a large collection of his instruments and office equipment was donated by his daughter-in-law Karin Linthicum, after his death.

In 1977 Dr. Linthicum compiled a charming little memoir, “He Never Left Home.” Though he shared wonderful stories of life in Rockville, and ruminated on his chosen profession, he did not mention specific items from his career; thus, the exact history of the bag is unknown.  It’s clear, however, that it saw some action.  The bag is sturdy and built to last, with reinforced stitching, a steel frame, and five metal feet; but the folds are worn, the corners rubbed, and the interior straps (to hold bottles and instruments) are bent out of shape.  Dr. Linthicum estimated he’d delivered over 4,000 babies throughout his career, including a thousand or so home births; most likely, this bag accompanied him on those housecalls.

Though not often used today, the doctor’s bag was a necessity in the era of housecalls.  In his memoir, Dr. Linthicum mentions that his colleague Dr. Jacob W. Bird (1885-1959) of Olney “removed my tonsils in a front bedroom at our house.”  When you’re in the patient’s front bedroom, not a medical office or hospital, you need some supplies ready to hand.  A sturdy and capacious bag, with a nice wide opening (the frame locks into the open position for easy access), is the way to go.

The Indiana Medical History Museum has put together an online display, “What’s in a Doctor’s Bag?”, and the Canadian Medical Association Journal also took a look at the contents of an early 20th century medical bag.  But what of the bag itself?  Though the black bag has become something of an iconic symbol of the medical profession, its history has eluded me today.  Similar “Oxford” or “Boston”-style satchels and valises appear in Sears catalogs over the years, but none are specified for use by doctors; they must have been sold through more specialized means.  The Kruse company clearly made a lot of doctor’s bags, based on the number of vintage items for sale over the internet, but its origins are currently murky.  What I thought would be a relatively easy blog has instead turned into a rather more hardcore research project.

Sears, Roebuck catalog for 1902: “Fine Oxford Bags”

 

Cartes de visite, 1865

When studio photography became affordable and accessible in the mid 19th century, many Americans took the opportunity to have their likenesses captured on glass, metal or paper.  Different formats gained or lost popularity as new photographic processes were invented.  By the 1860s, the carte de visite was one of the cheapest and most popular ways to have your photo taken.

The carte de visite (CDV, or “visiting card,” named for its size) is a 2 1/8 x 3 1/2 inch albumen (paper) print mounted on a 2 1/2 x 4 inch card. This format was produced through the end of the 19th century, although by the 1870s the larger cabinet card print – mounted on 4 1/2 x 6 1/2 inch card – had become more common.  Since the albumen print method allowed for multiple copies of the same image, you could ensure that all your friends and family had a picture of your (not usually smiling) face.  Cards featuring celebrity portraits were marketed to their fans, and special photograph albums, with pages sized to hold CDVs and cabinet cards, were developed to cash in on the “cardomania” sweeping the nation. (An example can be seen at the bottom of this post.)

Our couple here, Henry and Mary Ann Windsor of Clarksburg, visited an unknown studio in September of 1865 to have their portraits taken.  (The photos were donated by Jane Sween, a descendant.)  We know the specific date thanks to the revenue stamps affixed to the reverse of each one.  The U.S. Revenue Act of 1864 included a tax on “luxury” items such as photographs; each of the Windsors’ CDVs was taxed 3 cents, meaning the photograph itself cost between 25 and 50 cents.  The photographer hand-canceled the stamps with his initials, A.S., and the date “Sep. 1865.”  (Some CDV cards include the photography studio’s name and address, but these are very simple cards with no information.) 

Most of the stamp on Mrs. Windsor’s picture (the right side is covered by the white MCHS library label).

The images themselves are also fairly simple.  The couple took turns sitting in the photographer’s chair, in a vaguely ‘homey’ setting complete with a cloth-covered table, but without the elaborate props (curtains! furniture! plants!) or painted backdrops that litter the scene in many other studio portraits of the late 19th century.  (Although a closer look shows that there may be some kind of scenery painted onto the backdrop, after all – is that a tree on a mountain, on the right?) Mr. Windsor has his cane; Mrs. Windsor is holding a small book, perhaps the same book that is on the table in her husband’s portrait.  Neither is really smiling, as the exposure time required was a little long to hold a smile, and anyway this was a serious occasion; getting your portrait taken was not an everyday event. They are probably wearing their best outfits. 

Henry Windsor (1793-1871) married Mary Ann W. Simmons (1795-1868) in Montgomery County on November 17, 1818.  They lived at Henry’s father’s farm, “Homestead,” northeast of Clarksburg, and had eight children, two of whom died in their early teens.  There are two lovely little descriptions of the couple, collected in the genealogy files in our library, which shed some light on the personalities hinted at in these portraits:

By “J.A.W.,” Dec 22, 1896: “My youngest uncle on Father’s side was Uncle Henry, who lived on the old Grandfather [Thomas] Windsor [farm] ‘Homestead’ about 2 miles N.E. of Clarksburgh [sic], Montgomery Co., MD, where we all attended school.  Uncle Henry Windsor was a shorter man than any of his sons, but of a stout build.  His wife was a Miss Simmons of Frederick Co., MD.  We thought much of our Aunt Mary Windsor, and living closer to each other of any of our first cousins, we visited oftener and became more strongly attached to each other, and very many were the pleasant, happy visits we made back and forth with each other.  Sometimes one or more of the children and at other times almost the whole would visit each other, especially on holidays.  Sometimes go afishing, sometimes gathering strawberries, hurtleberries, or cherries, or (in the Autumn) chestnuts, or walnuts, or hickory nuts or persimmons.  Uncle Henry’s farm was very hilly, stony, and of poor soil so that it was a hard struggle with them to make a comfortable living.  ‘Aunt Mary’ took in weaving for to help.  The loom she used was of Uncle Henry’s manufacture.”

By Keturah Ann Windsor Waters, daughter of Henry and Mary Ann, 1902: “I was going to tell of my Papa he was such a good man when we were little when our supper was over we all had to gather around the old fashioned fire Place Papa with his note book all sing Mother in one corner Papa in the other he was one of the best singers I thought I ever did hear I think he is still singing in his heavenly home Mother was a Sweet woman also she died first [i.e., before Henry] the night we thought she would die we wanted Papa to go upstairs he was so afflicted he did not go he sat by her bed [downstairs] weeped oh it was so afflicting”

Our current special exhibit looks at photography, specifically snapshots of local people and places from about 1890 through the 1970s.  There’s also a little side exhibit on studio photography, including examples of mid 19th century formats such as the CDV.  Mrs. Windsor’s picture was on display in our two most recent exhibits; when it came time to choose images for our current photography exhibit, I decided to spread the love and use other CDVs instead.  But I couldn’t resist including her somehow – so she gets her own blog post.

A CDV album from our collections, owned and donated by the Van Hoesen family. The photo cards were inserted into the page/sleeve; the one on the right has been removed so you can see what I’m talking about.

 

Memorial windows, circa 1930s

Today we have a pair of stained glass or leadlight casement windows, from a Silver Spring church that no longer stands. Dedicated in memory of Phillip and Caroline Eaglen, the windows were part of Mt. Zion United Methodist Church. The design is relatively simple; windows like these, complete with the dedication space at the bottom, are a common sight in late 19th and early 20th century American churches of many denominations. Each of our windows measures 48″ tall and 32″ wide, including the heavy wooden frames (complete with flourescent lights) that were added at some point. The windows were donated to MCHS in 1993 by Mr. and Mrs. Clifton Andrews.

The windows on display – the mystery rectangle between them is the exhibit label.

Mt. Zion United Methodist Church was located on Georgia Avenue, in the Linden/Forest Glen/Montgomery Hills area of Silver Spring. Its history is somewhat obscure, with only a few clues located so far. The 1879 Hopkins Atlas (below) shows “Mt. Zion M.E. Ch.” on the Washington & Brookeville Turnpike (Georgia Avenue). To orient you: downtown Silver Spring is off the map to the right; the “turnpike” visible in the upper right is modern-day Colesville Road; the road at left that ends at Forest Glen Sta. is Forest Glen Road; the road that runs down to the bottom, including the home of freedman S. Lytton, is Brookville Road.

In 1935, Mary Doolittle Dawson wrote an essay called “Early Days in Linden” (parenthetical notes were added by Frances Wolfe in 1983):  “The Laney House … was on the East side of the 7th Street Pike (now Georgia Avenue) opposite the colored Methodist church (the site now occupied by Safeway on Georgia Ave. and Seminary Place)…. Mrs. Rose Wilson Kerr tells me that this church was first used by the white Episcopalians and Methodists. Mrs. Kerr remembers being taken there as a little child…. This church, however, had passed into the hands of the colored people by the time our family spent the summer with the Laneys and there has been a colored church there ever since. Although the old church was torn down and a new one built on the same site.”

A 1937 survey of Montgomery County churches, conducted by the Works Progress Administration as part of the Historical Records Survey, included the Mt. Zion Methodist Episcopal Church – no street address – in Montgomery Hills, Silver Spring. The church was noted as “organized” in 1866; the “present building,” dedicated in 1916, was described as a “frame two story meeting house type, no bell, no special features.” Ms. Dawson’s story of the church’s origins is confirmed here, probably from history provided by Mt. Zion clergy or members: “The first church on this site was a white M.E. Church erected about 1825. This church was given to the colored people about 1866 and became known as Mt. Zion M.E. Church.”

Though a reference in a newspaper article shows that the church was still there in the early 1960s, by 1969 it was gone, replaced by shops. I haven’t yet found any images of the church, or information on when exactly it was torn down. It’s thought that the congregation was officially transferred to Van Buren United Methodist Church in D.C.

What of the couple whose names appear on the windows? For now, most of our information comes from census records (somewhat complicated by the fact that the name was recorded in various years as Eaglen, Edelin, Egland, Eglin, and Edlin). Phillip Eaglen (born circa 1840) married Caroline Bell (born circa 1845) in 1867; I haven’t found them in Montgomery County earlier than 1870, and don’t yet know if either of them had been enslaved. The Eaglens had at least 10 children, including William, Phillip, Helen, Harry, Mary Roberta, Olla, Ernest, Caroline, and John. By 1900, the family had settled in the Linden area, in an African-American neighborhood evidently known (to the 1910 census taker, at any rate) as “Monkey Hollow.” In the censuses, Phillip was variously described as a laborer or farmer; Caroline was usually “keeping house,” though in 1910 she was working as a laundress. Their children and grandchildren worked as gardeners, carpenters, housemaids, farm laborers, and hotel waitresses; grandson Arthur Eaglen served with the 808 Pioneer Infantry during World War I. The latest information on the Eaglens is the 1930 census, at which point the couple owned a house on Brookville Road in Linden (or possibly Lyttonsville, an African-American community) and lived there with their daughters Mary and Caroline, Mary’s husband John Potts, and their grandson Walter Eaglen.  Both Phillip and Caroline (noted in 1930 as aged 93 and 87) presumably died sometime during the 1930s.

It’s not clear how the donors ended up with these windows, although a note in our files indicates that their maid, Sadie Kelly, was married to a man whose parents were acquainted with the Eaglens. Ms. Kelly is the one who supplied us with the name and location of the church.

The short version of all of this is, of course, “There’s still a lot more research to do.” Where did the Eaglens live before 1870? Who commissioned the windows in their memory? When was the church demolished, and why were these two windows saved? (Do any blog readers have information or photos to share?) Nonetheless, even with this moderate amount of info the windows are interesting artifacts, and they serve as physical reminders of a church – and a family – that might otherwise have been forgotten by local historians.

Interested in learning more about African American churches in Montgomery County? Visit our library!

 

Tablecloth, circa 1910

Today we have a lace-edged linen tablecloth, decorated with cutwork and embroidery, made by Mary Louise Parsly of Brookeville.  

Mary Louise Parsly (sometimes spelled Parsley) was born in 1887, the second child of John and Cornelia Search Parsly.  Her father ran a general store in Brookeville.  In 1914 or 1915, Mary Louise married Dr. Ernest Fishbaugh of Indiana, and they moved to California.  The tablecloth was donated to MCHS in 1979 by her daughter, Ernestine Fishbaugh, who wrote, “The embroidery on this cloth is so perfect and so exquisite that I would like very much to give it to your organization in [my mother's] memory.”

The cloth measures 52 inches in diameter, not counting the 5 inch crochet lace trim which, according to Miss Fishbaugh, her mother “did not make . . . but added it to the cloth.”  Perhaps the lace was purchased from Mr. Parsly’s store?

This is a lovely example of whitework and, while I’m not as qualified a judge as some, I would say Mary Louise’s work is pretty close to “perfect.”  (Although, alas, I cannot find evidence that she tested her mettle by entering this or other work in the county fair.)  The circular patterns are evenly matched, and the embroidery is tidy, even some 100 years later.  Mary Louise added her initials along one side, in padded satin stitch letters that are three inches high: 

If only she’d added the date!  The donor noted it was “made by my mother before she was married,” but could not be more specific.  I suspect that it was part of Mary Louise’s preparations for running her own household after her marriage.  The big, bold initials are fantastic; we have other monogrammed linens in our collections, but few are quite so definitively marked.  You’re not going to miss MLP’s name if you happen to sit down to tea. 

The Parsly family, circa 1905. Mary Louise is standing behind her mother. The other children are George (the youngest), Elmer (in uniform), Lewis, Isabelle, and Alice. Donated by Lewis Parsly.

 

 

Twelves

In honor of today’s date, 12/12/12, here’s an assortment of ‘twelves’ – some deliberate, some accidental – from our collections. (And no, there aren’t twelve of them; that seemed excessive.)

First up: two twelve-candle molds, tin, late 18th or 19th century. The one on the left, in original (if well-used) condition, was donated by Mary Kingdon, and probably used by her family in Rockville. The one on the right - the handle has broken off, and it was painted black sometime in the late 20th century – came from the Tschiffely family of Gaithersburg, donated by Jean Seeback. Both of these make 10½” tapers, twelve at a time (we also have molds for 4 at a time and 6 at a time, but of course, today is 12 day).  In the interest of saving space, I refer you to either your favorite life-in-olden-times novel or YouTube to learn how to make candles with one of these.

These miniature metal soldiers were made by the Barclay Manufacturing Company of New Jersey; they’re “podfoots,” a style created in 1951 by Barclay to conserve metal (instead of standing on a flat base, they simply have flattened “pod” feet). They saw action in Bethesda, and only these twelve comrades survived. Owned, and donated, by Bill Allman.

A box of H.B. Marking & Embroidery Cotton, still containing its original twelve spools, circa 1890. Until the 1880s, red was a notoriously unstable dye; the introduction of “turkey red” floss (developed in Turkey), colorfast and cheaper than silk, started a fad for redwork embroidery on everyday household linens.  These embroidered pictures were generally outline-stitch pictures of flowers, fruit, children, animals, humorous sayings, etc.; designs were published in magazines, pre-printed fabric squares were available for a penny, or you could of course draw your own.  Redwork stayed popular through the 1920s and ‘30s – examples can be found in antique stores everywhere – and is experiencing something of a resurgence in today’s retro-crafty communities. Purchased by MCHS.

Twelve hand-wrought iron nails removed from “Pleasant Hills,” a house in Darnestown, during gutter work in 2003. The center block of the house was built in the 1760s for Charles Gassaway; the wings were constructed in the 1870s and 1910s. Someone could probably tell us more precisely when these nails were made and used, but we haven’t yet made that attempt. Donated by Mary Wolfe.

And last but not least, a tin suppository mold, mid 19th century, with twelve holes.  The box is 5.5″ long and 3.5″ deep, with the ‘thimbles’ making suppositories a little less than 2″ long.  Yes, it makes exactly what you think it does; 19th century doctors and pharmacists made their own recipes using  these handy tools.  According to “The Art of Dispensing,” 1915, by Peter MacEwan, “an American style [of suppository mold] consists of a circular metal box pierced with holes into which thimbles fit. The box can be filled with iced water or a freezing-mixture. The thimbles are filled with the suppository-mixture, dropped into the box, and owing to the chill the contents of the mold contract, and are easily tapped out when solid.” This piece was donated to MCHS by John Bentley of Sandy Spring. Mr. Bentley served as the MCHS curator in the late 1940s-early 1950s, and many of the items credited to Bentley were in fact collected by him from other county residents; thus, unfortunately, the specific history of this item is unknown.

I hope you all enjoy your Last Consecutive Date Day (especially if today is your birthday) until 01/01/2101. Go forth, and do something twelve times!

 

“Yours, Norman” – postcards, 1910

Montgomery County National Bank, Rockville

Rockville Baptist Church

Since this is the last official Postcard Wednesday of 2012, I was feeling some pressure to find the perfect postcard.  Should we look at all the not-terribly-amusing 1910s in-jokes?  Or the many postcards sent from hospitals, detailing aches and pains and illnesses?  After all, it would be hard to top the driving turkeys, or the Mystery of the Missing Skirt.  So I thought, “Well, I’ll try to figure out Olive and Norman’s story, and hopefully it will be interesting.”  Olive and Norman came through!  (WordPress did not, though, and has decided to put all the images at the top of the page this week.  Sorry about that!)

Both of these cards were sent in 1910 to Miss Olive Feltner from “Norman.”  The Rockville Baptist Church card, sent in July, went to Bluemont, Virginia from an unknown location (the stamp is hand-canceled).  The Montgomery County National Bank card was sent in September from Bluemont, Va. to Olive, “c/o HW Bush,” in Charleston, West Virginia.

Norman’s handwriting mystified me at first, particularly the place name that appears on both cards.  I also misread Olive’s name as Feltuer – and if you ever thought the census records were bound to bring you some records no matter what name you type, you’d be wrong!  No Olive Feltuer to be found.  But, in a highly satisfying intersection of clues and records, all the various names, dates and places on the cards started coming together once I found a 1912 marriage record for Olive Feltner and Norman B. Robertson in Jefferson County, West Virginia.  Here are Norman’s messages:

“July 25, 1910.  Dear Olive:  Am back at Mt. Weather and glad of it, too.  Am very hot at home, but I had a nice time.  This card pictures the place where I went to church yesterday.  Hope we will go together some day.  Am going to write tomorrow.  Have a headache tonight.  Am expecting a letter.  Yours, Norman”

“Mt Weather, Sept 21, 1910.  Dear Olive: Will not write a letter this week.  Will meet you Sunday next.  Don’t care how you get there just you be there, that’s all.  Your niece Norma has been very ill for the past week and is not much better at present.  Mrs. K. want you badly, so does   Norman”

Olive Feltner was born in 1889 in Chapel, Virginia.  She was one of seven children, including older sisters Lilly (who married John Kelley) and Dolly (who married Herman W. Bush of West Virginia).  Norman B. Robertson (1885-1975) was born in Montgomery County, and grew up outside Rockville; his father, Hezekiah Robertson, was a farmer.  The 1910 census has Olive at home in Chapel with her parents, and Norman appears twice: once at home, and once as an employee at the government meteorological station, Mount Weather, Bluemont, Virginia.  How did Olive and Norman meet?  The household next to the weather station is that of John and Lilly Feltner Kelley, including their daughter Norma.  Olive probably spent time with both her older married sisters, Mrs. Kelley in Bluemont and Mrs. Bush in Charles Town.  The postcards must have been purchased by Norman on trips home; in July he mentions how hot it is in Rockville, and that he attended the Baptist Church the day before.

That dry paragraph does not express the glee I felt when all the pieces – Norman! HW Bush! Mrs. K and Norma!  That mysterious, can-it-possibly-say-“Mt. Weather” scribble! – fell into place.  Yes, there’s a good reason I chose this field.  All this lovely background information from two little messages!

Ah, at any rate… in 1912, Olive and Norman were married; in 1918, they moved to a newly built house in D.C. on 44th Street, NW.   Norman began working for the DC Water Department – where several of his brothers already were employed – in 1911, and continued to work there through 1940 at least.  After that, I lose Olive and Norman; they don’t appear to have had any children, I was unable to find obituaries for either of them, and we don’t know who donated these two cards to our library; they probably came from an antique dealer or collector.  Since the cards’ main function at MCHS is to illustrate Rockville buildings, no one had worried about Olive and Norman until now.

Though I often praise the info you can find in the census, and it was certainly helpful this time, the information path runs both ways.  The census search website suggested both the 1910 Norman Robertsons to me, but could not confirm that  the 25 year old in Rockville and the 24 year old at Mt. Weather were the same guy (after all, you are only supposed to be in the census once!) – but the postcards, which connect him to Rockville and Bluemont, give the clue that they’re both our Norman.  If I was really researching Norman and Olive (rather than simply satisfying my curiosity), these pieces of ephemera – saved for a totally different reason – would make a nice piece of the puzzle.  The lesson here: Never discount the usefulness of a message scrawled on a postcard.

 

“Grandmother’s Flower Garden” quilt, circa 1860

Today we have a silk quilt, an absolutely gorgeous one if I do say so myself (not that I had anything to do with it). It was made circa 1860 by two sisters from Sandy Spring, and is in a pattern known as “Grandmother’s Flower Garden,” created with the English paper piecing technique.

First, the quilt itself. It is 8 ½ feet square, and is made up of . . . a lot . . . of silk hexagons, each one just under 2 1/4 inches wide. The borders on the sides and bottom are 12 inches wide (the top border is narrower, a design feature common to bed quilts), and quilted in clamshell and ocean wave patterns.  The silks are iridescent, and the same patterns appear frequently; it was probably not made of ‘dress scraps,’ but with purposely bought fabric. It is backed with a brown glazed cotton, with cotton batting or filler.

The ‘flowers’ were carefully, meticulously cut out so that there are matching patterns on each petal. The colors across the quilt were balanced, to create a pleasing whole. Each hexagon was quilted (that is, sewn through all three layers of the quilt) in a simple outline. The quilting is fine and even, and the stitches attaching each hexagon to the other are TINY. Perhaps it’s unprofessional of me to marvel this much over one of our artifacts, but seriously, look at these stitches:

Mosaic-type patterns (this one could also be called a variation on “Honeycomb” or “French Nosegay”) were popular in the mid 19th century, and have returned to fashion on and off throughout the next century. This quilt top was most likely created using a technique known as English paper piecing, often used for mosaic patterns. Each piece is wrapped around a paper template, cut to size, and the seam allowance is basted to the paper. Then the pieces are sewn together in whatever pattern the quilter chooses. Using a paper backing allowed the quilter to create precise shapes, and to attach small pieces together without the whole thing flopping around. The paper was usually removed after the quilt top was completed, but before the whole quilt (binding, filler and backing) was finished.  Here’s an example of a quilt with the paper still in, from the State Museum of Philadelphia.

Although a few of the silks suffer from inherent vice, and some of the purple border fabric is fading to green, this quilt is in remarkably good shape; the colors are bright, and there’s little sign of wear. It seems likely that, whether it was made for everyday use or not, it was packed away for posterity and seldom exposed to light, grubby hands, or drooling sleepers.

The quilt was donated by Dorothy Wetherald, who told us it had been made by her great-aunts Mary (1811-1877) and Esther (1814-1902) Wetherald of Sandy Spring. Mary and Esther were born in Liverpool, and in 1819 they emigrated to the United States with their parents Thomas (a butcher and Quaker preacher) and Anne, and two younger brothers. The family lived in Washington and, later, Baltimore, where Mary and Esther ran a school for several years. After Thomas’s death in 1832, his widow Anne moved to Sandy Spring with three of her children, Mary, Esther, and Joseph.

The census records do not indicate professions for the two sisters, except for 1880, when they are “keeping house” for their mother, brother, and his family. (Interestingly, that same year Joseph’s wife profession is noted as “Sews.”) More helpful, at least in the general sense, are the obituaries for each sister, reported in the Annals of Sandy Spring, though I can’t find anything that references their skills with the needle. Both Mary and Esther are noted as intelligent women, avid readers, and French scholars, who “seldom left the neighborhood.” Esther’s obituary adds that she wrote “stories for magazines,” and “enjoyed excellent eye-sight, never needing spectacles.” (No wonder the stitches are so tiny.) Mary’s obituary – she died first, remember – ends, “her inseparable companion and sister had much sympathy in her loss.”

(Here’s the back – note the hexagon-outline quilting.)

In town for the holidays?  Mary and Esther’s fabulous quilt is on display in the museum, but only through January 6, 2013.  My not-so-great photos do not do it justice; come take a look!