Mrs. Van Hoesen’s scrapbook, 1910s-1940s

The month of May is both National Scrapbooking Month and International Storytelling Month.  Those go together quite nicely, I think, and to illustrate that, here is a charming little scrapbook from our archives: Ethel Grove Van Hoesen’s album, titled “Living and Teaching in Maryland from 1917 to 1940.”

The album has stamped suede covers and a plastic spiral binding; a label in the back informs us that it was purchased from Edward F. Gruver Co., “Paper Rulers and Book Binders,” in DC.  Inside is a mix of photos, newspaper clippings, and paper ephemera, often accompanied by handwritten notes and explanations.  The first few pages – clearly meant as an introduction to “Life and Teaching in Maryland” – contain poems about gardening, teachers, homes, and retirement, plus a 1934 highway map of the county, and the lyrics to “Maryland My Maryland.”  Though there is some order to the contents, the scrapbook has the appearance of having been created all at once, from a stash of saved bits and pieces; one page, for example, consists of a snapshot dated 1922, a 1930 map of Capitol View, and a newspaper “fun fact” from the Washington Evening Star, November 22, 1939.  Other pages are more traditional photo-album style, with chatty little descriptions.

“Not good pictures – but from left to right Anne – Helen Rector – Ethel Van Hoesen. 2d row – Sophie [her daughter-in-law] – Margaret – Elizabeth. 3rd row – Sophie Philip [her granddaughter] – Minnie -.  Brad [her son] taking the picture”

Both Ethel Grove and her husband Fred Van Hoesen were born in Franklinville, NY in 1870.  They married in 1892, and had one son, James Bradley (“Brad”).  Mr. Van Hoesen first trained as a clergyman, but he switched careers at some point, and in 1917 he was appointed as the first Cooperative Extension Agent in Montgomery County.  (More about the Extension Service, and Mr. Van Hoesen’s work, can be found here.)  The family lived in Rockville for several years; after Mr. Van Hoesen’s 1924 death, Mrs. Van Hoesen moved with her son’s family to Forest Glen.

” The station and Post Office [at Forest Glen] as it looks today (1943).  No longer bevies of young ladies crowd its platform; but in their stead groups of convalescent soldiers dot the spacious N.P.C. grounds.  N.P.C. [National Park College] beloved by many ‘old girls’ has been bought by the Gov’t.  It houses hundreds of soldiers wounded in every battle of this global war.”

Mrs. Van Hoesen was a life-long teacher.  Her obituary states that she began teaching at age 18; an 1892 Franklinville census shows that she was still teaching shortly after her marriage.  The 1910, 1920, and 1930 censuses all give her occupation as “teacher, public school.”  In Montgomery County she taught at Woodside, Bethesda, Slidell, and Cabin John Elementary Schools.  When she was appointed to the one-room Slidell school in 1930, she moved upcounty (Slidell is in the Barnesville/Beallsville/Dickerson vicinity) to a farmhouse called “Sky View.”  The scrapbook includes many photos of the house, school, and neighborhood, and several pages are taken up with handwritten lists of her students for each year.
“Slidell School April 5, 1934 – with and without the teacher” (Can you spot Mrs. Van Hoesen?)

In 1939 the Slidell school was closed, and Mrs. Van Hoesen moved back downcounty to teach in Cabin John.  She retired in 1940 (though she continued to substitute-teach for a few years), and bought a house in Capitol View; she died in 1949, and was buried next to her husband in Franklinville, NY.  In the 1960s, Brad’s wife Sophie gave the Society a large collection of artifacts and archival material related to her in-laws, including this little book.
“‘Shady Nook’ A retired teacher buys a new home No 6 Lee St. Capitol View, Maryland. with summer shade”

Mrs. Van Hoesen saw a variety of life in the county, her adopted home.  She taught in both suburban and rural schools, and kept up with her students’ later lives, as demonstrated by the notations (“married Gladys Smith.”  “Poolesville High class ‘44.”) included in lists of pupils’ names. Her neighbors and friends, former students, colleagues of her husband from the Extension Service, people from her church, notable county residents, even Evalyn Walsh McLean (who evidently was “kind to Jack Thompson”) are represented through photos, wedding announcements, human interest stories, and obituaries.  There’s a magazine article about Sugarloaf Mountain, the program from the 1934 Annual Meeting of the Homemakers’ Clubs of Montgomery County, a drawing of White’s Ferry by her daughter-in-law, a “Barnaby” comic about washing machines, and snapshots of people, buildings, roads, and views that were important to the book’s creator.  Throughout, Mrs. Van Hoesen’s ink notations keep us informed of who did what and when: “The house was painted in 1932.” “This is where I go to church.” “Mr. Knott did not know he was getting in the picture – we are glad to have him – he was one of Slidell’s best friends.”  Though this scrapbook doesn’t necessarily read like a traditional narrative, it is telling us a story all the same.

A map, photo, and story about Sugarloaf Mountain.

“A few of my animal neighbors” in Slidell, 1930s.

A page of miscellany, including an article about a fellow Woodside teacher’s retirement; the 1936 marriage notice of Mr. Van Hoesen’s counterpart, former Montgomery County Home Demonstration Agent Blanche Corwin; and a 1930 campaign card for a “farmer, teacher, and business woman” running for office in Nebraska.  (I wish there was a handwritten note about Mrs. Himes, but I can see the possible connections to Mrs. VH’s life there.)

 

“I must keep my seat,” 1919

I started work on a nice, long blog post this morning, then realized that I should hold onto it until July 2013 when this particular artifact will be 200 years old.  (And you’ll just have to wait a few months to find out what it is!)  Instead, here’s a quick look at some of the cataloging work that’s been going on ‘behind the scenes’ in the curator’s office – specifically, one of the fun things we’ve found.

This winter’s in-depth cataloging project is books: textbooks, novels, picture books, cookbooks, and the like, owned and used by local people.  We have a largeish set of textbooks from Rose K. Dawson of Rockville, including many used in the 1910s-20s at the Rockville Academy by her brothers, Walter and Joe, and by family friend William Ross.  Ross, a Native American from Nebraska, came to live with the Dawsons when that family moved here in 1911; they lived at Rocky Glen, Mr. Dawson’s family home in Rockville.  Ross’s story is a good one, and I’ll include more of it in a future post; for now, let’s just say that he liked to write in his textbooks.  The Dawson boys did too, but Ross’s books are particularly scribbled-in.  (As someone whose class notes, if not necessarily school-property books, were always covered in doodles, I sympathize.)   Flipping through this copy of Higher Lessons in English:  A work on English Grammar and Composition, In which the Science of the Language is Made Tributary to the Art of Expression - A Course of Practical Lessons Carefully Graded, and Adapted to Every-Day Use in the School-Room  (Reed & Kellogg, 1909), one finds repeated iterations of “Bill Ross, Rockville Maryland,” the date 1919, and – fantastically – this page:

Though it seems unlikely that a teacher would chastise a student by having him write “I must keep my seat” in his textbook, even a book that the Dawsons had purchased (like this one), perhaps Ross was simply continuing his written punishment in a slightly rebellious manner, or out of boredom.  Just from this one little page, I feel like the window of the past is a little clearer – always remember that our ancestors were people, not simply collections of genealogical facts. Of course, our official stance is “Don’t write in books, kids!” . . . but, actually, go ahead and write in your books.  (In moderation.) Future historians may thank you!

 

High school jersey, 1970s

This year marks the 40th anniversary of Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972, which reads in part: “No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.”  Essentially: if you let boys do it, you’d better let girls do it too… and while you’re at it, don’t just allow it, encourage equal participation.

Many longer and more thorough reports than mine have been written on the effects of Title IX and its current rate of success.  (Last week’s Gazette had an interesting series, including several local accounts.)  Though much of the popular focus has been on improvements in athletic opportunities, it’s worth remembering that Title IX applies to academics as well.  However, our collections are best suited for an example of the growth of women’s sports in county schools, so until someone donates a nice 1973 shop-class project by their mother or aunt (hint, hint), let’s take a look at a sport uniform.

This cotton/nylon jersey was worn by a currently unknown female student at Northwood High School in Silver Spring, in the mid-late 1970s.  Happily, our library has a large collection of local school yearbooks, and the yearbooks for Northwood in 1973, ‘74, ‘75, ‘76 and ‘78 (sorry, we’re missing a year) give us some clues as to this jersey’s history.  (A full-on study of athletics at any given school requires more sources than just the yearbooks, of course, but I was mostly looking for pictures of uniforms; and hey, yearbooks are fun.)

Northwood High School opened in 1956, closed in 1985 due to declining student-age population in the area, then reopened in 2004 when the neighborhood once again required it.  In the 1970s, the school colors were black and red, and the team name was the Indians.  (Today the colors are the same, but the school mascot is a Gladiator.)  The Arrowhead yearbook gives a hint of the sports available for girls each year*.  In 1973, girls are shown participating only in swimming and gymnastics, though other teams (perhaps intramural) probably existed.  Only a year later, though, there are pages for girls’ tennis, field hockey, basketball, volleyball and softball.  The young women on the basketball teams (just one team at first, later the Junior Varsity team) in 1974-1978 are wearing jerseys like this one; the style also shows up on a softball player in the only photo of that sport included in 1974; by 1983 other uniforms have replaced it.  Two #44s appear in the books, whom I won’t call out in case they don’t want their names randomly appearing on the internet (although, hey ladies, if this is your jersey please let me know!).

I didn’t find any references specifically to Title IX, but the tone of the mid 1970s books does give a sense that yes, there is a new interest in, and attitude toward, girls’ athletics.  In 1976 that attitude (perhaps because of that year‘s editor?) is particularly evident.  That year, the girls’ basketball team had switched from a female to a male coach, a point which is emphasized in the yearbook: “He proved that men too can make good coaches for an all-girls’ sport involving skill and talent.”  The cross-country page features this headline: “Cross Country Team Includes Girl Runners” and, only a few sentences after informing us that one of those ‘girl runners’ was a state champion, the author points out that the (male) coach “expressed his lack of male chauvinism by insisting that the girls receive the credit due them.”  2012 gives that a sarcastic “gee, thanks,” but depending on the school’s culture at that time, such an “insistence” may have been highly progressive.  Happily, by 1978 the novelty of serious girls’ teams seems to have worn off, at least in the Arrowhead.

*Comparing the numbers and types of sports available to the county’s public school students since the late 19th century is actually quite interesting, and there were many girls’ teams in the early-mid 20th century… but that will have to wait for a later article.

 

School’s out, 1912

If it’s the first Wednesday of the month, it must be postcard week!

Here’s a nice view of “The Mountains from Clarksburg.” It might even be an accurate view, unlike the images shown on many of the “Greetings From [Your Town Here]” cards, since you’d think a generic card would try harder to show some of the promised mountains. (Nothing against our lovely Blue Ridge!) Though Clarksburg has recently been developed, there are still views like this to be had in the area.

The card is postmarked Burdette, Md, 1912. Burdette was a small community near Boyds and Clarksburg, with a post office, school, and hotel. Addressed to Miss Rose Dawson, Rockville, Mont Co, Md., the message reads:

Hello Rose, Guess you miss Miss Hepburn lots don’t you? Really I don’t miss her half so much as I do the girls, especially “tu.” Ray W.

Rose Kiger Dawson (1896-1979) grew up in South Dakota, and moved back to her father’s home, Rockville, in 1911. (Her arrival dress has been featured here before.) She attended Rockville High School, a.k.a. Montgomery County H.S.; today it is Richard Montgomery H.S.

The first yearbook or annual published by the school came out in 1927; for earlier years, we have to rely on other sources for tidbits about school life. Though the postmark is too blurry to get the exact date, this card has a “school’s out for summer” vibe to it; in fact the message reads, to me, a lot like the kind of thing you write in your friend’s yearbook, hoping to keep yourself in their mind for the few months before school starts again.

“Miss Hepburn” was Alice E. Hepburn, one of the teachers at Rockville High School in the 1910s and early 1920s. I haven’t found too much about her, though she appears in faculty lists, annual reports, and the occasional “Society” article, and in the 1920 census can be found boarding with another teacher in Rockville. One presumes that she taught French, unless Ray W. was being particularly coy. Depending on how you read the message, either Miss Hepburn and Rose had a nice teacher-student bond . . . or they really didn’t.

Above: Members of the Rockville High School faculty, circa 1914.  Though not all of the people have been identified, Miss Hepburn is in the back row at the far right.

As for Ray W., for now he is lost to history, though one assumes he lived in Montgomery County. Perhaps he and his family spent the summer at the High View House Hotel in Burdette?

[edited: to remove mistaken reference to a train station]

 

A little ballet, 1920s-30s style

June is the traditional time for many things, from weddings to graduations. It’s also the month of recitals. After a year of study, it’s time to show off what you’ve learned, be it music, recitation (hence “recital”), or some other skill. In that spirit, and in honor of my readers about to embark on a spring recital – or with fond (?) memories of recitals past – here are a few items related to The Dance.

“Mrs. L.N. Vassilief and her Ballet Dancing Class invite you and your friends to the Recital, Given at the Rockville High School, June 7^th, 1924.”

Ludmila Vassilief can be found in the 1930 census, along with husband Leonid and daughters Tatiana and Irene, living on the “Darnestown Pike” (Route 28). Both the senior Vassiliefs were born in Russia, and emigrated to the US in 1916. Mrs. Vassilief was almost certainly training her students in the Russian method of ballet, today known as the Vaganova school and one of the more popular styles of classical ballet in America.

Appearing many times on the program are the Hasselblatt sisters, Nelly and Tamara, who were also born in Russia. In 1920 they were living with their parents and siblings on a farm in Hunting Hill, outside Rockville on the Darnestown Pike. By the 1930 census Tamara Hasselblatt Dmietrieff, “music teacher,” was lodging with the Mann family in DC. As for her piano pupil, Catherine Dawson (#3 in your program), the Dawsons lived between Rockville and Hunting Hill on Route 28. We have a copy of Catherine’s 1922 diary, and Tamara is mentioned several times; she was giving French lessons to the younger girl at the Hasselblatt home. (Catherine also practiced her piano diligently, at least according to her diary, and apparently it paid off: a solo in the recital!)

As of now, this little program is the only evidence of Mrs. Vassilief’s dance school that I can find. Jumping ahead twenty years, a number of dance schools can be found in the 1949 Rockville (And Vicinity) Directory, neatly sandwiched between Dairies and Dead Animal Removal (!) – click to enlarge and read:

I realize that these blog posts often get very detailed on the people history (hey, I’m an anthropologist at heart) and a little light on the artifact history. Let me redress that with a little pointe shoe.

(Seriously little: it’s only 7 inches long.)

Though a staple of classical ballet today, pointe or toe shoes are not as old as the dance itself. Marie Taglioni, a celebrity ballerina in 1830s-40s Paris, brought what was previously a momentary trick – rising all the way up to your toes – into the mainstream, and only then were shoes designed to facilitate this style of dance. By the early 20^th century the modern, stiffened-box shoe was in place.

This pair of shoes belonged to the donor (now a Montgomery County resident) in 1932, probably in Wyoming or Colorado; she was four years old at the time. The scuffs and stains show that they were really worn, not just a cute prop.  Thanks to the interior label, we can see that the shoes were patented by Barney S. Bonaventure of New York in 1925. In reading his patent application for a “new and useful Toe Slipper,” I can appreciate the thought he put into making a more comfortable, flexible pointe shoe (having worn them at times myself). There’s nothing said about making them available to toddlers, but it’s probable that in the 1920s, teeny tiny pointe shoes were to be expected. Today, however, the majority of teachers in the various schools and traditions of ballet suggest that students wait until the bones in their feet have finished growing, and until their strength and technique is sufficient to support them (often around 12 years old). Pointe is no joke!

If you’re interested in the history of pointe work within the ballet world, there are some additional links below.  Interested in the history of dance in Montgomery County?  Come help me do some fun research!

An overview of the use of pointe technique throughout ballet history -

A 2011 argument for viewing pointe shoes as “technological artifacts” -

And some famous ballet shoes at the Bata Shoe Museum.

 

Wheelmen (and associates), 1890s-1910s

The quest to include every possible National [something] Week or Month continues! National Bike Month (May) is sponsored by the League of American Bicyclists, a group that traces its founding to 1880 as the League of American Wheelmen (LAW). This national group had local chapters and divisions, and held annual “meets” where members participated in races, training, and occasional lobbying. (The LAW is often credited with helping to get roads paved across the country, before the advent of the automobile.)

These two ribbons (identical except for the extra metal badges or charms on the left) came from the 13^th Annual LAW Meet, held in Washington, DC in 1892. Both also include the awesome slogan (catchphrase?) of the Arlington Wheelmen: “Wha! Who! Wha!!” My assumption is that this group was from Arlington, Virginia, though some sources indicate they were based in DC.  The ribbons were donated to MCHS by John Sumner Wood, Sr., who was born too late to have participated in this meet himself; unfortunately, we don’t know if they came from his family, or if he collected cycling-related memorabilia.  As always, click the photos to get a better look.

Cycling history enthusiasts can find a variety of LAW journals and Sporting Life newspapers online; I haven’t found one that details the activities of the Arlington Wheelmen (though they are mentioned in various cycling races during the 1890s), but the Federal Highway Administration’s day-by-day history describes the 1892 meet:

“In addition to holding parades, conducting championship bicycle races, and visiting the White House, participants lobb[ied] for General Roy Stone’s bill calling for a National Highway Commission to make a ‘general inquiry into the condition of highways in the United States, and means for their improvement, and especially the best method of securing a proper exhibit at the World’s Columbian Exposition of approved appliances for road making, and of providing for public instruction in the art during the Exposition.’”

Why the need for a national organization that lobbied for the rights of cyclists? Bicycles were all the rage in the late 1800s – according to the Smithsonian’s Lemelson Center for the Study of Invention and Innovation, one-third of all 1890s patent applications were related to cycling technology – but they were somewhat controversial. Safety was a concern; bikes could be dangerous to riders, especially to those untrained in their use, and the perception was that they were also hazardous to pedestrians and passersby. Also, horror of horrors, women liked to ride them! (A funny modern take on this controversy can be found here; a review of a more scholarly look at the topic, here.) The bicycle brought new freedoms to women daring enough to embrace it, and many did.

Alas, I couldn’t find any photos of Montgomery County women taking their velocipedes, penny-farthings or safety-bicycles out for a spin, though perhaps there are some editorials (for or against) in the Sentinel; I’ll have to start looking. In the meantime, enjoy a few historic photos of young men and their bicycles, from our collections.

A bicycle race at the Rockville fairgrounds, circa 1915.  Photo by Lewis Reed; glass negatives donated by the Reed and Gartner families.

Students and faculty of the Andrew Small Academy, Darnestown, circa 1895; the older boys at each end are holding their bicycles.  Donated by Patricia Griffith Biondi.

My favorite: A group of youths pose with their bicycles – and, oddly enough, some miscellaneous produce – probably at the Rockville fairgrounds, circa 1895.  Left to right: Stephen Lyddane, Worthington Talbott, Steve Quigley, Lee Dorsey, Leonard Nicholson, John Brewer Jr., Henry Dawson.

 

Robe / graduation present / so much more, 1938

This cotton robe or yukata, and the history shared by the donor, are examples of how a single artifact can be used to tell multiple stories, including unexpected ones. Taken by itself, it is a simple cotton yukata (summer kimono) or robe, with a small tag reading “Japan” inside the neck. It has a narrow belt made of the same material, and wide, straight sleeves. Without knowing its provenance, it looks like a piece made for American (or otherwise non-Japanese) audiences, as a simple version of a traditional garment. That in itself provides avenues for exploration of fashion history, cultural exchange, and the like.

The piece was donated to MCHS in 1990 by Alice A. Harmon, who informed us that it was a gift received by her sister, Helen Anderson, upon graduating from Bethesda-Chevy Chase High School in 1938. Now we have a place, a time, and an occasion, and a way to talk about the importance of high school graduations in American culture, the kinds of presents people give, and the kinds of presents teenage girls actually want to receive, as well as some insight into the personality of the owner (who, presumably, enjoyed the gift enough to keep both the garment and the story behind it).

The information from the donor goes further, however, to tell us more about the neighbor who gave the yukata. Minnie Robinson Usuda (1888-1974) was the daughter of a British Army officer and his Spanish wife, and grew up in Korea. She moved to the United States, and married Yoshisada Karlo Usuda (1884-1962), who worked at the Japanese Embassy in D.C. During the 1930s, Mrs. Usuda “sent away” to friends in Korea for “house goods and clothing” to sell, and help support her family. This yukata given to Helen Anderson – who was a neighbor, and possibly also a friend of one of the same-age Usuda children – was probably one of the pieces sent from overseas.

According to the donor, Mrs. Usuda became a naturalized U.S. citizen, and her four children were also citizens. Mr. Usuda, a Japanese citizen, spent World War II in an American interment camp. So far, I have found little in our library to corroborate this part of the donor’s story – which, to my mind, makes this artifact all the more interesting. Although it has little to do with the Usuda family’s experience during the war, the yukata was the catalyst that prompted the donor to share her knowledge with us; otherwise, we might have nothing about the family at all. I’ve found a few references to the children at B-CC High School, in newspapers and yearbooks. Mr. and Mrs. Usuda, and their son Charles (1919-1940), are buried at Rockville Cemetery. Mr. Usuda’s brief obituary in the Washington Post makes no reference to his wartime experiences, and his name does not otherwise appear in that paper; perhaps there is something on the family in the more-local Sentinel, but that is a research avenue for the future. For now, our library yields only the 1944 Bethesda phone book, which lists the family under Mrs. Minnie R. Usuda; presumably she was regarded as the ‘head of household,’ in the absence of her husband.

 

Teacup and bread plate, 1919-1921

Today’s artifacts, a ceramic teacup and bread plate, come from the National Park Seminary (NPS), a late 19th – early 20th century girls’ school in Forest Glen. Both pieces are marked in gold with the Greek letters Chi Psi Upsilon. The bread plate is stamped on the reverse with the maker’s mark for Warwick China Co. of Wheeling, WV (1887-1951). They were donated to MCHS by Helen Gruver Kline, NPS class of 1921.

The Seminary is one of those Montgomery County places that bring just a hint of mystery to the landscape. In this case, the mystery tends to be either “What is that fancy, old-looking building you can see from the Beltway?” or “Did we really just drive past a pagoda?” The short answers are: 1) A fancy hotel/school/condo development, and 2) Yes. As for the long answers…

The first building at NPS was actually a resort hotel, Ye Forest Inne, built in 1887 to take advantage of the county’s new suburban railway. Many of these railroad hotels prospered, but the Forest Inne did not. It was purchased by Dr. and Mrs. Cassedy, experienced educators who opened the National Park Seminary, an elite girls’ preparatory school, on the site in 1894. Over the years additional dormitories, classroom buildings, and clubhouses (more on that in a bit) were built in and around the glen. The hilly, wooded landscape was dotted with picturesque bridges, romantic statuary, and elaborate architecture. Students came from across the country to take advantage of the school’s much-touted proximity to the culture and society of the Nation’s Capital.

The clubs, or sororities, at NPS were a unique feature – or, as the 1920-21 catalog phrased it, “peculiar and original with this school.” For one thing, they were not associated with national sororities; they were social clubs, with voluntary membership (no recruitment or hazing), created by the students and faculty to promote sociability, congeniality and the development of life skills. For another thing, each group’s clubhouse was built in a distinctive style. Thus a stroll through the NPS campus takes you past a Dutch windmill, a Swiss cottage, a “Spanish mission,” an English Colonial house, a bungalow, a “castle,” and, yes, a “Japanese” pagoda.

The Japanese Clubhouse pagoda was built in 1905 – in a style that veers a little more toward Chinese than Japanese, but what can you do. (Interestingly, the name was changed to the Chinese Pagoda during World War II.) It was home to the Chi Psi Upsilon club/sorority, and our teacup and plate were used here. I haven’t found a list of the club’s membership, but presumably our donor belonged to “Chi Psi U” during her years at NPS. (The 1920-21 school catalog does list Helen Russell Gruver of Washington D.C. amongst the registered students, but club affiliation is not inculded.) We have a nice assortment of catalogs, viewbooks, yearbooks, photo albums and scrapbooks in our library collections, allowing me to trace a little of the clubhouse history over time, but in the interest of brevity – or such brevity as I can muster – the images and text here come from the 1920-21 catalog/prospectus for potential and incoming students.

The broad purpose of the club system is summed up next to some of the photographs of the “artistically beautiful” houses: “The Clubs mean the sub-division of the school into small families with the mother-relation sustained in each. . . . A Student’s retreat for rest and recreation. A club girl learns how to work in organization; how to respond to the needs of community life; how to render efficient social service; how to be a companionable woman.” And finally, in case you, as a parent of a potential student, are still not convinced that it is worth the time and money to send June/Dorothy/Helen/Marian to school: “A companionable woman makes the best wife and mother.”

(Please don’t think I’m making fun of the school, its administration or its students – I’m not! The ins and outs, whys and wherefores of women’s education throughout history is fascinating to me, and I love NPS. A lot of very positive things came out of schools such as this one, and if convincing Mother and Father that an NPS education was the surest ticket to a good marriage with a diplomat’s son was the way to get things done, so be it.  I do my best to remember that the work of people like the Cassedys and Mrs. Kline gave Modern Me the space, distance and opportunity to be a teeny bit sneery.)

And what happened to the school? Well, to make a long story short, the campus was bought by the US Army early in World War II, and became the Walter Reed Hospital Annex; for many years, the classrooms, dormitories and grand spaces once occupied by young women were occupied instead by convalescing soldiers. Over the years the various structures fell into disrepair, and in the late 1980s members of the surrounding community formed Save Our Seminary, a group dedicated to finding new uses for the old buildings. Happily for those of us who love a bit of architectural variety in our suburbia, the remaining dorms, classrooms, clubhouses and support structures are in the midst of a major renovation. You can – if you choose and are able – live in the Seminary. (But I’m sorry, I believe the Pagoda has already been purchased!)

For more information – since here I have blithely whipped through 100+ years of the school’s history, and have hardly done it justice – please visit the Save Our Seminary site, or this site, created a few years ago by an NPS fan.

 

School bell, early 20th century

Although a few schools in the DC area are still closed, thanks to last week’s earthquake/hurricane double whammy, for most local kids it’s Back To School time. In honor of the occasion, here is an 8.5″ tall brass and wood handbell, used to summon students to the one-room Etchison School in the early 20^th century. It came to us from the estate of E. Guy Jewell (1902-1984), who was a teacher, administrator and planner for the Montgomery County Public School system for fifty years.

Mr. Jewell attended the Barnesville School and Poolesville High School, and during his career worked at a large number of county schools (starting at the one-room Comus School, in 1921). As far as I can tell, he never worked at the Etchison School. Instead, he most likely collected this piece during his extensive research into the history of the county’s public schools.

Thanks to Mr. Jewell’s research, we know a little about the school where this bell was used. The Etchison School was a one-room school for white students in the small community of Etchison, near Damascus. It was in existence at least as early as 1899 (possibly as early as 1868) and it closed in 1937; I believe the students were then sent to Damascus Elementary School. One source in our vertical files claims that after Etchison closed, the building was dismantled and used to construct a Home Economics building at Damascus High School.

The Etchison School, 1929.  Originally published in the Maryland News.

Unfortunately, so far I have not found too much more specifically about the students or teachers at Etchison; the original ringer(s) of this bell are still unidentified.  In the early days of MCPS many schools opened, closed, and/or changed names, sometimes repeatedly. Some of the smaller community schools were short-lived, and were recorded only in an occasional reference in the School Board minutes, or the memories of a student or teacher. Thanks to the work of historians such as Mr. Jewell, Nina H. Clarke, and Lillian B. Brown, the sometimes-confusing traces of these schools – and the people who attended and taught in them – are set straight. They pored through one hundred years of School Board minutes so you don’t have to! If you’re interested in the history of your school, or the schools-that-were in your community, take a look at Jewell’s From One Room to Open Space: Montgomery County Public Schools from 1732 to 1965, and Clarke and Brown’s History of the Black Public Schools of Montgomery County, Maryland, 1872-1961, available in the Montgomery County public library system and our own research library at the Society.

 

Portrait of John Courts Jones, Jr., circa 1816

This wary young gentleman is John Courts Jones, Jr. (1802-1880) of Clean Drinking Manor, Chevy Chase. In 1815, the 13 year old Jones was sent to attend the United States Military Academy at West Point; he is shown here, in this unsigned portrait, wearing his cadet uniform.

The Jones family, and their home Clean Drinking Manor, have been featured on this blog before, in the person (?) of a large pewter wine measure owned by our boy’s father, John Courts Jones, Sr. The house was built around 1750 for Charles Jones, and it stayed in the family until 1910 (the house was torn down shortly thereafter). Because the Manor was one of the oldest homes in the county, and the family both held onto and was proud of its heirlooms, accounts of the house and its contents can be found in several newspaper and magazine articles. In one of these, ambitiously titled “An Ancient Place – One of the Old Manor Homes in This Vicinity – Two Hundred Years in One Family – A Visit to the Venerable Lady of Clean Drinking Manor – Revolutionary Memories Written Exclusively for the Evening Star,” printed in 1894, the author notes, “One of the most interesting of [the family portraits] represents a handsome boy of fourteen which Mrs. Jones told me was the likeness of her husband, John Coates [sic] Jones taken while a cadet at West Point.” The portrait is supposed to have hung in the Manor until 1910 when the last owner, Jones’s son Nicholas, died. The Historical Society acquired the painting in 2003 as part of a large auction lot of Jones family artifacts and archives.

I like portraits, and this is one of my favorites from our collections. He has such a hip hairstyle, and looks so very, very young. Unfortunately the artist is unknown; the portrait was probably painted in 1816 (in which year the Secretary of War approved the use of gray uniforms for USMA cadets), rather than in 1815 when he first went off to school. My first thought was that his expression showed a freshman’s dismay, but perhaps instead he was going for a 14 year old’s best approximation of an intimidating stare. Although we know a little about his adult life – including the fact that had nine children with wife Elizabeth Parker Jones, and was a slave owner – to me, JCJ Jr will always be a wary teenager and, in my overly familiar way, he is always Jonesy. (There are a lot of Joneses in the county, and most of them have some variation or another on the same first and middle names – nicknames help me remember which one is which!)  (I suspect my personal afterlife will consist of angry Montgomery County residents chiding me for my lack of respect.)

A postcard showing Nicholas Jones on the front porch of Clean Drinking Manor, captioned "A Relic of Colonial Days, Near Washington DC."