The Doubletake

An Extra Special Truck

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 14:59:00 +0000

This ad is from 1937 and shows us that a fancy truck will always impress gigantic ladies in fur stoles. Yes, she will be impressed by "Store Prestige" symbolized by painted-out back windows decorated with the store's prestigious logo. Why are the back windows painted out, do you think? It's the motor vehicular equivalent of the plain brown package that comes through the mail, that you ordered from the back of some comic book or slightly sleazy magazine. Extra special service, indeed.

Sometimes when I find these old ads, something odd pops into my head (well, not just sometimes, it mostly does). This time I was reminded of the British comedy series Keeping Up Appearances which is about the social-climbing exploits of suburban matron Hyacinth Bucket ("pronounced 'bouquet,'": as she always reminds people in trumpeting tones). In the episode "The Three-Piece Suite," the plot revolves around her machinations to make sure that the neighbours notice the royal warrant logo on the side of the delivery truck. Part 1 of the episode is here, with links to the rest of it, if you want to check it out. This 1937 truck would please her very much, I think.

Augusta Goes To College

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 21:23:00 +0000

Hunter College in 1874 [Wikimedia Commons]

My great aunt Augusta would have been 115 years old last week. She was born in a tenement in Manhattan in January 1897. Her father worked as a clerk for a lumber yard. He was born into a well-to-do German family in 1868. But by the time he was a teenager, the family money and the little estate he had been born on, were gone. So he joined the crew of a Hamburg ship bound for New York, and set his sights on America. He was just eighteen years old on New Year's Day 1886 when he jumped ship and disappeared into Manhattan, a world where everything was strange and new, and he had to learn everything all over again. I think he passed on a good part of that courage to his children - especially Augusta.

You see, Augusta - unlike most girls in that era - rich or poor - became a biologist. I wish I knew more about how she decided to go to college and train for a science career - and how she got the money and the gumption to go. Her family was poor, and there were five surviving children, all living first in lower Manhattan, then in Queens, on her father's lumber yard clerk's salary.

But somehow she got to Hunter College in New York. How difficult it must have been to be a woman back then choosing your college major - whether it was going to lead you to a career in science, in teaching English or even as a graphic designer. Then in the 1920s, Augusta went to graduate school at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee. When she graduated, she became a research scientist at the Rockefeller Institute in New York. She also worked at the Connaught Labs at the University of Toronto in the 1940s.

I wish I'd asked her more about her life when I had the chance, in the 1970s. By then she was a tiny old lady, living in a Queens apartment straight out of the 1930s. I was too busy admiring her vintage sheet music cabinet with its thin drawers, and her baby grand piano (she was a talented musician, too). I kept hoping that she'd play something for us - or even let me play ( I was taking lessons back then). If only I'd known to ask her about all the things she'd done, and what it was like to go to college back in the early 20th century.

Now, women (and men, of course) have so many choices such as courses where you can study anything from business, history, foreign languages or Information Technology - even graphic design courses in Miami. Aunt Augusta would thoroughly approve, I know.

Muzak To Their Ears

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 15:14:00 +0000

Did you ever wonder when supermarkets and other stores started piping in canned music? This Billboard advertisement is from 1954, and makes it sound like "RCA-Planned Background Music" is something new and fabulous - for the store owners, anyway:

PROFITS ARE YOURS...when you offer the Magnecord System to business men. They all know about the money-saving benefits of Background Music...

Those business men could put Magnecord in restaurants, stores, hotels, and even factories, the ad suggests. What fun to dress up and stroll down the aisles of the Food Lion and listen to bland, lush orchestral music. This would inspire you to buy many many things - especially, I guess, things in cans. Canned music leads to canned corn. Canned music is canned corn!

According to this article at Lib.com, Muzak was a company that made the first so-called "canned music" back in 1924, when it was marketed as a way of increasing production in the workplace. Canned music in groceries arrived along with the rise of the large chain stores in the decade after World War II, and the idea of shopping and spending lots of money as a grand event. It was especially grand for those Business Men counting their profits to the sound of Magnecord, of course.

Walgreens: A Model Drug Store

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 21:01:00 +0000

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Walgreens for SocialSpark. All opinions are 100% mine.

In 1937, students at New York's Fordham University set up a real working drugstore and worked in it in order to become the best pharmacists that they could be: familiar with medications, and always thinking about how best to help and serve their customers.

This is exactly what Walgreens does as a matter of course. Case in point: the way they're helping customers deal with a transition regarding Express Scripts.

As of January 1st, Walgreens and Express Script pharmacy provider network are working together no longer - this applies to Walgreens all across the US and Duane Reade pharmacies in New York City. This basically affects any Walgreens or Duane Reade customer who get prescriptions at the store - in other words, a lot of customers. And they are feeling stressed about maybe having to pay more, or go to a new pharmacy that is farther from home and maybe more expensive and without the 24 hour service, drive ins and great discounts that Walgreens is known for.

Now, having said all that, only patients under some insurance plans will be affected by this, so you'll want to check with your pharmacist or look on the back of your prescription insurance card (if Express Scripts isn't mentioned on the back of the card then you're OK).

Anyway, Walgreens wants to help their customers either stay with them, or transition into going elsewhere if they want to stay with the Express Scripts program. One thing that they are doing is offering a special discount on the Walgreens Prescription Savings Club. A family membership, which includes you, your spouse and all dependents younger than 22, is being offered at an amazing $10 a year. And with it you'll get discounts on over 8000 brand name and generic medications, discounts on stuff like flu shots and prescriptions for your pets, nebulizers and diabetic supplies. And you can even get bonuses when you use Walgreens brand name products and get your photos developed with them. If you just want to join the Walgreens Prescription Savings Club as an individual, it'll only cost you $5.

This is such a terrific deal for anyone who, like me, has to take a couple of regular medications, has family members who need prescriptions sometimes, has a pet who sometimes needs the odd prescription - oh, and who loves to save money. You can help Walgreens keep helping us (and stay posted on the latest news and offers, too) by liking Walgreens on Facebook and following Walgreens on Twitter at @Walgreens. Those 1930s Fordham pharmacy students would do the same, I am sure.

A Studio Merry-Go-Round

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 18:45:00 +0000

Here is an interesting idea for studio apartment living from way back in 1919. It was devised by Pasquale Cimini of Buffalo, New York, who invented a revolving platform that you (somehow) place in the middle of your single room and thereby get the illusion of a four room apartment by spinning it around. His patent, from 1916, is here and is called "Revolving Platform for Apartment Furniture." If you want a detailed run-through of how this worked, you can read the abstract. It doesn't sound very practical on a large scale, but it really is an ingenious idea. Cimini also patented a portable Household Cabinet in 1936, which would be ideal if you had a small revolving kitchenette, I suppose.

The circular platform is divided into four pieces: one holds a folding bed, one a small kitchen, one a bureau and clothes closet, and one a desk (you're on your own for a bathroom, it would seem). The plumbing and pipes and wiring and stuff are in a column in the middle of the revolving circle. The column also contains a duct for the kitchen aromas that also airs out your bed (not at the same time, one hopes). The whole thing is made of steel (platform, dividing walls and the frame).

As the article in the October 1919 Popular Science says, "you will have four large rooms, though, of course, not all at the same time." You just get up, get out of bed and off the platform, give it a push, and there's the kitchen. When you're all done, get off and push again, and "you can read the morning paper comfortably in the library." That would be the desk, in other words. Which means that I have a library right in my bedroom, doesn't it? Oh, and an office! All without a revolving platform. It wouldn't fit in there anyway - not with the desk taking up all that space. But I digress (as usual).

I don't know if this ever caught on, but it certainly is original. It sounds expensive to make and install, though. There are probably other problems too, that I haven't thought of. So tell me: what do you think might go wrong if you lived in a furnished merry-go-round?

To Hud and Hudnut

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 16:33:00 +0000

Larger version at Vintage Ad Browser

Let's all go to the Hudnut Salon Success School and achieve some real Hudnut Salon Success in the New Year! Oh, but what might that be, you are asking (just pretend you are asking).

Well, it looks like it means you won't be grumpy looking when you answer the phone, for one thing. I really don't like phones that much so I do tend to look like the Before picture of Mrs. Stewart when I pick up and it is some happy telemarketer wanting to sell me a vacation in Miami or ask a few questions about my newspaper-reading habits.

Also they put makeup on you, change your clothes and hairstyle and (it would seem) switch you with another, younger person altogether. I mean, the Before Mrs. Stewart is just not the same woman as After Mrs. Stewart.

The Hudnut Salon Success School grew out of the cosmetics business begun by Victorian druggist/perfumer Richard Hudnut (1855-1928) who created, among other cosmetics, a line called DuBarry. And his salon was at 693 Fifth Avenue in New York. The school was also known as the Hudnut DuBarry School, since the latter name was far more fancy-sounding than Hudnut. Although to tell you the truth I prefer Hudnut. Just try saying "Hudnut Salon Success School" (three times fast) and you will feel like laughing. That''ll make you feel better right away - no class fees necessary!

The Hudnut business was still going strong into the 1960s when this Name-the-Hudnut-Doll contest was advertised, to plug the Hudnut line of "Quick" permanents. Have you ever seen a doll that could do yoga and while wearing a faceful of makeup? Amazing. I would name the doll "Mrs. Stewart" of course, after my favorite Hudnut gal. Even though she'd probably bean you on the head with that phone receiver if you asked her to sit cross-legged on the floor.

Fun fact: Richard Hudnut's stepdaughter married Rudolph Valentino when Rudolph was still married to his first wife. Although maybe they were actually the Before and After versions of the very same woman (dun dun dun!). You never know!

There is another fun Hudnut ad over here, by the way. And the feeble title of this post is from the 1944 Bogart/Bacall movie To Have and Have Not. Happy New Year!

You've Never Seen Anything Like This

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 17:48:00 +0000

As you admire your new Christmas electronics, take a minute to travel back to the world of 1965 and see what was on offer back then. Behold the Show'N Tell - cutting-edge "home entertainment center" that appeared to be a combination TV-record player. You could use it just as a record player, but wait, there's more:

Yes, that TV allowed you to see a bunch of slides. Wow, kids! Fabulous slides! So you could look at the animals and the record bit would tell you about them, no doubt in a boring Mutual-of-Omaha voice.

If you are a child of the 60s like me, you may remember Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. It was on the air from 1963 until 1988 and apparently was put back on in a new shiny version in 2002. But I'm talking about the old, black and white show* with Marlin Perkins and Jim Fowler. Jim Fowler had a very funny cameo on Seinfeld years later, by the way, on the episode called "The Merv Griffin Show" in which Kramer has Jim on as a guest (and George tries to get Jim to take a convalescent squirrel).

Here's the Seinfeld clip, by the way. Not only does Jim Fowler show up with a hawk, but Jerry talks about his disappointing childhood toys. Which brings us right back to the Show'N Tell, sort of.

*It looks like it was actually in color back then but for me it was black and white because we didn't get a color set until about 1973. And even then I had to sit pretty much in the next room because the radiation from the set was No Good.

More Fun Than A Circus

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 19:21:00 +0000

Hurry before supply is exhausted!

And if you do hurry, and you are lucky enough to get your very own Waddle the Duck - you too will be exhausted. Because Waddle the Duck - made by the very specifically-named Waddle Duck Mfg Co. of San Francisco - is a Toy Sensation. And what is more, Waddle is More Fun Than A Circus.

Whatever could this mean? How can a plastic duck be more fun than a circus? Oh, you say, it depends on the circus. And to be honest with you I never found the circus very much fun. When I was a kid in the 60s my parents took me to the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey circus at Madison Square Garden and honestly it was not that great for me. The menagerie = ugh, very depressing. The clowns = frightening sense of unease. The rest of the stuff = can't see it from way up here anyway. I did like the little flashlight things on loops of plastic string that you swung around in the dark, though.

But I doubt that Waddle is more fun than the little flashlight things. You cannot swing him around in the dark, for one thing. So what can you do with him? Well, the ad says that he (a) flaps, (b) waddles, (c) is foolish and (d) fun. And if all that isn't thrilling enough, just "parade him around on his leash" and then next thing you know "your dignity disappears" and your family laughs at you. Yeah, that sounds hilarious. I'll take a dozen.

Advertisement from Billboard, November 13, 1943.

The Mysteries of Udolpho Wolfe

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 16:19:00 +0000

Bottlebooks.com

Here's another fine gift idea from the New York Times for Christmas 1873: a lovely bottle of Udolpho Wolfe's Schiedam Schnapps - which I would enjoy buying or getting just for the nutty name. Udolpho Wolfe was a well-known New York gin importer; he dabbled in local politics, and was from a well-connected Virginia family (his father was a friend of President James Monroe). He was doubtless named for the famous 1794 Gothic novel by Ann Radcliffe, which was parodied by Jane Austen in Northanger Abbey (the heroine of which reads Udolpho and starts seeing Gothic terror all around her).

Schiedam is a town in the Netherlands, close to the city of Rotterdam in the province of South Holland, which is particularly famous for its gin, or jenever. And in fact, that's exactly what Udolpho's Schiedam Schnapps were: gin. And schnapps is the German term for an alcoholic beverage made to contain at least 32% alcohol (which is pretty strong - wine has somewhere between 9% and 16% alcohol, for example). In a typical ad, Wolfe describes his Schnapps as being flavored with "the aromatic Italian juniper berry...and thus becomes a concentrated tincture of exquisite flavor and aroma, altogether transcendent in its cordial and medicinal properties."

A little schnapps might help (NYPL)

Yes, Wolfe's Schnapps was not a frivolous beverage, but a "medicinal gin." It was said to be a good diuretic, a cure for "abdominal dropsy" and other ills. In 1852, the New York Medical Gazette (quoted in The Water-Cure Journal [vols 13-16, p. 117]) notes that Wolfe called his Schnapps, in ads, a "Concentrated Tincture of Jupiter." He apparently was fond of giving physicians a "sample bottle" of his medicinal gin to try out on patients. The Gazette thought that this was all right as long as the doctors were supervising the dosages. A humorist named Edward H. Dixon* wrote in 1854:

...we don't mean to insinuate a word against such glorious liquor as the doctors pronounce Mr. Wolfe's "Aromatic Schidam Schnapps." We felt a leetle rheumatic afore we took it but it cured us - and we hope Schedam isn't a naughty word, and that it contains no insinuations against the sex. Our head snapps a little, but that we suppose is owing to the operation of the gin.

Wolfe's Schnapps was also supposed to be good for travelers unaccustomed to local water, as well as for "Chronic Maladies, Low Temperaments and Exhausted Vital Energy." Sounds perfect for exhausted holiday shoppers coming home to loads of cooking, cleaning and gift-wrapping, doesn't it?

*Edward H. Dixon, The Scalpel: An Entirely Original Quarterly Expositor of the Laws of Health (vols 5-6, 1854, p. 59)
**Joseph Alfred Scoville, The Old Merchants of New York City (vol. 4, 1885, p. 157).

Smith's Perforated Buckskin Undergarments

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 17:11:00 +0000

On any stereotypical list of Boring Christmas Presents, underwear, along with its fashion corollary, socks, is near the top. Please, dear Santa, do not bring underwear if you can at all help it, we say sweetly.

But perhaps we should make an exception for this unusual garment, which was recommended by the New York Times back in 1876 as a suitable present because "they are now for sale at prices which place them within the reach of all." Also, you would certainly surprise someone with these, especially if they weren't planning to explore the wilderness or go out West. And you would be the talk of your social set - for one reason or another.

Hamilton E. Smith of New York City invented his Perforated Buckskin Undergarments in 1869. The perforation was actually a good idea, allowing for the circulation of air, while the buckskin kept the wearer warm. Smith writes in the patent that flannel or wool (which also allows air circulation) was "extremely injurious to the general health, by clogging the ducts and pores of the skin." He does not give any evidence for this idea, of course.

Even though there are gentlemen in these pictures, ladies were also invited to buy these long johns which would keep you warm and also - as per many Victorian products, seemingly - protect you from a range of diseases.

The jaunty gentlemen in the pictures have teamed their patented and perforated outfits with what look like black ballet slippers - so you might want to keep that in mind as another gift idea.

The Holmes Burglar Alarm

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 14:08:00 +0000

sparkmuseum.com

In about the year 1864*, E. T. Holmes of Boston brought out the Holmes Burglar Alarm Telegraph**, which alerted people when a burglar broke into their house by means of ringing a bell in the bedroom which was rigged up to all the windows and doors in the house. What you did after the bell rang, presumably, was entirely up to you - but at least you'd been warned.

It won a bronze medal at the 1865 Exhibition of the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanics' Association and was described as "a very ingenious application of electro-magnetism to the doors and windows of a house" which sounded a bell when "improper persons" tried to enter.

And what a perfect name for the inventor, even though it was several years before Arthur Conan Doyle dreamed up the great detective. But you can imagine Sherlock Holmes (or perhaps his older, more brilliant, reclusive brother Mycroft) inventing something like this. Except that the bell would also somehow connect to 221B Baker Street.

Even though the Holmes Alarm did not alert any great detectives, fictitious or otherwise, it was still highly regarded. An 1873 advertisement in the Brooklyn Eagle noted that the Holmes Burglar Alarm Telegraph had saved several Brooklynites from being robbed, because it "[notifies] the burglars that it would be wise for them to leave." How polite that sounds! And you can just see the courteous thief hearing Holmes' bell and thinking to himself, "I think it would be wise for me to leave."

Sherlock Holmes Baffled (1900): first Holmes film

This Alarm was on the New York Times' recommended Christmas gift list in 1876, by the way. There are some other rather good gift suggestions that we will look at here as we edge ever closer to the holidays.

I highly recommend sparkmuseum.com, by the way - which is where I found the terrific image of the Holmes device. I never imagined that there were so many kinds of telegraphs in the 19th century (or ever) but there were. And if you click the link under the still from Sherlock Holmes Baffled, you'll find the full 30 second clip of this first-ever Sherlock Holmes movie - a 1900 Mutoscope, in which Sherlock is a living Holmes Alarm - no bells required!

*In 1864, a "Burglar Alarm Telegraph," though not specifically attributed to Mr. E.H. Holmes, was featured at the Brooklyn and Long Island Fair, where it "kept up an unceasing silvery ding dong from its corner." (One gets the sense that the author found that a tad annoying).

**There were other telegraph style burglar alarms in this period, such as H.P. Robinson's Guest's Fire and Burglar Alarm Telegraph, which featured a glass bulb filled with mercury that went on the wall and was attached by wires to an alarm bell.

Season's Treatings

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 15:03:00 +0000

This is very sweet, isn't it? Gaines was sending free Christmas packs of dry dog kibble to all the dogs whose owners sent a coupon in, back in 1941. And here we have Santa presenting the dog kibble - wrapped up in fancy gift boxes (I'm sure the dogs will be able to open those if they can chew through the satin ribbon), as they all gather 'round a festive table.

How nice of Santa to set out china plates and silverware for the dogs. But they may have preferred bowls, you know. I don't think the plates are for the kids because there isn't any cake or anything around. Nope, just Gaines dog food on this holiday menu!

But what really stands out in this 1941 ad is those miserable-looking children. They are really unhappy. Look at them. They do not like standing behind the dogs and watching them chew open those gift boxes of dog food, no sirree. The bigger version is here if you want a nice close-up of those unhappy little faces. The dogs, on the other hand, are gorgeous and look delighted.

The relatively svelte Santa looks a little bit stressed. He is also gripping one of the kids so he doesn't stomp off before the photographer takes the picture. With his other hand Santa seems to be gripping the tree. Is the tree also going to stomp off? Maybe it resents the fact that no one thought about giving it a nice free box of tinsel.

Afterwards the dogs are all going to go out and pull Santa around on the dogsled, I guess. And what the disappointed, sulking children will get up to is anyone's guess.

It won't make a very good ad, though, I know that.

The Whistling Snore Ball

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 18:55:00 +0000

Won't your loved one be delighted to see this when they unwrap their presents on Christmas morning? Yes, nothing says "Happy Holidays" like a Snore Ball. This ad is from 1941, but you can find lots of things like this today. But they are not marketed as great Christmas presents that will make the recipient wink and grin and look really happy that they found a Snore Ball in their stocking.

The Snore Ball sounds like something Professor Dumbledore might have in his office that lets Harry Potter listen to bad wizards talking in their sleep, but it really isn't as much fun as that. The recipient (and note that we all assume that the snorer in question is a guy) clips what looks like a Christmas ornament onto the back of his jammie collar and whenever he tries to sleep on his back - prime snoring position - it prevents him from doing so comfortably.

You could get a silent version or a whistling one. Can you imagine? The last thing I'd want, if I was driven to present this to someone, was to have the thing make more noise. No, get the silent Snore Ball, folks. The Snore Ball should not make its own noise.

This is supposed to be a "humorous yet practical" way of making dreams come true during the holidays. Especially, of course, those of the person who is giving it.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Disco

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 12:47:00 +0000

Disco and Christmas: they go together like...peanut butter and jelly? Um, not really. Like Scylla and Charybdis? Maybe. Tinsel and disco balls are both silver and shiny. That's a connection right there. And just think what the Little Drummer Boy could have done if he's had this record instead of just a little drum (that song is on here, by the way).

Lou Reed, top left: not an ostrich

The image is from the wonderful Frank's Vinyl Museum, but he didn't say much about the provenance of this strange 70s artifact except that it was put out by the Dickensian-sounding Pickwick Records. Chart Attack says that it was recorded by a mystery group (or maybe just one person who didn't like to say who they were) called Mirror Image. According to some of the notes on YouTube it came out in 1979.

Pickwick was known for its cheap (and cheap-sounding) records and put out records under various brand names including Hurrah and Bravo - neither of which you will say when you (if you) listen to Disco Noel (there are some clips at the end of this post in case you do feel up to it). If it makes you feel any better, Lou Reed (yeah, the Lou Reed) once worked as a songwriter for Pickwick and he played as a session musician on some of their 60s albums. It was Pickwick that released Lou's 1964 parody dance song "The Ostrich," which instructed the listener to "put your head upside your knees" and "take a step forward [and] step on your head."

You may just want to do that after you listen to Disco Noel. Here's "Jingle Bells" from it, anyway.You can hear Santa Claus Is Coming to Town or Silver Bells too, if you really want to.

Corno and the Septo-Salve

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 14:52:00 +0000

Billboard, November 22, 1947

I love the old ads in Billboard that are for carnival novelties - things you could win at games and so on. But did you know that you could buy medicines at carnivals, too? Medicines that sound like they came straight off a Victorian snake-oil salesman's wagon. Just check out these 1947 offerings.

Two of them are laxatives, Zest-O-Lax and Ton-Ko-Lah. Zest is not something one tends to associates with a laxative, but never mind. I guess it isn't a bad thing. I don't know what Ton-Ko-Lah is, but the name suggests that we are supposed to think that it's an old Native American remedy. Or that it was cola in it. Maybe both.

Next there's a liniment named Penetrating Oil - you just rub that into your skin. Simple. And Speed was the curious name for a liquid for cleaning teeth. You couldn't name a toothpaste Speed now, could you?

The next medicine is my favorite - Septo-Salve. Sounds like yet another laxative, albeit one with a terrible name. Or maybe a drain cleanser. But no! Septo-Salve was "a general all-around salve." So why name it after the septic tank?

And finally, we have a remedy for corns, called (not surprisingly) Corno. Sounds like a clown who rides a little bike around a third-rate traveling circus while telling very bad jokes. And there's the link with carnivals, after all. Everything should be fine as long as Corno doesn't take too much Septo-Salve. That won't make him any funnier, will it?

Dr. Trotula of Salerno

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 19:41:00 +0000

Dr. Trotula will see you now

Did you know that there were female doctors well before Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell and her colleagues in the 19th century? There were several in the ancient and medieval worlds - not many, but enough to make me rather pleased, I must say. There were midwives, too, of course. And I think women then were very glad if they could consult with another, medically trained woman about their illnesses.

Meet Trotula of Salerno, a pioneering woman doctor who practiced medicine - and supposedly authored several medical books, too - in the city of Salerno, Italy, sometime between the 11th and 13th centuries. Salerno was home to a leading medical school of the time - pretty much the leading medical school of the time.

The medical school at Salerno

Unfortunately we don't really know anything about Trotula's life and some historians think that she may not have existed; or that if she did, she didn't write books. I am not going to address that here, of course; but it occurs to me that there was little reason for men to attribute medical texts to a woman unless she had truly written them. Indeed, you might think it more likely that men would have taken a woman's manuscripts and passed them off as the work of a man, instead of the reverse.

But wouldn't you say, from looking at her picture, that she looks rather wise and a bit whimsical, too. Look at the way she is glancing at her orb (perhaps it is a medieval stethoscope case?) - she looks like she had a sense of humor. And was approachable. But also very sharp. All good qualities for interviewers.

One of Trotula's medical texts

Trotula is the purported author of several medical texts, including Diseases of Women, Treatments for Women, and - and this is rather charming, though off-topic - Women's Cosmetics. Her remedies are often based on herbs and spices, as per traditional/homeopathic treatments (which continued into Blackwell's time and indeed in our time too).

In any case, I like to think of Trotula as real, immensely learned - and just the sort of person you'd want to talk with if you were ill with - well, hopefully something less than the plague. And after she had figured out what herbal medicine you needed, she could tell you how to make your own hair dye and lip coloring.

[The images are all from Wikimedia Commons, by the way.]

The Alien Corn

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 13:26:00 +0000

Well, it's almost the 1st of November and even though I skipped the NaNoWriMo thing last year, here I am back again, getting ready to have another go at writing a 50,000 word novel in a month. I've done it a few times already but honestly the novels I wrote were so terrible that I never looked at them again. This time - naturally - I am really aiming a little bit higher. I hope to write a terrible first draft, but not so terrible that I never want to have it darken my screen again. Progress, you know!

And speaking of progress - and of fiction - this little 1917 advertisement caught my eye (both of them, really) this morning. A serious, vaguely literary looking chemist is looking concerned as he hovers near a few empty test tubes and things. Also he is holding up a little strip with a circle on it (which turns out to be a corn plaster). He wants to tell us something important:

"I could really use a Blue-jay plaster, mister."

You have read much fiction about corns. Were that not so there would be no corns. All people would use Blue-jay.

Who here has read "much fiction about corns"? Anyone? No, I didn't think so. But the chemist thinks that we are lying. We secretly read those trashy magazines full of tragic stories about corns. Startling Corns. True Corny Stories. Strange Tales of Mystery and Corns. Just one example of this is on the left. That alien doesn't want to conquer Earth or even frighten the guy who has coordinated his water-gun with his hair and his girfriend's sweater. No, he just wants to borrow a corn plaster. He's even pointing at his toes. And from the expression on his face, you can tell things aren't great down there.

The Blue-jay chemist would not be surprised at this. He also says (I think): if only we didn't read all those corny stories, we'd be using Blue-jay, and so would everyone - "all people"! There wouldn't even be one corn left anywhere, ever. So when the green aliens come down to Earth in a bad, bad mood - it will really be our fault. For not using Blue-jay.

Yet there is hope. Because not everyone sits around reading trashy magazines. In fact, Blue-jay corn plasters "every month [are] being pressed on two million corns." Ugh, how does he know that? What a thought. I think I'd rather read some more about those aliens, thank you.

The House of Secrets cover (above) is from the excellent Cover Browser, by the way. And if you like pulp magazines, the Pulp Magazines Project is really good, too.

The Piano Bar of Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 13:21:00 +0000

Wikipedia

If you build it, they will come.

And unlike the ball players in Field of Dreams, they'll sing a few songs, too. Have you ever dreamed about having your very own piano bar? Well, you can - just build it! All you need are some bar stools, some counter tops, some tools - and a piano, of course.

Piano bars come in several varieties. The most public kind are spaces in hotel lobbies where you can get a drink at a little table and a pianist plays instrumental music. In a cocktail lounge or bar, the pianist may or may not sing, like the hero of Billy Joel’s “Piano Man.” And in some bars, the waiters or the audience sing along, too.

Back in the 1960s, if you didn’t want to go out in the sleet or rain, say - or didn’t care to travel to a place like the fabulous, revolving Carousel Piano Bar in New Orleans (shown above in a 1960s-era postcard), the answer was simple. Why not just build your own piano bar, in your house? This was a good idea, because many 1960s rec rooms (also known as family or games rooms) already featured a wet bar, complete with contemporary bar stools, a bar fridge, glasses, and bottles of beverages (both hard and soft). There’s a rec room bar from the early 1970s, below right.

Image from a 1970 design book

So all you really needed to turn your family room into a fun cocktail lounge was a piano, pretty much - as well as a copy of the April 1965 edition of Popular Science. It told you all about how to make your dream piano bar come true. As the author put it: “With a music bar in it, your rec room will be the busiest in town.” This would be especially nice for holiday parties - can’t you just imagine having your friends and family over for eggnog and some carol-singing?

You could special-order the home piano bar from the Duffy Piano Player Company of Palisades Park, New Jersey, and it would set you back a few thousand dollars. But if you were handy with wood and tools (and had a spare upright piano in the basement) you could make one yourself. You made two bar sections in figure-eight shapes that were attached around the piano. You could also use an electric organ or even a player piano (in which case you wouldn’t even need a piano player).

Popular Science, April 1965

You made the bar counter tops out of wood, kitchen-counter laminate or plastic laminate, in any color you liked. Then all you needed were some matching bar stools, some party guests - and, of course, some refreshments, because singing is nothing if not thirsty work. You might want to serve drinks with a musical theme. So here are a few vintage cocktail recipes that - in name, at least - are full of music. Just make sure you get in enough ingredients for all the friends who will come to the home piano bar of your dreams:

Caruso Cocktail
¾ oz. gin
¾ oz. vermouth
¾ oz. green creme de menthe
Stir well with cracked ice and strain into a 3 oz. cocktail glass.

Opera Cocktail
½ oz. Maraschino
½ oz. Dubonnet
½ oz. dry gin
Stir well with cracked ice and strain into a 3 oz. cocktail glass.

[both recipes are from The Old Mr. Boston De Luxe Official Bartenders’ Guide, 1941 edition, pp. 42, 107]

[Main article source: "How to Build a Sing-Around Music Bar," Harry Walton, Popular Science, April 1960, pp 164-6.]

Don't Stop With the Post Office

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 12:44:00 +0000

Popular Mechanics, November 1909

An invaluable book of 130 pages. Just out. Price 25 cents or six 3c stamps and addresses of six persons likely to be later interested in it. Tells why many are total failures while apparently less competent succeed in every undertaking. Nothing comes by chance all is cause and effect. It tells plainly how those who succeed in gratifying every desire and ambition, did it. LEARN WHAT THE REAL FORCE IS, AND HOW TO USE IT. Address A.W. MARTENS, Pub. P.B.E. BURLINGTON, IOWA.

May the Force be with you! And for only 25 cents, too (or six 3-cent stamps and the names and addresses of 6 friends who would like to be hounded in the mail sometime in the future). There were a lot of folks advertising their special books teaching the secrets of hypnosis and magnetism in the World War I era, mostly in small ads in the backs of magazines. This is one of my favorites, a perfect blend of entertaining copy and slightly odd illustrations.

The post title comes from my mishearing the lyrics of the Michael Jackson song, "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough." I used to think that he was singing "Don't stop, don't stop with the Post Office." And in the case of Mr. Martens of Burlington, Iowa, he not only has the Force but is not intending ever to "stop with the Post Office."*

A search of Mr. Martens' other ads in Popular Mechanics reveals that he was a bookseller/publisher named August W. Martens and that his book was about how to unleash your "personal magnetism" to - well, to get everything that you wanted. The Zeus-like figure on the right seems to be demonstrating an abundance of personal magnetism. As is the guy on the left, in the farmer's hat, embracing a proto-flapper. Yes, you too can either be a Greek god, or a rural Casanova. Or both, if you study very deeply within the pages of Martens' books, Personal Magnetism and Latent Forces. In one 1911 ad he advertises these books, and calls himself the head of Popular Publishers in Burlington, Iowa. In others he simply refers to himself as a "Popular Bookseller," which is charming, I think.

By 1918 Martens was advertising a large number of books for sale on hypnotism, mind reading and clairvoyance: "$5000 worth of valuable books and premiums" - all free. Well, the catalogue was free, anyway. And then he adds, "Tell me your wants." But shouldn't he have already known?

*The correct words are "Don't stop, don't stop with the force, don't stop." Here's the official video, from 1979 - such a great song!

The Shakespeare of Underwear

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 23:33:00 +0000

When you get into Wright's Health Underwear you begin to feel different right away.

Just ask the 1909 version of Spencer Tracy up there about how different he feels now that he is wearing "the underwear that does its duties" (I am not even going to try and figure that statement out). The real Spencer Tracy is below right; this picture is from his 1941 movie Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And now you know why Mr. Hyde was always in such a bad mood. If only Dr. Jekyll had stopped buying Wright's.

Wright's was made with "the fleece of comfort" which was what a 1905 newspaper ad called "wool fleeced cotton." So it did breathe and keep you warm, but I guess "fleece of comfort" sounded better.

Wright's also made something called Spring Needle Underwear which, according to the 1910 ad on your left, "demands the attention of every man." If it had anything like needles in it, I suppose that it would. But I think that the Spring Needles were some kind of elasticated ribbed material. What Wright really was was a poet. The Shakespeare of underwear, no less.

And flights of fancy weren't the only kind that Dr. Wright* liked - he takes advantage of sharing his name with the famous airplane pioneers, the Wright Brothers. As far as I can tell the latter had absolutely nothing to do with this New York City based company. And they never waxed eloquent about fleeces of comfort or spring needles.

The 1897 Sears Roebuck & Co. Catalogue (see here) calls it "Dr. Wright's Health Underwear."

These Phones Are Winners

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 22:02:00 +0000

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Net10 for SocialSpark. All opinions are 100% mine.

"We know these phones are WINNERS, so we decided to go ahead." These Electric 2-Way Phones were very exciting back in 1939. That was because you could talk to each other between two neighboring houses - or the house and the garage - house and workshop. They were not only "electrically perfect" but also "ruggedly constructed."

They were made by a novelty company in Detroit called Johnson Smith. Even though phones had been around since the end of the 19th century, people really wanted to be able to talk easily when they were, say, at opposite ends of the house or the property. Because phoning was much, much better than leaning out the window and yelling. Really - don't we have it so much better today? I know I usually take cell phones for granted, but ads like this make me appreciate them. A lot.

NET10 Unlimited helps you appreciate them, too. It is such a great deal because you get unlimited amounts of talking, texting and data for only $50 a month - and nationwide coverage too. You don't have to deal with contracts, bills that come as an unwelcome surprise, and no credit checks. You can go here http://www.net10.com/ to see just how everything works.

Use it for business, use it for everyday life - either way (or both ways) it is a great deal. There are Monthly Plans that include not only the $50 a month for unlimited everything, but Pay As You Go (that works just like it says, and your minutes carry over - this is the sort of plan I use, and I really like it) or with Easy Minutes Plus you can buy 200 minutes for $15 and then go from there.

In Canada and Mexico you can use the International Neighbors program, and if you are in the US wanting to call abroad, NET10 has long distance service to more than 75 countries. There are a wide range of phones, too - simple ones for only $15 up to phones with touch screens or keyboards and lots of extras for under $60.00. Name brands like LG and Samsung, too. Want to find out more? Check out NET10 on Facebook and Twitter. And there are a bunch of YouTube clips each featuring a Real NET10 customer; on this one, you can hear What Rob has to say about NET10. No electric 2-way phone necessary, either

A Lifetime of Stainless Steel

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 23:42:00 +0000

Stainless steel is pretty wonderful stuff. A steel alloy (that is, steel mixed with 10-11% chromium) it is stain-resistant (of course) and doesn't rust, corrode or get dirty particularly easily. It's been used for everything from sculptures and modern kitchen appliances and counters, to the top of the Chrysler Building in New York and gun barrels. One enterprising California gentleman named Anton Lee even made himself a set of stainless steel false teeth back in 1937 (which probably deserves a separate post).

But one of the most familiar uses of stainless steel is in cookware. It was shiny, easy to clean, easy to cook in (and still is). It became very popular in postwar kitchens simply because it was modern, easy to care for and - well, so unlike the cast-iron pots Grandmother used to cope with.

The Roto-Broil, for example, was made of stainless steel - "Lifetime Stainless Steel," no less - and cooked just about anything you could dream up. And it being the 1950s,* people dreamed up all sorts of things. You can see this in the picture on your left. You could roast a whole chicken in the Roto-Broil, and on top of the oven you could bake rolls and heat up a pot of coffee. And then with the Bak-A-Tray you were able to whip up a nice layer cake, too. Like this one, which I've paraphrased a little:

Roto-Grill Gold Cake

Cream 1/2 cup shortening with a cup of sugar. Continue beating while adding 4 egg yolks. Beat until light.Add 1 tsp vanilla. Mix thoroughly. Sift 2 cups of cake flour with 3 tsp. baking powder. Add this to the egg mixture alternating with 1/2 cup of milk. Beat and pour into greased and floured layer cake tins. Bake 45 minutes at Dial No. 6 (385 degrees, if you're using a regular old oven).

They don't mention icing, probably because you can't make it in a Roto-Grill. But you can make some in a nice stainless steel mixing bowl if you like. I have two and they are terrific, for icing or anything else you might need to mix up in the kitchen. You can buy all kinds of stainless steel kitchen items today, of course, such as blomus stainless steel - trivets and paper towel holders, simple, sleek and elegant looking. And like the Roto-Grill, they are easy to care for, and durable. You can even get stainless steel cream and sugar holders, and cappuccino cups. Just the thing, once you've brewed a pot of coffee -maybe on top of the Roto-Grill.

*This cookbook was published in 1955. More on the history of the Roto-Broil over here.

A Magic Carpet to Happy-Land

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 14:33:00 +0000

Popular Science, June 1939

The Tonk Brothers of Chicago have big, big plans for you. For starters, you are going to be going to Happy-land on your magic carpet. Hmmm. That sounds like a euphemism for something more than just playing an accordion. I'm not sure you'll even be able to play an accordion if you're in that kind of state.

But wait: there's more! You will have fun at home and fun at parties. Plus soon you will be broadcasting on the radio, playing at dances and entertainments of all kinds. And all you have to do is hand over a "moderate" amount of cash to the brothers Tonk. Then they will send you not just any accordion but a Brindisi accordion.

Brindisi is a city in the Apulia region of Italy. There is actually a tradition of accordion playing there. Tarantismo was a pagan/Christian cult practiced in Brindisi and other parts of southern Italy. Practitioners of tarantismo believed that hysterical women were agitated because they had been bitten by tarantulas. It was also believed that the only cure for this was to dance for several days on end. The music was supplied by tambourines, violins, guitars, mandolins and - accordions. The dance was called - you guessed it - the tarantella.

I don't think that the happy grinning fellow in the ad knows all that, do you? Here's a clip of people in Brindisi dancing the tarantella - no accordion, though. But it's still pretty cool.

Squirrel Cage Castles and Squirrel Cage Jails

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 17:39:00 +0000

Popular Science, June 1926

Meet Andre Crot*, a Swiss mechanic living in Los Angeles in 1926, who built a lovely miniature medieval castle. He built it in his spare time and it took him a year.

It's "a perfect reproduction down to the smallest detail," apparently. Is that right? Well, I am going to have to disagree with you there, M. Crot. Because I have never heard of a medieval castle with courtyard fountains run by means of "a small motor operated by a revolving squirrel cage." Also I am not sure about the deer or moose (it seems to have antlers) standing on the ramparts. But it's really quite something otherwise, isn't it?

I'd never heard of revolving squirrel cages. The one attached to this castle looks a bit like a hamster wheel turned on its side. There was also something known as a squirrel cage jail. It had "Lazy Susan" type jail cells that revolved; they would have looked a lot like M. Crot's fountain motor (it is at the front of the picture of the castle). They were also known as rotary jails.

Rotary jail in Gallatin, Missouri

Here is one in Pottawattamie County, Iowa that you can visit - it was in use from 1885, when it was built, until 1969. It is supposed to be haunted; a lot of old jails are said to be, not surprisingly. There are two more squirrel cage jails still in existence - one in Missouri (image at right) and one in Indiana - that are preserved as museums today.

*According to a quick search on Ancestry.com he was born in 1891 in Switzerland and married twice in Los Angeles (in 1921 and 1931). He worked for Lougheed Aircraft** and is probably the same Andre Crot who patented several inventions (see here too)in the 1940s and 1950s (my favorite one is the Portable Cabana Attachment for Automobiles). He died in California in 1964. I don't know where the squirrel cage castle is, though.

**Not sure if you can see this unless you sign up for FamilySearch.org - it is free, though. Ancestry isn't so I use it at the library...

The Spite House

noreply@blogger.com (Lidian) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 14:00:00 +0000

Maybe some of you have heard of this place before but I never had, and I must say I love the name. The Old Spite House! Next time I am in one of my lemony moods this is just where I will want to visit. Sit on the porch a spell and complain. Oh wait, I don't see a porch. I could complain about that, though. Or just simmer spitefully.

This house is in Marblehead, Massachusetts and was built by a sailmaker named Thomas Wood around 1716. It got its name supposedly because two brothers lived in the house at some point and never spoke to each other - out of, one assumes, spite.

However, there is a whole genre of houses (so to speak) called spite houses. They are houses specifically built to annoy the neighbors - by blocking their light, for example, or by blocking access to a bit of land that the city might want when they were building a street (there's an early 19th century spite house in Frederick, Maryland that was built for the latter reason).

Richardson's spiteful apartments

I was especially interested in the Richardson Spite House that used to stand at Lexington and 82nd Street - an intersection I was very familiar with back when I was growing up in New York. The Spite House was long gone by then though - built in 1882, it was gone by 1915. In the photo you can see that it was four stories tall but only 31 feet wide. Mr. Richardson had had an offer for that bit of land from his neighbor - but he wanted more money that the neighbor was prepared to give him. Hence, the Spite House - or rather, Spite Apartment Building. Can you imagine living there?

There are a lot of spite houses out there. For example, one in Alexandria, Virginia - and in Alameda, California - and a bunch more over at Neatorama. As for me, I'd take a little apartment at Richardson's (if only they still existed!) - they had three rooms and a bath, so I could have a luxurious writer's study/office there. And in the summertime I'd go up to Marblehead - which is a beautiful town - and write in half of that saltbox house (according to Wikipedia*, the house is still occupied, though). Living in such amusing places would probably put me in a very good mood, though. I'm not sure how that would work out.

*The images are both from Wikipedia, by the way.