The Lampoon As Social History

Not to give our neighbors in the castle too much credit, but there is some interesting history to be learned from period pages of the Harvard Lampoon, especially when it comes to determining the mores of FDR’s Harvard. Take the image below, for example,  one that is particularly relevant for today as it mirrors a problem soon to be faced by the new Smith Center that the University is building in Holyoke Center. The Harvard Union was the first attempt to establish a place where alumni and students could co-mingle, and it was a hugely expensive flop, for the very reason depicted below: it, like all of Cambridge, was dry. The only liquor available was at private clubs, which is one of the main reasons that final clubs were (and are) popular today: they served booze.

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Click on this and any of the other images to enlarge.

The next image took me a while to figure out. The key is that the proctor from the floor below is the same character entering the door of the piano-playing student in the first panel. He’s playing, piano dolce, “Babbie Waltzes.” (Hear the tune HERE on a wax-cylinder recording.)  Also note the time. Apparently 10PM was the cut-off for loud noise in individual suites, so to take revenge on the proctor for reprimanding him him the night before, the next day “Sporter” arranges for a little concert with his friends. The music starts with “Honey, Don’t Get Me Wrong” a forgotten ragtime tune of the day, and ends with “Up the Street,” a march still played by the University Band. What caught my eye was the gas lamp on the proctor’s desk. These lamps were attached by rubber “extension tubes” to either a wall or ceiling gas outlet. Frankly, it’s amazing that the whole place didn’t burn down — or explode — many times over. While electricity was available in certain deluxe suites like FDR’s, electrical outlets wouldn’t be invented for several more years.

Screen Shot 2016-03-13 at 11.47.18 AM copyWhat’s interesting about the next panel is not the joke —it’s a play on grub (food) and grub (caterpillar) — but rather something that is almost forgotten today. Those lines above the Square aren’t meant to indicate clouds, they are telegraph, telephone and electrical lines. In 1900, competing companies ran their own wire to each client, so a single large building might have hundreds of wires running to it from all directions. This tangle persisted until the 1930s, when individual concerns were absorbed into larger entities and regulation of utilities became the norm.

Screen Shot 2016-03-13 at 11.51.43 AM copyHere’s a photographic view, looking the other way, that better reveals this crazy-maze of wires. That’s John the Orangeman on the cart, btw, heading for a Harvard rally. (If you don’t know about John, by all means click the previous link as he is critical to the FDR Suite story.)

parade

The panel below explains the grub joke: it shows the interior of Memorial Hall, where most of the undergraduates ate. Notice the gawking guests in the balcony, which was open to the public and used as a viewing gallery by the locals — a perfect spot  for a chaperoned young lady to get an overview of prospective suitors to invite to her next “at home” day.

memhallThis last is one of my favorites, not just because of the great drawing style of S. A. Weldon, a classmate of FDR’s, but rather as it shows just how luxurious life in the Gold Coast actually was. No smelly gas lamps here. There is an electric desk lamp (which had to be plugged into the overhead fixture each time it was turned on, which meant gas or kerosene was still the norm) as well an assortment of comfortable furniture, walls and shelves chock-a-block with personal mementos, even velvet portieres on the door. And of course our boy under the desk has just come up from a dip in Claverly’s “tank,” the first of what would be a succession of ever larger private swimming baths on the Gold Coast. Considering how little we knew about this period in Harvard’s history when we started, it’s always reassuring when pictures like this come along that show many of the very same objects in the FDR Suite today — a gratifying indication that our representation of Gilded Age life at Harvard is reasonably on track.

Claverly Pool copy

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Brimfield Bounty

So I’ve just returned from three delightful afternoons wandering the Brimfield Antiques Fair. For those of you not familiar with this thrice-annual event, Brimfield is the nation’s largest antiques fair, spread across two miles of fields on either side of Route 20 in historic Brimfield Massachusetts, about an hour west of Boston in the rolling Worcester Hills. Antiquers come from all over the United States to hawk their wares, and it’s one of the best places on the globe to track down hard-to-find items. There a vendors selling just about anything you can think of, from bits of old buildings to fine furniture to radio tubes for that 1935 RCA tabletop you’ve been trying to repair. It’s all here: the trick is finding what you want when you want it. I’ve long since given up trying to acquire any one particular item on any one visit; I simply go with a goal in mind, and see where the spirits send me.

This year I went with an eye open for three things: a spinning Victorian bookcase for the study; a wall shelf for FDR’s bedroom, and some new/old quilts for the beds. What I brought home is pictured above, on my dining room table (itself another Brimfield discovery from a decade or so ago.) You see I found the quilt!! (no. 4) hanging at the rear of the picture above.

(But just the quilt… lol. You can click on the photo to expand it greatly.)

Actually, the quilt comes with an interesting back story. We know FDR had one, because he writes Sara very early in his freshman year “”The delightful rug & quilt came today & are too pretty, the rug is already down & looks so well.  I am using my old quilt to cover my trunk and rooms is [sic] perfect now.” Over the years, I’ve seen many vintage quilts at the Fair, but I’ve been hesitant to buy old, fragile items for actual use, especially bedding, which is particularly subject to a host of potential woes. Then just as I was leaving on my last day,  I ran into a very pleasant lady named Jennifer Pate. I immediately spied the quilt above, and inquired: “Is this your best price?” (Standard practice at a fair where everything is negotiable.) She looked at me and said: “You look familiar!” So, a quick explanation and detour into my Victory Garden hosting days. (Being on PBS is funny; people often recognize you, but they can’t quite figure out from where. My favorite was a woman a few years back who exclaimed: “A yes, the Victory Garden, I’ve watched that show every week for 30 years. What do you do?”)

After we got the TV introductions over, Jennifer said to me: “Michael, let me tell you. I used to teach home economics until our school system decided that children didn’t need to know practical things anymore and that Home Ec. was not a career path. I found that I could either go sell fabrics at my local craft store at minimum wage, or try to do what I always wanted to do, and be an artist. Look at this quilt. I make each one myself. Every one of these squares is handcut & sewn, all from shirt fabric, just like they used to be. The backs are dyed with tea leaves to replicate antique dyes. Some of these quilts take several days to complete. Does $240 not seem a good price, especially for something that should last a lifetime?”

Point taken. Quilt sold. (I bought one for my bed too.) This one is going to FDR’s bed, which pleased Jennifer no end.

So what else did I acquire? Well…

1) A late Victorian wood and silver traveling box for bath and shaving items, with a fold up mirror, for Lathrop’s bedroom. In the drawer: a ca. 1900 silver, glass and leather flask (handy at those chilly football games) and a pair of opera glasses, for those theater evenings when orchestra seats aren’t available.

2) A solid brass and wood cribbage board.

3) A collection of smoking implements; the silver thingie is a cigar cutter, along with two cigarette holders, and a cigar holder, for the study.

4) The aforementioned quilt.

5) A Victorian perpetual calendar for FDR’s desk. In good condition these are quite rare, as the fabric rollers are very fragile: to use, you just roll the wooden handles to advance the printed rolls. Today’s date? Why,  Saturday, May 14, 1904, of course.

6) A ca. 1900 baseball bat and ball, for the study. (FDR managed the baseball team at Groton.) Still looking for a good quality mitt.

7) A beautiful solid brass and leather telescope, in perfect working condition, part of our nautical collection for FDR. (And very handy, too, to discreetly peer at all those lovely Gibson girls strolling down Mt. Auburn Street.) Beneath are several wood and silver walking sticks for the front hall.

8 ) A charming collection of small Victorian prints, in silver frames, (one round wooden) for the study.

9)  Oh, I love this! It’s the brass horn off an early Franklin touring car. The story goes that ol’ Lapes stole it off Dean Brigg’s motor as part of his Dickey initiation. It still works, and is loud enough to wake the dead. (I know, my dog is still in hiding.) Now hanging on the wall of the study in gratefully silent testimony to that nocturnal triumph.

10) A very beautiful young lady of no known associations. I just thought she was lovely, and bought her for five bucks. I will frame her, and put her on Lathrop’s desk. He needs a girlfriend.

11) A period set of dominoes. Bone and ebony.

12) Oh, now here’s something, the subject of a future piece. These are, from an era before portable pens, gentlemens’ pencils, which when attached to one’s watch chain are perfect for writing stock orders or noting a dance card at the waltz. The smaller one is silver and tourmaline; both are ingeniously retractable.

13) A Victorian star paperweight: items placed underneath are magnified up into the globe.

The best part: the most expensive item on the table is the calendar, at $300. Everything else besides the quilt was under $100, most items well under $50.

And all these bits of Brimfield bounty – entirely thanks to supporters like you.

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More Recent Acquisitions and Views

Hello All!

Thanks to your support and generosity, things keep marching along. Further additions for you to contemplate:

tapestry

Just slightly crinkled from the crate: here’s the first piece of wall decoration in Lathrop’s bedroom, where the narrative theme will be hunting, horses and football: a ca 1890 tapestry depicting a Renaissance chase. Machine woven, this lovely textile measures 4 x 7′ and is in marvelous condition. It must say it really complements the lovely golden silk wallpaper behind it, or perhaps, the wallpaper complements it! Either way, it’s a terrific addition to the room.

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view-Lathrop

Here’s another view of Lathrop’s room from the study, giving you a better idea of the scale of the tapestry. As you can see, we are slowly starting to hang the 500 or so expected items on the Suite walls, by wire,  as was done in the period. I can assure you that this hanging process is a real pain, precariously tilting and tipping at each turn, made all the more maddening by the knowledge that  each piece will have to come down for the eventual wallpapering and then be rehung. Ah well, no complaints: better than bare walls!

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table

A delightful vignette: an ornate converted oil lamp (here shown with a somewhat miserable modern shade; we’re still looking for an etched period example), which keeps young Lathrop Brown and Harvard mascot John the Orangeman perfect company on a period parlor table. Above these, you may recognize from my March post the Harvard hazing print we ultimately managed to acquire, as well as another Charles Dana Gibson illustration “The Shore is Strewn with Wrecks,” in which the lovely lady you see striding so purposefully forward has just spurned the man barely visible in the distance, while cupids laugh amidst the hulk of an old whaler.

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rufus

Now the above is one of my favorites! The wild-eyed taxidermy scene glowering at you from its elevated perch is a bobcat standing over its prey, a just-killed pheasant. While this is not something I would necessarily choose for my home decor, FDR most likely would have: our president-resident was quite the fan of taxidermy, especially birds, and this piece accurately reflects the Victorian love of such tableaux. The taxidermy was done by a well known wildlife artist in Michigan (using entirely documented specimens, for anyone wondering), and was first shipped to my house for safekeeping until I could bring it to the Suite. My dog growled at that cat for days! I’ve nicknamed the bobcat “Jack” (from John) and the poor bird “Eli,” as in “Sons of…” Poor Eli doesn’t seem to be getting up for the count… Ah well, what can you expect from a Yalie?! The leaded glass-front bookcase, by the way, (Lathrop’s case) is another gem that just arrived last week. Made in 1900, it is a Macey stackable. Quite ingenious for its day, the case is entirely modular; you purchased the base and top, and as many shelving units as you wished: height was fully adjustable to room, preference or circumstance. Once we locate a suitable example, a desk (Lathrop’s) will occupy the corner where the trunk now sits. (FDR’s will be opposite.) I’m thrilled to relate that these two desks are the final pieces of major furniture we’re missing!

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clock

Several of you asked to see more of the mantle time piece I hinted at in my last post. Here it is, in full glory: an adamantine Seth Thomas coffer clock. This lovely creature keeps reasonably good time, richly tick-tocking away, striking the hour and half hour with the most sonorous tone I’ve ever heard for a mechanism of its size – more like a tall case clock than a tiny shelf piece. The stone-like decoration is hugely clever faux painting, by the way – very much the height of fashion in 1900, but about to be swept away by the incoming rush of Mission style just a few years in the future.

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windows

Three new pieces: on the wall, above the period table, four mid-nineteenth century engravings: “Scenes of Kent”;  on the easel, an original charcoal, “Interior of 3 St James Place, London,” by 19th century artist Johnstone Briant; and the bamboo easel itself, an absolutely fantastic example of the Japanese-influenced Victorian design so popular in the last years of the 19th century.

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And finally, beneath the bronze plaque dedicated by Eleanor Roosevelt in 1960, the carved walnut bookcase next to the mantle. On it you’ll now find period travel guides, team photos, club medals and a marvelous period English pipe rack, which you can just see here, in the form of a ship’s capstan, bearing the copper label “Made from the timbers of Nelson’s fleet.” A souvenir of things to come for our future assistant secretary of the navy and commander-in-chief…

A thousand thanks  again to all of our wonderful supporters – corporate, charitable, alumni & otherwise – who have made such progress possible!