Fall Returns

Greetings All!

Just a very quick note to welcome in the new semester, and let you know of two developments.

First, a brand new tour:

( If for any reason, this link doesn’t work for you, you may watch this video on the Vimeo site, directly HERE)

For an I-Phone friendly version, click HERE

This footage is part of a much longer documentary we are putting together on FDR’s Harvard and the Restoration of the Suite, which will be hopefully ready this fall.

Secondly, I would like to appeal to all of you to help us put our financial house in order. As you know, several months back we launched a $50,00 capital campaign. So far, we have raised only $5000. Part of our problem is that we’ve always accepted donations on a rolling basis, rather than asking for your continuing generosity annually, which means that while some of you have given quite recently, many of you have given generously a year, or two or three back.

We’d now like to press a giant reset button, and love for you to become annual members, contributing whatever amount you’re comfortable with, $100, $250, $500, $1000, or more, on an annual basis each September. The details of the various membership levels are available HERE, where you can also donate securely online. These annual memberships would help tremendously in evening out our finances, and allow us to plan our educational outreach programs more cohesively. Already this fall we’re leading HAA walking tours, organizing student trips to Brimfield, and planning for two to three new Fireside Chats, as well as another issue of the GoldCoaster, on top of the already promised documentary.

All these activities take funds, and we could really use your help. As always, your contributions to the Foundation are deductible to the extent allowed by law.

Thanks as always for your continuing generosity.

Michael

Some People Read History. Others Make It.
Come make a little history: support the FDR Suite Foundation!


The Ad World

It’s been said you can tell an age by its advertising, and to the extent we possess the records, the adage seems to be true: ancient graffiti on the walls in Pompeii bring 2000-year-old elections alive like no tract from Cicero ever could;  miniature manikins – dressed in the latest crinoline and lace and sent from Paris to the Colonies as ads for the newest fashions – reveal more about 18th century costume than a whole page of pallid text.

Fortunately for us, the world of FDR’s Harvard is ripe with similar examples that give tone and timbre to the age – if you know where to look. To that end, we’ve been acquiring actual periodicals from January to June 1904 for the Suite (including, too, a spectacular bound copy of the Crimson for 1900-1901) so that a visitor might casually pick up Harpers Magazine or Colliers, and flick through the pages just as if they had popped in for a few hours in May of 04.

I wanted to show you a few of my favorites pieces from this collection, which to my mind at least, make you realize how much the world has truly changed.

This first one is a classic.

What else can I say? Papa told me so!

We tend to forget too that personal hygiene has been revolutionized in the last century. Imagine a time with no deodorants?

And, as we are blistering through another baking summer, how about a world of binding clothes and no air conditioning?

And here’s something that totally fascinated me. Throughout the Crimson pages, I found example after example of this ad:

Beyond the name, which I thought totally cool for a cigarette (Egyptian Deities was the model for an upstart American knock-off, Camels) there was the fact that many of these ads simply proclaimed “Egyptian Deities” without a single word of explanatory byline –  the brand was so famous at Harvard to need no further introduction.

(Just like another ad I found again and again in the Crimson: Harvard University Training Tables: 15 Bow Street. YOU ALL KNOW YOUNG! “No I don’t know Young,” I’m grumbling to myself, frustrated, “tell me who he is!”).

In this case however, a thought occurred:  Lapes and Frank both smoked. Surely there would have been cigarettes in the Suite. Could some of these Deities cigarettes have possibly survived from that time? If so, what a coup to track some down!

Well, a quasi-coup, as it turned out…

Sans cigarettes, but an actual 1900 Deities tin nonetheless, procured on EBay for $15, now destined for the Suite!

How’s that for divine intervention?

Or perhaps, more aptly, ad inspiration?

All brought about by folks like you.

Some People Read History. Others Make It.
Come make a little history: support the FDR Suite Foundation!





Changes

Mt. Auburn Street, another hot summer day a hundred years ago

Just a quick note from 101º Cambridge to let you know of some of the improvements to the FDR Suite web site. The menus and content have been entirely re-arranged and updated for ease of use, and some spectacular new content added, in particular a new version of John Bethell’s excellent 1996 article Frank Roosevelt at Harvard (and what became of him later) which paints a remarkable portrait of FDR’s often complicated relationship with Harvard, and Harvard’s oft-strained relationship with him. If you haven’t read it, you most certainly should.

Thinking cool thoughts…

Extra, Extra! John the Orangeman, Revealed!

John the Orangeman, Harvard's Mascot, as he appeared in FDR's day. This is the picture we have in the Suite. If you look carefully in the lower left-hand corner (this image, as all the others in the piece, can be expanded by double clicking the picture) you will see another source of John's financial success: by 1900 or so, he had moved into selling copyrighted souvenir photos.

Without fail, whenever I give a tour of the FDR Suite, someone asks me who’s that bearded man with dancing eyes, merrily peering out from the frame on the mantle piece. There’s  something about the sparkle of his expression that simply captivates visitors. My inevitable reply: “That’s John the Orangeman, Harvard’s mascot. He sold fruit to the students at a time when citrus was a rarity, and become hugely popular with the undergraduates. He and his cart, pulled by a donkey named Radcliffe, were a feature of the College for over five decades.”

A thorough answer, but not a very satisfactory one. Who was this man, really, and how did he become so popular with the students? I decided to do a bit of digging in the Harvard Archives to try and find out.

Well, let me tell you: In the spirit of the soon to be demised News of the World, there seems to be more to this story than first meets the eye!

To begin with, it’s important for you to understand that John was not just popular, he was hugely popular.  The archives have more than six folders of Orangeman pictures dating back to the 1870s, many of them official photos, and a whole other file of clippings, memorabilia – even two short published biographies written by former students.  Here’s one of my favorite photos from the Archives collection, showing a parade passing through Harvard Square. (The view is looking east down Mass Ave. The low building right of middle is where Holyoke Center now stands. The tall building at center is extant and holds Leavitt and Peirce.)

This is a truly spectacular photo for many reasons. For one, the level of historical detail is amazing; notice, for example, the maze of telegraph and telephone wires almost clouding the sky. We forget that not everything in the "good old days" was quite so pretty. The picture is not captioned or dated, but judging from the bunting, the summer dress of the paraders, and the two top-hatted men marching behind the wagon each with a "9" on the front, I would guess this to be the late 1890s. (Again, click to expand; see reader's comment below for exact dating.) Courtesy, this and following photos: Harvard University Archives.

At first glance, this picture doesn’t seem to have much bearing on our story. But look again at the lower right side: just passing out of view, there are John and Radcliffe, cart and all, being hauled down the street on some sort of large wagon, the Victorian equivalent of a parade float.

So, famous indeed. Here’s the official bio:

John and his first cart, about 1881

Born John Lovett in Kenmere, County Kerry, into a farming family about 1833, John left Ireland during the famine, first for Boston, then later to Cambridge, where he took odd work. Then one day, finding himself with nothing to do, he went to “over an the Carmon to wartch the byes play barl.” (The transliteration of the brogue is from one of his student biographers.) Seeing that the players were thirsty after the game, he offered to fetch them a jug of water from his nearby flat (laced with “lemon” and “molasses”, as he put it)  for which the students were quite graceful, requesting another. He complied, and the students, wishing to thank him, passed around a hat, collecting  about two dollars, along with a suggestion that bringing fruit to their rooms later might prompt similar reward. Thus, a career was born. John began selling various small items to the students, mostly bananas and oranges. Each day he made his way into Boston to buy at the wharves. By mid-morning, basket in hand, he would be in the college yard, “depending on stray customers between the recitations and lectures; in the afternoon, if the weather was warm, he visited the ball fields; while in the evening he made his tours through the dormitories.” So grateful were the students that Class of 1881 gave him a handcart: “They warnted to give me a darnkey too but I be afraid the Farculty mek a row about havin’ ‘im in the Yard.”  At first an overzealous Yard Manager prohibited the cart from entering, but petitioned by the students, the Faculty allowed finally allow John and his cart admittance – the only person ever permitted, before or since, to sell goods in the Yard. As age advanced, so did rheumatism, and seeing John in distress, the class of 1891 bought him a donkey and cart. In winter, Radcliffe the donkey pulled a small sleigh. Soon John, with or without Radcliffe, was not only selling goods but making the round of the various football games, brought by the team to locations as far away as New York, where he cheered tirelessly for his school. (On state occasions like the Harvard-Yale game, Radcliffe was decked out with special crimson bloomers.) Fame and increasing fortune brought John a wife, plus a three-story two-family in Cambridge, which amazed student visitors with its size and comforts, given his humble occupation.  Stories about John abound, but an oft-quoted one was this:

John and Radcliffe in winter garb in front of Massachusetts Hall.

One day a visitor accosted John  in front of Hastings Hall, and wishing to draw him into conversation, pointed to the College seal on the iron gate and asked him what Veritas meant. John bowed respectfully and replied: “I’m not sure fr’ind, but I guess it means ‘to hell with Yale.’”

John Lovett died in 1906 at the ripe old age of 81.

That’s the official story… Neat, pat and tidy.

But why was he so popular? There were a host of other notable characters at FDR’s Harvard, but none quite so beloved. What was John’s secret? His biographers often cite to his jovial personality:

“You all know him, Old John, who is the first to welcome the Freshmen in the autumn, and the last to shake hands with the Seniors on Commencement and perhaps drink him God-speed from a flowing bowl of punch. He well remembers the time your father was in College; will tell you where he roomed, how he lived, who his friends were; perhaps he will even whisper in your ear of a narrow escape he had, in the early part of his Freshman years, from being asked to resign. Is there one who has not tasted and orange or banana from the little white handcart?”

John and his cart under the Washington Elm which once stood on Mass. Ave across from the Common.

Also to his integrity: “For those who know him well he is rather an interesting study, though his brogue is a trifle hard to comprehend at times. One of the best traits of his character is that he can never be induced to speak ill of anyone. Mingling as he does with the men of various sets and cliques, he necessarily hears more or less slander, but if asked his opinion about a man, his only comment is ‘Aw, he’s a good fellah, frind.'”

And on and on…

But then I came across one very curious sentence: “Who has not been comforted, when sorely pressed by creditors, by John’s ready willingness to trust him for any amount?”

Ah ha… The plot thickens. Perhaps it was more than just a juicy orange that gave John his appeal. Still, a bit of money-lending on the side couldn’t account for such lasting hail-and-well-met. I was about to give up, thwarted by the silence of the past, when just before the closing hour,  I came across this picture stuck to the back of one of the folders. Unlike other pictures of John, many of which were “official” shots reproduced again and again, this was distinctly different, and one I had never seen before:

Again, there is no caption, other than to note that the photo came as part of the estate of a member of the class of ’01. The scene’s obviously been professionally staged in some photographer’s studio, for reasons now forgotten – perhaps as a private memento (or perhaps, even more rare, as a publicity photo for Brown of Harvard, which premiered in Boston in 1906, and in which John played a bit roll as himself, just a few months before his death.)  But however clouded the origins of the picture, its subject is certainly straight-forward enough, and meant to evoke a familiar scene – at least for those in the know: a grinning student, having polished off the bottle on the table, holding a cigar large enough to choke a horse, looks gratefully at a still imbibing John the Orangeman, empty liquor bottles littering the floor and more poking from of his basket – the very one supposedly full of fruit!

Hail and well met, indeed!

So if I remind you, dear reader, that Cambridge was dry in those years, and that the only alcohol to be had was by going to Boston, does not the reason for John’s immense and continued popularity across five decades of thirsty students suddenly become crystal clear?

I’m thinking John bought more than oranges on those daily trips to the wharves, and sold more than fruit on his nightly rounds.

20-years gone but not the least forgotten: the Class of 1881 chose to feature John on its 20th Reunion Medal. Acquired just last week, the medal will hang on John's picture in the Suite.

And remember that admiring bit about John never betraying a confidence? Neither it seems, did his “byes.” In fact, the whole thing is one long inside-joke, known by all, and advertised by none, across 50 classes of Harvard men – the don’t-ask-don’t-tell of its age. If it hadn’t been for this one surviving photo, John’s open secret might be a secret still.

Of course, I can’t prove any of this.

But it fits, doesn’t it?

Can’t you just feel it?

It’s important to note that this potential revelation doesn’t at all reflect badly on John. (He wasn’t selling booze to minors. There was no drinking age in those days, and the only law he was skirting was the selling of liquor in the town of Cambridge.) Nor does this diminish in any way the genuine regard generations for Harvard men had for this beloved character. On the contrary.  In the end what we get is the image of a cunning Irish Robin Hood fighting to outwit the dastardly Sherwellian forces of the Cambridge establishment for the benefit of the (not so) poor inhabitants, and I’ll admit, if true, this vision brings me a quiet satisfaction. Often the view of our Harvard past becomes too perfect, too polished, too mannered. The memories are all noble, the deeds all gallant, the people, upright & upstanding. This little bit of Irish roguery, abetted and encouraged by grateful generations of scheming undergraduates, is just the kind of thing to add a welcome bit of humanity to the tale.

So, here’s raising a glass to you, John.

Some People Read History. Others Make It.
Come make a little history: support the FDR Suite Foundation!


FDR Suite Video Tour

I put together this short tour from several hours of footage we shot this week while testing the cameras and lighting for the New Fireside Chats. There’s many a photographic gaffe here as we are still learning how to use this new equipment (not to mention how to hold these new ultra-sensitive cameras steady) but despite our first efforts, I think this still gives you a much better idea of what things look like now than mere photos, so I thought you might enjoy a private, members-only sneak peek.

PS: As of today we have raised 2K of the $50,000 goal in our 2011 capital campaign. Remember, we receive no direct support from the College, and all this progress flows entirely from your contributions.

FDR Suite Video Tour from FDR Suite Foundation, Inc on Vimeo.

Some people just read history. Others help make it.
Come make a little history. Support the FDR Suite Foundation!


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.

Some people just read history. Others help make it.
Come make a little history. Support the FDR Suite Foundation