The Virtual Dime Museum

Amazing Inventions From 1909

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 16:16:00 +0000

This has nothing to do with Brooklyn or mysteries. There will be more of that next week but too much of the same thing makes even someone very interested in, just for example, Brooklyn and mysteries (i.e. me) just a little bit - bored! And it's Friday, which means it is time for something fun and amusing.

So here is something fun from the April 1909 issue of Popular Mechanics. Take a look at some of the cutting-edge inventions that were in the news! (You can see the big version of the inventions page over here at Google Books, bu the way). For example:

-The Dog Sweater - I had no idea it was around this early, did you?

-The Violin with Horn Attachment - just sling a drum around your neck and you can be a one man or one woman band.

-A special telephone receiver for long boring calls - looks like modern headphones.

- Lock up those milk bottles in case you have "thieving cats' or "tramps" around early in the morning.

-Strengthen your finger muscles by wearing a leather harness fitted with iron rods. Better lock up the milk bottles before putting this on, though.

-Anti-Snoring device, which is still made, I think. Even back in 1909, scientific types were being inspired in the middle of the night by snoring spouses, to come up with this.

-And to feel extra healthy in the morning even if you are being kept awake by snoring - the Electrically Vibrated Bed, with "spring legs" and a motor at the foot.

-Lastly, an invention that we know was not new in 1909 - that Sunshade Hat, which had been around since the 1880s, as you can see over here.

The Coney Island Bowery

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 15:37:00 +0000

The Bowery at Coney Island was a plank street laid out in 1882 by George C. Tilyou, one of the pioneer developers of Coney Island as a summer resort and amusement complex. It was named for the Bowery, the oldest street in Manhattan - which by the 1880s had a reputation as a rather shady place lined with cheap amusements, saloons and flophouses.

Originally a little alleyway between larger streets running down to the sea, the Coney Island Bowery was enhanced by the wooden planking and gave it a new importance. Tilyou's idea was to give people a quick route past the amusement places which would lead them straight to the Tilyous' Surf Theater.

Many dance halls, saloons and cheap stands which sprouted up on either side, hoping to benefit from the crowds of pedestrians using the walk. The Bowery soon became the center of Coney Island amusement, often photographed and the subject of penny postcards.

The Stauch's sign in this 1907 photo advertises a popular restaurant, which had a ballroom and cigar store in the same building, which had been opened in 1904. They served seafood, steaks, a variety of pickles and vegetables, and ice cream for dessert. You could have frankfurters with potato salad for 30 cents, but it cost 10 cents extra to have Imported Frankfurters. The menu is here and it is lots of fun to read over, as old menus usually are.

The magnificent building pictured at right is Strauch's, from the front of the 1906 menu.

In the near future (after a couple of medical ads I've found that I want to write about) we'll look at the differences between Sea Gate, West Brighton, Brighton beach and Manhattan Beach, which are all technically part of the larger area of Coney Island - but very different in character.

At this point in NaNoWriMo, my heroine/detective has - in the midst of trying to solve a murder at Coney Island - inherited a cottage at Manhattan Beach (the wealthier, more sedate end of the island) - I might have her inherit property further inland in the second draft, depending on various plot issues.

For some time, I've had an image of Eleanor (my amateur detective) riding around on the railway and taking ferries, looking into things and snooping, really moving around New York in 1896. She could commute down to Coney (this takes place over the winter, because I like beach resorts off-season). It was quite easy to get down to Coney Island from anywhere in New York by 1896 - and in a future post I'll remind myself - and tell you - how she would have done that.

The photograph is from Staley's Views of Coney Island (1907). Picture of Stauch's restaurant from a 1906 menu at the New York Public Library Digital Gallery.

Justus For Hair

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 13:59:00 +0000

Dr. Justus August - who may or may not be the splendidly bearded man in this advertisement from 1901 (Brooklyn Daily Eagle, April 15, 1901, p. 31) - shows us that even over 100 years ago (and much earlier than this, too), people were concerned about going grey.

The Hair Rejuvenator was a device "applied with electricity" and was supposed to stimulate regrowth and prevent greying. Dr. August's Hair Coloring, advertised in small print at the bottom, was of course for dealing with the grey hair you already had. It had no "sugar of lead" in it - which sounds like a good thing.

Advertisements in the Eagle in the late 1890s (for example, April 8, 1898, p. 9) proclaimed that this product was also called (at least by Dr. August) the Greater New York Hair Grower. The print ad above is from the Brooklyn Eagle, November 22, 1900, p. 7.

A John August was listed in the 1859 Brooklyn Directory as a barber living at 316 Fulton with a work address of 7 Clinton; this directory is digitized at the wonderful Brooklyn Genealogy Information Page - the link is here. In the 1860 census he is listed as being 38 years old, born in Germany, and a "Master Barber" [John August household, 1860 US Census, Brookyn Ward 3, Kings, NY; #353/404, Series M653, Roll 764, p. 504].

John August was also listed in the 1873 Boyd's Brooklyn Directory, digitized here, residing at 7 Clinton and listing his occupation not as physician but "hairdresser." By the end of the century, though, August had promoted himself to being not only a physician but a Professor, too.

I Lift My Lamp Beside the Laundry Soap

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 19:20:00 +0000

This cartoon is from an 1884 issue of Life (Vol. 3, p.326): commentary on the plastering of ads everywhere in New York City which is relevant today, too. The ad on Liberty's arm looks like a tattoo, doesn't it? Of course Lungoria and Snook's Laundry Soap were not real products, but the names are close enough to what actual soap and medicines were called.

As some of you may know, November 1 starts National Novel Writing Month and therefore until December 1 I will be (in theory) writing at least 1700 words a day in order to make a 50,000 word first draft appear in my hard drive. So by necessity the posts here will be a little shorter and I will be tailoring them to the research I'm doing for the novel. It is a mystery (again - this is my 4th NNWM) set in Brooklyn in 1896-7, called Frozen Charlotte. My profile at the NNWM site is linked on the left hand sidebar - just click on the logo to go there, if you like.

So I'll be looking up things about Green-Wood Cemetery, Coney Island, transportation, everyday life, fortune-tellers and true crime. And I will write some of them down here, with a sprinkling of ads and ephemera.

The Haunted Reptile House

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 18:42:00 +0000

Charley Snyder was the head keeper of the New York Zoological Society - also known as the Bronx Zoo - in 1915. And he had a huge problem on his hands that summer: all the keepers of the reptile house were convinced that it was haunted by an unknown ghost. This ghost whistled every morning, around opening time, from a window at the southeast corner of the reptile house.

At first, of course, some of the men thought that it was a practical joke. For two weeks everyone checked the window several times a day, trying to catch the culprit. But there was no whistler there. Some thought it might be a zoo visitor. Finally a keeper called Toomey told Charley Snyder in confidence that he thought it was a ghost. He said he had heard not just a whistling sound but a voice crying 'lookooser.'

This anecdote was passed around and soon all the employees at the zoo knew about it, "even Gateman Minks at the West Farms entrance." Sensible Mr. Decker, "a very sober-minded man," said that he too had heard a strange voice in the reptile house. And then Mr. Ditmars told Snyder that he "had dreamed that the big boa and the West African crocodile had held an animated conversation." And when the sensible people start feeling nervous, Snyder thought, that's when it's time to put on the Sherlock Holmes hat.

But who was going to play Sherlock Holmes? Another zoo resident, as it turned out. Charley Snyder had a "lady friend" who was a fortune teller, and he told her all about the strange goings-on at the Bronx Zoo. He wouldn't tell the New York Times (or anyone) what she said, because he was pledged to secrecy. In fact, he really didn't like people knowing about his fortune-telling lady friend. But (Snyder said) she mentioned something about "a dark cloud" over the reptile house which gave the building a "disturbed aureole" (by which she meant an aura, which usually pertains to something surrounding a living body). She said that Snyder would get help from a "little one" with a "pompadour, a wizened fact and whiskers."

Snyder thought that she must mean the new saki, which had recently arrived from Peru. "Gee," Snyder recalled thinking, "How is that long-tailed monkey going to help solve the mystery?" Snyder said he wanted the saki to use its psychic abilities to help, but the saki was scared of the iguana. The saki fled to his own cage and refused to go near the reptile house even after Snyder relocated the iguana.

On the next attempt to get the saki to do some detecting, it managed to "upset a box of toads" which was going to be the snakes' dinner. The saki then ripped up Toomey's trousers. Finally, in a panic, the poor saki blundered into the last place he wanted to be - the iguana's cage - and got so upset that "he has not yet recovered."

At last, though, keepers Toomey and Deckert solved the mystery when they were spraying water on some salamanders in boxes of moss. They heard the whistle up close and were terribly frightened. The noise was coming from one of the smaller boxes. Deckert found the culprit: a single, tiny narrow-mouth frog from Trinidad which "had escaped the nightly roll call" since it was no bigger than a postage stamp. The water spray had excited the little frog and this is what made him whistle. "That frog sang every morning because it was glad to see us," said Charley Snyder - and so ended a ghost story with an uncharacteristically happy ending.

Source: "Singing Frog Made Bronx Zoo Shudder," New York Times, Sept. 13, 1915, p. 14.

The Bronx Zoo in 1911 from NYPL Digital Gallery.
The picture of the saki, French ca 1830, is from NYPL Digital Gallery also. And the narrow-mouthed frog photo is from Wikipedia.

A Trumpet In Your Ear

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 14:51:00 +0000

As so many of you guessed, this lovely little silver object is in fact an ear trumpet.

Possibly inspired by people cupping a hand to the ear to improve hearing, the ear trumpet has existed for centuries although the earliest print references date from the 17th century. Originally made out of animal horns, ear trumpets were generally made of wood or metal by the Victorian era. Often the metal was covered with a thin coat of vulcanized black rubber to make the device less obvious.

Until the electronic hearing aid began to be available in the 1890s, the ear trumpet was the best option for improving one's hearing. Beethoven used several kinds of ear trumpet in the early 19th century; a picture of the ones he used can be seen here. The English writer Harriet Martineau also used one; in the advertisement below, from Philadelphia in 1857, you can see that one ear trumpet has been named for her.

Many audible hand-claps and hurrahs to those who guessed that this was an ear trumpet:

Thomas MacEntee at geneabloggers
FreshHell at Life In Scribbletown
Jen of The Transmogrifier's Tale
Descartes at If You Write It
Grace at Hugz Before You Go
Jude at Mature Not Senile
Debbi at Debbi's Random Thoughts
RE Ausetkmt at EntrePOD
Jen at Redhead Ranting

And thank you also to -

Harriet M. Welsch at spynotes
Patricia Rockwell at Subjective Soup
Amanda at Time Machine to the Twenties
Joanne Olivieri at Poetic Shutterbug
Wendy at November Obscura
John at English Wilderness
Bill [no blog link]

For more on ear trumpets:

Vintage Ear Trumpets at Retrospectacle
Victorian-Era Concealed Hearing Devices
Ear Wax Museum

The drawing of ear trumpets (with ear in middle) is from George Tiemann's 1879 book American armamentarium chirurgicum.
A patent for an ear trumpet very similar to the mystery object is here, and dates from 1880.
The picture of the man cupping his ear is from NYPL Digital Gallery.
The advertisement for ear trumpets and other medical devices made by Pugh Madeira of Philadelphia is from the 1857 Directory of the Borough of West Chester [Chester County, Pennsylvania], p. 121.

An Attractive Victorian Device

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 13:22:00 +0000

This week's mystery object is silver, and has an attractive decorative grid, and dates from the end of the 19th century. There are any number of things that it could be. I can think of several. But what do you suppose it was, and how was it used?

I'll tell you all about it on Monday!

The Ghost of Third Avenue

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 14:46:00 +0000

If you had been taking an evening walk up Third Avenue, late in August 1894, you would have had a problem getting through the crowd at the corner of Third and 72nd Street.

For several nights, there were hundreds of people gathered there from dusk until midnight. So many hundreds of people were there that four extra policemen were assigned to the area to keep everyone calm.

What were they waiting for? A celebrity? Perhaps a comet or shooting star was predicted to appear in the night sky? In fact, they were waiting for a ghost to show himself - a ghost who had recently moved into the neighborhood and had established a residence at 1253 Third Avenue, in a vacant room on the second floor. Everyone in the neighborhood was talking about how the ghost would go to the window, wave its arms and "perform such tricks as ghosts are wont to perform."

The room was vacant - as was the rest of the building - because there had been a fire in it earlier in August. The paint store on the main floor was totally destroyed, and the second-floor apartment in which the O'Connor family had been living, was badly damaged too. After the fire, several people saw the ghost there. The most interesting part of the Times coverage of this story was the list of witnesses who had seen the ghost - with names and addresses. The men had all gone to a notary to affirm that they had seen the ghost (I don't know why they all did this).

On the night that the Times reporter was there with the crowd, someone noticed that the gaslight was on in the flat. Several people thought that the ghost might prefer darkness and at 10pm someone was sent upstairs to turn the gas off. Everyone waited for 2 more hours, to no avail. And then - in a great anticlimax - they all straggled off and went home.

Note: In February 1894, a former manufacturer of trimmings named Alexander H. Strouse died suddenly, of apoplexy, at Minke Causse's restaurant - at Third Avenue and 72nd Street. Could he have been the ghost?

Photograph of Third Avenue at 72nd Street from NYPL Digital Gallery. The storefront at bottom left is very possibly the correct building, as 1253 is right on the corner of Third and 72nd.

"The Ghost Declined To Walk," New York Times, Aug. 20, 1894, p. 8.
"Sudden Death of A.H. Strouse," New York Times, Feb. 19, 1894, p. 2.

The Great New York Aquarium

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 15:00:00 +0000

The official New York Aquarium was opened at Castle Garden, in Battery Park (the southernmost tip of Manhattan) in 1896. It was the earliest continuously-operating aquarium in the US. It remained in operation at Castle Garden until 1941, and was reopened at Coney Island (where it remains today) 16 years later.

This advertisement is for a rival operation, the Great New York Aquarium at 35th Street and Broadway. It was opened in 1876 by William Cameron Coup (the former business manager of Barnum's Circus) and an animal dealer named Henry Reiche.

P.T. Barnum popularized the aquarium in the US, after seeing how popular there were in England on his trip there in 1855. The following year, he opened one at his American Museum; one opened in Boston in 1859, which Barnum took over a few years later.

The Great New York Aquarium was not a long-term success. According to Coup's book on his aquarium and circus adventures, Spangles and Sawdust, it was terribly expensive transporting the white whales, sea lion and other creatures - never mind the cost of keeping them. There were 42 fresh and salt water tanks to maintain. Furthermore, he and Reiche argued over whether to open the Aquarium on Sundays (Coup didn't want to, Reiche did). They decided to resolve their differences by flipping a coin. Whoever won the coin toss would take over the Aquarium and its satellite operation at Coney Island.

Reiche won the coin toss. Coup doesn't tell us anything more (this is in fact the last sentence in the book) but presumably the Aquarium did not last long after that. By 1880, Henry Reiche, working as an "Animal and Bird Importer," was living in Hoboken, New Jersey [Henry Reiche household, Hoboken Ward 2, Hudson, NJ; #443/781, Series T9, Roll 786, p. 209].

Image from the NYPL Digital Gallery.

Sources

Coup, W.C. Sawdust and Spangles: Stories and Secrets of the Circus. (Chicago, 1901).
Kisling, Vernon N. Zoo and Aquarium History (2001), pp 155-6.
Popular Science (July 1899), p. 362.

The East Williamsburgh Head Muff

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 13:37:00 +0000

Today we are celebrating the incredible inventiveness of Mr. Helmann Fürst of East Williamsburgh, Brooklyn, in 1876 - behold his amazing Improved Head Muff, just in time for the cold weather!

It seems to be for men only and is not worn, exactly, but "applied to the head." And it is portable, too.

I didn't find Mr. Fürst's patent, but a Mr. Isaac B. Kleinert of New York City patented an Improvement in Head-Muffs in 1875. It is very similar to this one but also protects the mustache.

One obvious problem with the Head Muff is that it is made out of some kind of mesh or cloth, and does not look as if it offered much protection from the cold. But that is so often the way with trendy accessories: you may not be warm, but you'll cut quite the fashionable figure.

From the fabulous NYPL Digital Gallery.

Note: Helmann Fürst thus far is a rather shadowy figure - not in the census, not in Brooklyn directories, and not in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle - as far as I can tell. Furthermore, the NYPL does not indicate the source of this cutting.

Another Note: Many many thanks to my friend Caroline Rance at The Quack Doctor (one of my favorite history blogs!) for finding the Head Muff patent filed by Furst. The link is here.

The Assistant Sexton and Patrick Henry's Ghost

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 15:15:00 +0000

George Herbert, a "wideawake young man," was the assistant sexton of the North Reformed Dutch Church, Clermont Avenue, Brooklyn in the mid-1890s. It was probably just around Christmas 1895 that Herbert started having problems. And it was all President Grover Cleveland's fault.

Cleveland had, in July of 1895, referred to the Monroe Doctrine when insisting that the British must use arbitration in settling their dispute with Venezuela. The Monroe Doctrine of 1823 was masterminded by then-President James Monroe and his Secretary of State, John Quincy Adams. It is a landmark in American foreign policy, stating that any European interference or attempt to colonize US lands would be considered an act of aggression and treated accordingly by the US government. In turn, the US would not interfere with existing European colonies.

Herbert was very distressed by Cleveland's threatening action against Britain in reference to its Venezuelan issues. The pastor of North Reformed, T. Calvin MacClelland, had preached about this, advocating for peace and the brotherhood of nations - which seems perfectly reasonable. Not according to Herbert - or to the ghosts which began appearing in his dreams.

Ever since Cleveland's remarks in July, Herbert had been having "troubling visions" in which the ghosts of the Founding Fathers shook their fists in his face while martial music played loudly. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson were among the figures who also "dance[d] in fury" in Herbert's dreams.

By the winter of 1895 one of the ghosts took things a step further. One night during services, Herbert went down to the church basement to check on the steam heat (this was one of his regular jobs). Suddenly, he said, an invisible hand hit him sharply on the right side of his face, and whispered something angry in his ear. The ghost hissed that the Monroe Doctrine must be upheld at all costs. Herbert was pretty sure that this was the ghost of Patrick Henry because it was wearing knee breeches, buckled shoes and a periwig. He also recognized his features and pose from the well-known 1851 painting of Henry giving his famous "Give me liberty or give me death" speech to the Virginia House of Burgesses, by Peter F. Rothermel . Patrick Henry's ghost made it known to Herbert that it was especially angry at Pastor MacClelland and his talk of "peace at any price."

Herbert decided that the best idea would be to protect himself by wrapping himself in an American flag whenever he had to check on the steam heat in future. He had a Brooklyn tailor make one specially for him, adapted for him to wear (the New York Times, recounting the story, did not specify how). He advised MacClelland to order one, too.

But when MacClelland heard what Herbert had to say, he "gave him his walking papers" - and the ghostly problem was solved, for MacClelland and the parishioners, at least. But what happened to George Herbert? I wish I knew. I would like to know how long he was troubled by patriotic ghosts and the crashing of martial music in his head - and what became of him.

Oddly, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle appears not to have picked up this story (I found nothing there, after an extensive search). I would have thought that it was just their cup of sensational tea, but they seem to have ignored the whole thing. If I do find out anything more about this story and poor George Herbert, I will let you know.

Image of what is probably the North Reformed (since this is a photo of Clermont at Myrtle) is from NYPL Digital Gallery. The ghost in 18th century dress (actually the ghost of Samuel Johnson, who is standing in for Patrick Henry) is also from the NYPL Digital Gallery. The Rothermel painting is from Wikimedia Commons.

Source: "Ghost Scared A Sexton," New York Times, Jan. 4, 1896, p. 8.

A Magical Mystery

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 15:03:00 +0000

Congratulations to John, Shinade, Grace, Joanne Olivieri and Jen for guessing with magical accuracy - this is indeed a magician's set, made in France in the 1850s. It is over at Martinka's Museum of Magic. I wrote a poem about a 1971 ad for this shop, also known as the Flosso Hornmann Magic Co., in this post. A far more edifying post on the shop is here at The Bowery Boys.

Several pieces in this set were made of tin (cups and balls, which seem not to have survived). The ones in the picture are mostly made of boxwood, which is one of the few woods denser than water, and is often used to make chess pieces (which these resemble a little).

The upper right hand corner piece (with reddish wooden egg sitting just to the left of it) was, according to Martinka, a trick which enabled one to give the illusion of having magically inserted a playing card into a real egg. Here is how the trick, called The Hatched Card, can be done; another version, called Egg à la Card, is here in John Scarne's Scarne on Card Tricks (2003).

The red and blue item just above the wand at the bottom is a Scotch Purse, a trick purse that one put coins into that seemingly then disappeared, though one's audience could still feel the coins inside. This picture at left is the closest modern equivalent of the Scotch Purse that Icould find to show you. It is available at Wonder Workshops.

Apparently, a "bonus genus doll" is missing from the set. This was used in a trick called "Bonus Genus" or "The Little Messenger." One used a trick coin, a small wooden doll and a miniature cape that fitted over the doll to perform this trick. The magician made the doll disappear, provided with invisible money, to some fantastic place to have adventures (this was often done for children). A complete explanation of how this trick was done is discussed in Paul Curry's Magician's Magic (2003, pp 20-25), Curry notes that it was a favorite of Charles Dickens, who was an enthusiastic amateur magician - and who might just have owned a set such as the one pictured above. The illustration at right is from this book, p. 24.

Thank you to all who guessed this week:

John at English Wilderness
Robin Egg's Bleu
Daisy the Curly Cat
Shinade at The Painted Veil
Grace at Hugz Before You Go
Debbi at Debbi's Random Thoughts
Jayne at Our Great Southern Land
Life In Scribbletown
Brett Payne at The Photo Sleuth
Wendy at November Obscura
Pam Walter at Satisfied Sole
Catherine at Sharp Words
Relax Max at Clarity 2009
Alison at EleanorBlog
Susanne Saville at Caffeinated Natter
Joanne Olivieri at Poetic Shutterbug
Jen at Redhead Ranting

A Set Of Strange Little Victorian Objects

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 11:25:00 +0000

It's a History Mystery Friday, and that means a confounding photograph of a confounding historical something.

Here is a set - of something. It does date from the Victorian period, but that's all I will tell you for now.

Have fun guessing - and all shall be revealed on Monday!

******

Edited to add: I am - for now - putting the EC widget back on, primarily so that I can use the toolbar to visit my favorite blogs, and drop on them. Not to be dropping the eleventy-zillion cards I was dropping (don't have time for that!). And I will just see what happens. But I want to use it as a way to visit people. And we'll see how it all goes. There, that's that - see you tomorrow!

Gunzer's Ghost

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 12:15:00 +0000

Henry Dierking was a 25 year old grocer with a business at 813 Park Avenue, Brooklyn, when he married wealthy widow Appolonia Gunzer after a whirlwind courtship of a month and a half.

Appolonia's late husband John Gunzer (George in some accounts) was a saloon owner in East Williamsburgh, Brooklyn. He had died suddenly in May 1877 - murdered while asleep in bed, bludgeoned with a knife or possibly killed by an air-gun (this was one of the many mysteries of the case). His widow was the main suspect in the case but nothing was ever proved and she was not arrested.* She inherited an estate worth about $30,000, which included the saloon. Appolonia - or Abby, as she was sometimes called - ran it alone until a customer brought a friend called Henry Dierking in to meet her. After a six weeks' courtship, she and Dierking married October 15, 1878.

The honeymoon, such as it was, did not last long. Dierking had had no idea of Mrs. Gunzer's history, though it had been the talk of East Williamsburgh only a few years before. Of course, he was not from there - 813 Park was roughly in the neighborhood of Bushwick, just to the southeast. And now, every time he went into a shop in East Williamsburgh and identified himself, the shopkeeper would gasp, and say how brave he had been to marry Abby Gunzer.

At this point, Gunzer's ghost began to appear to Dierking. The ghost was "covered in blood" and full of advice. His advice: get far, far away from Abby. The ghost also said that Abby "was still [his] property, and it would admit of no interlopers or usurpers." Dierking was now frightened of both Gunzers, the widow and the ghost. But he tried to forget about it all. He had only just married, after all, and was living comfortably on that $30,000. So Gunzer's ghost decided to reinforce the message. He reappeared, this time holding a large (but ghostly) club, and urging Henry to leave.

The second round of ghostly threats - not to mention the club - worked. On November 16, a month after the wedding, Dierking fled to Hoboken, New Jersey. And he stayed there, while he had a lawyer draw up separation papers. Henry told people that Abby was "dangerous" but did not specify why. When Abby was "enticed" to visit him in Hoboken in January, Henry got her to sign the separation papers - not telling her, of course, what they were.

As soon as Dierking returned to Brooklyn, Appolonia sued him for abandonment. Dierking countered this by suing her in turn for an absolute divorce.** The abandonment suit was dismissed, but Henry got his divorce. I have been unable to trace Henry and Abby after the divorce, though an Abby Gunzer was living with her three children in another area of Brooklyn in 1880 (see note below).

The Gunzers were an unlucky family. Four years later, in 1883, there was another violent death in the Gunzer family - this time, a tragic accident. Gunzer's mother Victoria, 80 years old, was walking to her local post office from her home in New Lots, Brooklyn when she wasstruck and killed by a New York Woodhaven and Brighton Beach train. She was nearly blind and deaf, and there were no gates at the train crossings. At the inquest, it was suggested that gates be put up all along the line to prevent future tragedies of this nature.

*There were a couple of suspects, initially, but they were completely cleared and circumstantial evidence pointed strongly to Appolonia. nothing was ever proved and she was never arrested, though.

**There is a charming note in the reports of the court proceedings about how the plaintiff, defendant, counsel and spectators "all adjourned to a neighboring bar-room" to discuss the case while drinking beer and eating cheese sandwiches (from "Gunzer Turned Up Again," New York Times, Mar. 18, 1879, p. 8).

Note: Abby Gunzer age 32 and her 3 children were living at 11 Flushing Avenue in the Maspeth/Ridgewood area of Queens, see here at FamilySearch. This was where many Germans had settled at that time.

Sources

"Gunzer Turned Up Again," New York Times, Mar. 18, 1879, p. 8.
"A Haunted Husband," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Mar. 18, 1879, p. 2.
"The Dierking Divorce," New York Times, Mar. 23, 1879, p. 8.
"A Widow Ghost," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Jun. 19, 1880, p. 4.

"Cut To Pieces," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Jul. 27, 1883, p. 4.
"R.R. Accidents," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Jul. 31, 1883, p. 2.

There are many articles about the "Gunser" murder in the Eagle; see, for example, "A Dark Deed" (Jul. 14, 1877), which first casts doubt upon Mrs. Gunzer, and "The Gunsers," May 30, 1877, which has includes interesting testimonies.

John (not Frank, as in BDE stories) and Victoria ('Tidelia' in transcript) Gunzer are listed in New Lots, Brooklyn in 1880 census, see here.

Image of the ghost from NYPL Digital Gallery. Image of Graham Avenue at Metropolitan Avenue, Williamsburgh, also from NYPL Digital Gallery.

Music Monday: The Talk of the Town, 1929

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 11:21:00 +0000

I couldn't resist doing a Music Monday here as well as on The Doubletake because I wanted to share this song from 1929 that's got stuck in my head: "The Talk of the Town," played by Ted Weems and his orchestra and set to still pictures of Mabel Normand (1893* -1930), the silent screen's Queen of Comedy. Weems was a famous orchestra leader in the 20s and 30s, and this bouncy song would have been perfect for a movie of that era, don't you think?

Normand was an incredible comedienne who was one of the first women to not only act but also write, direct and produce movies. At the height of her fame in the late teens and early 1920s, she even had her own studio and production company.

She was a New York girl, born on Staten Island in 1892 or 1893, and had a model for artist Charles Dana Gibson in her teens before being discovered by Mack Sennett. She often costarred with Charles Chaplin and Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle. This little clip will give you an idea of what Normand was like on film. And she wasn't just funny - she was brave. The lion in the last half of this clip is real (the movie is The Extra Girl, 1923).

Ironically, she and Arbuckle were both plagued with bad publicity in the 1920s, which effectively ended their careers. Though she was never a suspect, Normand was unfortunately was associated with the murder of director William Desmond Taylor in 1922 and the shooting of Courtland D. Hines two years later. Hines was shot by Normand's chauffeur with Normand's pistol. She died of tuberculosis in 1930.

Here is Mabel Normand in her heyday, though: "The Talk of the Town" -

*Normand's birthdate is sometimes given as 1892 but according to the 1900 census she was born in November 1893 (Claude Norman[d] household, 1900 US Census, Richmond Boro Ward 1, Richmond, NY; #119/148, Series T623, Roll 1153, p. 105).

The official Mabel Normand website, Madcap Mabel, is here - lots of excellent information and images.

And the official home of Music Monday is Lady Java's Lounge.

******
Thank you so so much to PJ at PJ's Prose for honoring all three of my blogs as her Site of the Week! PJ has a gorgeous blog that I always like visiting, so please drop by there and enjoy it, too.

Very Gentlemanly On the Head

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 13:43:00 +0000

Well, Eureka indeed!

It is Friday and we are going to take a little recess from the history mysteries, though I promise that it will return regularly. Often enough to be fun, but not so often that we all get tired of it.

There will be more ghost stories in the "Only the Dead Know Brooklyn" series, this month, too. And I am also just beginning work on the life story of an eccentric whose life is even more astonishing than that of Fred Bell, the pugilist, Primitive Methodist preacher and fortune teller.

But Fridays, in any case, demand something entertaining and here is just the thing. A hat for all seasons!

You can wear this when you are traveling, especially by steamer boat. And then you can wear it out for an evening on the town in New York, New York after the boat docks down at Pier 49.

Yes, you will be the most styling gentleman of 1874 in your black felt hat, "very gentlemanly on the head." Wear the brim up or turn it down so that it covers your ears (that's what Warnock, the hatter, suggests in the ad) - that will look great. Like a big black felt bucket.

It will go with the big black mustache, no doubt about it.

From the NYPL Digital Gallery.

Fonthill: A Castle In the Bronx

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 12:10:00 +0000

This beautiful castle is in New York City, in the Bronx neighborhood of Kingsbridge. This part of Kingsbridge is now technically in Riverdale. Its modern address is 6301 Riverdale Avenue at West 263rd Street.

Actor Edwin Forrest (1806-1872) purchased farmland overlooking the Hudson, in Kingsbridge, in 1847 and had this castle built for him to live in with his wife Catharine.

Forrest was a well-known Shakespearean actor who was also famous for the messy and sensational divorce case that he became embroiled in.I am going to write about the Forrest case in a future post - it has been in my to-do file for some time, and it was pure serendipity that I decided to write about this building.

Forrest named the property Fonthill, after writer William Beckford's Fonthill Abbey in England. Beckford (1760-1844) is best known for his Gothic novel Vathek (1786). The original Fonthill was nicknamed Beckford's Folly. Beckford lived there alone in one of the 12 bedrooms. The doors were 35' tall and it took 500 workers several years to build. Twice the 300' tower on the abbey collapsed and had to be rebuilt.

Forrest sold his Bronx Fonthill to the Sisters of Charity and the College of Mt. St. Vincent, in 1856. This was doubtless part of the fall-out of his divorce in 1850. In 1849, Edwin and Catherine separated and Forrest had moved back to his native Philadelphia.

Fonthill has been a beautiful part of the Mt. St. Vincent campus ever since 1856. In 1912 Stephen Jenkins wrote that it was being used as a combination chaplain's residence, library and museum.

The stereoscopic picture of Edwin Forrest's Fonthill is from NYPL Digital Gallery and dates from the 1860-1915 period. The Mathew Brady photograph of Edwin Forrest is from Wikipedia, as is the picture of Beckford's Fonthill.

Hermalyn, Gary and Robert Kornfeld. Landmarks of the Bronx (1989), p. 27.
Jenkins, Stephen. The Story of the Bronx (1912, 2007 ed.) p. 325.

The Great Glass Coffee Experiment

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 12:59:00 +0000

It may look like an elegant Victorian chemistry experiment, but Friday's mystery contraption is actually a coffee maker from the mid-1850s. And a lot of you were totally on the right track. However, many congratulations and cups of fine coffee to ceemee and Caroline who were absolutely right!

This type of coffee maker was known as a balance siphon, and was a form of vacuum coffee maker. All of which requires a little explaining. The vacuum coffee maker has two containers, usually one on top of the other, connected by a tube. The water is heated in the bottom. The expansion caused by heat forces the water up through the tube into the upper container, which has coffee grounds in it. When all the water is at the top, the heat is turned off, which creates a vacuum and the brewed coffee drips back down into the lower part of the coffee maker.

The balance siphon coffee maker has the two vessels side by side on a platform but works in the same way. The platform contains a counterweight attached to the heated vessel. The counterweight activates a mechanism (usually a snuffer) which turns the heating element off when the coffee and water have combined. The heater was, in the Victorian models, usually a spirit lamp. In this case, the white porcelain water boiler is on the right, with a glass spirit lamp under it. The glass coffee vessel is at the left, and has a copper top. The rod in the center is brass and has a spring-loaded bracket (which turns off the spirit lamp).

My favorite Victorian balance siphon coffee maker, however, is Jefferson Davis' locomotive coffee maker, which Jack Finney writes about in Forgotten News. French friends of the Confederacy gave it to Davis in the 1860s, and later it came into the possession of President Andrew Johnson, who (Finney writes) did actually use it in the White House. It had a music box inside which played "Dixie" as the coffee was being brewed.

Finney includes pictures of it, but I thought I had better not get in trouble scanning them right out of the book. The water heats in the steam engine and a whistle tells you when the water is hot. The charming little pink locomotive coffee maker above is very similar, though. It dates from about 1864 and was made in France like the Davis coffee maker. The image is from Earlytech, and I hope that they do not mind me sharing it with you here. There is an excellent article about this coffee maker at Earlytech, too.

Many thanks as always to you all for playing this week:

Daisy the Curly Cat
Fresh Hell
Caroline at The Quack Doctor
Susan Helene Gottfried at West of Mars
wngl at Zeitheist
Bethany at Beppycat and Co.
John at English Wilderness
Norkio at Past Periods Press
ceemee at cazzapoeia
Lisa at Alterity Antique and Vintage Button Jewelry
Pam Walter at Satisfied Sole
Hairball at Hairballs on the Carpet of Life
Jude at Mature Not Senile
filmtub at filmtub
Debbi at Debbi's Random Thoughts
Annemieke (no link)
Auntie E at At Home With Auntie E
Anonymous (no link)

Here at CoffeeGeek you can see a reproduction of a similar coffee maker from the 1840s - on sale for $600. And here are more at Espresso Vero.

Next Friday, I will do something different - not sure what, yet. I'll probably space out the Mystery Objects so that we don't get tired of doing the same thing every week, because that is no fun at all.

The Curlicued Thingamajig

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 12:07:00 +0000

I was able to make this picture a decent size this week, which is a good thing since it has all sorts of decorative detail on it.

You might be able to guess this one. I don't know if I could have guessed it, but knowing what it is - I can see that you might.

This is Victorian, not surprisingly. Some Fridays we'll definitely delve into other eras but so far all the detective work has been in the 19th century.

Answers forthcoming on Monday, as usual!

The Flying Hat

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 13:15:00 +0000

This most uplifting object is a Flying Hat, the subject of a late Victorian trick photograph (although the trick is not that astonishing - if you look closely you can see three wires attached to the hat).

It was taken by Eli W. Buel, a Pittsfield, Massachusetts photographer, about 1870. But why? This is the sort of picture that makes you wish you knew more about the photographer. Did he like hats? Did he long to be a magician instead of a photographer? Did someone ask him to make a portrait of their favorite hat?

We may never know.

From the collection of George Eastman House at Flickr, link here.

And tomorrow: the weekly History Mystery...

******

Thank you to Silly Willy and Fluffy for the Friendship Blog Award!

******
And also: I have disabled Entrecard ads. I'll let the already-bought ones run and then I am leaving Entrecard. I am not a fan of the sponsored ads. How about you? Do tell in the comments.

I'll be bookmarking and subscribing to lots of EC friends. Let me know if you want to keep in touch. I'll have more time to visit, comment and - you know - actually write stuff.

Magic and Matrimony: The Dark Doings of Madame Prewster

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 15:47:00 +0000

Mrs. Prewster, from Philadelphia, tenders her services to the ladies and gentlemen of this city in astrology, love, and law matters, interpreting dreams, etc., by books and science, constantly relied on by Napoleon; and will tell the name of the lady or gentleman they will marry; also the names of the visitors. No. 59, Great Jones Street, corner of the Bowery. Ladies 50 cents, gentlemen 1 dollar. --Advertisement, 1854

"Who has not heard of Madame Prewster?" asked Henry Morford in his 1863 novel, Shoulder-straps. She was famous, Morford wrote, for predicting the future spouses of both ladies and gentlemen, and for being able to tell the names of her clients before they introduced themselves.

Caroline Prewster was a fortune teller in the 1850s and early 1860s in New York. She lived at several addresses in this period, all in the neighborhood of the Bowery: 59 Great Jones Street, 76 Madison Street, 411 Grand Street and 373 The Bowery. By 1860 she had moved uptown to 251 Third Avenue (between 20th and 21st Streets). Her name was familiar to most New Yorkers of the time; out of the two hundred or so fortune tellers working in New York then, she was arguably the most famous.

Unfortunately, though, this was because she was infamous for the sinister business she ran on the side. This was ostensibly a matrimonial bureau, but she was not so much a matchmaker as she was a procuress.

The journalist Fitz-James O'Brien wrote about a visit to Prewster in the early 1850s, entitled "Magic and Matrimony." He inquired about her matrimonial services and she said that for ten dollars she provided matchmaking services, introducing gentlemen to young lady school-teachers and shop-girls, on receipt of ten dollars from the gentlemen. Why, she had made over 300 successful matches. "Sometimes singular things happen," she said (as indeed was quite true, but not in the sense she meant). She told O'Brien that once a rich man had asked her to represent him as poor to the young lady, and that once they were married "he landed her to her great astonishment in a new house of magnificent splendour."

O'Brien asked if the ladies were not in some danger from these introductions, which led not to matrimony but rather to "unfortunate [results] as regards the female." Madame Prewster, "visibly swelling like a hen whose brood has been outraged," said:

No, Sir! Never, Sir! I will and am able to purtect all the ladies who confides themselves to my charge. Nothing of the kind have ever occurred to me. I would never introduce the gentleman no more to ladies, and he would lose his ten dollars. That's the way I'd serve him.

The sad story of one of these young ladies is told in a letter which her mother wrote in 1853 to the Mayor of New York, Fernando Wood. It was printed in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. Her daughter, the lady wrote, was almost 15 and had answered a gentleman's advertisement for a wife in the New York Herald. Her mother had had no idea of this, "or it would not have happened." The girls "were directed to Mrs. Prewster's, Great Jones St., corner of the Bowery" to meet the man. Prewster said that for $5 she would tell the girls all about him and to come back the next Friday:

She thought at first she would not go, but the other girl had been there, and found a beau to her liking, and been to Coney Island with him, and she told [my daughter] such a story that she thought she would go and see Madame Prewster again. When she went in she saw a man, who said, 'Mrs. Prewster, what a charming girl that is! O, my dream is completely out! That lady has been in my midnight dreams for months past.' 'O ho!' said Mrs. Prewster, 'did I not show this man in the cards, with such black eyes.'

The man told the girl not to tell her parents and he would not tell his father "where he got his wife from" - and that they would "keep company until winter came on" and then marry. They would meet at Madame Prewster's "when convenient." Unfortunately the girl became pregnant and this is when her mother noticed, of course, that all was not well:

She said that she had gone away from her home, with a very bad man and lived with him in a very bad house...The man that made her [pregnant] is a married man, with a wife and four children. He had deserted them and ruined my child. If I expose him I shall also expose my whole family...Do, Sir, all in your power to send those fortune tellers away, or make the press not advertise such people's business. This is the first letter I ever wrote to an officer in my life. I am so worried I do not know what to do or say.

Enclosed with this letter were Prewster's ad (very similar to the one quoted at the beginning of this post) and the matrimonial ad from the Herald. The latter stated that the gentleman is a 38 year old widower "of some wealth" wishing to meet and wed a "well-bred lady" but that he is not particular about her age. His mailing address was in Jersey City; Prewster's reputation was not limited to New York City, it seemed.

The journalist Mortimer Thomson, who wrote under the name Q.K. Philander Doesticks, also visited Prewster in the 1850s. Like O'Brien, he considered he to be "one of the most dangerous" fortune tellers in the city. She had been known to the police for at least 14 years (he wrote in 1858) and that "the amount of evil she has accomplished in that time is incalculable."

Prewster was certainly in New York City by 1850, in which year she is listed in the census with daughter Caroline. Prewster seems to have been born in Philadelphia* about the year 1811, and possibly first practiced fortune telling there. She may have known Madame Morrow, who was from the same city and roughly the same age. She was still in New York in the 1860 census but I have been unable to trace her beyond the year 1863, when she is listed in a New York directory.

Note: Madame Prewster's actual fortune telling exploits, as described by O'Brien and Thomson, are worthy of a separate future post - as this one is already quite long.

*Additional Note: In the 1860 census Prewster is listed as being born in England, but this is contradicted both by the 1850 census and by John Netten Radcliffe, who says that she is from Philadelphia.

Sources

Caroline Prewster household, 1850 US Census, New York City Ward 13, New York, NY; #481/1317, Roll M432_550, p. 368.
Caroline Prewster household, 1860 US Census, New York City Ward 18 District 3, New York, NY; #223/277, Series M653, Roll 813, p. 735.
"City News and Gossip," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Feb. 7, 1855, p. 3.
"Fortune Tellers and Fools," New York Times, Nov. 23, 1855, p. 4.
Doesticks, Q.K. Philander [Mortimer Thomson]. The Witches of New York (1858), pp 29-50.
Morford, Henry. Shoulder-straps: A Novel of New York and the Army, 1862. (1863), p. 184.
O'Brien, Fitz-James and Wayne R. Kime. Selected Literary Journalism, 1852-1860 (2003), pp 70-75.
Radcliffe, John Netten. Fiends, Ghosts and Sprites (1854), p. 66 [advertisement quoted at top of post]

Images

The illustration "Faces In the Fire" is from Arthur's Illustrated Magazine, Vol. 44 (1876), p. 191
Postcard scene of the Bowery from NYPL Digital Gallery.
Bowery old clothes shop/street scene (1871) from NYPL Digital Gallery.

The Curious Case of the Pleximeter

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 13:34:00 +0000

This object is so decorative, it's hard to believe that it is a medical instrument - but that is exactly what it is. The Friday mystery object is a silver and ivory pleximeter, dating from about 1850.

And what, you ask, is a pleximeter?

Austrian doctor Leopold Auenbrugger (1722-1809) invented a diagnostic technique called percussion in the mid-18th century. He got the idea from remembering how his father tapped beer kegs and then listened to see how full they were. Medical percussion was similar: tapping on a patient's chest, thorax or abdomen. A duller sound indicated a blockage or mass, whereas a lighter, more reverberant sound indicated health - clear unobstructed lungs, for example.

Pierre Adolphe Piorry invented the pleximeter in 1826, as a percussive aid. One used it as a platform to tap on with fingers or another instrument, and it would improve the conduction of sound. David Francis Condie noted in the 1850s that one could strike harder on a pleximeter than on the bare skin, and thus get "a more decided sound" - and, presumably, a better diagnosis.

Percussion did not become a popular technique until the 19th century, after Napoleon's physician, Jean Nicholas Corvisant, wrote about Auenbrugger's innovative methods. By the mid-19th century pleximetry was a popular method of diagnosis, and pleximeters were made - first of wood, but later of glass, ivory, gutta percha and silver. They were often marked with gradations to help the physician locate the precise area the sound was coming from. Pleximeters came in a variety of shapes and sizes and could be used in conjunction with the fingers, a stethoscope (first invented in 1816 by French physician René Laennec), or a small hammer.

Many thanks to all who took part in this round of Guess the History Mystery. And I apologize for not being able to show this from different angles or bigger - the sites I find these on have only one picture of the object, as a rule. When I tried to enlarge the image, it got blurry - so I didn't.

Thank you so much to all:

Kristine at Dr. Mom's Spot
Pinaybackpacker
P.L. Frederick at Small and Big
John at English Wilderness
Daisy at Daisy the Curly Cat
FreshHell
Jude at Mature Not Senile
Roschelle at Inconsequential Logic
Wendy at November Obscura and Gothic Tea Society
Shinade at The Painted Veil
Amanda at Time Machine to the Twenties
Hairball at Hairballs on the Carpet of Life
Beth at Margie and Edna's Basement
Pam Walter at Satisfied Sole
The Writing Nag
Lisa at Alterity Button Jewelry
RE Ausetkmt at Recycled Frockery
Dr. Lauren at The Ancient Digger
Auntie E at At Home With Auntie E
LiLu at Live It, LOVE It
Arlene DeWinter at Gothic Faery Tales

Fabulous guesses all - please check out Friday's comments for them!

More to come this week, and of course another mystery on Friday...

Sources

Aitken, William. The Science and Practice of Medicine, Vol. 2 (1866), p. 525, link here.

Condie, David Francis. Lectures on the Principles and Practice of Physic (1855), p. 524, link here.

Soiferman, Erik and Eric Rackow. "A Brief History of the Practice of Percussion," at antiquemed.com.

The Civil War era ivory and silver pleximeter (with the ivory in the middle) is from this eBay page - if you happen to have $1300, you might want to bid on it (!).

The small (it is only 2" long) all-ivory pleximeter (also dating from the mid-19th century) is from prices4antiques.

A Silver Mystery

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 13:13:00 +0000

What do you think this is? It is made out of silver and evidently very nicely decorated.

And it is Victorian.

And I will tell you all about it on Monday. I'm going to post the follow-up on Monday so that you can (a) have a bit more time to guess and (b) have something interesting to start the week with. And it will also give me a little bit more time to research and write something interesting!

I'll aim to write a longish post for midweek, most weeks. And in-between, if I find something amusing and quick, like an ad or a photograph (I have one in mind for next week already) I'll post that, too.

Happy detecting!

Dr. Wolcott's Pain Paint

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 12:33:00 +0000

In the late 1860s, a Dr. Chatham in New York City came up with one of the strangest ideas I have ever come across: Pain Paint.

It inspired all sorts of poetry, such as this ballad found in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, which reads in part:

"My Dear Wife!"

"What! grunt with pain and never try
Pain Paint in every store!
I blush to see you pout and cry,
When Paint will quick restore.

Our Bridget shall a bottle bring;
Then bathe your ankles well;
Wolcott's Pain Paint is just the thing
For crippled Joe or pouting Nell.

...Why, Wolcott's Pain Paint never fails
When properly applied;
To cure disease and all the ails
Soak full of paint outside.

An ounce of bread can never fill,
Or quench the appetite;
Small bottles! No, a pint is still
Too small, a quart is nearer right.

A quart of Pain Paint cost $8 - a tremendous amount of money in 1868.

A man named Peter Minck wrote most of the Pain Paint poetry, including the epic "A Hundred Years Ago," at right. He signed the piece entitled "My Wife Had An Ulcer" which is a tribute to the Paint which "the Doctors told me was humbug." Minck's verse concludes:

I am well known in this city,
And any person
Can make further inquiry
At 101 West Street, New York,
At the Hanover-House
Of which I am proprietor.

Peter Minck is listed on the 1880 US census at FamilySearch: he was a Hanover-born restaurant owner, hence the name of his establishment. Minck was 53 years old in 1880, so was writing his poetry for Pain Paint in his early 40s (circa 1868).

So what was this astonishing mixture which wiped out all manner of aches and pains, and made restauranteurs wax poetic? A Dr. Crull in the Medical World, quoted in Charles Wilmot Oleson's Secret Nostrums (1892) gives his recipe: dried mint leaves soaked for a few days in oil of peppermint, dissolved in alcohol and diluted with water.

Dr. Wolcott also made an Instant Pain Annihilator (1867 ad at left).

Image with poem "A Hundred Years Ago" from Harper's Weekly, November 1868, at HarpWeek's 19th Century Advertising History. The wonderful Dr. Wolcott dollar bill is from the Bowers Merena auction site, link here to see both sides of the bill. And the color ad for Wolcott's Pain Annihilator is from the Library of Congress; I've already used it in a previous post, but it's worth showing here, too. You can get the large version over at LOC.

Additional Sources

Advertisement, Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Sept. 21, 1867, p. 6.
"A Dangerous Man," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Nov. 29, 1867, p. 3.
Oleson, Charles Wilmot. Secret Nostrums and Systems of Medicine: A Book of Formulas (Chicago 1892), p. 194.
Sampson, Henry. A History of Advertising from the Earliest Times (New York, 1875), p. 592.

An Uplifting Device

Lidian47@gmail.com (Lidian) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 12:25:00 +0000

If you were a lady in the Victorian era, and you wanted to go for a walk - whether in the country or the city - there was a problem. The problem was the interaction of your long and trailing skirts with rural mud or dirty city streets (full of heavens know what sort of filth). But a solution was no farther away than a loop attached to your belt or chatelaine.

A chatelaine, from the French word for "chain," was a belt hook with chains attached to it, worn by ladies. Each chain held a useful object, such as scissors, thimble, watch and keys. This picture of a chatelaine is from the National Park Service.

And here is the solution to the problem of mud versus skirt: the skirt-lifter! The tonged part held the bottom of your skirt up and kept it clean. The Friday one was fairly plain. Some of them were quite fancy looking, as you can see. The seashell-shaped lifter is from Victoriana Lady; the gold one is from GoAntiques. The latter was attached, as you can see, to a finger ring. The skirt lifters were popular from about 1870 to the early 1900s. The one featured in Friday's post dates from about 1880. Once again, I won't tell you my source, since I'd like to use it again in future.

Congratulations to Laane of Laane Loves, who knew exactly what this was, and was the first to post a correct response. Laane was the first, but kudos also to everyone else who agreed with her:

Robin (no blog link listed)
Bill (ditto)
Kittybriton at The Nonce
Jude at Mature Not Senile
Shinade at The Painted Veil

And a huge thank you to everyone else for your creative and entertaining guesses:

P.L. Frederick at Small and Big: dog leash with earmuffs, early iPod holder or possibly spaghetti tongs
FreshHell: something medical involving electro-shock therapy or gynecology
Jennifer at some rabbits: some sort of scale
Daisy the Curly Cat: dog leash with handy pooper-scooper tongs attached
Dr. Lauren at The Ancient Digger: possibly a torture device
John at English Wilderness: weird candle snuffer or tapestry hanging device
Kirsten at The Soccer Mom Files: elephant nose tweezers
Grace at Hugz Before You Go
Joanne at Poetic Shutterbug
Hairball at Hairballs On the Carpet of Life: a pickle grabber with a wrist strap
Babette at Babette Feasts: an ice grabber with a wrist strap

Thank you all, you make it so much fun! More to come in the next weeks: more Friday mysteries of course, and posts involving Victorian ghosts, Victorian fortune tellers, a strange tale of the Mexican War, and one of the oddest medical ads I have ever seen.

[The picture of the 1870s ladies is from the NYPL Digital Gallery.]