Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Funny-Looking Guy Photo From the 1800s
Found recently in the same stash of antique cabinet photos as the Crazy Eyed Baby, this gentleman gave me pause. He's got a New Wave hairdo going on a century early, but even without that, there's just something odd-looking about him, no? He's definitely a keeper.
McKee's Moving Puzzle
A few weeks ago I stumbled across one of the most amazing advertising premiums I've ever seen. Made in 1927, "McKee's Moving Puzzle" in its nondescript, 4 by 3 1/4 inch box holds a remarkable toy inside: a wooden furniture puzzle complete with some clever copywriting.
The McKee Moving & Storage Company was based in the city of Saskatoon in Saskatchewan, Canada. In 1927 they distributed this puzzle as an advertising premium to potential customers. The box cover reads,
"We can solve all your moving, packing, storage, and shipping problems."
Inside, the puzzle consists of 9 wooden pieces labelled as various pieces of furniture: piano, chairs, rug, mat, lamp, table, clock, and sofa. The trick is to move the piano from one corner to another without jumping, raising, or turning any piece, one piece at a time. (It's incredibly difficult. I gave up very quickly.) Clever ad copy inside the cover reads:
"Moving is always a problem. Placing the furniture is frequently a puzzle...we can solve this puzzle, as well as your Moving, Storage, Packing or Shipping problems. Write for solution."
Thank goodness the instructions were included, or I would never have managed it. The text ends with a final advertisement:
"If you have followed the above directions you are now an expert piano mover as far as this puzzle is concerned. However, should you have a real piano or other household goods to move back, store, or ship don't fail to call on us."
McKee's is apparently still in business, and if I lived in Saskatchewan, I would definitely hire them to move some of my furniture around, just to show my appreciation for this fantastic toy.
The McKee Moving & Storage Company was based in the city of Saskatoon in Saskatchewan, Canada. In 1927 they distributed this puzzle as an advertising premium to potential customers. The box cover reads,
"We can solve all your moving, packing, storage, and shipping problems."
Inside, the puzzle consists of 9 wooden pieces labelled as various pieces of furniture: piano, chairs, rug, mat, lamp, table, clock, and sofa. The trick is to move the piano from one corner to another without jumping, raising, or turning any piece, one piece at a time. (It's incredibly difficult. I gave up very quickly.) Clever ad copy inside the cover reads:
"Moving is always a problem. Placing the furniture is frequently a puzzle...we can solve this puzzle, as well as your Moving, Storage, Packing or Shipping problems. Write for solution."
Thank goodness the instructions were included, or I would never have managed it. The text ends with a final advertisement:
"If you have followed the above directions you are now an expert piano mover as far as this puzzle is concerned. However, should you have a real piano or other household goods to move back, store, or ship don't fail to call on us."
McKee's is apparently still in business, and if I lived in Saskatchewan, I would definitely hire them to move some of my furniture around, just to show my appreciation for this fantastic toy.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
1916 Hoosier Cabinet
I have a thing for Hoosier cabinets, somewhat strangely I suppose, since I don't cook or spend any time in my kitchen (it's used for displaying my PEZ collection). These cabinets, loaded with specialized compartments for groceries and utensils, were a mainstay in American kitchens from the 1900s through the '40s, and were repurposed as storage units in garages and basements for decades after.
They have appeal to collectors of Americana, and many people remember them fondly from visits to their grandmothers. The cabinets can be things of great beauty, but after years of neglect are often found in this condition:
My mother and I discovered this Hoosier in an alley behind a Salvation Army store, where it had sat all night in a torrential rain storm. As apparent in the above photo, it had been badly overpainted many times, and was totally waterlogged. But it still had its original etched glass doors and most of its hardware, and I could tell it was old. We felt it didn't deserve such a miserable end after almost a century of faithful service, and we determined to save it. It took a year of sanding, sanding, endless sanding, but finally it was finished last week. When we cleaned the latches, we found a patent date of 1916, which enabled us to identify the cabinet.
Here it is now, restored to its original golden oak finish:
I use it for storing my vintage board game and puzzle collection, which I imagine the cabinet is really enjoying after all those years of holding greasy tools (we think someone had it in their garage for a long time, after its kitchen duty ended).
The silverware drawer is perfect for small puzzles:
Hoosier cabinets are really fascinating things, and you can learn more about them in a great new book that just came out last year: The Hoosier Cabinet in Kitchen History, by Nancy Hiller.
They have appeal to collectors of Americana, and many people remember them fondly from visits to their grandmothers. The cabinets can be things of great beauty, but after years of neglect are often found in this condition:
My mother and I discovered this Hoosier in an alley behind a Salvation Army store, where it had sat all night in a torrential rain storm. As apparent in the above photo, it had been badly overpainted many times, and was totally waterlogged. But it still had its original etched glass doors and most of its hardware, and I could tell it was old. We felt it didn't deserve such a miserable end after almost a century of faithful service, and we determined to save it. It took a year of sanding, sanding, endless sanding, but finally it was finished last week. When we cleaned the latches, we found a patent date of 1916, which enabled us to identify the cabinet.
Here it is now, restored to its original golden oak finish:
I use it for storing my vintage board game and puzzle collection, which I imagine the cabinet is really enjoying after all those years of holding greasy tools (we think someone had it in their garage for a long time, after its kitchen duty ended).
The silverware drawer is perfect for small puzzles:
Monday, September 6, 2010
Miniature Pressed Tin Tea Set
Although I don't like tea, I am strangely obsessed with tiny tea sets. Children's, doll's, or dollhouse sized, I collect them all. My latest find was this pressed tin set, made as a doll accessory in the late 1800s/early 1900s, probably in England. The tray is 4 3/4 inches long, the teapot is 2 1/2 inches tall, and the cups are an inch in diameter, not counting the handles. These pictures really don't do it justice; it's an incredibly beautiful, fragile little thing.
Below, my 10 inch German bisque doll has added it to her china cupboard (made long ago from an antique clock case):
Below, my 10 inch German bisque doll has added it to her china cupboard (made long ago from an antique clock case):
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Antique Photo of Crazy-Eyed Baby
Some of the "Other Stuff" that I collect are antique photos of children with toys, a natural extension of my antique toy collecting, and an accessory line common to many toy collectors.
Today I found an old picture of a baby, and, even though it's toyless, I had to have it. It's the coolest Victorian baby photo I've ever come across. The baby, dressed in an immaculate white dress, bonnet, and cape, resting on a bearskin rug, has a stunned expression that I interpret as "Oh my goodness: I just crapped my pants!" (At least, that's what I remember this look signifying, back in my baby-sitting days...)
Today I found an old picture of a baby, and, even though it's toyless, I had to have it. It's the coolest Victorian baby photo I've ever come across. The baby, dressed in an immaculate white dress, bonnet, and cape, resting on a bearskin rug, has a stunned expression that I interpret as "Oh my goodness: I just crapped my pants!" (At least, that's what I remember this look signifying, back in my baby-sitting days...)
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