Antique Photo of Child With Garden Gnome

I've been wanting to do a little theme on garden gnomes for awhile (I adore gnomes), and I thought I'd start with this: a 1920s German photograph of a little boy with his gnome.

Kind of a creepy-looking gnome, no?

Garden gnomes got their start way back in the mid-1800s in Germany. The earliest were made of terracotta and were finely sculpted. Travelers to Germany took the gnomes back to France and England, where they became very popular with hobby gardeners. In America, these ornamental figures are often referred to as lawn, not garden, gnomes, perhaps reflecting the suburbanite obsession with their little plots of grass.

To learn more about gnomes, check out Garden Gnomes: a History, by the oddly yet aptly named garden historian Twigs Way.

Antique Photo of Child with Stearns Automobile and Chauffeur

Over the summer, I found this antique photo of a child playing in a magnificent automobile while a tolerant chauffeur looks on. Usually I only collect old photos of children with toys, a natural extension of my antique toy collecting. But this picture was just too captivating to pass by. And after all, the child is playing in the car, so perhaps we can consider it a toy, albeit a very expensive one.

 It took me awhile to get the car identified, but I'm told by my local "car guy" that it's a Stearns, made by the luxury automobile manufacturer F.B. Stearns of Cleveland, Ohio. Stearns cars were originally in production from 1898-1925, when the company was sold to J.N. Willys of Willys Overland fame. Willys continued making Stearns models until 1929, when they liquidated the company. I'm not sure of this car's date: I've seen pictures online of similar Stearns ranging from 1908-1920s. (Any Stearns experts out there who can identify it, feel free to write me!) In 1906, a typical Stearns auto sold for an astronomical $5,200, which explains the presence of the chauffeur: if you could afford this car back then, you probably had an estate with a substantial domestic staff.

The picture has a label on the back saying it was framed at Crowley, Milner & Company, a Detroit department store that was founded in 1909, so it's a pretty safe bet that this photograph was taken in a posh area of Detroit like Indian Village or its luxurious neighbor, Grosse Pointe.

That's one happy, happy kid. I would be, too, if I had a chauffeur to drive me everywhere!

1930s Mickey Mouse Tea Set

The yard sale and outdoor antique show season is almost over in my part of the world, where the temperatures are already dropping into the 40s (Farenheit) at night. But last weekend I gathered up my spare change, braved the weather, and saled away, finding great bargains like the mod Barbie clothes and Flagg dollhouse dolls mentioned in the previous two posts.

I had decided to pack it in and head home, as the weather was turning decidedly blustery, when I spotted a final sale. It didn't look like much, but I thought I spotted the gleam of vintage lustrewear. I decided to check, and good thing too, because tucked away in a corner of a table was part of a 1930s Mickey Mouse children's tea set, Made in Japan, in the rarer blue lustre variation (when found, these pieces are usually in gold lustre.) Even though it's just a partial set, it's a treasure: one of the earliest licensed Mickey Mouse items ever made!

The find included a little creamer, four saucers, and two plates. For a sense of scale, the largest plates measure about 3 1/4 inches in diameter.

Mickey and Minnie on a nautical outing decorate
a saucer and the creamer.

An artist Mickey features in the center of a plate.

Mickey presents Minnie with a white rabbit, presumably pulled
from a magic hat, on this tiny saucer.

Mickey waters some flowers. He's probably going to give them
to Minnie later.

My favorite piece of all was this one, a little plate with the image of Mickey standing in front of a fantastic vintage microphone. He looks so confident and self-assured, doesn't he? What a cute little guy.

Now I just need to find the matching cups, teapot, and sugar bowl...

Flagg Flexible Dollhouse Dolls

These homely little dolls may not look like much compared to the oh-so-chic mod Barbies of the previous post, but they have a charm all their own, as well as a wonderful history. (I learned most of this history from the fantastic book Dollhouse and Miniature Dolls, 1840-1990, by Marcie and Bob Tubbs.)

The little dollhouse family of four includes a mom and dad, just over 4 inches each, and a boy and girl, just under 3 inches. They're made of a solid, flexible vinyl over a wire armature, and feature naively handpainted features, hair, and shoes with felt and cotton clothing. The tiny dolls were made by the Flagg Doll Company in the 1950s.

The firm began in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, just after WWII. The founders, Sheila and Charles Flagg, met during the war while she worked in a factory and he served at the Navy ship yard. Sheila was the artistically creative side of the partnership, sculpting the dolls from soap, designing and sewing their clothes, and painting their hair and faces. Charles was the mechanically creative partner. He made the molds, created the special casting oven, designed a hydraulic press to cut out the clothing, and invented a stapler to affix the clothing to the dolls. He also handled the advertising and business end of things.

The family's children sometimes helped in the factory as well. The Tubbs report in their book that "daughters, Leslie and Penny, first painted toenails and fingernails on dolls before graduating to painting faces. Neither daughter was allowed to be a 'costumer' after Leslie stapled her finger on the foot powered machine. One person in the factory boxed dolls, a thankless and unpopular task, as it was difficult to place the feet in the pre-cut tab openings. The Flagg's youngest child, Charles III, was often the nominated 'boxer.'"

The Flagg's first dolls came out around 1947, and appealed not only to children but also to child psychologists, who used them in diagnostic play with their young patients. As dollhouse play declined in the 1970s and '80s, this clinical market became the Flagg's biggest customer.

Besides the standard dollhouse family, the Flagg Company offered a vast range of creatively themed dolls, such as storybook characters, professions (nurses, doctors, police officers, teachers), a wedding party, nuns, Pilgrims, household domestic staff, and countless more.

Profitability became an issue as cheap import toys began flooding the American market in the 1970s and '80s, and the company, after being sold following Charles' death, finally closed in 1985.

The charming little dolls, with their rich history as part of one of the last American family-owned and run toy companies, are a precious addition to any collection. I was thrilled to find my set in a box of bargain priced "junque" at a local sale. Even in their well loved and played with condition, they're still tiny treasures.

Mod Barbie Fashion Find

Mod-era Barbie clothes are just fantastic things, reflecting the daring, day-glo designs of their time (1967-1972). The individual outfits were given creative names by their designers, like "Maxi 'n Mini," "Knit Hit," and "Velvet Venture." They are also fragile things, made of glittery metallic and foiled fabric, velveteen, vinyl, and synthetic fur. These two factors combine to make mod-era Barbie fashions desirable, scarce, and costly. I've not been willing to pay the extortion-level prices usually asked for such pieces, and so my mod Barbies have sadly remained naked. Until now.

 While browsing some sales late last week, I stumbled upon a "bargain box" full of modern (1990s-2000s) Barbies. I was going to pass over them, as modern Barbies don't interest me much...but then I thought I better take a closer look at the box "just in case."

Well, it's a good thing I did: the contemporary Barbies were all clothed in original 1960s mod-era fashions, including some of the most highly sought Barbie clothes out there. Each doll was priced at $2.00, and at the bottom of the box was a plastic baggie filled with more mod pieces, the whole bag labelled $3.00. The score was about $250.00 worth of vintage Barbie clothes for $9.00!

 In the bag were the sleeveless minidresses "Knit Hit" & "Togetherness" (upper right), Francie's far-out and furry turquoise corduroy poncho (center), and 2 pieces from Sears' exclusive "Glamour Group" (bottom right), as well as a cool bowling bag and some vintage shoes.

The bag also included a couple of "mommy-made" pieces (top, left and right: stripey dress and yellow sweater/floral skirt ensemble).

After I recovered from my swoon, I rushed the Barbies home, where they were stripped and given to a friend who likes the new dolls. The vintage clothes were gleefully adopted by my mod Barbies, who model them below.

My blond Hair Fair Barbie sports the fabulous, and rarely found, "Maxi 'n Mini," a turquoise foiled maxi coat with a metallic striped mini dress. This outfit originally came with matching thigh-high boots, which were incredibly fragile and seldom survived. 

 

Check out that fab faux fur collar!

My blond TNT (Twist 'n Turn) Barbie models the coat from "Velvet Venture," a cool pale green plush with gold braid trim.

My brunette Hair Fair Barbie showcases one of the mod-era's day-glo outfits, which was named "Hurray for Leather" by Mattel designers who were apparently unaware of the naughty allusions this title could stir up amongst a certain group of sex fetishists. Unfortunate naming aside, this is one of the coolest of the mod fashions, consisting of a leather-look yellow vinyl miniskirt with day-glo orange shag trim that matches the sweater, completed with yellow "pilgrim" shoes.

She's ready for a night of go-go dancing...

My mod Barbies are thrilled with their extensive new (and cheap!) wardrobe.

To see lots more mod Barbie fashions, check out Carnaby Street at modcolors.com.

A Photogenic Family...Not.

Here's the last picture I saved from a stash of antique cabinet photos I came across this week. I don't know if there was something in the local water, the photographer was intoxicated/inept, inbreeding was rampant in the area, or there was a combination of all the above, but for some reason this cache of photos held an enormous number of odd-looking individuals (see the "Crazy-Eyed Baby" and "Funny-Looking Guy" previously posted below).

This example just begs for a retake: Little Brother, on the far left, has his eyes crossed; Big Brother, standing at the back, has a tragic, haunted expression; Big Sister, on the right, looks like she's about to cry; and the bear rug appears to be eating the Baby.

My apologies in advance if someone recognizes these 

as their ancestors.

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.

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.

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):

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...)

Back-to-School with the Fisher Price Safety School Bus

It's September, so I thought we ought to take a little trip back-to-school with one of the classic theme-related toys made by Fisher Price: the Safety School Bus.

The first version of the bus came out in 1959, measured 14 inches long, was made of wood with a transparent plastic roof, and originally included 6 passengers. (More on the passengers in a minute: they're very important!)

 The roof has a removeable wooden piece that allows access to the bus interior, where the passengers nestle in holes cut in front of their seats. This holds them securely in place as the bus is pulled. Can't have kids falling over all willy-nilly as you're going down the road...

The front of the bus features headlight "eyes" and a friendly driver, along with a moveable stop sign that can be flipped out and tucked back (the "safety" component of the Safety School Bus). The headlight eyes and the driver turn back and forth as the bus is pulled.

That is, amazingly, the original pull string.

The back end of the bus holds 2 naughty children who spin and bounce wildly as the vehicle is pulled, a touch of realism that I remember vividly from my own school days. (I myself always sat up in front with the nerdy good kids...)

 
And speaking of those kids: what makes the Safety School Bus such an historically significant toy is its inclusion of the first iteration of what would eventually become the famous Fisher Price Play Family Little People. These 6 simple peg people evolved over the years to become the "green dad," "blue mom," and their children, familiar to any of us who grew up in the 1970s. In their earliest form, these Fisher Price "little people" measured 2 - 3 inches tall, with plastic collars and hats and wooden bodies covered with lithographed paper. This paper invariably peeled, and the concept was quickly abandoned in favor of painted bodies, which makes people with their paper extremely difficult to come by, and priced accordingly.

The third child from the left has the "crabby" face which was retained on some Little People boys all the way into the 1980s. My favorite, though, is the one on the far right, with the comically ginormous head.

In 1962, Fisher Price released a redesigned bus (no transparent roof or removeable insert) with restyled "little people", who now had painted bodies and some interesting shapes. (In between this and the original bus, there had also been an unpopular version, with stationary, printed eyes on the front end.)

"Yeah, I'm lookin' at you, kid..."

There's the infamous "crabby boy" again, and observant readers will note the similarities to the FP Nifty Station Wagon family, who debuted in 1960.

To learn more about the development of Fisher Price's Little People, check out This Old Toy's great history page.

Happy September everyone!

Antique Dollhouse Doll

I'm always happy to add another antique dollhouse doll to my collection. They're rather addictive, and their diminutive size makes them easily (though not cheaply!) collectible. My latest find was this 5 inch tall china head, wearing her original, and very lovely, Turkey Red embroidered dress. The tiny German-made doll dates from the late 1800s.

Her simple face painting still manages to convey a gentle, bemused expression, and her rosy cheeks make her look as if she's blushing. What is she thinking about, I wonder?

Here she is in front of her new home, a circa 1900 lithographed paper dollhouse:

She loves to cook, but she should really have an apron on over that beautiful dress!

Vintage Allan Doll

Found at the same time as the mod doll case in the previous post (in fact, it was found in the mod doll case) was this vintage Allan doll, companion to Barbie's friend Midge. (I don't have a Midge, so we pretend my Allan has eloped with my Barbie instead.)

Allan was initially only made for a couple of years, from 1964-1966, but this one managed to amass quite a wardrobe in that time.

He's got swimwear (including a snorkel, mask, and fins), tennis togs and shoes, a letterman sweater, jeans, khakis, bermuda shorts, a bowling shirt, polka dotted boxers, pinstriped pajamas, and loads more. Some of my favorite pieces are shown below:

I especially like the two-tone shoes
and the stripey socks!











Allan came in his original outfit of blue swim trunks, striped beach jacket, and cork-soled sandals:

Here he models for us his color coordination skills:

 Stylin'!