Valentines in the U.S.—It All Started Here

(I posted this last year but have been collecting new antique Valentines since then-- I LOVE the Victorian German-made ones  because they're  so elaborate and fragile and full of romance.  Why can't some modern card company reproduce them in all their three-dimensional glory? ) 

 Worcester, MA, the once-bustling industrial metropolis 45 minutes west of Boston where I live, is enormously proud of its rather peculiar list of “famous firsts”, including barbed wire, shredded wheat, the monkey wrench, the birth control pill, the first perfect game in major league baseball, the first liquid-fueled rocket and the ubiquitous yellow Smiley Face icon.

And every year about this time, you hear about how Worcester produced the first commercial valentines in this country thanks to a foresighted young woman named Esther Howland, known as the “Mother of the Valentine.”

Esther Howland (1828-1904) attended Mount Holyoke at the same time as Emily Dickinson. She was the daughter of a successful Worcester stationer and, in 1847, she received a frilly English valentine that inspired her to ask her father to order materials from England so that she could assemble her own.  She then convinced her brother, a salesman for the company, to show a few of her valentines on his sales rounds.

The initial demand was overwhelming and Esther gathered some of her friends to help her assemble the valentines, seating them around a long table on the third floor of her home.  The company was eventually earning $100,000—a phenomenal success.

Esther is considered significant because, according to historians, she was among the first commercially successful women overseeing a female-run business, and she basically created the assembly-line system, paying the local women “liberally”.  She introduced layers of lace, three-dimensional accordion effects, and insisted that the verses be hidden inside--something you had to hunt for. She had her staff mark the back of each valentine with a red “H”.

In the Victorian era, Valentines were wildly popular, and the elaborate cards were scrutinized for clues—even the position of the stamp on the envelope meant something. Often the valentine was intended as a marriage proposal.

On Feb. 14, 1849, Emily Dickinson wrote to her cousin, “The last week has been a merry one in Amherst; notes have flown around like snowflakes.  Ancient gentlemen & spinsters, forgetting time & multitude of years, have doffed their wrinkles – in exchange for smiles…”

In 1879—after 30 years in business—Esther Howland merged with Edward Taft, the son of Jotham Taft, a North Grafton valentine maker.  Together they formed the New England Valentine Co. (and their cards were marked “N.E.V.Co.”)

This is where Esther Howland’s title of “Mother of the Valentine” begins to get a little shaky.

It seems, upon much study, that Edward Taft’s father, Jotham Taft of North Grafton, a small village near Worcester, started the commercial valentine business in the U.S. even before Miss Howland did,  but he didn’t like to talk about it, because the Taft family were strict Quakers and Jotham Taft’s mother sternly disapproved of such frivolity as Valentines. (Full disclosure—I live in North Grafton, about a stone’s throw from where Taft worked.)

In 1836, Jotham Taft married Sarah E. Coe of Rhode Island and two years later, they welcomed twin sons.  But in 1840, one of the twins died suddenly, leaving Mrs. Taft prostrate with grief.  Jotham decided to take his wife and surviving son to Europe with him on a buying trip for the stationer who employed him, and while in Germany, he bought many valentines supplies—laces, lithographs, birds and cupids.

When he returned, Taft began making valentines with his wife’s help, and in 1844—3 years before Esther Howland graduated from college—he opened a valentine “factory” in North Grafton (then called New England Village.)  But because of his mother’s disapproval, Taft never put his own name on the valentines—only “Wood” (his middle name) or “N.E.V.” for “New England Village”.  Some believed that Taft trained Elizabeth Howland as one of his workers before she opened her own factory.

Taft and Howland merged into the New England Valentine Co. in 1879, and a year later Esther’s father became ill and she left her business to care for him.  After he died, she moved in with one of her brothers and she passed away in 1904.Unfortunately, despite all the couples who presumably found their true love thanks to Esther’s creations, the “Mother of the Valentine” never married.

In 1881, George C. Whitney bought the combined business of Taft and Howland and it became The Whitney Co,  which dominated valentine production for many years.  Instead of cards laboriously made by hand, Whitney turned to machine- printed valentines and eventually added postcards in the 1890’s.  The Whitney designs, featuring children who resembled the “Campbell Soup “ kids, were wildly popular, although more often exchanged by children than adult lovers, and in 1942 the Whitney factory closed, as a result of wartime paper shortages.

Shock and Awe in South Beach

In my previous post I mentioned that Lincoln Road Mall in South Beach, Miami was designed in the Miami Modern style back in 1960 by architect Morris Lapidus -- creating one of the first pedestrian malls ever--and has been on the cutting edge of art, fashion, design and cuisine ever since.

On this visit, now stretching into my fourth week since yest another snow storm cancelled our flight back to Boston today, I've noticed that, while Lincoln Road is still as energetic, lively, surprising and seductive as ever, some changes over the past four years were not for the better. The colorful art deco facade of the previous Lincoln Theater has been painted white and turned into an H&M store and some restaurants.

But every day, when I venture out onto Lincoln Road to get my morning coffee and newspapers, or  walk the five or so blocks down to the beach,  I see astonishing people and places unlike those on any other street in the world, and every day I  return to the apartment in a state of shock and awe.

 This blonde with the improbably long legs and hair and impossibly high heels has got the South Beach fashion vibe down perfectly--accessorized by a small fluffy dog (sometimes dyed to match the owner's hair) and maximum exposure of skin.

This blonde displays her love of Florida with the tattoo on her back.  The young man with her has his own tattoo art.

Every day I admire the energy of the street performers, like the break dancers.

 Risking a broken neck on the cement.

Every day I see the armless artist who paints with his feet.  

He works in the shadow of the church that doesn't reject anyone.

This young man is organizing rallies to free Lolita, the Orca at  the Miami Seaquarium for 40 years who, since the death of her mate, is called the "loneliest Orca in the world.

People on Lincoln Road often have unusual pets.

And unusual fashions, like this gentleman who wears this outfit every day.

The grassy knoll is filled with frolicking children day and night.  The balloon man is there, and at night another man sells  whirly toys with colored lights that are projected into the sky by elastic band sling shots and often get stuck in the palm trees overhead.

Kids also love feeding the fish in the several fountains-fish so big they'd make a hearty meal.

This heron clearly had the same thought.

Lincoln Road has lots of art galleries, including one devoted to Florida's famous pop artist Romero Britto (he even decorated the parking meters in Miami.)

And on Sundays Lincoln Road turns into an outdoor antiques market.

And a farmer's market of organic, locally grown produce.

 

No wonder everyone turns up on Lincoln Road sooner or later when they get tired of snow and winter.  One day I even spied Santa Claus sitting in the sun on the grassy knoll.

But then in the next block I saw this guy (below).

Will the real Santa please stand up?

Back in South Beach--Still the Strangest Place on Earth

I'm re-posting below something I wrote about South Beach, Miami, and especially Lincoln Road, back in September of 2011 when I spent a month here while awaiting the birth of first grandchild Amalia.   Now I've been back in her parents' wonderful art- deco apartment for some three weeks, this time with 3 1/2 year old Amalia along for part of it, and I've found changes--some for the better, some not.  I'll report on the changes in my next post.  But still, every day, walking up and down Lincoln Road, the pedestrian street full of restaurants, theaters and art galleries at the heart of South Beach , I'm convinced it's one of the most fascinating and, well, strangest, streets in the world. 

  South Beach—We’re Not in Kansas any More

I’ve now been living in South Beach, Miami, for over a month and I think it’s time to go home.  The other day I was walking on Lincoln Road behind a six-foot-tall curvaceous female wearing only a tiny black string bikini and very tall spike heels, and I took a good second look to decide whether she was a man or a woman. 

This is not such a strange reaction on my part, since nearby Ocean Drive swarms with gay bars and drag brunches in its elegant Art Deco hotels.   Absolutely no extreme or peculiar dress gets a second look on Lincoln Road, while back home in Worcester, MA, the bikini-wearing vision in front of me might get arrested, if she was walking on Main Street.

Lincoln Road, the heart of South Beach, was re-designed around 1960, by Miami Beach architect Morris Lapidus.  His design for Lincoln Road, with exotic gardens, bubbling fountains, raised “grassy knolls” for kids to play on and an amphitheater, reflected the Miami Modern Architecture, or "MiMo", style. The road was closed to traffic and became one of the nation's first pedestrian malls—stretching for eight blocks from Alton Road to Washington Avenue.

I’ve been here since Aug. 12,  renting an apartment in the same Art-deco building where daughter Eleni, her husband Emilio and my first grandchild, two-week-old Amalía, live.  (For an account of Eleni’s trials, tribulations and triumphs mastering the art of breast feeding, check out her blog post, “Say Yes to the Breast.”)

Every morning I set out to the nearest Starbucks, half a block away, past the optimistically waiting pigeons, to get my coffee and newspaper and then I walk up and down Lincoln Road, marveling at the rare and amazing  species of people, animals, flowers and birds.  This is surely the most exotic, bizarre and just plain weird street I’ve ever seen, and this is coming from someone who lived on Manhattan’s 14^th street in the 1960’s and is familiar with Venice Beach in LA and Haight Ashbury back in the day. Skate-board champs, shirtless and covered with tattoos, somehow avoid running down Hasidic Jews and  bikinied beauties.

Every day you see the regulars—panhandlers and people who earn money as living statues (this one is Ghost Elvis)

or weaving palm fronds into baskets,

juggling or letting  people admire his pet lemur  (or whatever this is.)

There are a plethora of design stores and art galleries.  I loved this piece of art work—a dog excreting a long length of pink fabric—juxtaposed with the nearby Dog-pot.

If you are a seasoned Lincoln Road pedestrian, your accessory of choice is a small dog or a baby in a stroller, and your vehicle is a Segway, or a skateboard, a rented bicycle or a motorized wheel chair.

I think no street anywhere has the caliber of restaurants, food stores and cafes as those found on Lincoln Road. I’m trying to taste every one of the tartes at Paul’s, which is so French that both staff and clientele seem to speak French most of the time. 

I’ve already discovered my favorite flavor of ice cream at Kilwins.  (It’s Kilwin’s Tracks—they throw in bits of all their hand-made candies.)   

The Ice Box, which serves indescribable brunches, makes, according to Oprah, “the best cake in the United States”.  Good thing there’s no scale in this rented apartment.

 

All the restaurants lining Lincoln Road have tables indoors and outside, and most people sit outside, despite the sweltering heat.  Cooling fans and misting machines make it bearable.

Overhead are towering palm trees chock full of parrots and parakeets which squawk non-stop and sometimes come down to be hand-fed morsels 

Orchids  grow parasitically on many trees but the most famous tree on Lincoln Road is this “Orchid Tree” dripping with  blooms that look like orchids but bloom only at night.  Its proper name is Bauhinia Varigata.

Lincoln Road turns into an outdoor market every Sunday, selling every exotic type of fruit or flower or spice or Latin food that you can think of.

An atmosphere of sin hangs heavy over the street, especially at night.  There are party busses with smoked glass windows and advertisements for “No-Tell Hotels”. 

Every time I walk by the  “Vice Lounge” I wonder what goes on inside.  This is what the outside looks like.

 When you have exhausted all the pleasures and vices of Lincoln Road, you can continue to the end, where the Ritz Hotel offers the best Happy Hour food and drink around.  (Every single restaurant and bar has a happy hour every day, sometimes starting at noon.)  Or you can hitch a parachute right on the beach.

No wonder every time I walk down Lincoln Road I feel like Alice falling through the rabbit hole or Dorothy landing in Oz.   But like those two ladies, I’ll have to return home in the end.  Sadly I’m leaving South Beach and my new granddaughter in four days.  Dorothy said, “There’s no place like home”, but I’m here to tell you, home is no place like Lincoln Road.

Things I Didn't Buy at the Miami Antiques Show

Yesterday (Tuesday Feb. 3) was the last day of the Miami Beach Antique Show, so I walked over to take a look, since we're staying nearby the Miami Convention Center where it was held.  It's billed as the World's Largest Indoor Antique Show, and they weren't kidding.  It took me hours just to walk up and down all the aisles.    At first I passed by cases holding jewelry--acres of gold and diamonds and very fancy china.  I've never been very interested in jewelry, unless it's sort of weird or bizarre--like tribal jewelry or Victorian mourning jewelry made out of the hair of the dear departed.  I also knew before I got there that almost everything in the convention center would be way out of my price range. But I did encounter some very interesting antiques that I photographed, so that I could share them with you.

This very large object was described on the ticket as a "Skull Rocking Chair" made of carved wood.  If it fits with your home decor, you could buy it for $28,000.

This life-sized feminine figure is made by a contemporary artist named Leo Sewell.   Sometimes called "junk sculpture", his works of art are composed of objects that might have been picked up out of the trash.  I walked all around her and noticed that she includes things like baby pacifiers, a small camera, all kinds of colorful plastic stuff.  Evidently art collectors and Hollywood figures like Sylvester Stallone love Mr. Sewell's work.  I did ask the price of "Lady in a Chair", but now I can't remember if it was $20,000 or $10,000--I just know that it was cheaper than the Skull Rocking Chair but way too expensive for me.  Here's a photo of the lady from the side.

 Further on, I noticed this larger than life-sized bear in uniform, but didn't even ask the price, just snapped his picture.

A few aisles farther on I was irresistibly drawn this taller-than-me man holding a drill like a gun.

The young man whose booth it was told me that he didn't know who was the sculptor, but this fellow was half of a pair of figures made out of papier maché and that I could have both him and his lady for only $4,000, with free delivery.  I declined, because I didn't have room for them, but if you want them, I believe the seller was Roben Tala of Solomon Trreasures.  Here's the lady.

On my way out of the Miami Antique Show I took a photo of the large figure below that resembles antique fashion dolls (which were much smaller.  I'm calling it a "Pope Doll" and have no idea of its price or purpose.

But I did buy one thing before leaving the antiques show--the photo below of three jaunty soldiers drinking and smoking. (Please excuse the flash reflection.)   It  was labelled "Austro-Hungary, circa 1900" and I paid much less than the $38.00 price on it because--well it was the end of the last day of the show.  I'm going to have fun researching it.

Looking at the objects that drew my attention, I realize that I'm attracted to depictions of the human figure--which is  also true of my paintings. I've never been interested in painting a landscape if there's no sign of a person in it. And that's probably also why I love collecting and researching antique photographs.   Even if I can't afford the skull rocker or the papier maché couple, I still had a good time at the antique show.

Amalia's Snow Day in the Jungle

While, back home in Manhattan and Massachusetts, everyone stayed inside and watched the snow pile up during the Blizzard of 2015, Amalia, stuck in Miami because all flights back home were cancelled, spent Tuesday going with Mommy and Yiayia Joanie to Jungle Island where she got close up and personal with

many parrots

a baby alligator

a yellow python.

Feeding goats with a bottle was the part she liked best

 

Lunch was burgers beside a lake with a lot of flamingos, while white Ibises fought for leftovers.

 

 Tomorrow (Weds.) Amalia and Mommy and Yiayia Joanie hope to fly back to the snow drifts of Manhattan.