September 6, 1946
Sorry Dear(?)
Wish you and Luce(?) were here at this hotel – room 1205 – mail us(?) that letter soon. And my hand is some better. Write me here whenever you can.
Love,
Junie(?)
Category: family
Hi Folks,
We are vacationing here for a week — high up in the Catskill Mountains. Place is charming and expect to have some good rest so we can go back to working hard at filling(?) up our “home sweet home”. Food is so good it will show on me when we return. How was your vacation?
Do Write,
Elsie and Chad(?)
To: Mrs. Elsie Murphy. From: Jan, 1950
June 25, 1950
Dearest Honey,
I spose you know by now that I’m in Lancaster for a few days. I left Fri. on the 4 o’clock Zephyr. I leave just as you get home! How do you like that (ha). I’ve got a surprise for you when I get home. Did Dee call you? Or did you call the store? Bet you had fun at Cletek!(?) I got some sandals in Prairie du Chien. I’ll see you Wed. You probably won’t get this till after I’m home! did you go to the prom?
Love,
Jan
P.S. I got my phone call.
In 1950, World War II still loomed large in the proverbial rear view mirror of the United States. Harry Truman was President, the Korean War was just beginning, Joseph McCarthy — a Senator from Wisconsin — believed that Communists were everywhere, and Albert Einstein warned that nuclear war would lead to mutual destruction. It was somehow both a time of great change and stagnation. Technology was advancing at a frenzied pace, but Americans were frightened of the monsters they so eagerly created and sought ultimate control.
When I read this postcard I was positive it was a letter from a husband to a wife. From the salutation (Dearest Honey) to the squished signature — which I thought was “Jon”. At first glance, it was innocuous. A man sharing somewhat mundane stories and promising a surprise.
But under close examination the signature I thought read “Jon” was in fact “Jan.” Things clicked for me after that. The tone of the card is what I would call “gushing“. There’s a tumbling array of thoughts spilled out over the white space of the card as though Jan had so many things to tell Elsie that she needed to make sure to spill a little tidbit of everything while frustratingly sparing all the details.
Once I ascertained that the card was from Jan, I started looking for Elsie. I found quite a few Elsie Murphy’s floating around. There was even a promising obituary of an Elsie Murphy with a daughter named Dee, but she lived her whole life in Maine — so couldn’t be our Elsie. Finally, I decided to try Elsie’s name and address, and immediately got a hit on a newspaper article from the Library of Congress. It states:
Shown receiving the Bronze Star Medal awarded to her husband, Cpl Robert V. Murphy, is Mrs. Elsie E.Murphy, 1209 South Cedar Lake Road.
This is, unquestionably, our Elsie. This record is amazing for a variety of reasons, not least of which is that it includes an image of Elsie as she probably looked around the time she received the postcard. A little bit more digging uncovered the 1950 census reports from Minneapolis. It seems after her husband passed away, or perhaps even while he had been in war, Elsie lived with her parents in the Cedar Lake Road house. In 1950, she was listed as 31, widowed, and working full time as a typist at a publishing company.
Now that I had Elsie and her husband’s name, I started searching for him. It seems Robert V. Murphy was killed in action in Germany during WWII. He was born in North Dakota and only went to Minneapolis in May of 1942. Did he meet Elsie there? How long did they have together before he deployed? Like so many other young couples, did they have a heated romance and marry quickly because of the threat of war?
And who was Jan? A friend Elsie met at her job as a typist? A school friend? A cousin? What was the surprise Jan had for Elsie? What was Jan’s phone call? Had she gotten a job, a date, a scholarship? We won’t ever know, because without a last name I couldn’t find Jan.
The story is fascinating, and even though I found Elsie, I simply couldn’t find much more about her, including her grave or obituary. This tells me she likely remarried and was not buried under the Murphy name. I have to wonder how she managed to press on in her grief. Especially because Robert’s body was never recovered. She’d become a blushing bride only to become a grief stricken widow. I know I’ll be thinking about Elsie, her life after the war, and Jan’s sandals for a long time to come.
“Grant County Court House” Lancaster, Wisconsin
To: Mr. (or Mrs.) Millman Linn Jr. From: Aunt Emma, 1907
This is our hotel. March 17th.
Aunt Emma
The Chalfonte Hotel in Atlantic City, New Jersey was built in 1868 near the corner of Pacific and North Carolina Avenues. However, in 1900 it came under new ownership and was expanded. It was the first iron framed hotel in Atlantic City, but maintained the original structure by simply moving it to the west and re-cladding it with brick. It’s this hotel that we see on the front of this postcard.
Interestingly, the hotel was moved closer to the beach twice, because the incoming tides continued to bring sand onto the shore. Part of the appeal of the Chalfonte was both it’s access to the railway and access to the beach. By the time a more sturdy boardwalk was built, the Chalfonte was well positioned to reap the benefits.
Miraculously, I was able to find both Emma and Milman Linn Jr. This was one of those serendipitous Hail Mary sort of finds, as I finally threw “mellman linn jr” into google and an obituary of Milman Linn III popped up. Once I found him, I was able to trace the family line (all of whom lived in Zanesville, Ohio) until I found Emma.
I believe Aunt Emma is the maternal aunt of Milman’s wife, Jennie (Jane) Milman, (nee Smith). Which leads me to believe that this card is actually addressed “Mrs. Milman Linn Jr.” Not “Mr.” Let’s start with Emma and I’ll work my way to the Milmans.
Emma Allen Dodd was born January 11, 1842 in Zanesville, Ohio. In 1884, at the age of 42, she married Robert Hoe Dodd and had two children, though only one survived infancy. She lived to be 85 years old, and died in 1927. She’s buried in New Jersey.
Her niece, Jane (Jennie) Smith, was born June 12, 1870. She married Milman Linn Jr in June of 1900. Something that’s wonderful about Family Search is that on occasion, the family has done their own research, or left their own memories for the deceased. This particular recollection was left and I couldn’t help but quote it here:
Jane Davey Smith Linn was ironing on the main floor, or the maid was, when a rat was heard gnawing at something in the cellar. She gathered an arsenal of croquet balls and surprised the rat by entering from the outside steps. How a woman unaccustomed to athletics managed to throw a wooden ball hard enough or straight enough to knock out a rat, is difficult to imagine. But she did just that, either stunning the rat or badly maiming it, and immediately finished it at closer range with a broom handle. Her son Vincent expressed grave concern over the contaminated croquet balls, but Jane assured him she would wash them in scalding water.
It’s stories like these that breathe life into the subjects of our postcards, and I can imagine the fire Jennie smiling broadly when she received this postcard from her Aunt. Unfortunately, Jennie died young. She passed away in 1911 at the age of 41.
Milman Linn Jr comes from a line of Milman’s. He was born on May 15, 1860 and lived to be 80, dying in 1940. He did not remarry after Jennie, rather two of his sisters came to live with him. Presumably in a symbiotic relationship where they helped him with the house, and he provided for them. Milman was a somewhat prominent pottery manufacturer (according to his obituary) and thus his death warranted a short newspaper article remembrance.
Despite Jennie’s early death, it’s lovely to see a tight knit family who seemed to love each other very much. Also, it’s wild that Emma, Jennie, and Milman were alive either during, or directly after, America’s Civil War. I love being able to uncover the lives of the subjects in my postcards, and I’m so glad to have this Friday find.
To: Mrs. E. Peck From: Mrs. Wanack, 1935
Tues 6, 1935
Driving over this highway to-day it is beautiful thinking of you,
Mrs. Wanack (or Wamack)
In 1935, Franklin D. Roosevelt was president, “Black Sunday”, a devastating storm that ravaged the dust bowl, took place, the WPA (Works Progress Administration) was created, Babe Ruth appeared in his last career game, and the Barker Gang (including Ma Barker) were killed in a shootout with the FBI. Prohibition may have been lifted, but it’s effects were far reaching.
The Multnomah highway and adjoining Benson Bridge were built between 1914-1916. The footbridge shown in the postcard gives up close access to the falls — the second tallest year round falls in the United States — while the highway takes motorists across the creek. It’s one of the most photographed historical structures in Oregon, and it’s easy to see why. Even in black and white the image is breathtaking.
Despite being smack in the middle of the Great Depression, people still had cars, and they still enjoyed driving those cards to see America. From only this postcard, we can’t possibly know if Mrs. Wanack was visiting family, or simply on vacation for fun, but the views she would have seen are clearly breathtaking. It’s also touching that she thought of Mrs. Peck on the bridge.
As often happens when researching, I struggled to find these women. With only last names, it’s fairly impossible. Especially somewhere like Los Angeles. There were a multitude of Pecks, many of them women, so it’s hard to say who was our Mrs. E. Peck. I went through a large number of them, hoping I could find a married sister with the last name that matched or was close to Wanack. Alas, no luck.
I hate not finding a first name for women obscured by their husband’s last name. However, it’s clear the two carried a strong bond of friendship, and at least we can tell that story. May you all find bonds of sisterhood today.
Multnomah Falls, Oregon
To: Miss Carolyn Doran. From: Mary 1908
This is where I go bathing. The water is very cold. With love.
From,
Mary
In 1908, Teddy Roosevelt was president, Harvard business school was established, and a deadly tornado struck parts of Louisiana and Mississippi and left 140 people dead and over 700 injured. We were well into the Progressive Era, and the temperance movement was building. They’d hit their crescendo with Prohibition, but that would be a few years to go yet.
There’s something so sweet and innocent about this postcard. From it’s shaky, childish script, to the fact that Mary talks about how cold the water is when she bathes. It recalls us all to childhood, when our worries were small and our families were close.
Carolyn, and thus Mary, were difficult for me to find. I’m not even positive I did find Carolyn. However, I have something of a lead so that’s what I’ll discuss. The Carolyn Doran I found was born in 1898 in Kansas City, Missouri to Samuel Neal Doran and Mary Nagel Doran. Interestingly, Mary had a sister who also named her daughter Caroline, but with the I not the Y.
I couldn’t find much about Carolyn, other than that it doesn’t seem that she got married or really even moved out of her family house. In the census of 1940, she was 42 and still living with her parents. She had one brother, who I think served in World War I and had a son named Neal Samuel Doran. The names really aren’t that interesting, but I got a kick out of the naming practices in this family. I also had to wonder if Mary and her sister fought over the name Carolyn.
As for Mary…I had hoped to find a family relation. However, if Carolyn is indeed our gal, she would have been ten when this card was written. It was sent in July, which means Mary easily could have been a friend enjoying a summer in Maine.
What’s true is that the card is sweet, loving, and beautiful. It’s a balm for a weary soul, and I think we all need a little bit of that in our lives. I hope Mary and Carolyn remained friends, wherever they ended up in their lives.
“Shore Scene, Casco Bay”
To: Mr. Victor A Binford. From: Wren(?). 1910-1918
Dear Doc-
Card just rec’d. My school is going on fine. Hope you are enjoying life. Should be glad to hear from you again.
Best Wishes,
Wren(?)
Although this card was mailed in October, the year is unreadable. Either the ink has faded away or the card was never stamped well enough to begin with. Since it’s a divided back card, it’s 1907 or later, and based on the handwriting I’d say closer to the 1907 mark than the 1918 mark, but I can’t be sure. Suffice it to say, this card was mailed at the turn of the twentieth century. A time where World War I would see soldiers ride in on horses, and fly out on airplanes.
Bliss Business College was founded in 1897 by a set of brothers. It catered to a co-educational group of students and classes included shorthand, spelling, and penmanship. It closed in 1972, but not without a fight from those who had graced it’s halls. At heart, the college was a two year institution, but Wren (or perhaps Oren) must have met “Doc” Victor Binford there and retained a friendship. At least until Victor married.
Victor Abbot Binford was born in Mexico, Maine (yes, this is a place in Maine) on July 3, 1887 to Horace Jose Binford and Bertha Hortense Abbot. What immediately struck me about Victor is that his mother’s maiden name was his given middle name. A nice nod to his maternal side. In 1912, he married Marcia Reed, and together they had one daughter named Sarah.
Interestingly, the Maine Historical Society carries an archive of the Binford, Reed and Hatch family. The collection was gifted to the society after the death of Ann Hatch, Victor’s grand-daughter. Because of the archive, I know a number of things about Victor that I wouldn’t have known. For instance, his father was a medical doctor. Additionally, his mother died young, and Victor was adopted by his father’s new wife, Lula, who happened to be Bertha’s sister. Also, Sarah Hatch (nee Binford) raised arabian horses. Which…feels luxurious to me.
Victor died on January 16, 1960 at the age of 72. Although the postcard calls him “Doc” what’s likely is that Victor attended Bliss Business College, not that he taught there. In 1910 he was 22, single, and living at home. In 1920, he was a dowel turner at Birch Mill. By 1930, Victor was a private chauffeur…possibly for the Reed family. You see, Victor, Marcia, and Sarah all lived with Marcia’s family. According to the Maine Historical society, Marcia graduated from Smith College, and helped run The Roxbury Telephone company.
In 1940, Victor was the book keeper for “Wood Turning”, which I think is the Birch Mill because by 1950, he was the head of the household (no longer the son-in-law) and was the book-keeper for the Birch Mill. Marcia, on the other hand, was the tax collector for Roxbury County. It’s interesting, because I’m unsure if these are all family businesses, or if Victor truly bounced around. However, I’m somewhat certain that the sender of this postcard addressed him as “Doc” because his father was a doctor and Victor somehow got that moniker.
I’m sad I couldn’t find Wren. However, what’s certain is that I had a lot of fun following the threads of Victor and Marcia’s lives. I’ve said it before, but the cold black and white of papered archives gives very little actual detail of a life. However, it’s what we read between the lines that brings color into a life (hopefully) well lived.
Miss Y. Kassel, 1909
This is from “square” head. Still living but have not much time to knock around.
Holly (on front of card)
November, 1909 was a momentous month in New York. As is often the case, especially in the early 1900’s, tensions amongst the working poor were brewing, and from a faction you may least expect. On November 24, 1909 — so only a few days after Square Head sent her lovely postcard to Miss Kassel — the largest strike in US history up to that point in time took place.
20,000 garment workers, many of them shirt waist factory workers (yes…THAT shirt waist factory, but more on that later), walked out. Their demands were echos of our own: better pay, better hours, safer working conditions, and unionization. History is, of course, cyclical. Because most of the striking workers were women, there was little attention paid to them at first. However, when a few wealthy women joined the cause, factory owners slowly bowed to the women’s demands. Despite resistance and interference from owners, the strike largely worked.
The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, however, was a little different. The owners did provide better wage and better hours, but they stopped short of unionization — which meant a lack of protection for these women. This culminated in the tragic Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in 1911.
Now, it’s impossible to know if Square Head and/or Miss Kassel were part of the garment industries, but they would have known about the strike. If they were women who worked in any sort of industry, which I think it’s safe to say that Square Head probably did seeing as she had not much time to “knock around,” (my new favorite saying, by the way), then it would have impacted them in some way. Remember, this was a time before women could vote, so a strike that garnered better working conditions for them was an important step in the suffrage movement.
Aside from the historical context, there’s so much to love about this postcard. From the moniker “square head” to the rural photos of Hershey Cows (I like to think both ladies loved chocolate), to the hurried greeting.
However, I think one of my favorite things about this particular card, however, is how *human* it feels. The square in “square head” is drawn in such a way that the reader can see the direction her hand took. The reader can also see the mistake in “still”; the “s” covering up whatever was written before. Square Head was probably in a rush, or perhaps her mind was ahead of her hand and she began a sentence she wasn’t quite ready for. Undeterred, she clumsily corrected the mistake and continued on in her quick note to her friend. You see it again in the “c” of knock. It’s something so little, but brings the postcard — and the woman — to life in such a tangible way. I love it.
Front of postcard depicting Hershey cows. You can also see the name “Holly” on the top right corner.
To: Mrs. Lydia Mandel. From: Marion 1948
Sammy, has been very ill but is coming along O.K. Gall stone attack.
Marion
*Alternatively, it could say “Sorry have been very ill”, however the following “but is coming along O.K.” changes tense and thus feels incongruous. Therefore, my best guess is that the first word is a name (Sammy, or perhaps Avery).
This may be one of the “later” cards I’ve blogged about, though it’s certainly not the oldest in my collection. However, it was serendipity that I chose this card today.
On July 29, 1948, the Summer Olympics opened in London. This was the first Summer Olympics held since the 1936 games held in Berlin. The fact that the games were held, and in London of all places, indicates that nations were beginning to heal after the devastation of World War II.
Despite the world uniting in sportsmanship, tensions between the United States and Russia were heating up. On July 22, President Truman issued a peacetime draft, and ten communist leaders were arrested under the Alien Registration Act. In fact, the second Red Scare had begun
It’s amidst these conflicting events (sportsmanship and fear mongering) that Sammy (or Avery, or Marion) had a gall attack. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had a gall attack, but if you haven’t — they are awful. I call them the “stabbies” because it’s like a sharp pain entering the space just above your stomach. Nothing helps but time. I’m lucky enough that I’ve only had two or three in my lifetime. I also have the benefit of modern medicine if they get too bad. In 1948, there’s not much to do but wait, and I imagine that time probably crept by at a snail’s pace for the poor patient.
I have no evidence of this, but I imagine that Sammy is a child, Marion the mother, and Lydia the grandmother…or perhaps sister to Marion. Again, there’s nothing that indicates any sort of relationship barring the existing postcard, but in my mind…it’s a multi-generational connection.
I did find a “Lydia Mandel”, who was a Russian artist. However, everything I see indicates she was active in France, so I find it difficult to believe thats our Lydia. The address on the postcard still exists — it’s a quaint apartment in the Bronx. For us, Sammy and Marion and Lydia’s story must therefore end with this card. However, the fifties hadn’t yet begun, and the sixties were a decade away. The coming decades were a time of great inner change and turmoil in the United States.
I guess it was sort of like a gall stone attack in that respect.
Old St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
To: Miss Tillie Seedorf. From: Stella Ford. 1907
Dear Friend.
I received your postal O.K. It was very pretty.
Yours truly,
Stella Ford
As you know, 1907 and 1908 are some of my favorite years to collect postcards. I’m particularly drawn to period in history that are transition years — where rules are not yet fully written on how to deal with a changing landscape. It’s small, but the switch from un-divided back postcards to divided-back postcards feels like a space where rules aren’t quite clear yet. This particular card notes that if it’s to be sent abroad, it can only be used as the address to the sender. Even though a place like England got rid of the divided back earlier than the United States.
The theme for this week seems to be “young friends,” which I’m perfectly content with. I think so many of us forget that young children and teens have ALWAYS been young children and teens throughout history. Their brains developed roughly the same as ours (not accounting for environment). They struggled with adults and loved their friends, even when those friends were far away.
In something that’s close to a miracle, I’m pretty sure I found both girls, though I’m a little dicey on Tillie. I don’t have a lot of information for either of them, though. It’s one of those situations where the trail runs cold because I won’t pay my way past an information wall. But, allow me to introduce them to you.
Stella Ford was born on June 10, 1892, the third child of four children born to Benjamin Ford and Hulda Wells. When she sent her postcard, she would have been 15 years old. In 1916, she married Charles Kinney. I don’t have record of children between the two, so I’m unsure if the record is true, or if the children simply aren’t attached.
Tillie was a bit of a more difficult find. There were Seedorf’s living in Kanakee in 1907 and beyond, and I had to do some family tree digging. However, I finally found (what I think is) a match.
Mathilda S. Seedorf was born on March 25, 1885 to Friedrich Seedorf and Mary Mueller. She was the third child, but first daughter to the couple, and one of 8 children. She doesn’t appear to have married, and died relatively young: October of 1931 at the age of 46.
What’s interesting about her record, is that there’s a probate document attached. When her father died in 1920, she received an $8000 inheritance. The inheritance is one of those cold, black and white facts that carries a lot of weight. I can’t possibly know exactly what was going through her mind, but we can know that there was grief, possibly loneliness, and maybe even anger.
What is clear, however, is that Stella Ford and Tillie Seedorf cared for each other. This card is beautiful, with colors that are vibrant and descriptive over a hundred years later. I hope Tillie and Stella maintained a friendship for the rest of their lives.
“Strengthening rows prone from the mountain run. The flocks–their fleeces glistening in the sun.”
Hipstory 