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: Vintage
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”
Mr. Earl Poush, 1908
Hello Earl,
I received your card and was glad to hear from you. I went to the party Saturday night and had a nice time. Vera and I went over to Dallas Sunday afternoon and staid till church at night. Maybe you think we didn’t have time. Well I didn’t have to ask Bertha who the card was from. Did you go to town Saturday. I will have to close for this time.
Answer Soon
The front of this postcard is just as informative as the back, so rather than post it at the end, I wanted to post it here. Take a gander, then read on:
The Ballot Post Card: September 23, 1908
1908 was a leap year, and saw a variety of notable events that live on within the American zeitgeist. Wilbur Wright completed a 2 1/2 hour flight, Henry Ford debuted his Model T, and the Chicago Cubs won the world series.
But all of that, perhaps, pales in comparison to the light flirtation of teenagers. Again, we have a bit of a mystery sender. There’s no way for me to ascertain who “A.N.” was, or what (I assume her) relationship was to Earl, but I think it’s rather clear that the two of them may have been sweet on each other. Especially since Miss “A.N” checked off “I think of you often”, “Wait for me”, “A kiss for you”, and “Ever yours.”
Additionally, I’m guessing that when “A.N.” says “I didn’t have to ask Bertha who the card was from”, she means she knew the card she received was from Earl before even seeing it. I love that A.N seems to be surrounded by some girl friends, and I wonder if Vera, Bertha, and A.N. were on a little girls trip together.
Although I couldn’t find the identity of A.N., I do believe I found a little bit about Mr. Earl Poush. If I’m correct, it appears that he was born in 1892, which would put him at the tender age of 17 in September of 1908 — the perfect time for an early flirtation. It seems that he fought as a Corporal in World War I, and was injured in 1918. In 1919, he married Hope Lita Hicks (Poush) — not our elusive A.N. The world both teens grew up in must have been very different from the one they sent innocent cards in during the waning summer of 1908.
But in 1908, A.N. wouldn’t have been allowed to cast a vote, even if she was 18, because she was a she. It’s different now, and on this historic day, I hope you all had the chance to go out and cast your own ballot.
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.
From: Unknown To: Lloyd Hubbler, 1911
Oh you kid: I’d enjoy another dance with you like the one I had at the Dickeyville dance. Would like to make a date with you, “You Honey Bunch”. Will try and be out for the 15th. Hope you will be there, dear. Will show you another good time. Oh honey I am so lonesome. From – you know who.
(flipped) Look under the stamp honey bunch. xxxxxxx
This is my picture honey.
(On front) I am ready xxx. From your sweet little wife. S.W.A.K
God am so home sick for a x x
Lloyds sweet wife ha ha
I can’t express to you how much I am obsessed with this card. Every inch of it is filled with writing. X’s dot the landscape of both the front and the back and someone added additional rouging and eyeliner to the image on the front. This postcard SCREAMS of some sort of joke, and I am absolutely here for it. So, let’s drop the card into history.
1911 sees the disaster of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in New York, the invention of Crisco, and the founding of the first movie studio. However, I have to wonder if the news of these events hit the small village of Potosi. Situated in the southwest corner of Wisconsin, modern day Potosi boasts a population of just over 600 people. Like many small towns, it was originally founded as a mining and farming village. Now, it hosts an annual catfish festival and fish fry the second weekend of August.
In 1911, Lloyd Hubler was a few months shy of his 20th birthday, and at least according to Family Search, still unmarried. He had one brother, who was 8 years his senior. Although the card puts Lloyd’s last name as “Hubbler”, I’m pretty sure it was “Hubler”. The Lloyd I found has a father named “William Scott”, but he’s listed as Scott W. in the census records. Seeing as the card was sent “c/o Scott Hubbler”, and the Hubler’s lived in Harrison County (where Potosi is located), I’m fairly certain I have the right man.
But birth days, death days, draft registrations, and the marriage index provide only the barest amount of context for a life. Who sent this card to Lloyd? Why? There are a few clues that we can use to point us in the right direction. Or at least to make some fun and semi-guesses.
First, the card was sent on February 16, two days after Valentines Day. My mind immediately goes to two scenarios. First, maybe there was a Valentines Dance for the surrounding area. Here, Lloyd met a girl and made the gravest mistake: he told his friends about her. Looking to pull a prank, they put together this card and sent it to him, care of his FATHER for added embarrassment.
Second, Lloyd’s older brother was 28 at the time. It’s possible he sent the card as a practical joke, but why would he misspell the name? It’s feasible the name is actually misspelled in the census records. But, while I think it’s possible Lloyd’s brother had something to do with the card, I doubt it was entirely done by the brother.
So, poor Lloyd had to deal with the embarrassment of being sent this provocative card. Because it was a postcard, everyone could see everything. Not only could his father see the card and read it…but so could the postman, the postal workers…you get the idea. What did poor Lloyd do to deserve this humiliation? We will never know.
Lloyd did end up finding his “sweet” wife. In 1918, he married Leora Hinman. They went on to have three children. She outlived her husband by a decade, but I hope that their life together was S.W.A.K.
Mrs. William Kerchner: 1943
Pvt. Charles P. Kerchner
Dear Parents:
How are you all. I am O.K. and hope you are the same.
A simple message scrawled quickly in pen on the back of a beautiful postcard opens a door for us to understand a little more about postcard history, as well as World War II history.
When I began this project I knew nothing about the history of postcards in the United States or abroad. I’m still lacking in my historical knowledge, but I’m also learning with each post I create. One simple piece of information I’ve recently stumbled upon are the different “eras” of postcards.
By roughly 1930, “linen” type postcards had begun to circulate. These postcards have a different look and texture than the early 1900’s postcards. In fact, it may suprise you to find out that they look like they are printed on linen (shocking I know). The colors on these postcards also tend to be more vibrant and saturated. This postcard is no different. While the back is somewhat nondescript and not quite as pretty as some of the earlier postcards in my collection, the front is so beautiful it could be framed as a watercolor painting.
I assumed the “free” written in the stamp section had something to do with the fact that this is a soldier sending a postcard home to his family. A brief google search revealed that by World War II, if the soldier wrote his outfit and camp (along with the word “free” in the stamp box), then the postage was comped for him.
Another notable aspect of this postcard is the stamped “GIVE: Red Cross War Fund.” I have a few of these from postcards sent during WWII, but I find them fascinating reminders of a different time.
This is also the first postcard where I feel confident I’ve found some information on the original sender. Private Charles P. Kerchner survived the war, married, raised a family, and died in 2008 at the age of 87.
A lovely piece of history from a bygone era.
Front of postcard. Note the blues and yellows and pinks that serve as the masquerade of a sunset.
Hipstory 