Let's Have a Quilting Party Tonight!

Let's have a quilting party tonight in our cute quilted robes from Best's!

Pajama parties after ten will soon be known as quilting parties, for young things off to boarding-school and college are choosing Best's new quilted robes, stitched like the quilts that Grandma used to make.

Miss Shanton and Miss Maurice are having one wild time! But according to the photo captions, Shanton is suffering from "mannish frogs." At first I thought she'd gotten the frogs by cavorting with young Shanton, but now I know that they are "An ornamental looped braid or cord with a button or knot for fastening the front of a garment" and not some type of old-timey venereal disease.

Lois Long Finally Annoys Me

I've said in the past that I enjoy Lois Long's contributions to the 1920's-era New Yorker, particularly her somewhat acerbic "Tables for Two" column (which she wrote under the name "Lipstick"). I've also said that though some scholars have accused her of being a racist, I felt that Long's racial comments were simply par for an authoress writing about Harlem nightclubs, and that I got no impression that Long was -- as charged -- more dismissive of black people than anybody else in the magazine.

Then I ran across her December 22, 1928 review of "Club Harlem."

Above 125th Street, the latest place visited was one called, quite simply, the Club Harlem. Your first impression is of very pleasing decoration--acid yellow walls with huge, foggy, dark-blue silhouettes of barbaric negroes and palm trees. The second impression is of a grand blues orchestra, principally brasses; and the third is of probably the most inferior collection of white people you can see anywhere. Possibly they are hired by the management to give the colored race magnificent dignity by contrast, but I dunno.

I'd have to do some real twisting to make this comment sound innocuous, and taken with the tone of some of her earlier writings I'll finally admit that "they" -- those few scholars who have ever mentioned Lois Long in their research -- are probably right: Long viewed the black people in Harlem as inferior to whites...but cute scenery, and LORD they could dance!

She goes on to mention a "high-yaller chorus," the first time I've heard this term in the magazine.

Miss Burke's Expressive Hands

Melon fetishists like their ellipses, but HAND fetishists go for double-barrel adjectives:

How do these gay, clever women keep their busy capable hands exquisite and pretty when they use them for so much interesting active work?

Those gay, clever, busy, capable, exquisite, pretty, interesting, and active women rely on Cutex Liquid Polish, of course...and this includes Billie Burke!

"I love the stage," says Billie Burke, "but I also love simple country things--gardens, woods, tramps--dogs. What terrible things it does to my hands!"

I sure know that simple country tramps can get you awfully dirty, but let's assume that Burke is using the word "tramp" in the pre-'60s American sense of the word, that is, "to hike." Although "tramp" could also mean "hobo" at that time, for some reason it was an acceptable word for "hiking" as well. I have an old Ann Miller advertisement where she brags about her ability to go "cross-country tramping."

In any case, if you can get your busy, capable hands on a box of this stuff, your friends might admire you in the way that they admired Burke:

"My friends say, 'What lovely half-moons you have!'"

Today's Etymology: Gimcrack

A person who collects "gimcracks" is NOT a person who collects the bones of 18th century race horses. Nope, that person has an affection for "cheap" and "showy" objects of "little or no use." The word is pronounced "Jim-crack" and is similar to another great forgotten word: "gewgaw."

Apparently this has nothing to do with the creepy minstrel song "Blue Tail Fly" ("Jimmy crack corn, and I don't care!") and also has nothing to do with your friend Jim's bum.

Nay Gentle Reader, Dry Those Tears

I'm continuing my survey of early New Yorker advertisements with this one from Watson Stabilators.

I'm not sure exactly what a "Watson Stabilator" was, but I can take a guess. I'm assuming that cars in the mid-'20s had pathetic shock absorbers...coupled with uneven road surfaces this must have made for a bumpy ride.

So if you wanted to make your ride smoother you'd have to buy a third-party shock absorber, this being in the day when you could still mix and match the parts of your car with relative ease.

The "Watson Stabilator" advertisements are of the "funny story" variety that I keep coming back to, and they often involve people who have suffered some kind of injury. Instead of feeling sorry for these people, we're told that they're used to being injured because they don't have a Stabilated car. All in fun, though maybe folks with a mild S&M steak might enjoy these in particular.

Nay, gentle reader, dry those tears.

It's just too sweet of you to be so sympathetic, but really the emotion is misdirected.

True, the lady's pride is somewhat dented, but she is entirely undamaged otherwise--or should we say elsewhere?

You see, her system has developed a complete immunity to jolts and jars, however violent. For she is one of that strange band of Spartans who subject themselves to continuous discipline by driving un-Stabilated cars. What is an extra bump here and there to one who would rather take her dozens daily than do her daily dozen?

Apparently "daily dozen" referred to a person's morning exercise routine. It was coined by Walter Camp in the early 1900s, referring to a set of twelve specific calisthenics.

By the way, I'd bet dollars to dozen that the illustration was drawn by Johann Bull, one of my favourite New Yorker cartoonists. This isn't his usual style, but the noses of those laughing collegiates are pure Bull.

Eeko and Iko

Considering the revived (and generally posthumous) fame that sideshow freaks achieved during the grungy Jim Rose '90s, it's surprising to run across a pair of freaks that do NOT seem to be mentioned (let alone meticulously studied) on the internet.

But in the November 5, 1927 issue of The New Yorker there are a few paragraphs about the mysterious Eeko and Iko:

Even out of season, circus freaks are a major interest with us, none more so than Eeko and Iko... The two strange twins have been billed as "ambassadors from Mars..."

We have been acquainted with the pair for several seasons, and they were good examples of contented freaks... It had been their happy fate always to wear full evening dress with a brilliant red ribbon across their shirt fronts. This alone would have sufficiently amused and contented them.

With Eeko and Iko their unusual flaxen hair was their principal distinction. It looked like cotton and grew in conical clumps. They were said to shed it from time to time, as a chicken moults. Scientists pronounced them subnormal; their reflexes were slack, and they dithered as they walked. Their eyes didn't quite focus. They appeared to be Albino negroes, although it was intimated that they were picked up on the slopes of Mount Everest, or thereabouts.

Mount Everest? Shed their hair? Yeah right. Still, I'm fascinated by the strange spot that freaks held in society during the first half of the 20th century: respected and in some ways admired as long as they stayed in their tents.

By the way, I've never heard the word "dither" used in this way. I'm familiar with it meaning a sort of indecisive wandering, and apparently it can also be a sort of shiver/shake action. Did Eeko and Iko shiver as they walked?

Update
The early morning time-crunch and a misspelled "Eko" in The New Yorker kept me from finding what Morgan James discovered today: "Eko and Iko" are by no means forgotten. The Human Marvels can tell you everything you need to know about "The Sheep-Headed Men."

Curiously, their career was temporarily ended when their long-lost mother finally tracked them down. This article in The New Yorker was prompted by that very incident (which is why they keep being referred to in the past tense). So while Eko and Iko may not be the mysteries I thought they were, this article at least is commenting on a significant moment in their careers.

Today's Etymology: Buff

The August 30, 1927 New Yorker is trying to convince me that the term "buff" -- as in "enthusiast" -- came about in 1865, when New York's first paid fire department was organized. The older volunteers who USED to fight the fires still wanted to help out, so they'd sleep overnight in the fire houses, waiting for a chance to rush off with the official firemen and help put out fires.

Since the fire department wouldn't give them any bedding, the fire enthusiasts slept in heavy buffalo robes...hence "buff" as a term for somebody who is enthusiastic about something (eg. "film buff").

This sounded like a load of bunk to me, but it appears (in my short pre-work researches) to be pretty much true.

Potboilers and Gary Jennings

What's a "potboiler" and why's it called that? Think about it for a second and I'll give you the answers at the end of the post.

Ten years ago my roomate at the time (Scott Irving) encouraged me to read "Aztec" by Gary Jennings, a pseudo-historical adventure about one of the last remaining Aztecs who travels around Central America, currying political favour, having wild sexual exploits, witnessing horrible barbarism, and inventing new devices with only the knowledge and materials at hand.

The book was worthwhile for two reasons: it described how people lived at that time, and why they lived that way. But it also appealed to my desire to be horrified and disgusted; I remember a scene that graphically depicted people being burned at the stake, and another that described the ritual mutilation of aristocrats in order to turn them into immobile and helpless freaks.

Since I've been reading too many "heavy" books lately -- and to carry on learning a bit about medieval life -- I picked up Gary Jennings' "Raptor." So far it seems to be a pseudo-historical adventure about a hermaphroditic child in the 5th century who travels around Europe, currying political favour, having wild sexual exploits, witnessing horrible barbarism, and inventing new devices with only the knowledge and materials at hand.

I guess Jennings new better than to mess with a winning formula.

Regarding the "horrible and disgusting" element, the poor author must have spent much of his time trying to find new things to gross us out, and he succeeded. A Roman soldier, captured by huns, is raped repeatedly through a small incision made in his stomach while watching the headless body of his pregnant wife give birth to a stillborn child. Ummm, thanks Mr. Jennings.

Anyway, when I bought the book at "Old Goat Books," the proprietor said derisively "You're buying a potboiler!" I realized I hadn't heard that word in a long time and I was very curious about WHY such a book was called a "potboiler."

So I asked a few people. Most of them had never heard the word. I myself was incorrect about the definition; I thought a potboiler was a romantic adventure, largely lacking in substance, sort of like a beefed-up Harlequin Romance.

Based on this definition I figured they were called "potboilers" because stereotypical housewives would read them just to pass the time between doing houswork (like while waiting for the pot to boil). Vanilla, on the other hand, thought that reading them was like being inside a boiling pot: lots of pressure, lots of heat.

It turns out that a potboiler is really just any book written quickly in order to make money. The word goes back to the 1800s when people used wood to heat their stoves, and therefore to boil their pots of food. A potboiler was a book written just so the author could afford wood for the stove.

So now we can all rest easy.

The New West: Mysterious 19th Century Ailments

As part of my personal mission to learn more about the country I live in (and to have fun doing it), I'm reading a fascinating book called "The New West." It's a straight-forward collection of reports from the North-West Mounted Police filed during 1889.

These prototypical mounties had only been around for 16 years by that point. They were still suffering growing pains as they tried to keep up with explosive settlement, the coming of the railroad, forest fires, cattle theft, and some decidedly uneasy relationships with the Native Americans.

I've only just started reading the book, but I'm struck by the reports filed by Senior Surgeon A. Jukes (who, I've just discovered, testified that Louis Riel was not insane) and his group of assistant surgeons. They provide handy tables of all the illnesses they treated during the year. Many of them are easy for a 21st century reader to understand, but there are plenty of cases of Freaky 19th Century Ailments with weird names.

To educate you (and myself), I've done a bit of research. And if you're a really dedicated hypochondriac, try these ones on for size:

• Two officers spent almost a month recovering from Bilious Fever. It's an intestinal flu/fever that keeps on coming back to haunt you. I've always assumed this caused your stomach to bloat.
  
• Eighteen unfortunate fellows dealt with Cephalalgia, which isn't a deadly tropical amoeba...it's just a headache!
• Choria took one man seventy days to recover from. It's the infamous St. Vitus' Dance, a symptom of several different illnesses (such as Huntington's disease and rheumatic fever).
• Lumbago -- AKA lower-back pain -- was pretty popular and easily overcome.
• I'm totally confused by Odontolgia, which is listed as a "disease of the nervous system." There are lots of online references to Odontologia, but they're all in Spanish and probably refer to some medical field. Maybe a toothache?
  
• Good old Catarrh, a chronic inflammation of the mucous membranes.
  
• One poor guy caught Furunculus and was still being treated by the time of the report. It's a boil. Why don't we hear about boils and carbuncles anymore? Either because our hygiene is better or because we just call them big pimples nowadays, is my guess.
• Three (possibly) uncircumsized men complained of Balanitis, a penile inflammation. The Mounted Police didn't have many opportunities to bathe, apparently.
• Yikes, Desquamative Nephritis took three months to kill a police officer. It's a nasty inflammation of the kidneys.
• One man had Orchitis, an inflammation of the testicles. But don't worry...he got over it!
• Two men suffered Eruptions! I have no idea what this means. Testicles again?
  
• I sense a trend here...another two men from Calgary spent ten days being treated for Spermatorrhoea, which Swami Sivandra of Rishikesh says has "eaten away the very core of the heart of many brilliant youth." Amazing that a grown man would go to the doctor because he's having wet dreams...those Victorians!
  
• Incidentally, there was a single tapeworm lurking around Calgary in 1889, poor lonely thing.
• Varix was a horribly swollen vein.
• For guys who were so good with their horses, they sure got kicked by horse a lot.
• When is a police officer felonous? When he's suffering from an infected fingertip! That would be a good joke. Actually, no, it wouldn't.

All that and only ONE gunshot wound.

Extra-special credit goes to Rudy's List of Archaic Medical Terms. This just goes to show that no matter what weird thing you're curious about, you'll find a website for it eventually.

Random 1920's Words

Quoits: A lawn game where you throw a ring (the "quoit") over a peg (the "hob"). Similar to horseshoes.

Spats: A sort of "shoe cover" apparently meant to keep shoes clean, but really just an ostentatious fashion accessary.

Couvert: The early French way of spelling (and I guess pronouncing) the "cover" charge that we have today. I haven't found an explanation for why the spelling changed, but the practice of a restaurant owner charging customers a flat fee for entertainment probably started in France.

Model: Today's "designer original."

Mannikin: Today's "model" (that is, a human who models clothes for a crowd).

Manufactory: Today's "factory."

Table d'hôte: A multi-course meal in a restaurant with a flat rate but very few choices.