“My Trip to the Big Town”

Tags

American Century, Antiques, Architecture, New York City, Nostalgia, Photography, Scrapbook, World War II

I love scrapbooks. Unfortunately, I never have time to make my own. What’s the next best thing? Collect vintage scrapbooks! I recently found this one in the dank basement of a shady antique shop (in a godforsaken Upstate New York city that shall remain nameless). 

From what I can tell, this scrapbook was owned by a woman in her early twenties. In it, she chronicled her adventures with her significant other, Joe. The album covers her travels to New York City, Washington D.C., Pittsburgh, and New Orleans. It seems that Joe went to war mid-way through the album, as evidenced by a postcard he sent her from Paris. Meanwhile, the woman went away to college in Pittsburgh.

I want to focus on her trip to New York City in June, 1942. I had a lot of fun flipping through those pages, as the photographs reminded me of my own trip to the city last April. Below are a few comparisons: On the left are photos from the scrapbook. On the right are some of my photos. 

“The cabbie took Joe for a ride. “

My view.

“He works overtime holding this up.”

My view.

“The nice ride – over and over again.”

My view.

“Better looking in the dark.”

My view.

The photographs in the scrapbook were not snapped by the young woman. Rather, they were purchased as a souvenir set and later pasted into the book. Souvenir photo sets were common in the WWII era. These particular images were taken by William Frange. It seems that Frange took several photographs of Coney Island and famous New York City sites from the 1920s to the 1940s. His work appeared in New York Times publications. If you know anything else about Frange, I’d love to hear it. He’s a difficult man to track down!

My favorite New York City photograph in the scrapbook might be this one, the Chrysler Building. The young woman’s caption, “A monument to industry,” says it all. Not only is the skyscraper a fabulous example of the Art Deco style, but it is a symbol of the manufacturing and infrastructure America was known for. The caption seems to validate the concept of the American Century.

In closing, here is the 1921 film by Paul Strand and Charles Sheeler called Manhatta. I’ve been hooked on the film for a while now, and I think it really brings the photos in the scrapbook to life. Enjoy!

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The Curious Case of Mr. Armsbury

Tags

Adams New York, Antiques, Art History, History, Stiles P. Armsbury, Tintype

Anytime I buy an encased photograph, I’m tempted to take the photo out of the case. I’ll admit, this is not always the best thing to do. If the photo is wedged in too tightly, I won’t risk damaging it. But if I think I can get it out, I usually go for it. You never know what you’ll find behind a photograph. Sometimes it pays off. 

This tintype depicts a stern, distinguished man with a severe case of strabismus. The photograph is not exceptional in quality. It’s a very basic headshot with a blank background. Furthermore, the blue cloudy patches in the emulsion are evidence of solarization, meaning the plate was overexposed. But what makes this photo especially interesting is the information behind it. 

Stiles P. Armsbury, Artist.

Adams, NY. Oct. 22, 1863

A bit of research reveals that Stiles is not the man in the tintype, but the man behind the camera. Stiles P. Armsbury was born in 1825 in Petersburg, New York. He moved to Adams, New York and set up a photography studio, the Excelsior Gallery, in the Dodge Block. The Northern New York Business Directory lists him as a photographer in 1867-68. The date on my tintype shows that he worked as a photographer in Adams even earlier. As of August, 1874, the Jefferson County Journal lists two daguerrean galleries in the village, one belonging to Armsbury, the other to Mr. H.H. Hose. It’s interesting that the photography studios are referred to as daguerrean galleries. By the 1870s, daguerreotypes were long considered passé. Tintypes would have been the most popular medium for encased photographs at that time. I suppose this speaks to how long the studios had been in operation. 

I especially love the fact that Armsbury labeled himself an artist in my photograph case. With so much historical debate as to whether photography is an art or a science, it is valuable to see what photographers of the period considered themselves. Armsbury’s photo finishes also contribute to this idea. One could purchase a photo varnished in “German,” “Italian,” “Grecian,” or “Rembrandt” style. 

Advertisement from the Adams New York Herald, 1877.

Stiles P. Armsbury was quite the character. He claimed to patent “Armsbury’s Improved Background,” which supposedly enabled him to take a picture without taking the background. I’m not entirely sure what this means, let alone if it was possible. Maybe that is why the background in my photo looks so plain. However, I do know that I was unable to find any evidence of Armsbury’s patent application or approved patent. He was involved in a legal suit at one point. Perhaps someone tried to infringe upon his non-existent patent!

Nevertheless, Stiles seemed like a man with big ideas. An 1880 City and Vicinity snippet in the Watertown Daily Times mentioned that he “contemplate[d] writing a book.” He was also the local agent for selling monuments.

Stiles P. Armsbury died on August 25, 1895 after failing health from a paralytic stroke seven months prior. His obituary is the most telling piece of evidence about his character. It states that Armsbury was “possessed of many bright qualities of mind, yet there seemed to be a lack of application or connection which unfitted him to take the position in the world which his talents really merited.” Ouch!

Although there is little credited to Armsbury’s name today, at least his signature remains behind my photograph.  

Plans Change: Ryder and the Garfield Monument

Tags

Architecture, Art, Assassination, C.F. Schweinfurth, Calvert Vaux, Cleveland, Garfield Monument, George H. Keller, Henry van Brunt, J.F. Ryder, James A. Garfield, Lakeview Cemetery, Moffitt & Doyle, New York Times, Photography, Politics, President

This is the photograph that started my Ryder collection. I found it at an antique shop mixed in with some old postcards. It was faded, soiled, and torn. Terrible condition, yet I still wanted it. I was curious to know why it was a photograph of a drawing. Moreover, why did the building seem so familiar?

Then, I remembered…

This is the Garfield Monument at Lakeview Cemetery in Cleveland. And yes, that dingy photograph depicts an architectural rendering of this building; with some alterations. Let’s backtrack a little bit.

If we refer back to Voigtländer and I, Ryder will tell us how this all started. He and James A. Garfield became close friends in Cleveland well before Garfield’s presidency. Naturally, Ryder took his photograph on a few occasions.

I remember well when Colonel Garfield (later general, senator, president, and martyr) came to my gallery for a sitting. […] As I was sitting him he remarked that he would about as soon stand before a gun; said it gave him the uncomfortable feeling of being aimed at to have a camera pointed toward him. He was truly the soldier and gentleman.

Garfield found time just after his presidential nomination to have another sitting in Ryder’s studio. My cabinet card above (and in Voigtländer and I) depicts the photograph taken by Ryder that day. It was the first photograph of Garfield post-nomination.

I suspect there is more to the story behind my cabinet card of Garfield. I think it was printed after his death in 1881. You can see that it is a photograph of a framed photograph. Had this cabinet card been made at the time of Garfield’s nomination, Ryder could easily have made copies from the glass plate negative. Instead, it seems that he took the original printed photograph off of the wall and snapped a new picture of it, much like he did to reproduce a photograph of Garfield’s mother; an image made especially for Garfield to be viewed from his deathbed. 

Now, on to the monument…

An executive committee (including Rutherford B. Hayes) formed to oversee the erection of a monument and place of interment for Garfield and his family in Cleveland. The committee sent out a call for architectural plans in the New York Times; the incentive being notoriety and a cash prize. Meanwhile, the idea was for Cleveland and the rest of the nation to contribute $250,000 to fund the project. Within a year, it was clear that they would only raise about $136,000.

By June 1884, the trustees had chosen the winners for the design contest.

• Third place and $500: Moffitt & Doyle of New York
• Second place and $750: C.F. & J.A. Schweinfurth of Cleveland
• First place and $1,000: George H. Keller of Hartford, Connecticut 

As it turns out, my dingy cabinet card at the beginning of this post depicts George Keller’s winning design from the contest. Ryder must have reproduced the plans and distributed them to the public.

Keller’s interior design for the Garfield Monument. Image courtesy of St. Croix Architecture

You might be asking, why do the plans look so different from the actual monument? It all boils down to lack of money and abundance of excuses. As previously mentioned, the committee was unable to raise their goal amount for the monument. Once work started, it became clear that they didn’t even have enough money to complete Keller’s design. It was time to improvise. First, with a rumor that the building foundation was too unstable to support such a high tower. As a result, the tower height became 150 feet instead of 225 feet. Fewer materials! Next, corners were cut with the building materials. Brick substituted stone whenever possible. This sparked a lawsuit between the sub-contractor and contractor. To accommodate all of these changes, architects Calvert Vaux and Henry van Brunt were called in to make design modifications.   

After years of consternation, the monument was finally dedicated on May 30, 1890. If you have an 1890 copy of Harper’s Weekly, you might find a write-up about this. Otherwise, take a look at the Historic and Descriptive Sketch of the Garfield Memorial at Lake View Cemetery. 

In closing, here are a few more photos of the Garfield Monument. I took these in 2007. Enjoy!

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A Sampling of Cartes de Visite

Tags

Art, Art History, Carte de visite, Cleveland, History, J.F. Ryder, Knights of Pythias. National Photographic Association, Photography

c.1860s.

c.1860s.

A brother of the Knights of Pythias, c.1870.

This logo represents the National Photographic Association of the United States. The group aimed to advance the art of photography and prevent the reissue of the ambrotype. Ryder was an officer for the society.

This design features the façade of Ryder’s studio and art gallery at 239 Superior Street. It opened in 1872.

Ryder’s Ramblings in Elyria

Tags

A.H. Greenly, Berea, Books, Burrows Brothers Books, Cleveland, Collamer, Elyria, Horticulture, J.F. Ryder, J.W. Dunham, Nostalgia, Photography, Voigtlander and I

As promised, here is Ryder’s autobiography, Voigtländer and I: In Pursuit of Shadow Catching. It is well-known in the field of photography as one of few autobiographies written by an early photographer. I discovered this book two years ago while working on an assignment for a Histories of Photography course. One of the sources I was using for a paper referenced Ryder’s book. After a simple inter-library loan request, voila! A first edition 1902 copy was mine to borrow. I read it each evening for fun and was shocked to find that Ryder had been to so many places that I had. It was as though I was following in his footsteps. I loved Ryder’s purposeful, yet nostalgic writing style. It was too much to hold a first edition in my hands that wasn’t mine. I had to get my own.

Frantic online searches for the book made me realize I wasn’t going to cheaply find a first edition. I was beside myself. A modern-day reprint just wouldn’t do, not after reading the real thing! I pouted. And wouldn’t you know it, the next day another first edition appeared online…and on sale. I snapped it up.

I’m especially fond of my book for its longstanding Cleveland connection. A few pieces of paper have been left inside the front cover, leaving dark silhouettes on the surrounding pages. The first is a May 8, 1939 letter of inquiry from A.H. Greenly, the Chairman of the Official Classification Committee, to the Burrows Bros. Book Shop in Cleveland. Apparently Greenly wanted a copy of Ryder’s book and the Burrows boys hadn’t followed through in a timely manner. Why A.H. Greenly, a bomb-inspecting man, wanted Voigtländer and I is beyond me. Light reading, I suppose? Anyway, this letter from Greenly seemed to light a fire beneath the Burrows brothers, as the other piece of paper in the book has the scribbled name and address of Ryder’s relative who still lived in Cleveland. Did my book come from this relative upon Greenly’s request?

I guess I was like Greenly in my own right, scrambling to find a copy of Ryder’s book. What can I say? It’s that good.

Today, I’d like to pull some information from Ryder’s autobiography and put my own spin on his experiences in Elyria, Ohio. Ryder settled in the town (now a city) after working his way west from Ithaca as an itinerant. He set up a daguerreotype studio in Elyria in 1849 and maintained business ties there until 1858. In 1852, the building that housed his studio caught fire and destroyed his belongings (including his beloved Voigtländer camera). Despite this traumatic and financially draining experience, Ryder had a soft spot for Elyria. In Voigtländer and I he states:

 My fondness for the beautiful in nature found here much to feed upon. At evening before twilight I found my reserved front seat, which no one else disputed, and enjoyed it to my heart’s content.

On moonlight nights, after “Wils” Ryan, the miller, had shut up shop and gone home, I would lounge on the grass beside the old mill with its great, drippy water-wheel, and enjoy the pleasing rhythm of the falling water, splashing and dripping continuously and soothingly, inducing me to indulgence in waking dreams which led me pleasantly to Ithaca and the old Cascadilla, whose dashing water I so dearly loved.

East Falls of the Black River, Elyria, Ohio. The stair-step stones on the right are the ruins of the old Red Mill. Based on the description above, this was Ryder's favorite vantage point.

And now for the surprise: a daguerreotype from my collection. Written inside the case is “J.W. Dunham. Elyria. Lorain Co., Ohio. $1.00.” With the exception of this portrait, I have never seen another daguerreotype from Elyria. Who was J.W. Dunham? Was this likeness taken by J.F. Ryder and his Voigtländer?

Let’s do a little detective work.    

J.W. Dunham.

We know this man was J.W. Dunham. But who was he, really? There were two in Ohio (as well as a few from other states).

The first is Dr. J. Watson Dunham (1824-1890) from Collamer, near East Cleveland. He was a horticulturist who specialized in grape-growing. He owned several vineyards. Dunham served as president of the Lake Shore Grape Grower’s Association and treasurer of the Ohio State Horticultural Society.

The second J.W. Dunham (1834-1906) was from Hinckley and Berea, Ohio. He was an inventor of farm implements and started the J.W. Dunham & Son Company.

Image courtesy of Miami University Digital Collections. Oxford, Ohio.

Because the two men studied similar topics and lived within 25 miles of each other during the same time period, it is almost impossible to distinguish one from the other; but let’s think a little harder. In the photograph, Dunham rests his hand on a book. This was a classic symbol for scholarship. His top hat on the table and silver-handled walking stick suggest that he was quite the affluent man. If I had to judge his age, I’d guess that he was about thirty at the time this photograph was taken. 

As for the daguerreotype itself, it was set beneath a thick, smooth, nonpareil mat. This smooth style of mat dates to the early 1850s (a stippled nonpareil mat dates earlier). The matted image is encased in a preserver, which dates after 1847. This means that the daguerreotype must be from the early 1850s. Taking this into account, J.W. Dunham of Berea would have been about twenty years old at best. Dr. J.Watson Dunham of Collamer, however, would have been about thirty. Perfect!

Now, did Ryder take the photo? Time to think broadly. In the early 1850s, there were only four daguerreotypists in Elyria: Fred Potter, Charles Park, Edward Wikes, and Ryder himself. Potter was only active in Elyria during the year 1853. As for Park and Wikes, Ryder trained them. I’d say it is likely Ryder had a hand in creating the daguerreotype.

Well readers, that’s the end of today’s adventure. Coming up next: cartes-de-visite!