Drypigment.net

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

In 1923, the “Olean Evening Herald” reported, “Mabel A. Buell, the only woman scenic artist in New York, claims that scene painting is ideal work for the woman artist, combining aesthetic progress with a large salary as few other artistic professions do” (6 June 1923, page 9).

Today I explore the life of Mabel Buell (1896-1982) as she became a popular subject in 1918 newspapers. As I am covering that year in the life and times of Thomas G. Moses, this seems like an appropriate moment to add a little historical context about female scenic artists.  On March 10, 1918, the “Buffalo Times” reported that Mabel Buell was “a noted scenic artist with the Bonstelle Company and has a host of friends in New York” (page 30). The “Buffalo Courier” added that she was “one of the few women scenic artists with the Bonstelle Company at the Star Theatre” (Feb. 17, 1918, page 7). However, Buell’s scenic art career began well before 1918. By 1916, both Buell, and her mother Nina C. Buell were listed as scenic artists in the Sioux City Directory, each working at the Princess Theatre and rooming at the Jackson Hotel. Mabel’s father, Horace H. Buell, was also a well-known scenic artist, but working and living elsewhere at the time. I will explore the entire Buell family in a few days.  However, Horace H. Buell passed away in 1919, three year after his son, Horace Jr., who was also a scenic artist.

The story of Mabel’s rise to fame was told to many newspapers over the years. She shaped her introduction to scenic art and training to fit with societal expectations. In 1922 the “Washington Post” reported, “Mabel Buell, still in her early twenties, petite and blond, is the last person one would associate with a big paint brush and scenery, yet this diminutive young woman is the only feminine possessor of a union card in the Scene Painters’ union, and is in fact, the only woman in the United States who is a real scenic artist. Miss Buell’s father was Horace Buell, one of the most famous scenic artists of his time, and as a small child Mabel learned from him the fundamentals of her art, for real art it is. When still a girl in her teens she assisted him when he was engaged in stock, and upon his death she undertook, on her own, to carry on the Buell name in theatrical history. A year ago she was a scenic artist in stock in Detroit with the Jessie Bonstelle stock company and last summer she was with Henry Hull in Dayton. She built and painted scenery for ‘The Squaw Man.’ But she considered her production of ‘Main Street’ one of he best works, for she admits it is not as easy to get all of Main Street, as it was pictured so vividly in the book, on the stage. Any day you may care to you will find her high on the bridge on the stage in the Manhattan opera house where she has her studio, brush in hand, working industriously on some set. Miss Buell is one of the few independent scenic artists who possess their own studios, and the nicest thing about her is that she is delightfully naïve and cannot understand why there is anything unusual for a woman to be in her profession. Her production of ‘Main Street’ has been highly praised for retaining the correct atmosphere of the book” (March 12, 1922, page 3, in “Much on the Job”).

A few years earlier, on Dec. 31, 1919, “The Newark Advocate” featured Buell and mentioned some of her early history (Newark, Ohio, page 9). The article reported, “To be a scenic artist at twenty-one with five years’ experience to one’s credit at an early age is something unusual for anyone, but when the person is a slight little blond girl one simply has to investigate. This is what the investigator finds out about Miss Mable Buell and the unusual career in which she is steadily climbing to fame and fortune. She lives in New York City and has been creating scenery for stock companies and vaudeville teams since she was a slip of a girl, sixteen. She thinks perhaps she inherited her ‘work,’ for her father, Horace Harvev Buell, was well known for his scenic and portrait painting in New York and elsewhere in the country. When in London doing scenery for a theatre there Mr. Buell sent his little daughter to an art school to study. Mabel was but a tiny kiddie then with short skirts and long pig-tails but she studied in the same class with, grown-up professional artists.”

There is an interesting parallel between Mabel and an earlier female scenic artist, Grace A. Wishaar (1876-1956) who also made a splash in the scenic art world during the 1890s. Mabel was born the same year that newspapers began mentioning Grace Wishaar.  I explored the life of Wishaar almost three years ago (see past posts 284 to 290), the petite brunette who eventually married world-class chess champion Alexander Alekhine. Wishaar was also born and started out on the West Coast, but began painting in New York at the turn of the twentieth century. The “Buffalo Morning Express” interviewed Wishaar on April 4, 1901 and published an article about her (page 3).  Under the heading, “She is a Scenic Artist,” the article reported that Wishaar had recently arrived from Seattle and was working as the scenic artist Frank D. Dodge. After describing her artistic journey, Wishaar was quoted as saying, “They told me at half the theaters in town that a woman couldn’t do it.  Any way, I have proved one woman can.” Almost two decades later, Buell had made a similar journey, but she had a head start in a scenic art family. In 1923 when questioned about women in the scenic art field, Buell responded, “For there is, as always will be, a great prejudice against women in this field” (“American Magazine” page 68)

Regardless of either woman’s accomplishments, each was erroneously credited as the only female scenic artist in the country at the time, which was simply not the case, but that title it made headlines.  My research confirms that there were many more female scenic artists at the time. The only difference is that they evaded the printed record and were subsequently not included in history books.

By 1918, Mabel was pictured in the “Dayton Herald” on July 11, (page 7). Under her portrait was the caption, “Miss Mabel Buell. This scenic artist of the Brownnell Stork Players at the Lyric, is responsible for a beautiful piece of tapestry which she painted for ‘The Thirteenth Chair,’ this week’s attraction. Miss Brownell will donate this very artistic piece of work to the Red Cross Society next Monday.”

There were also personal interest stories about Buell. The “Dayton Daily News” noted, “Miss Mary Buell, the scenic artist, has a little collie dog, Sheamus, a most loving pet whom she has shaved so closely this summer that he actually thinks that he is a poodle, and wants to climb into your lap” (Dayton, Ohio, 14 July 1918, page 44).

Her Broadway credits for scenic design include “Fifty-Fifty, Ltd.” (Comedy Theatre, Oct. 27, 1919-Nov. 29, 1919), “Plain Jane” (New Amsterdam Theatre, May 12, 1924-Oct. 4, 1924), “Blackberries of 1932” (Liberty Theatre, April 4-23, 1932), “Blackbirds of 1933” (Apollo Theatre, Dec. 2-Dec. 1933), “Summer Wives” (Mansfield Theatre, April 13-18, 1936), “Sea Legs” (Mansfield Theatre, May 18-May 29, 1937), “Straw Hat” (Nora Bayes Theatre, Dec. 30, 1927-Jan. 1938), and “Lew Leslie’s Blackbirds of 1939” (Hudson Theatre, Feb. 11-18, 1939).

The 1930 census listed Mabel as an artist working, also painting in the interior industry. Her husband was Herbert H J Schulze (b. Oct. 30, 1891), also an artist, and listed as working in the picture industry. Schulze’s WWI draft registration noted that he was working for Gates & Morange in New York in 1917. At the time he filled out the draft registration, Schulze listed that for the past five years he had been under the care of a doctor for heart disease. The couple were married on Feb. 6, 1923 and celebrated the birth of their daughter Joy the next year. He passed away on July 23, 1940. At the time he was still working as a scenic artist for the theater, but lodging at another residence.

On May 6, 1937, “The Brooklyn Daily Eagle” reported “Rear Admiral Yates Stirling Jr., who retired a year ago as commandant of the Brooklyn Navy Yard, has interrupted his writings on naval matters to become a stage designer. Today he was busily at work in the studio of Miss Mabel A. Buell at 1828 Amsterdam Ave., Manhattan, with whom he has formed a partnership. In the set at which the two are now at work Admiral Stirling’s sea experience is standing him in good stead, for it is set for ‘Sea Legs,’ a musical comedy which opens with Dorothy Stone and depicts the exterior of a stream-lined cabin on the deck of a private yacht. ‘Flesh has been wiped out,’ said the Admiral, discussing the plight of the theatre today.’ All the training of talent is in the night clubs or in the stage shows of a few theaters, the movies have eaten up the seed corn. The harvest better be planted and Hollywood and the films should start up theaters to train talent for the coming dearth’” (page 26). In 1939, Buell provided the illustrations for Yates Stirling’s “Sea Duty: Memoirs of a Fighting Admiral” (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1939). They had a very close relationship.

In 1941, Mabel visited her cousin, Mrs. P. M. Baldwin, in Las Cruces, New Mexico.  Of her visit, the “Las Cruces Sun-News” reported that Buell was an artist of New York City and collaborator with Admiral Yates Sterling, writer and speaker. The article elaborated, “Miss Buell is a portrait painter and does the frontispieces for Admiral Sterling’s books. Also those pen and ink drawings that head each chapter. She also does scenic painting and often works on stage sets for the largest theatres in New York” (16 Feb. 1941, page 3).

By 1947 and 1948, Mabel was living in west Palm Beach Florida, continuing her work as an artist until her passing. More on Buell tomorrow.

To be continued…

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

In 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “September 1^st, I resigned as President of the Sosman and Landis Company which severs my connection with the firm after thirty-eight years of service.  I joined the New York Studios and expect to get a studio and an office to do business.”

Quick recap about New York Studios: Former Sosman & Landis secretary and treasurer, David H. Hunt, established New York Studios in 1910.  The firm was intended to be an eastern affiliate of Sosman & Landis.  Remember that Sosman & Landis established Kansas City Scenic Co. as a regional branch in the nineteenth century. However, the relationship between the two studios became strained after Moses became president of Sosman & Landis. Moss and Hunt had never really got along well, so I was quite surprised that Moses left Sosman & Landis to work at New York Studios in 1918.  It must have been quite bad for Moses at Sosman & Landis for him to pull the plug after thirty-eight years.  One has to wonder what was going on between the studio and the stockholders, as well as the company’s finances.

Of his new job, Moses wrote, “Marshall of the New York Studios and I had to hustle out for a studio.  Got an office in the Consumers Building.  I did two borders for the Chateau Theatre at the old place.  We tried very hard to buy out the old place, but they want too much money.  I was willing to make a big reduction on my claim, but it was no use.  We have to find a studio.”

Moses was referring to Fred Marshall, a scenic artist who would later represent the United Scenic Artists’ Association of New York City. Born on March 24, 1895, in Woodridge, New Jersey. He was the son of Louisiana native, Frederick Marshal, Sr. (b. 1851), an artist who specialized in mural paintings and contemporary of Moses. WWII draft records describe the younger Marshall’s appearance as 6’-2” and 190 lbs., gray hair, blue eyes and a ruddy complexion.

While looking for information about Marshall, I came across three interesting finds that are worth sharing to give some context to his role in American theatre history. The first was a 1936 Columbia University doctoral thesis by Charles Lionel Franklin, A.M., entitled, “The Negro Labor Unionist of New York, Problems and Conditions among Negro in the Labor Unions in Manhattan with Special Reference to the N.R.A. and post- N.R.A. Situations.”  The dissertation included interviews with Max Graft (Secretary of the U.S.A.A.) and Marshall (business representative of the U.S.A.A.). Graft was quoted as stating that the United Scenic Artists’ Association was “Organized in 1918. First it was explained that this local has jurisdiction over all workers in the Eastern United States. In its membership there were at one time two Negroes. One, a New York man who joined in 1918, dropped out in 1925. He was one of the first members. The other Negro member now in the union is a resident of Pittsburgh. In the local there are 339 members. The initiation fee is $500.00, $250.00 with application and $250. With initiation and yearly dues of $48.00.”  On August 29, 1936, Marshall explained that the union’s “Membership was open to “any person who follows any branch of work within the jurisdiction of the scenic artists crafts for a livelihood.”  Here is a link to the entire dissertation as it is certainly worth the read: https://dspace.gipe.ac.in/xmlui/bitstream/handle/10973/22326/GIPE-014119-Contents.pdf?sequence=2&isAllowed=y

Marshall was also interviewed in 1937 for the Emergency Relief Appropriation Hearings before the Committee on Appropriations, United States Senate Seventy-Fifth Congress, First Session on H. J. Res.361 The following is included from June 1937:

“Statement of Fred Marshall, United Scenic Artists’ Association of New York City.

Mr. Marshall: Gentlemen, I have nothing further to add to what has been said. I represent just the local in New York. We have three locals throughout the United States but I speak for New York. We had a membership of 490 in 1928, and we have some 320. We did try to discourage people from coming into the business. We closed our books and tried to discourage the schools teaching scenic designs, and so forth, as we did not see any advantage in bringing a lot of people into a business that had no future. But we did notice a pick-up since the Federal Theater started and we do dope it will be made a national institution, that the Government will make it a national theater. It is purely seasonal theater now with work for 5 months a years and the other 7 months of intermittently here and there; nut we do get about five months regular employment for all our people, and the other 7 months they do nothing; but we would like to see it become a national institution.” He spoke alongside Dorothy Bryant, Chorus Equity Association, Alfred Harding, Actors Equity Association, Fred J. Dempsey, International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, and David Freed, American Federation of Musicians for Emergency Relief Appropriation (page 236). They were concerned with the Woodrum amendment. Dempsey explained that of their 30,000 members, only 15,000 have work.”

Finally, in 1939 Marshall was listed as part of the Amusement Committee for the NY Worlds Fair, as the business representative for the United Scenic Artists of America, Local No. 829, 251 West Forty-second Street, NY. He was mentioned in the New York World’s Fair Hearings before the Committee on Foreign Affairs, House of Representatives Seventy-fifth Congress, First Session on H. J. Res. 234 and H. J. Res 304 Authorizing Federal Participation in the New York World’s Fair, 1939).

The point that I am trying to make is that Marshall was a mover and shaker in the scenic art world, but as a young man of 23 in 1918 he was walking around New York in search of a studio for Moses.

To be continued…

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

In 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “I made a lot of models and sketches for floats for Labor Day.  Hamilton came out from New York to superintend the work.  He always drops into a fat job somewhere.” Moses was referring working with William F. Hamilton again. The project was floats for the San Francisco Labor Day. The parade of 1918 focused on labor unions and worker’s rights, with eighty-seven unions participating in the parade that day, spread out over seven divisions.

It has been more than two years since I explored the life of scenic artist Will Hamilton and the short-lived firm of Moses & Hamilton. It is time to recap, because I think that working with Hamilton during the summer of 1918 prompted Moses to tender his resignation to Sosman & Landis by that fall. Hamilton may have reminded him that better opportunities were lurking elsewhere, and that Sosman & Landis was a sinking ship.

Moses first met Hamilton in 1892 when they were both hired to design the models and paint scenery for “Ben Hur,” the pantomime tableaux (see past installment 256 https://drypigment.net2017/11/22/tales-from-a-scenic-artist-and-scholar-acquiring-the-fort-scott-scenery-collection-for-the-minnesota-masonic-heritage-center-part-256-thomas-g-moses-painting-scenery-for-the-ben-hur-tableaux-and/).

Less than a decade later, the two established Moses & Hamilton in New York.  The partnership lasted until 1904 when Moses returned to Chicago to become vice-president at Sosman & Landis studio. When Perry Landis had to leave the company for health reasons, Sosman assumed many of the administrative and marketing duties.  Therefore, someone was needed to supervise all design, construction, painting and installation.

It had been difficult for Moses to leave in 1904. That year he wrote, “When I had to tell Hamilton, I almost gave in to stay with him, for he was awfully broken up over it.” Moses was leaving a good friend, a good crew, and good work, hoping for something even better upon his return in Chicago. This was especially difficult as the theatrical center of the United States was shifting to New York.

Moses & Hamilton had assembled a paint crew at the Proctor’s 125^th Street Theatre only three years earlier. Their staff included Ed Loitz, Otto Armbruster and Al Robert. Projects were plentiful, and consistently spread across three theatres: The American Theatre, Proctor’s Twenty-third Street Theatre, and Proctor’s 125^th Street Theater.  Thomas G. Moses was the lead scenic artist at the American Theater, William F. Hamilton was the lead scenic artist for Proctor’s Twenty-third Street Theatre, and Al Roberts was the lead scenic artist at Proctor’s 125^th Street Theatre.

For three years, Moses & Hamilton had more work than they could handle, producing scenery for opera, vaudeville, and other entertainments. Their work for Frederick Thompson at Luna Park included “A Trip to the Moon,” “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” “War of the Worlds,” and “Fire and Flames.” A few of Moses & Hamilton’s Broadway designs included “Under the Southern Skies” (Theatre Republic, Nov. 12, 1901 to Jan. 1902), “In Dahomey” (New York Theatre, Feb. 18, 1903 to April 4, 1903, with a return to the Grand Opera House from August to September, 1904), “The Medal and the Maid” (Broadway Theatre, Jan. 11, 1904 to Feb. 20, 1904, Grand Opera House, March 1904), “The Pit” (Lyric Theatre, Feb. 10, 1904, to April 1904), and “Girls Will Be Girls” (Haverly’s 14th Street Theatre, Aug. 27, 1904 to Sept. 3, 1904). Their work was sought after by Helena Modjeska, John C. Fisher, Henry Savage, and other well-known theatre personalities.

Even after Moses & Hamilton folded, the two continued working together on a variety of projects across the country until 1909. Moses remained at Sosman & Landis, while Hamilton worked at New York Studios, the eastern affiliate of Sosman & Landis. However, as business picked up at Sosman & Landis, it became more and more difficult for Moses to do any outside work with Hamilton.  Previously, he earned extra income by taking on these outside projects. Part of the perks was his being able to use the studio for night work. However, as Sosman & Landis took on more and more work, hours were extended into the evening, prohibiting outside projects.

So work slows down during the war years, and Hamilton comes around again. It was no coincidence that Hamilton shows up in July and Moses resigns as president of Sosman & Landis less than two months later. Moses wrote, “September 1^st, I resigned as President of the Sosman and Landis Company which severs my connection with the firm after thirty-eight years of service.  I joined the New York Studios and expect to get a studio and an office to do business.” On September 2^nd Moses recorded, “There was a big Labor Day parade and such a crowd.  Mama and I went down but were very careful not to get in the thick of it.” That was his first day of freedom from Sosman & Landis, his first day without the worry of being president at the company.

To be continued…

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

Early in 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “We got a big contract for the Arena through Marshall Fields, but had to drop it as we were $500.00 too high.  The party who took the contract, stole my idea and when he completed the job, he found he stood good to lose at least $1,400.00, as the Arena was not good for the amount as the work was done for a lease.” That’s Karma working for you!

There is no way to know the exact event that Moses was referring to. However, I think it was the ice carnival and fancy dress ball held at the Chicago Arena on March 16^th. Officers from Camp Grant, Camp Dodge, Camp Custer and Great Lakes were invited to attend the event. The organization, the Satellites of Mars, was in charge of the carnival. Members from the Satellites were managing the carnival for the Fort Sheridan Association.

On March 17, 1918, the “Chicago Tribune” reported, “Society Shines with Satellites at Arena Affair. Brilliant Scenes Mark Function to Aid War” (page 3).   This may have been the event. The article continued, “Never has a society function had a more effective setting than had the fancy dress ice carnival and ball held last night at the Arena. The brilliant coloring of the skater’s costumes, on which the spotlights played, glinted over the great area of the skating hall, and from balconies and doorways hung fantastic lanterns and draperies of red, white and blue. A band of jackies marked the rhythm of the skating. The affair, patronized by almost all the people of fashion now in the city was given by the Satellites of Mars, under the auspices of the Fort Sheridan association, an organization which looks after the interests of soldiers and sailors. There were many soldiers present and several jackies. The proceeds, it is estimated, will amount to about $10,000.”

The Satellites of Mars was a relatively new high-society group, formed for charity. For the ice carnival event, Wallace C. Winter (219 South La Salle Street) was a member and managing the carnival for the Fort Sheridan Association (Chicago Tribune, 7 March 1918, page 15). It appears to have been short-lived, however, and primarily active during the war years.

Interestingly, in 1877 Prof. Hall of the National Observatory identified two extremely minute moons circling Mars (New York Daily Herald, 23 Aug. 1877, page 3). The satellites of Mars appear in the papers again in 1918; this time the term arises in conjunction with those in the military. On March 27, 1918, the “San Francisco Examiner” reported, “There should be, we think, a marked distinction between the uniforms worn by men in the trenches and those worn by non-combatant officers. As the former are inconspicuous, the latter should be vivid and slashing. A feature might be a couple of red moons, emblematic of the satellites of Mars” (page 2). This opinion appears in US newspaper across the country at the time.

To be continued…

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

In 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “Received a nice order from Harrison Company, operating the Redpath Lyceum Bureau for their chatauqua work.”  The previous year. Sosman & Landis also delivered scenery for the Redpath Chautauqua Circuit.

In 1918, “Trench and Camp” reported:

“Mr. Marc Klaw was given the task of organizing four companies to play light comedies and four companies of vaudeville stars. ‘Turn to the Right,’ ‘Cheating Cheaters, ‘Here Comes the Bridge,’ ‘Inside the Line’ and other popular plays will be presented in turn at the various cantonments. The professional vaudeville companies will also make the rounds and the theatres will be offered to the men for the production of amateur dramatics or special moving pictures. There will be a small charge of from 15 to 25 cents made for professional entertainments. I addition to these theatres, and at both the National Army and National Guard camps, the Redpath Lyceum furnished entertainment. The general direction of all paid entertainments at the camps is in the hands of Mr. Harry P. Harrison, the president and general manager of the Redpath Lyceum Bureau” (22 Jan. 1918, page 7).

Written by Raymond B. Fosdick, Chairman of the Commission on Training Camp, the article explained, “Just after the war was declared last April, the President and Secretary of War, having these facts keenly in mind, asked me to assume the chairmanship of the newly appointed Commission on Training Camp Activities. The main job of this Commission is to apply the normal things of life to the hundreds of thousands of men in training camps. Besides the chairman, the members of the Commission are Lee F. Hanmer, of the Russell Sage Foundation; Thomas J. Howells, of Pittsburgh; Marc Klaw, the well-known theatrical producer; Joseph Lee, president of the Playground and Recreation Association of America; Malcolm L. McBridge, the former Yale Football star; Dr. John R. Mott, well known as General Secretary of the War Work Council of the Y.M.C.A; Charles P. Neill, of Washington; Col. Palmer E. Pierce, U.S.A., and Dr. Joseph E. Raycroft, director of physical education of Princeton University. It was our task, in the first place, to see that the inside of sixty odd army-training camps furnished real amusement and recreation and social life. In second place, we were to see to it that the towns and cities near by the camps were organized to provide recreation and social life to the soldiers who would flock there when on leave. In short, the Government took the attitude and is holding to it all along: ‘Over a million men are training hard to fight for the Government; the Government will give them, while they train, every possible opportunity for education, amusement and social life.’”

On March 8, 1918, the “Green Bay Press-Gazette” announced, “The work of entertaining the soldiers has been consolidated under the ‘Military Entertainment Council,’ of which James Couzens, of Detroit, is chairman; with Harry P. Harrison of Chicago, as chairman of the executive committee. Under the Council, the Chautauqua tents and Marc Klaw theaters all operate together, giving nightly entertainments. They will hereafter be known as ‘Liberty Tents,’ ‘Liberty auditoriums’ and ‘Liberty theaters’”(Green Bay, Wisconsin, page 13).

The attached newspaper clipping shows Camp Gordon’s Liberty Theater. Pictured upper left is Raymond B. Foswick (chairman of the war commission on training camp activities, in charge of all the theaters and director on the ‘off time’ of every sailor and soldier).  Pictured upper right are Sam Harris and George Cohan, partners in song-writing, who are working to making the programs of the army circuit a success). In the lower left is E. F. Albee, manager of B. F. Keith’s circuit, who is sending a number of his best acts to the cantonment circuit). In the lower center is Marc Klaw of Klaw and Erlanger bookers, who is arranging the productions for the Liberty theaters, and who is now engaged in training a number of comedy casts). Pictured lower right is Harry P. Harrison, president of the Redpath Chautauqua, who is also giving his time attention and performers to the entertainment of the national army men.”

To be continued…

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

Part 986: Mother’s Day, 1918

 In 1918, Mother’s Day was officially five years old. Newspapers across the country recalled the historic event, reporting, “On May 10, 1913, a resolution passed the United States house of representatives and the senate commending Mother’s day for the observance by the house and senate, the president of he United States and his cabinet and other heads of government departments.” (Salt Lake Tribune, Salt Lake City, UT, 10 May 1918, page 16).  Another two Mother’s Days would pass mothers were honored with the right to vote. Passed by Congress June 4, 1919, and ratified on August 18, 1920, the 19^th amendment granted women the right to vote.

To be continued…

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

In 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “A big outdoor spectacle for Mrs. Jonathon Ogden Armour at her Lake Forest home took up some of our time in June.  It proved to be a wonderfully effective show given by the Armour Company women employees.” The spectacle that Moses mentioned in 1918 took place at the country estate, Mellody farm, at Lake Forest.  Of the estate, the “Chicago Tribune” reported, “ It was built as a veritable fairyland for their daughter Lolita, who was a cripple in her youth” (17 Aug. 1927, page 5). At the turn of the twentieth century, the Armours bought a thousand acres in Lake Forest and built a home that was a showplace – Mellody Farm. The estate was an escape for their physically handicapped daughter who had been born with dislocated hips at birth. Their property at Lake Forest was intended as a fairyland for their daughter at first. It would take two operations, specialist from Europe and a series of plaster casts, but Lolita fully recovered. Mellody Farm remained in all its glory with acres of gardens, artificial lakes and ponds, flowing streams, miniature forest, deer parks, sylvan pathways, and fountains. And then there were the buildings that included marble and plaster Italian villas situated amidst rose gardens and cypress-lined terraces. This is where the big outdoor spectacle for Armour employees occurred in 1918. The estate remained open until 1929 when the market crashed, changing many people’s fortunes.

Mrs. Lolita Sheldon Armour, was the wife of well-know meat packer J. Ogden Armour. J. Ogden was the son of Phillip D. Armour who founded Armour & Co. and Armour Institute of Technology. He was born on November 11, 1863, the same year that his father founded the Armour organization. The senior Armour joined the packing firm of Plankington & Layton in Milwaukee and so thereafter the firm name was changed to Plankington & Armour. The “Chicago Tribune” later reported, “the growing city of Chicago appealed to Phillip Armour as the logical center of the meat packing industry. It is said that his business partner did not entirely accept this idea but agreed to establish a branch on Chicago. This branch was started in 1867 under the name Armour & Co. J. Ogden Armour, the elder son of Phillip D. Armour, gave up his senior year in Yale to join the Armour organization in 1883. He was put into business, at the bottom, so to speak, and learned it from the ground up. He was made a partner in the firm a year later. As his father’s health declined, the son assumed larger direction of the business. In 1900, his only brother, Phillip D. Armour, Jr., died, followed a year later by his father’s death. Then the sole management fell on J. Ogden Armour” (17 Aug 1927, page 5). The article noted, “O the hey-day of expansion and prosperity of American meat packing. Mr. Armour won one of the great personal fortunes in American industrial history. But in the period of post-war adversity, that fortune dwindled amazingly. What remains of it cannot be definitely estimated now” (17 August 1927, page 5).

He married Lolita Sheldon in 1891. Born in Suffield, Conn., she was the daughter of J. Sheldon. In her obituary, the “St. Louis Post-Dispatch” reported, “For many years Mrs. Armour presided over the family’s vast estate, Melody Farm, near Lake Forest. She was a patron of the arts and made several gifts to the Chicago Art Institute” (7 Feb, 1953, page 5).  Mrs. Armour passed away at the age of 83. At the businesses peak, Armour’s personal prosperity was conservatively estimated at $200,000,000 – today’s approximate of over 3 trillion dollars.

As I read articles about the Armours, it was the business practices of Mr. Armour that caught my attention. This stands in stark contrast with how many packing plants are run, especially in light of COVID-19 now. He followed the footsteps of his father, who made a paint of being the first person in his office each morning and the last to leave at night. He once explained, “I have no social ambitions. My ambition is to run Armour & Co. successfully and give a great many young men a chance to make their way in the world. My associates in the business are my close friends. If it weren’t for fun there is in the working with them and being with them I wouldn’t stay in business” (17 Aug. 1927, page 5). This mean that he rarely accepted social invitations, even when it was his wife who hosted a party at Mellody farm, or their summer camp on Long Lake in Michigan. Mrs. Armour was reported to have entertained magnificently, “but when her husband sees preparations going on for an ‘affair’ he scurries away to his club and plays whist or pinochle until he feels that he can go home without risk of meeting anyone loaded with small talk and fine clothes.”

In 1927, his employees recalled of Mr. Armour’s kindness to his employees. The “Chicago Tribune” reported “One of these related to a man who was discharged after fifteen years of service be a department head who said he was incompetent. The case was taken to Mr. Armour, who put the employee back in his old place. ‘If it took fifteen years to find out he was incompetent, you’ll have to worry along with home for the rest of his life,’ he asserted. In another instance accountants complained that an old packing house foreman refused to keep any books. Mr. Armour was asked to discharge the old-timer. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That foreman taught me all I know about his branch of business. If you can’t get figures some other way, you’ll have to do without them.’”  It is the respect and loyalty that seems to have been in many businesses; large plants with no connection to the packing employees. The 1918 spectacle thrown by Mrs. Armour was for the Armour Company employees. That same year, the “Buffalo Enquirer” reported, “When the United States entered the European war, Mr. Armour promptly urged that all his dealings in food-stuffs should be taken under control by the government, an unselfish attitude which caused critics of all capitalists to alter their views. Mr. Armour’s action has convincingly demonstrated that it is possible to be both a packer and a patriot. To tell adequately of the benefactions of the Armour family would require endless space. For years the Armours have spent a vast fortune on this kind of work, and the present Mr. Armour has continued giving millions of dollars to worthy causes. Loved by all his employees for what he has done for them, J. Ogden Armour is the type of American of which we are all proud” (The Buffalo Enquirer, 31 May 1918, page 10).

Image from Half Pudding Half Sauce Blog Spot (Feb 5, 2012).  It is part of a really lovely post about Melody Farm entitled “The Most Beautiful House Between New York and Chicago.” Here is the link: https://halfpuddinghalfsauce.blogspot.com/2012/02/most-beautiful-house-between-new-york.html?m=0

To be continued…

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

This is a long and contemplative post, so my apologies in advance. Quarantine is providing me with a little too much time to think, hence why I am painting so much; it silences the internal dialogue.

In 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “Pitt and Stella dropped in on us from Trenton on my 62^nd birthday on the 21^st, and we all enjoyed their surprise and their visit.” Pitt was Moses’ eldest son who lived in New Jersey. Today, Moses may be considered three years away from retirement. In 1918, he was mid-career with no retirement in sight. What were the physical barriers of a scenic artist working in the early-twentieth century versus now?  

There are a few things to consider about the careers of scenic artists during the early twentieth century. The first is that they were not working on the floor, most painted on a vertical frame, one that moved up and down. Aged scenic artists didn’t have to crawl around on the floor to tack down a drop, or bend over to paint some little detail. They did not spend a lifetime having to suddenly drop to the floor or kneel for extended periods of time.

How long could scenic artists work during the late-nineteenth and early twentieth century? Until death. If you don’t have to kneel down, and the painting was at a comfortable height, why stop working? With no social security net, stopping work at any point might not be an option. Take away the physical obstacles and you could paint as long as your mind stayed sharp.

It’s pretty simple if you deconstruct the early-twentieth century painting process. What are the greatest obstacles that an older artist may encounter in a shop if they are above the age of 60? Kneeling, crouching and climbing. I am almost fifty-one years old and consider myself in pretty good shape. I am overweight, but I have remained active my whole life and spent hours working on the floor. Starting out as a dancer, the flexibility remains with me – so far. That being said, I can no longer crawl around on my hands and knees for extended periods of time anymore, without suffering the next day. I had a big epiphany a few months ago when I was painting an ad drop on a motorized paint frame at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. I was putting in an ungodly amount of hours, all by myself, yet did not feel the strain. Although I enjoyed what I was doing, the key for me was painting on a vertical paint frame. At every step of the process, my painting was at the perfect height.  No over-reaching, no crouching and no straining. Why would I need to ever retire if I could physically do the work I love?

There is another thing to keep in mind about the early-twentieth century American scenic studio that is really important– journeyman artists had assistants. That is not the case with every journeyman artist now, especially if you freelance and do not enjoy a permanent position. These young assistants, “pot-boys” (for filling pots of paint), would tack up the drop on a vertical frame, prime it and possibly base-coat many of the basic colors. If you were at the top of your profession, you may only need to show up to paint the complex part of scene, adding in flourishes to add dimension and sparkle. There are pros and cons to our industry at every step it seems.

The industry really began to change in the 1920s – and then completely shifted in the 1930s during the Great Depression.  Scenic artists noted the shift in their memoirs and in newspaper articles. Those who recalled the changing times at the end of their life detailed the cause of change in scenic art. A few years back, I read a series of letters between John Hanny and Dr. John Rothgeb from 1979. They are now part of the Rothgeb collection at the University of Texas, Austin. Hanny was hired at Sosman & Landis by Thomas G. Moses in 1906; he was 16 years old at the time and earning $6 a week. Although his salary increased five-fold in six years, by 1920, he and four other artists left to form Chicago Service Studios. That business only lasted six years. In 1926 Art Oberbeck of ACME studios of Chicago bought the studio. Hanny’s scenic art career was tumultuous at best beginning in the mid-1920s.

When asked by Dr. Rothgeb in 1979 to describe the era from 1900 to 1929, Hanny wrote the following:

“The depression of 1929 just about stopped the production of stage scenery – at least in Chicago. Road shows, musicals, etc. if any were being produced in New York and Hollywood. At this point all the studios disappeared but the scene painter just couldn’t disappear and had to become freelancers. There was no such thing as a steady job and the boys were hard put to find a day’s pay. Most of the following 10 years were really tough and 1929 proved to be a big change in our business, in purpose, in design, paint and other materials.” Hanny goes onto describe the emergence of a new theatrical supplier: “These were not Scenic Studios but rather combinations of carpenter and machine shops equipped to turn out booths, revolving turn tables, electrical effects and so on. The art was done in any available loft or vacant store space.”

This is when scenic art shifts from an art, to a craft; no longer does painted illusion drive the industry, it almost becomes an after thought of the production process. Yes, there are exceptions.

Hanny continues, “The biggest change to us painters was our paints. Luminal Casein was pretty well established as a very practical and useful medium so, it, and show card color was the norm. So – no more ‘dry’ colors – no more soup bowls or hot size, and of course no more paint frames. Drops, if any were painted on the floor.” THIS is a turning point in American scenic art. We abandon something that worked incredibly well for over a century. Not everyone transitions to floor painting, and pockets remain with scenic artists continuing to paint on vertical frames – just look at Hollywood. Scene painting continues to thrive there more so than anywhere else in the United States.

With the shift from painting on a vertical frame to the floor for live theatre and industrial shows, standard techniques and tools also changed. Hanny recalled, “The house painter’s sash brush came into use and many of the former ‘tools’ such as snappers and center-poles and others were no longer needed. The folding 2 ft. brass bound rule gave way to the yard stick.”

When this industry wide change occurred, Hanny was in his forties and Moses was at the end of his career. I cannot imagine watching my entire life’s work be condemned as “old fashioned” as much pictorial realism went out of vogue. Think of the theatre world that Moses entered in 1873. He was from the generation of scenic artists who chummed together on sketching trips to gather resources. The generation who took art classes together at fine art academies and garnered some of the top salaries in the theatre profession. This was all ending, faster than any of them realized.

We talk about evolution in the theater industry; technological innovations that herald change and produce ever-better products. Sometimes the only way to forge ahead is to forget the past.  If we don’t look back, we can’t lament what is lost. Such was the case when the golden age of American scenic art came to an end. 1880 to 1914 is what I consider the golden age of scenic art. Yes, I am sure there are many who disagree with those dates.  Much scenic art training simultaneously shifted to academic institutions around this same time. This created a very different atmosphere, a departure from scenic studios that began training sixteen-year-old boys.

As with everything, a massive shift in any industry affects the accepted standards. What we consider “beautiful” or even “acceptable” is sometimes based on the lowest common denominator. As with many things, “quality” work is relative to accepted industry standards and the times.

To be continued…

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

Yesterday’s post concerned studio founder Gerald V. Cannon and his recruiting of scenic artists for the war department in 1918. He was part of a countrywide plan to mobilize scenic artists to paint camouflage for war purposes.  WWI signaled a new era of concealing military vehicles and weapons with paint. Some artists’ ideas included sky to blend with the horizon and fake waves on a traditionally gray battleship. Other artists specialized in dazzling camouflage, or a disruptive pattern that concealed the outline and form of a camouflaged object. WWI camouflage artists designed patterns that would make it more difficult to figure out a ship’s size, speed, distance and direction. Each country approached camouflage from a slightly different angle, relying on artists to create effective camouflage painting.

On April 4, 1918, “The Courier” reported, “Many American artists, following the sacrifice of their brothers across the sea have enlisted in this extraordinary service and joined the ranks of camoufleurs to help win the war. Appraised of the secrets of their European brothers and possessing no small genius of their own, our American camoufleurs are at work in Europe to fool the Hun as he has never been fooled before, and their secret is not yet out” (Asheboro, NC, 4 April 1918, page 7).

The was an interesting article published in “Trench and Camp” on Feb. 9, 1918, that I am including in today’s post entitled, “The ‘Real’ Camouflage’” (Fort Riley, Kansas, page 2):

“At first, camouflage was the clumsy emulation of nature. Boughs of trees, the thatch of houses and the beams of deserted buildings were used to shelter guns. But soon the fields were swept so clean that every tree became suspicious and every wreck of a house was bombarded by artillery and bombed by aviators.

Then came the camouflage that made the word familiar with a new and finely-descriptive word. Sign-painters and house-daubers were called to paint canvas in the colors of the earth. As this proved successful, scenic artists were assigned the task. Artists’ corps were mobilized and the work thoroughly organized until, final, it became practicable for an artillery officer to procure any camouflage he might desire upon a few hours’ notice.

All this called for counter-efforts, as interesting and as ingenious as the camouflage itself. How was an aviator to tell whether the ground below them was a deserted field or was canvas and framework concealing hundreds of guns? How could the artillerist known when he was wasting shell on a mound of earth of was shattering guns that had been the death of thousands? Something could be learned, of course, by careful observation and by ceaseless scrutiny of the front. Gradually, however, the armies have come to rely for the penetration of camouflage on the work of the aviators and of the mathematicians who study shell trajectories.

As the system is now developed, all armies have trained aviators who go up regularly with convoying battle planes to take pictures of the enemy positions. Their negatives, developed, enlarged and printed, are gone over microscopically by men whose proficiency in reading photographs is positively uncanny. We know it sounds unbelievable but here is an example of what numerous British map readers can do with these photographs: an aviator may come back with a picture taken at 20,000 feet. On the print the map readers know there is a hidden battery. They search for it vainly. At length they see on the print, by the aid of powerful magnifying glasses and infinitely small tracks. By following the course of these tracks, trained men figure that horses from the battery have been led to water, and they know that where the tracks end, elsewhere that by the watercourse, a battery may be concealed. They report. Guns are trained accordingly. The next day’s photograph may show a ruined battery. It seems a fairy tale, does it not, that the tracks of horses will show on a photograph taken from an aeroplane which is itself a scarcely discernible spot in the heavens?

But there were there were thousands of instances where neither horse tracks nor any other evidence of camouflage could be seen. Then it was that the British and French devised a trick which may now be described, inasmuch as it has been discovered by Germans. It occurred to a clever aviator that perhaps the Germans might be painting their camouflage with the naked eye and might not be using effects that would withstand a color screen. Accordingly some of the aviators made observations with different color screens before their lenses and were delighted to find that, in accordance with laws familiar to all photographers, the yellows or the greens had been “filtered out.” The result showed plainly where the German guns were hidden and led to an eye-opening bombardment. It was some days before the Germans found out what was happening and why their faithful camouflage had suddenly become so useless. But when they discovered the reason, the Germans very promptly countered by a device as simple as that British were employing: where an artist desired to get a general yellow effect on camouflage, he merely put on yellow glasses. The color that then appeared yellow to him was hideous to the naked eye, but it defied the color screen of the camera. This accounts for the curious futurist color effects scene in photographs of camouflaged tanks.

Now both sides paint and photograph through color screens, and a new method of camouflage will have to be developed.”

To be continued…

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

A while back I explored the career of Gerald V. Cannon, of Joy and Cannon Scenic Studio in St. Paul, Minnesota. Although the life of the firm was brief, each co-founder certainly made his mark on the world.  At the time that I was researching Cannon’s life, I stumbled across multiple references to his military career and work for the US marines. Cannon organized the first unit to specialize in the brand new art of camouflage in 1918. He gathered together a group of scenic artists and once they learned the painting procedure, they were split up among the services. Cannon chose the marines.

Here is a 1918 article about Cannon’s project that I came across this week:

On February 27, 1918, the “Los Angeles Evening Express” reported “Scenic Artists to Mobilize as U. S. Aid in World Conflict” (page 12).  Here is the article:

“Scenic artists in Southern California theaters are included in a country-wide plan to mobilize all of their craft in this country for war purposes. The scheme is being worked out by G. V. Cannon – appropriate name – of St. Paul, Minn., and is understood to have the sanction of the war department. The plan is explained in the following letter from Mr. Cannon, which has been received by attaches of local theaters:

‘The English and French governments have organized the artists of the countries, especially the scenic artists, to work in naval yards, as well as in the fields with regular army, for the purpose of painting large tarpaulins and canvas covers to mask field guns, and they grasped the value of the scenic artist, with his experience, with his wide experience and talent and reproduction and color. They have taken these artists with their various color schemes and composition to completely mask a series of field guns, or paint the sides of a battleship in nature’s true colors and the ocean and waves, so that it has completely baffled the enemy’s submarines to as near as half mile, and, at that distance, in many cases, they have made such poor targets that the submarine has had to maneuver around until it was detected and fired upon. This plan applies to transports on which the American government will have to spend every effort available to guard the loves of its men. Another feature of painting boats is in the painting of a huge wave on the bow of a battleship, this is being the chief method of judging the speed that a boat is traveling. This gives the enemy the impression that the boa is traveling at half speed. There are possibilities too numerous to mention on the value of scenic backgrounds, or fooling the enemy with paint. This plan is being put up to the war department by some of our leading artists and naval men. Among some of the nation’s leading advocates is Joe Cannon, former speaker of the house representatives, who in past years was a decorator and who realizes the value of the work. He is at present working in our interests as a personal favor to myself. So let us hear from all scenic artists who are interested in helping Uncle Sam down the Kaiser, by sending their name, address and age along with past experience and ability to me. – G. V. Cannon, 378 South Wabasha street, St. Paul, Minn.’”

In 1950, Cannon was featured in the “Star Tribune” article, “Minnesota’s ‘Little Marine’ Just Keeps Growing” (5 Nov. 1950, page 21). I am also including this article in its entirety for context.

“There’s a line in one of the censored verse of ‘Mademoiselle From Armentieres’ which goes ‘The little marine he grew and grew.’

The boys hereabouts seem to think that if a line ever applied to anybody in real life, it applies to Jerry Cannon.

More sedately, he’s Gerald V. Cannon, a scenic artist by profession who still makes up an occasional Marine Corps float or a spectacular sign. Its come to be a habit through 33 years of association with the corps.

Cannon will be present at the corps 175^th anniversary dinner Friday night at the Nicollet hotel. Governor Youngdahl, Mayors Hoyer of Minneapolis and Delaney of St. Paul and various other functionaries also will attend, along with wives and mothers of marines now in service.

He now is national service officer for the Marine Corps league, the only veterans’ organization incorporated by act of congress. He is also state service officer under the auspices of the department of veteran’s affairs.

In that job, he is but carrying on a practice built up on his own time between two wars. Cannon was a marine in World War I. Prior to that he had been called upon to organize the first unit to specialize in the brand new art of camouflage. Cannon gathered together a half gross of scenic artists. When they had learned what they had to know, they were split up among the services. Cannon chose the marines and began an extra-curricular career from which he never since has been separated for long.

After the war he helped found three marine groups, each of which perished through inaction. But Cannon made it his business to keep in touch with marines and marine veterans and to pull what wires were necessary to help them.

He became a sort of special in veterans’ rights and made up for his small stature by fast talk and aggressiveness.

When World War II came along, Cannon had retired from the reserve as a captain with 100 per cent disability because of a heart condition. He went right back in, as a staff sergeant attached to the When Cannon enlisted in WWI he listed a health concern, there was foul-up; he got orders to report to Parris Island for boot training. A few days nearly did him in. Representative Melvin Maas rescued him by getting the orders changed and Cannon was shipped back to Minneapolis.

During the subsequent years, he indulged in his hobby of helping out marines and ex-marines. After being discharged he went to the Marine Corps league as a service officer.

His years of association with the marines have been a great help in cutting red tape. On his frequent trips to Washington, Cannon first-names big brass and walks right into offices which would be at least temporarily off-limits to almost anyone else.

Cannon through the years has loaded himself with Marine Corps lore, and documented a good bit of it by collecting relics.

He was a scene designer, for instance, for an Otis Skinner touring company of ‘Kismet.” Among the props was a handsome ivory-handled knife – no stage piece but a real article from Tripoli, dating back to their time the marines made their historic landing there in 1803.

After the tour ended, the knife was presented to Canon. He now keeps its tip sheathed in tape because it’s supposed to be made of poisoned steel.

The knife gave him some anxious moments a few years ago, when he was running a restaurant in the Midway district and had it on display with other relics.

Someone broke into the place and took, among other things, the knife. Both because it was a valuable souvenir and a dangerous weapon as well, Cannon left no stone unturned to get it back.

At length he and the police tracked it down. A bunch of kids were playing with it, using it in a game of cops and robbers. (The knife will be on display at the State Theater when the movie ‘Tripoli,’ depicting the Tripoli incident opens there Friday. The timing of the picture and the dinner is purely coincidental.”

An avid collector, Cannon often picked up books and relics in his travels as a scenic artist. In an old history of the Civil war he found a penciled map indicating a gunroom at old Fort Jackson, at the mouth of the Mississippi, had been sealed up.

He got a government commission to open it and dug through three feet of cement. In the room he found many rare pieces including a dozen large lamps. One of them, given him by the government adorns his home at Cleveland Avenue and Ramsey county road B. The house is li furnished with similar items.

Among them are a couple of hand-wrought nails from the home of Betsy Ross. A marine happened to be guarding the place when Cannon visited as it was being repaired, and a wink from one marine to another seems to mean something.

Busy as he has been, Cannon foresees an even busier time ahead. For one thing, veterans are in a peculiar position, as far as their rights are concerned; while theoretically convened by provisions involving ‘hazardous duty’ or ‘simulated warfare,’ the United States is not actually at was. This, he thinks, will affect claims coming out of Korea.

The men who appeal to him for help, however, are confident of his ability. The little marine, they think, grew until he knows as much about the Marine Corps and its procedures as anybody up or down the line.”

I have explored the Gerald V. Cannon of Joy & Cannon studios in the past. For more information, see past posts 797-800.

To be continued…