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Thomas G. Moses briefly returned to his hometown of Sterling, Illinois at the age of nineteen. He found a few small halls and churches to decorate there, making enough to pay his board. Moses wrote in his diary, “I was looked upon at home as a failure and I was anxious to get away – a long way off so I could get into scenic painting.” He had left at odds with his father and Moses’ desire to become a scenic artist did not improve their relationship. Unfortunately work in Chicago was sporadic and Moses missed his sweetheart Susan “Ella” Robbins.

Ella repeatedly invited Moses to her family’s home for dinner that summer. They had met in school and shared the same birthdate, July 21, 1856. Moses recalled their first date in 1872, writing, “The first party we attended together compelled me to do some hustling in putting my clothes in shape, as about the only clothes I had were made from my Father’s cast-offs, which had done good service in the tannery. A paper collar and “dickey” over my flannel shirt, a piece of ribbon for a tie, a good coat of blacking on my heavy shoes and I was ready to shine in Society. I think Ella was awfully brave to go with me, especially when the other boys always dressed better than I.”

Moses was still smitten with Ella in 1875 as he walked the eleven miles to “Robbin Range,” a farm recently purchased by his Ella’s father. On his way there, Moses encountered Mr. Robbins on the road. He was heading to Sterling and asked Moses to stay for more than just dinner – a week in fact. Mr. Robbins wanted Moses to “use his talents” and paint their new home at Robbin Range!

It took a whole a whole week to complete the task, even though he only applied one coat of paint. “I visited as much as I painted,” wrote Moses. His father was not pleased with his son’s project. He insisted on Moses return to town and work in the tannery, or seek out any other contract work.

Moses soon made up my mind to borrow all of his brother Frank’s savings, which amounted to three dollars, to get some clean clothing and return to Robbins Range. He would soon leave town for the next two years and return once he was “of age” to marry Ella. One evening after dinner at Robbin Range, Moses and Ella went for a long walk in the full moonlight and pledged themselves to each other. Moses, wrote that it was “a heartbreaking farewell” when he eventually left on his walk back to Sterling. “As I stumbled along over the rough road, my heart in a vise, my mind nearly crazed – God only knew what was in store for me, I was completely heart-broken. I was on my way to somewhere and I would have to work it out.”

Instead of returning to Chicago, however, Moses headed to Detroit. There was a firm of decorators there, William Wright & Co., where he had previously worked during a slow spell at the P. M. Almini Co. Wright’s company advertised as “house, sign and fresco painters,” but they were so much more.

Moses purchased a ticket on the night train from Sterling to Detroit. Tucking the ticket safely in his hat, he was and lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the rails. Unfortunately, the hat dropped to the floor while he slept and the train ticket was lost. Moses was later awakened by the conductor, who was demanding his ticket. Of the experience Moses wrote, “My nerve carried me to Detroit, where we arrived early in the morning. I had thirty-five cents and a large appetite. Coffee and doughnuts for breakfast, bought a paper collar and started out.”

He found Mr. Wright on the site of a large theatre project and was hired on the spot, going to work before noon. In 1875, C. J. Whitney built the Whitney Grand Opera House in Detroit, an opulent theatre that cost over $135,000. One that would later be referred to as the “most elaborately equipped playhouse” in Detroit.

Borrowing a pair of overalls went immediately to work on the theatre decoration. At the close of the day he was worried about arranging for board without letting Mr. Wright know he was penniless. Luckily, he had shared his “hard luck story” with a young plaster working next to him that day. He took Moses to his boarding place and stood for his bill. As with many artists, the young man was also a fellow transient, traveling from town to town in search of any work.

Moses noted that within a few weeks he was back on “easy street.” Around this time he also heard from Ella, learning that his father had sent a constable to Robbins Range the day after his departure for Detroit. It was a narrow escape. Lucius was intent of returning his son home. Moses now assumed the name of “George Sampson” in all correspondence with to Ella and his brother Frank. Each kept him posted on the current events at Sterling and all activities at Robbins Range. Moses had no intention of returning anytime soon. He was working toward his plan for a future life with Ella.

To be continued…

As I was watching the recent remake of the “Gong Show,” I couldn’t help but think of Scottish Rite degree productions. Over the years, I have repeatedly come across gongs for Masonic stages. Gongs on stage, gongs off stage, gongs in the balcony, a gong switch on a lighting board, and a gong button on an organ console. They all made me chuckle. I now wish that I had a picture of every single sighting. It wasn’t until this spring when I was at the Moline Scottish Rite that I finally decided to take a picture of a beautiful gong in the auditorium balcony. It was positioned near the organ.

What has tickled my funny bone every time is thinking about the fraternal version of the Gong Show.  A gong signaled failure or a poor performance. For me, a gong doesn’t conjure up the exotic or a magical moment. Sadly, I am an unfortunate product of the television age. Thousands of years significance in a gong destroyed by one TV show. This is similar to my Pavlovian response to certain classical songs and operas where Bugs Bunny or another Looney Tunes character pops into my mind. The “Bunny of Seville” is one example.

In fraternal theaters, I always envision the sound of a gong and then an imaginary hook reaching from the wings toward another amateur actor who utterly failed in his performance. The neon sign at the Santa Fe Scottish Rite that signals “Louder Slower” to the degree performers supports this scenario.

Gongs have been around since 2000 BC, though many historians think that they have been around for far longer. Mystical traditions grew up around the glorious bass notes of gongs in the eastern world. The gong was slow to gain popularity in Europe and its first recorded use in western orchestral music was by Gossec in his funeral March for Mirabeau in 1791. Its use increased on the stage during the early nineteenth century. Many sought out the exotic instrument and gongs appeared in a variety of stage productions and in the music rooms of private residences. As with visual spectacle, that rolling sound transported generations of Masons to the foreign lands of degree productions.

But it wasn’t until I recently read the “Naiad Queen” script that I started to think about the significance of this particular sound, especially how it’s meaning has altered for some individuals in recent decades like myself. During the nineteenth century, a gong signaled the transformation scene. It announced a magical, or significant, moment on the stage, not just an exotic character. After the gong strikes twelve in “The Black Crook,” Hertzog is thrown into a flaming pit surrounded by howling and dancing demons.

It was the idea of a gong signaling a transition, or a transformation on stage, however, that really stuck in my mind. In “Trial by Jury,” Gilbert specified a gong to be struck, signaling the work’s concluding of a transformation scene parody. Carolyn Williams in “Gilbert Sullivan: Gender, Genre, and Parody” suggests that the allusion was a familiar one to audiences in 1875. This was the same time that degree productions started to gain popularity throughout the Northern Masonic Jurisdiction.

I thought back to the script for the three-act opera version of “The Naiad Queen; or the Revolt of the Naiads, a Romantic Operatic Spectacle in Three Acts” written by J. S. Dalrymple, Esq. Here is the link: babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc1.$b249955;view=1up;seq=34  The script notes the use of a gong to signal a transformation scene. The production was first performed at the Adelphi Theatre in London, with the American premiere at Burton’s Theatre (Philadelphia) during 1840. I was fascinated with the stage description.

The gong is sounded during the fifth scene of the third act. The setting opens to “A Romantic View of the Rhine” with two processionals entering the stage to form a tableau. The first processional was the Demon March. Amphibeo and demons of the Rhine march onstage, complete with conch shells and banners. The music then changes for the entrance of another processional. The Naiad Queen and Amazon warriors appear in full armor to complete the picture. Here is the stage direction after the tableau is set: “Music. Gong. The scene changes magically to fountains of real water; Naiads and Water Spirits mingle above and around, and the ethereal blue, emitted through a strong light, is thrown upon the picture.” Once again, I wished that I could travel through time to witness this spectacle in person. These extravaganzas of visual delight transported audiences to exotic and magical worlds. For many, a theatrical metamorphosis on stage seemed to defy reality.

Degree productions also incorporated the gong into their staging, once again emulating an effect popularized on the commercial stage. It was just one more example of how Masonic theatres remain living time capsules. Scottish Rite Freemasons are more than just caretakers of painted scenery collections, old costumes, ancient lighting systems and worn stage properties. They are stewards of theatre history and long-forgotten stage effects, all part of a shared cultural heritage.

Tableaux and transformation scenes appear in many Scottish Rite degree productions, but one always stands out in my mind. That is the transformation scene for the 17^th degree. The stage setting includes a volcanic eruption, flowing rivers of lava, and classical buildings that collapse on stage. In this scene there is the breaking of the seven seals with gong sounding each one.

To be continued…

Thomas G. Moses wrote that he “worked for a while on the “Naiad Queen” scenery under the celebrated Robert Hopkins, a friend of Malmsha’s” in 1875. This was only a year after beginning his career in scenic art. Within that first year Moses had both worked as Malmsha’s assistant, but also under the direction of Hopkins. Hopkins was later noted as the scenic artist who produced the full set of scenery at the Detroit Opera House, according to Harry Miner’s American Dramatic Directory for the 1882-1883.

“The Naiad Queen” was advertised as the “legendary ballet spectacle performed in four acts.” at Wood’s Theatre in Cincinnati, Ohio.

A series of advertisement appeared in the Cincinnati Enquirer and Cincinnati Daily Star throughout that fall, promoting this production at a venue, then managed by Barney Macauley.

Macauley was a former artist who once traveled throughout the country with Lou Malmsha. Macauley became manager at Wood’s Theatre when Malmsha left life on the road and returned to Chicago in 1871. Bad timing on Malmsha’s part as much of the city soon burned to the ground. Immediately after the great Chicago fire, Malmsha returned to Cincinnati and sought employment at Wood’s Theatre until 1874. Barney Macauley’s company was now performing at Wood’s Theatre.

In 1875 Wood’s Theatre was standing on same patch of ground once vacated by the old People’s Theatre. After being destroyed by fire in 1865, a new home for Wood’s was built at the corner of Sixth and Vine. The scenery production of the “Naiad Queen” was advertised as having “dazzling scenery, superb costumes, illusions, mechanical changes, calcium light, appointments and effects.” The Cincinnati Daily Star published that the show was performed in “the same style as the ‘Black Crook’” with over 100 artists engaged in the spectacle. Furthermore, it included no less than twenty tableaux! As elsewhere, Cincinnati audiences loved the spectacle and the show ended up running an extra week at Wood’s Theatre.

An article on September 27, advertised that “New scenery, new properties, and new costumes have been especially prepared for the two weeks of ‘The Naiad Queen.’” Two days later, a review stated “The scenery by Malmsha is beautiful; the one scene ‘Statuestic Hall,’ would be enough to establish a lasting reputation for any artist in the country.” Malmsha had included both Robert Hawkins and Thomas Moses in the painting of the this production and was known well-enough to be listed as simple “Malmsha.” A valued assistant, Malmsha thought enough of Moses to include him in the production of this amazing scenery. At the age of nineteen, Moses was already participating in an extremely popular high-quality production. Like Malmsha’ own rapid rise to fame, Moses was already on his way to the top.

The production of “The Naiad Queen” included a variety of spectacular scenes. Some depicted fancy interiors in a castle that were complete with gothic halls and banquet rooms. Their windows revealed stunning moonlight scenes and other scenic effects. Exterior scenes included rocky shores with mountainous views and mystic seascapes. Other settings portrayed hidden grottos and secret chambers with strange hieroglyphic symbols and sea monsters.  The plot had many possibilities to highlight the abilities of scenic artists as they created spectacle for the stage.

“The Naiad Queen” provided a wonderful opportunity to hone the skills of a young artist. Moses was painting some of the same subjects that he would continue to paint for almost six more decades, many of them for Masonic theaters.

To be continued…

Thomas Moses entered the world of scenic art as an assistant to C. Louis Malmsha. This was in addition to his work as Malmsha’s assistant in the P. M. Almini & Co. studios. Malmsha was the head designer at Almini’s, but he frequently left to accept theatre projects. It was Malmsha’s painting for McVicker’s Theatre that provided Moses with his first scene painting opportunity. These were formative years for Moses. Again, he was in the right place at the right time. His first scenic art instruction was provided by a nationally recognized master in the theatre world, one that was the proverbial “shooting star.” I previously discussed Malmsha’s significance and artistic endeavors in installments 123 and 124, but I will briefly recap as Malmsha was Moses’ first scenic art mentor.

Malmsha was born in Sweden during 1847 and traveled to America at the age of sixteen in 1863. He initially found employment at Jevne & Almini’s fresco studio, but soon began working as a scenic artist at Crosby’s Opera House.

Malmsha rapidly rose to the top of the scenic art profession in the United States. Moses’ rise to stardom parallels that of his mentor Malmsha. Both quickly transitioned from young fresco assistants to professional scenic artists.

For the last decade of Malmsha’s life, he battled consumption and required increased assistance in everything. This was at the same time that Moses was assigned to Malmsha as his assistant. The seventeen-year-old Moses helped him with a variety of projects. Moses also worked for others at P. M. Almini & Co. during Malmsha’s sporadic absences. Moses, commenting on the times when Malmsha was “taken away” from the studio, wrote, “I had to do a lot of hard work for every Swede and Norwegian on the job. They made me hustle.” This is the first reference to the speed at which Moses was expected to work. Working at a rapid pace was obviously drilled into Moses from the beginning of his career and became his greatest artistic attribute.

After after Malmsha’s passing, Henry C. Tryon wrote a tender tribute that rendered homage to his friend and colleague. Tryon noted his “transcendant genius” as the “best in his profession.” He also commented the speed at which Malmsha worked, writing that his compositions were “produced with astonishing rapidity.” Moses would also become known for the speed at which he worked. In 1881 Moses wrote in his diary, “The others were able to draw more, because they were better in the artistic end, but I had it over them when it came to speed.” By this time, Moses had worked as a scenic artist for seven years and had a sense of both the scenic art profession and the talents of his fellow artists at Sosman & Landis Studio.

We are unsure of how long Moses worked as Malmsha’s assistant. By 1880, Moses was in the employ of Sosman & Landis, a mere three years after the studio opened. By this time, Sosman had heard of Moses’ work and immediately hired him for $18.00 a week. Regardless, at the age of seventeen Moses had started his scenic art career under the tutelage of Malmsha. As a young man who was so eager to learn an artistic trade, he would have embraced all forms of instruction, especially that given by a highly respected instructor. His instructor had quickly ascended to the height of the scenic art profession in less than a decade. This would have been great incentive for an artist entering the field. Interestingly, Malmsha was only nine years Moses’ senior and would have been the perfect role model for this “green boy from the country.”

Malmsha not only set the pace for creating scenic art works, but also provided inspiration for his younger assistant. Talented, dashing, and successful, Malmsha provided an attractive incentive to enter the field of scenic art. In 1874, Malmsha had only been working as a scenic artist for nine years, yet was a sought after commodity throughout the theatre world.

In later years, Moses recalled the talents of Malmsha, writing, “He was a very clever man. In all the years that have passed since then, I have never found a man that could do so little and get so much out of his work, very simple in drawing and color, but very effective.”

To be continued…

I have often found myself being in the right place at the right time. Whether intentional or not, I stumbled into the right room and met the right people. This happens to many individuals over the course of their lives. Life throws a series of opportunities at us. Occasionally, one will make contact. Hopefully, you are able to later look back, connect the dots, and reflect on these moments with profound appreciation. If I had not missed all of the necessary deadlines to attend college in Duluth, I never would have ended up in the Twin Cities. If Lance Brockman had not happened to say, “You should think about taking scene painting class” when I handed in my first production model for Tech II, I could have never started painting for VEE Corporation that summer.

I look at Thomas Moses traveling to Chicago in 1873 and seeking out a master painter for the C. & N. W. Rail Road. He could have arrived and found employment at many businesses as the city built itself up after the devastating fire two years earlier. As an inexperienced boy from a small town, many established art studios could have said “no.” Would anyone else beside Mr. Michaels have gone out on a limb to not only help this young artist find work and lodging, but also write a letter on his behalf to an irate father?   Michael managed to bring Moses to the foremost painting studio in the area and help him secure a position. There were dozens of places to work as a decorator in Chicago at the time.

Mr. Michaels also found Moses a place to stay. It was a room with another artist, a man by the name of Nichols. They both worked for P. M. Almini & Co. Moses. In his manuscript Moses noted that Mr. Nichols was a very good pattern maker at the studio, but “a hard drinker.” Regardless of either attribute, he was very kind as Moses got adjusted to living in the big city. In all reality, Moses’ adventure in the big city could have ended in disaster as “a green one from the country.”

Moses was just one of many artists who found their start with Peter Magnus Almini (1825-1890).

Almini and Otto Jevne (1823-1905) founded a fresco painting and decorating firm in Chicago during 1853, each having arrived in the country just a few years before forming their partnership. Almini was from Sweden and a previous assistant superintendent in the decorating of the royal palace in Stockholm. He also had worked as a fresco artist throughout Russia and Finland. Jevne was fresco painter from Norway with a variety of skills in both stained glass and fresco work. The 1862 publication titled “History of Chicago; Its Commercial and Manufacturing Interests and Industry; Together with Sketches of Manufacturers and Men Who Have Most Contributed to Its Prosperity and Advancement with Glances at Some of the Best Hotels; also the Principal Railroads which Center in Chicago,” included the firm of Jevne & Almini in his chapter “Interior Decorations.” It recorded that the firm had “inculcated and infused a higher level of Fresco Painting.” Jevne & Almini were not simply known for their plaster innovations and decorative painting skills. The two were also well known publishers, printing descriptive lithography of landscapes, architecture, publishing a journal devoted to art and architecture titled “Chicago Illustrated” with portfolios that provide many if the visual records from the bustling city before the fire of 1871.

After the 1871 fire, Jevne and Almini separated, each going their own way and founding new companies. Otto Jevne & Co. was initially located at 79 and 81 Dearborn Street, later moving to 226 E. Washington Street. and P. M. Almini & Co. (344 State Street). Jevne advertised as both a fresco painter and glass stainer, but Almini was the greater success by far.

Additionally, Jevne & Almini had advertised as “dealers in artists’ and painters’ materials, oil paintings, steel engravings, chromo lithographs, &c.” As a paint supplier, they knew all the local artists. They were also credited with establishing the first art gallery in Chicago, the forerunner to the Academy of Fine Arts (1879-1882) and later the Art Institute of Chicago.

Furthermore, Almini was a member of the Academy of Design and vice-president of the Master-Painters and Decorator’s Association of Chicago. He was also the treasurer of the National Association of Painters and Decorators when it was founded. His connection to the fine art world and the artists that he employed in his decorating studio provided a perfect situation for an aspiring artist from Sterling, Illinois.

At the same time that Moses found employment with Almini, the company participated in the Inter-State Industrial Exposition of 1873. This was the perfect place and time for Moses to find his first job. Their description in the souvenir catalogue noted:

“P. M. Almini & Co., 344 State street, Chicago, made a fine and attractive display of artists’ material, paints, oils, brushes, foreign and domestic designs in fresco, etc., the whole presenting and exhibition of much attraction to all, being arranged in a highly commendable manner.”

Chicago was building itself up again after the fire and many of its artists were along for the ride.

To be continued…

Thomas G. Moses wrote, “The “Art Bug” began to develop in me quite early. It was at this time that I should have had an opportunity to see if I was qualified to become a real artist, or a good cobbler.” By the age of twelve he was awarded a prize at he county fair for his pencil drawing of the 2^nd Ward school house. Of this time Moses commented, “I was then considered Sterling’s Artist, and a brilliant future was seen for me in the Art World by many.”

That year he had the opportunity to take a few art lessons. Mrs. Worthington, an elderly lady in Sterling, instructed Moses in landscape painting. This gave him a slight foundation that pointed him in the right direction. Moses recalled, “Being twelve years of age and quite young to determine what I wanted to do in life, my County Fair prize picture had brought to me the serious question, which was easily answered – Painting.” He remained something of a “dreamer” as he examined small circulars advertising touring productions such as “The Black Crook.” Moses wrote, “The gaudy illustrations of the different scenes were the most artistic things I had ever seen. How I longed to see wonderful painting. Would I ever be able to paint pictures framed in heavy gold frames, my name on the corner, and hanging in an Art gallery? If I couldn’t do that, could I paint ornamental signs on glass? Or fancy scroll work and landscapes on the side of an omnibus? Or flowers on rocking chairs? It was paint, paint and nothing else.” He wasn’t discerning at all about the type of genre, completing a number of small pictures and dreaming of a life as an artist. Moses remembered that all he hungered for was paint.

As in many cases, the dreams of a young child did not mesh with the expectations of his parents. Lucius Moses saw a great future for his son in the tannery. He used the example of the great General U.S. Grant who had started life as a tanner and ended up as President of the United States. Regardless, no argument could have compelled Moses to change his mind after he became determined to paint. For Moses, his work at the tannery was simply “irksome.” As he only owned one suit of clothes, the smell of the tannery lingered wherever he went, especially at school. It must have been difficult to impress his school mates when “that awful odor from the tannery” would saturate his clothes.

It was at the age of thirteen that Moses first ran away from home, escaping to a nearby town. Traveling by rail with very little money in his pocket, he sought employment outside of the tannery. In Ambrose he visited a car shop for a job in their paint shop. There he was told to return and ask again the following day. After sleeping on a park bench that night and waking to heavy frost, he returned to the paint shop without breakfast. A constable met him at the door and dutifully escorted the young man home as his father had sent a telegram while he slept. Moses remembered his return writing, “There was no fatted calf cooked for this prodigal son, but there was a short interview in the wood shed.”

Four years later, he travelled to Chicago. This time with his father’s permission as he wanted to see the destruction left by the 1871 fire.

He went with a family friend named William Bigelow, the conductor on the Sterling freight train. Moses recalled that Chicago immediately appealed to him, writing in 1872 that “There must be a chance in such a big place for me and I made up my mind to go. All summer I pleaded with Father to allow me to go. He refused. If I wanted to paint, I could get a job at the wagon works at home.”

For the next year, Moses studied hard at school, published articles in the local paper and followed all of the rules. He wrote, “I was given a little more freedom this Winter and I went out a good deal to parties and sleigh rides. Father had relented and gave me some money so I could pay my way. It was harder for me to make up my mind to go to Chicago, but I felt I must get started.”

That spring during April of 1873, his “wild career as an Artist” began. Since his father declined to assist him with his with any artistic aspirations, Moses waited for the right moment and left for Chicago with ten cents in his pocket, a new pair of boots, warm clothes and “a lot of pluck.” He hitched a ride early in the morning with his conductor friend Bigelow, arriving in Chicago late that day. He sought out a family friend who was a Master Painter for the C. & N. W. Rail Road in Clinton, Iowa.

Mr. Michaels wrote a letter to Lucius Moses asking him to let his son give the art world a try and promising to look after him. The next morning, Mr. Michael helped Moses secure a position at the P. M. Almini Company for four dollars a week. The day after, he received his trunk from home, and with it a diary. Within four days of arriving in Chicago, Moses was making a living painting for a decorating studio.

To be continued…

Thomas G. Moses wrote about the separation of his family after his mother’s death. His sisters, Lucia and Illie, were sent back to the East with Aunt Annie while he and Frank remained with their father in Sterling, Illinois. He wrote that they were left to “the tender mercy of servants, who allowed us to run wild with the horses and other wild things, as Father had no time to give for us.”

The brothers were only two years apart in age and spent countless hours getting into mischief. Moses wrote, “If a vacant house was assaulted and all the glass broken, or an orchard or vineyard disturbed, either in the moonlight or daylight, the good people would exclaim, “It must have been those Moses’ boys.” He recalled that they were never vicious, only mischievous.

To stay out of trouble, the boys caught fish in a local river, selling them to the residents of Sterling for a little spending money. Unfortunately, this did not sit well with their father as he considered it a disgrace to the family name – “a Moses did not sell fish on a street corner.” However, with all the money they earned from selling fish, Frank was able to buy books.

The boys soon left their fishing partnership and sought employment opportunities elsewhere. Frank did a little work at the new gas works while Moses worked at their father’s tannery and harness shop. Both were obligated to give all of their hard-earned wages to their father. This never sat well with Thomas as he had aspirations to begin a painting career in Chicago. He would need funds for travel and lodging to seek employment there. Moses eventually left for the big city, with Frank remaining his only link to family and the Sterling area.

As adults, each brother travelled extensively for his respective career. Frank made a name for himself designing, installing, and supervising the new gas plants that were appearing all across the country. He was extremely well known and respected in the gas industry.

Around the same time that Thomas began his artistic career at the interior decorating firm of the P.M. Almini Co. in Chicago, Frank began his career as a lamp lighter for the Sterling gas company.

In 1879 Frank journeyed to Indianapolis as a “gas maker,” soon becoming the project foreman for the area. From 1882-1889 he worked in engineering and construction at Kerr-Murray Manufacturing Co. in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Between 1889 and 1898 Frank travelled with the Mutual Fuel Gas Co. of Chicago and was stationed in various cities, including St. Joseph, MO, Zanesville, OH, and Bellevue, KY. By 1898 he moved to Trenton, NJ, and took charge of the new gas plant. The company was later absorbed into the South Jersey Gas Electric and Traction Company, but Frank became chief engineer and remained with the company until 1902. The following year he went into business for himself, building gas works and later incorporating the Gas Engineering Company. Frank was one of the pioneers who introduced gas ranges in this country.

He had large contracts for selling and installing ranges and appliance in many eastern cities that included Trenton, NJ, Camden, NJ, Baltimore, MD, Troy, and Albany, NY. At the end of his life, Frank D. Moses was president of the Gas Engineering Co. of Trenton, New Jersey and applied for a patent on a gas apparatus. He passed away on November 7, 1927, after spending 52 years in the gas business.

The American Gas Association Monthly noted Frank Moses’ contribution to the gas industry when he passed away, listing him as one of the gas industry’s “old guard.” Thomas’ son, Pitt, followed the career of his uncle and worked with him at the gas plant in New Jersey. Moses recorded in his diary that he had been unaware of any health concerns with his brother. It was a time when personal illnesses were not always openly shared with family members.

To be continued…

When I first viewed the damaged Fort Scott scenery at the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center, I kept thinking, “They really don’t really understand the significance of the artist or this acquisition.” Why would anyone leave the repair and hanging of these large scale paintings to inexperienced hands? At the time, it was difficult to wrap my mind around the CEO’s final decision, especially after I had repeatedly explained the importance of this unique artist and his work.

Up to this point in my tale, I have presented information about the history of the collection, its components, the removal and transportation from Kansas to Minnesota, its subsequent destruction during an attempted restoration, and the many other manufacturers of painted illusion. I will now examine the talented individual who designed and painted the 1924 scenery collection at sixty-eight years old – Thomas Gibbs Moses (1856-1934).

Here are the first few lines from his typed manuscript:

“I was born in Liverpool, England, July 21, 1856. My father, Lucius M. Moses, was born in Great Falls, New Hampshire, April 21, 1822. He married my Mother, Mary Wingate Titcomb, August 14, 1849, at Wells Beach, Maine, where she was born on May 14, 1825.”

Moses’ parents both came from significant New England families. His mother was one of five children born to Joanna Wentworth Rollins (1804-1860) and Jeremy H. Titcomb (1801-1880). She married Lucius Moses of Somersworth, New Hampshire, in 1849. The wedding took place at her father’s property in Wells Beach, the well-known Atlantic House. Titcomb had opened the residence for business on June 15, 1846.

Moses’ father was a sea captain and part owner in the ships that he sailed, the last being a bark built by William Hanscom in 1833. Moses recorded, “The wonderful full rigged ship “Pactolus” was handed over to another Master, much regretted by my Father, for he loved salt water and sailing. As I do sketching and painting, I am afraid I inherited some of his roving disposition.” Lucius M. Moses was certainly “the son of a son of a sailor.” I recalled the line sung by Jimmy Buffet, “As a dreamer of dreams and a traveling man, I have chalked up many a mile.” Moses was born at sea. The family sailed as far as east India and as far south as Rio de Janeiro.

The Sterling Daily Gazette, would later note Lucius Moses as “one of several old New England sea captains who settled in Whiteside county” (Dec. 13, 1927, page 2). Genealogical records state that Lucius’ career on the sea lasted for twenty-two years before returning to land. Lucius Manlius Moses, mainly known as Capt. L. M. Moses, was born the son of another sea captain who had worked for many years in the merchant marines, Theodore Bland Moses.

Moses’ diary notes that that his father was in the fortunate position that allowed his family to accompany him on long voyages. Life on the sea, however, was never without tragedy. Two of the Moses’ children died while at sea, their first son Lucius and their daughter Kate. The remaining five children were Lucia Gray (1853), Thomas Gibbs (1856), Frank Deming (1858), Illie (1860), and Little Kate (1862).

In 1859, the family left living a life on the sea and headed inland. Lucius sold his interests in the ships and moved west with his family to New Hampshire. He invested in a tannery for a side line and began to carve out his new life on land. It was then that their mother Mary perished after the birth of Little Kate, leaving Lucius to raise four children by alone until he found another wife. Moving once again, the family settled in Sterling, Illinois, where Lucius established Sterling Hide and Leather Shop with a partner. His business was a successful one and eventually he owned sole interest in the company, also running a tannery and harness shop.

When his mother died at the age of five, Thomas Moses recalled, “I remember every detail and incident of her heath. I can see each dear friend of Mother’s grouped about. I crawled upon the bed to kiss her good-bye. One of her last bequests was to give her watch to “Tommy,” which I received after I had passed middle age.”

But it was his mother’s drawing book from 1835 that Moses would treasure the most. Later in life, he lamented, “If she had only lived, what a wonderful Art companion I would have had. I know she would have given me the encouragement I needed to start with.”

He identified the loss of his mother as much more than that of a parent. He agonized over the loss of his first potential art instructor, knowing that his artistic training as child would have given him a leg up in the art world. In 1931 Moses wrote, “I feel that at the age of 75 years the twilight of my life is rapidly approaching, and when the sun goes down all of my ambition to shine in the art world will go with it; closing the career of one who has had many rosy dreams that have proven to be the dreams of a plodder. Had my mother been spared to me, I would have had the proper art training to develop the natural ability which I inherited from her, for she was very artistic in many ways as shown in one of her drawing books when she was only fifteen years of age. I have this book. Without this training, I have been exiled to live and struggle against great odds in my effort to gain a foothold in art. It has been a long fight to get standing as scenic artist, in which field I have won a certain reputation which has carried me into the limelight, of which I am justly proud. However, at the same time, I realize that an early training would have been a great help, and possibly enabled me to reach my goal of landscape painting without the aid of scenic painting.”

At such an early age he lost the only family member who would ever understand his choice to leave his job at the tannery in Sterling and enter the world of art.

To be continued…

Part 160: Scattered Pictures of the Smiles We Left Behind

In the performing arts we leave a part of our self, or our art, behind after the production closes. Whether visual or verbal, our “scattered pictures” become references for future endeavors. We seek training and inspiration from our predecessors. As I examine the lives of scenic artists, stage carpenters, and others theatre practitioners, I have noticed many share a common thread. There is a desire to leave some sort of legacy behind, whether it is art or technology. It can be material or intangible, but we want something to remain after our earthly adventure ends. For Thomas. G. Moses and others, it meant leaving a written record of their journey.

When I first read Moses’ typed manuscript I was awestruck. For decades, he carefully made daily entries in a diary. He also clipped and pasted newspaper articles in his scrapbook. Moses saved information pertaining not only to his own accomplishments, but also those of his friends. Somewhere along the way, his intention was to publish a book, “Sixty Years Behind the Curtain Line.” In the end it remained an unpublished manuscript simply titled “My Diary.” His writings included poetry, reflections of the time, admiration for his colleagues, frustration with employers, the challenge of family, brushes with fame, devastating events, and everyday affairs. Throughout it all, his passion for art and his wife shone through the text with an unbeatable enthusiasm for life.

In a 1932 letter to his son Pitt, Moses wrote,

“While I hope to enjoy a few more years of painting, the sudden passing of Ellie, Frank and Lucia has forced me to realize that I have only a few more years at the most and when I do pass out, I want to feel that my life has not been wasted, and my work will live on for many years after I am gone.” Amazingly, many of his paintings for both fine art and scenic art remain hanging in Scottish Rite theaters across the country. During the installation of scenery collections, Moses often donated a fine art piece to the Valley, or a local friend. For many years, his work has remained tucked away at various archives, museums, and private residences.

I believe his legacy really lives in his memoirs, thoughts and plans recorded in small annual diaries that he began to write in 1873.

But why did he start making diary entries that year? I had always wondered. With his busy schedule, why had he took the time to record his thoughts at the end of each day, every day, for sixty years. I discovered the answer while examining a research file on Moses kept by John R. Rothgeb this past fall. It is one of many random and unprocessed documents contained in the Rothgeb Papers at the Harry Ransom Center (University of Texas, Austin).

Moses’ father, Lucius M.(1822-1891), wrote a letter to his son on March 14, 1873. It accompanied a trunk that was from Sterling, Illinois to Chicago. Lucius was fifty-one years old when he sent the following letter to his seventeen-year-old son “Tommy,” living at #208 Fifth Avenue in Chicago, Illinois.

He wrote, “My Dear Son Tommy,

Mother has fixed up your shirts and packed your trunk. I shall send it in by the 6 o’clock train to-morrow (Saturday morning). I could not possibly get it off to-day as I was very busy this morning. Frank got your old books all mended up and they are in the trunk. I shall pay the expressage on the trunk. I will do all I can to keep you in clothes and when you are really in need let me know. Mother put in some paper for you to write home on also some envelopes. I have bot [sic] you a little diary for you to make memorandums on and it has a cash a/c where you can keep a/c of money received and spent. I would have got a larger one, but mother thought your pockets were too shallow for a large one. You will find $5.00 and some stamps in the Diary.” The letter continues with financial advice and instructions for recording wages and living expenses, ending with “P.S. The diary is in the trunk.” It was signed, “From your affectionate father, L. M. Moses.”

I immediately thought of parents everywhere sending children off on their own adventures. We set them free, hoping that they won’t need help, but wanting to make sure that they know it’s available if needed. During many goodbyes, we offer those final parting words of wisdom, or last minute advice. Whether it is on their first day of college, before their wedding or after we leave this world, there is the hope that we have given them all of the tools to not only survive, but also thrive and enjoy life. Moses’ parents were sending clothing, books, financial advice, some money, and a diary – all of the essentials for a boy on his own in the big city.

Moses continued to write daily in a small diary continuously, even during the last five years of his life. I believe that his diary entries signified an unbreakable connection with his father when he first left home in 1872. Although his father passed in 1891, Moses continued to record his daily activities and income. Last fall, I transcribed Moses’ 1931 diary and am currently working on the years 1929, 1930, 1932 and 1933. These are the only remaining handwritten diaries by Moses. His small diaries depict more of a daily struggle, instead of the romanticized reflection of his 1931 manuscript. His reflections at the age of seventy-five are colored by age and his growing hope to leave some positive mark when he passed from this world. Moses’ diaries are his legacy as much as his fine art or 1924 Fort Scott scenery collection.

Already in 1922 at the age of sixty-four he wrote, “I trust my diary will be of some interest to my relatives and brother scenic artists. I feel sure that my work will be of some interest inasmuch as I was compelled to travel over the United States a great deal from Maine to California, which gave me a great chance to meet big people of the dramatic world in the days of real actors and plays of real merit.”

I first read this statement at the age of nineteen and was determined to make a positive mark on the world too. Maybe not one that was recognized in my lifetime, but some small contribution to a much larger picture that preserved theatrical heritage for future generations to enjoy. Maybe my purpose is to make sure that Moses’ voice remains of interest to his “relatives and brother scenic artists.”

To be continued…

The work of Thomas G. Moses (1856-1934) has been an inspiration to me throughout my career and is the muse for this tale too. For me, his work is a square in a patchwork quilt that covers theatre history atop fraternal sheets. I am weaving together four separate stories. The first of these stories examines the life and times of Moses, a subject near and dear to me since I created an index for his typed manuscript and scrapbook as an undergraduate student at the University of Minnesota. The second explores the origin of Masonic degree productions by Scottish Rite Masons and theatre practitioners who owned late-nineteenth and early-twentieth scenic studios. The third tale recounts my personal journey as a scenic artist and scholar. The final story concerns the acquisition of the Fort Scott collection and my responsibilities as the one-time Curatorial Director for the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center.

Here is a lengthy recap for those who have recently joined this online tale concerning my rationale for starting this manuscript. By the summer of 2016, I had supervised the removal and transport of a Scottish Rite scenery acquisition from Fort Scott, Kansas, to a storage facility in Bloomington, Minnesota. There it was to await completion of the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center stage where I was too lead a group of individuals to restore the entire collection. Seventeen drops would be ready to display for the opening of the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center on June 24, 2016. While on site in Fort Scott, I had also discovered some personal artifacts of Moses, left behind when he painted the scenery in 1924 that included a paint sweater, Masonic cap, paint brush and charcoal sticks.

By this point in my life I had studied Masonic Theatre since 1989 and restored over 500 historic backdrops in venues across the United States. My doctoral thesis was “Scenic Shifts Upon the Scottish Rite Stage: Designing for Masonic Theatre, 1859-1929” and historical scene painting remained my passion. As the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center’s Curatorial Director, I evaluated the Fort Scott scenery collection for possible purchase and transportation, estimated all of the restoration labor, provided timelines, assembled a crew, and ordered all of the necessary materials. This was just one small project of many that I had led during the planning and construction phase of the entire facility. I guided architects, theatre consultants, and interior designers to create a space that replicated a traditional Masonic center with a theatrical stage, c. 1914-1920.

My role as historical consultant for the entire endeavor began during 2014. This was during the same time that I placed the Winona, Minnesota, Masonic scenery collection into temporary storage to await the fate of their city council. My initial consulting agreement with the CEO of Minnesota Masonic Charities for work on the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center agreement morphed into a permanent staff position by June 1, 2015. Throughout the spring of 2015, the CEO of Minnesota Masonic Charities had repeatedly asked, “What will it take to get you on staff?” For months, he inquired, “How do you envision you future with us once the building opens?” After careful consideration, I closed my restoration business (Bella Scena, LLC), informed my clientele that I was unavailable for any future projects, and threw myself into the planning and construction of the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center. Little did I realize at the time, but the CEO was simply acquiring my services at a 40 percent reduced rate during their final year of construction. I also had no idea that the CEO would use my restoration specifications and hire a completely inexperienced crew to attempt a restoration of the Fort Scott collection after eliminating my position during July 2016 – one month after the building opened to the public. In the end, the Fort Scott scenery collection was irreparably damaged due to inappropriate conservation techniques and the application of hot-melt glue.

I walked away from the entire endeavor a “sadder but wiser” girl, trying to forget everything that had occurred and remain positive. However, I had not expected the systematic erasure of my contributions while working there from 2014 until 2016. My 11’ x 22’ stained glass design was now credited to the stained glass manufacturer. My position as opening exhibit curator was reduced to the role of a simple freelance consultant. The list goes on and on. After throwing myself into the project for two years, abandoning all other work in lieu of this endeavor, it looked like I had accomplished nothing on paper. On paper, the CEO had paid me from a variety of sources and ended up employing me as the Curatorial Director though Minnesota Masonic Eldercare Services and not the actual Heritage Center. This convoluted paper trail of employment made me virtually untraceable when looking at key players in the planning and construction of the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center. Hidden in plain sight and unaware of the endgame, I will never understand what warranted the CEO’s animosity toward me.

Initially, my spirit sank as I watched many in the Minnesota Masonic community, especially those that I had considered friends, look the other way as my position was terminated and my name dragged through the mud. Sadly, ill treatment by a Freemason in a position of power is not uncommon. However, the “turning a blind eye” from a fraternal family that I had helped for over two decades was extremely difficult to take. In the end, this project became a mere steppingstone on my path toward new discoveries in the shared world of fraternal scholarship and theatre history. In desperation for a distraction from my thoughts, I threw myself into theatre research and reached out to past clients. I was determined to make lemonade out of lemons and rapidly returned to the world of scenic art, design, and restoration. My six months of unemployment were a learning opportunity. I finally took the time to study some historical materials and make a few connections.

My husband, Master of Helios Lodge in Cambridge, suggested that I write a book. I refused on the grounds that I simply wanted to move onward, upward and away from Minnesota Freemasonry. I focused on my role as volume editor and contributor for the upcoming Santa Fe Scottish Rite book. It is slated to be published by the Museum of New Mexico Press in 2018.  I also took time transcribing the 1931 handwritten diary of Thomas Moses and inspecting his last theatre model – now held at the Harry Ransom Center, University of Texas, Austin. Finally, I set up a blog (www.drypigment.net) to share bits of technical information and traditions pertaining to historical scene painting techniques that I had discovered and documented over the years. I refused to be a victim of intellectual rape.

It was not until February 2017, while attending my husband’s conducting debut for a Singers in Accord event at the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center, that I was forced into action. The prior year, my husband had approached the general director for the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center with a proposal to pair musical selections with the scenic art of Thomas Moses. At the time, I was slotted to start the scenery restoration within the next few months and would have half of the collection completely restored by his 2017. Unfortunately, my position was eliminated and his journey became one wrought with frustration. I helplessly watched as the MMHC general director could not guarantee any restored scenery for his concert until the week before the event.

I sat in shock at the concert, seeing the extensive damage to Moses’ painted drops. Worse still were the comments by my friends who believed that I was responsible for this botched restoration. That evening, after the concert, I decided to take action and immediately distance myself from the unsuccessful restoration of the Fort Scott collection at the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center. I became obvious that I needed to speak out.

Initially, I attempted to take a positive spin on this tragedy and simply document my involvement with the Fort Scott collection, explaining its significance and providing an historical context. What started out as a modest discussion of the Fort Scott collection evolved after two major events that occurred during March of 2017. First of all, local Masons explained to me that the “official reason” given for my termination was my “lack of skills.” I was then credited, or blamed, for the selection and training of the crew that botched the restoration of the Fort Scott scenery collection. I immediately thought of a line written by the poet Dylan Thomas, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” I refused to go gentle into that good night and decided to share everything online.

And so, I continue my tale.