New York's Hippodrome

Imagine visiting New York's Hippodrome Theatre in 1910. At the time, the huge theatre, which seated 5,300, was only five years old. You might have seen Harry Houdini make a 1,000 pound elephant disappear here or watched a Charlie Chaplin film when it first came out. The theatre had an 8,000-gallon water tank which could be raised from below the stage for diving shows. The huge stage had no trouble accommodating circus animals. The Hippodrome passed through many incarnations--as a vaudeville theatre, a budget opera house, and a sports arena--in an effort to make money. Unfortunately, the operating costs were high, and the Great Depression just made matters worse. The theatre was closed down and demolished in 1939.

It was replaced by this building.

View Larger Map

Here's the back of the card, sent to Sarah Craven of Lawrence, Massachusetts. The message reads:

New York, Sep. 25, 1910

Dear Sarah.

We are in new York. I think I will go ashore. Will write you a letter. Hope you are in the best of health. From your friend Chas

Valley of the Dolls

When the call went out for photos of dolls for this week's Sepia Saturday, I thought for sure I would find lots of material.  Looking back through family photographs though, I realize that sticks and rocks were the toys of choice in my family, and dolls were fairly rare. Perhaps dolls were associated with embarrassment.  When my mother was a child, her parents took a picture of her with a doll, but they also put a lampshade on her head. Although she grew up to be normal, I suspect that the experience colored her view on life and specifically her view of dolls and light fixtures.

The true test came when I requested a Barbie doll as a child and the request was categorically denied. You know as well as I do that it had something to do with the lampshade.

Source: Tracy's Toys

I was given other options though, including trolls. Wait a minute! This one has a lampshade on its head too.

Source: Tracy's Toys

At the age of 6 or 7, I was presented with a lovely bisque Deanna Durbin doll (Durbin was a movie star in the 30s and 40s.) Deanna had real (human!) hair and sleep eyes and was quite lovely, but she was not as durable as a Barbie doll.  A direct hit from a basketball thrown by one of my brothers broke one of her legs. She has since been repaired and seems to be fine. It also appears that she actually ate the marshmallow I tried to feed her as a child or it dried up and disintegrated. As lovely as she was, I had to decline invitations to Barbie parties, because you simply do not walk into a Barbie party with a bisque doll of any kind. It would be sort of like wearing a lampshade.

My mother bought me some other dolls too, including a Native American doll and a plantation doll of unknown origin (Caribbean?). They have since been joined by a doll I bought in South Africa in the 1970s, a Hungarian doll, and the gregarious Don Ho bubble doll. 

When I lived in Hawaii, I passed a huge cart of these Don Ho dolls that were being given away. I'm not sure why I only took one. The tag around his neck says "Don Ho blows tiny bubbles and big ones too." His head screws off and then you press on his chest and a bubble wand emerges from his chest cavity. A quick blow and there you go...tiny bubbles and big ones too.

Just in case you're interested, I leave you with a clip of Don Ho singing Tiny Bubbles

And here's Deanna Durbin.

The Wilds of Lewis County

This card was sent from the wilds of Lewis County, Washington to C.E. Shea of Portland, Oregon in 1917. Even today, the population of Lewis County is only about 75,000. The largest city is Centralia, with a population of just over 16,000. There's plenty of rural land, and the eastern end of Lewis County is national park and forest. Unfortunately, we don't know where this photo was taken in Lewis County, especially since it was sent from Seattle.

 The message on the back reads:

Picture taken in the wilds of Lewis County. Notice the dog. I can get a separate picture of him very lovely looking.

Have you seen Aunt Hattie lately. I am contemplating taking the G.N. train which goes through Rainier and thought I would let them know.

Leon

While we don't know who the people in the picture are, I am fairly certain that the card's recipient was Cora E. Shea, born in about 1870 in Illinois. She and her husband, James Shea, lived in Portland with their three children Leo, John, and Margaret. I wonder if the son, Leo, sent this card to his mother. Leo would have been 26 at the time. Although the Census records show the name as Leo, I guess it's possible that his full name was Leon.