Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: It’s a cute kitten post today with this somewhat scrappy looking fellow or gal. For no particular reason I am going to say fellow – something about the build. You have to look a bit carefully to see Sautera? printed at the bottom.
This card was never mailed and there is nothing written on the back. It was produced by Reutlinger Studio, Paris. These were popular photo postcard producers at the dawn of the 20th Century. (There are a few other postcards in my collection by this Peruvian born French photographer. Those posts and more about him can be found here and here. Reutlinger evidently lost an eye to a champagne cork – how very French! A very bad for the photography business as well. And also to note, I always wrap a champagne bottle in a towel before opening.)
When I purchased this card I was thinking that this kitty was perched on a martini style glass (falling into the drink sort of thing), but instead it appears to be a glass funnel of sorts. Try as I might, I cannot figure out what is at the bottom of the funnel, pebbles perhaps? (I considered olives when I thought this was a martini glass.)
It is tucked into the glass neck of a large bottle – and in fact, even if that kit is quite small the funnel and bottle must be quite large – it would have made a truly man-sized martini in retrospect. Having said that, toward the end of his life my father became very enamored of martinis and purchased a few very large martini glasses, but perhaps not quite cat-sized.
A quick translation of Sauterna? from the French is Jumping? I guess he is planning to since curling up on or in the rim of that funnel isn’t going to do much for him. He does have a thoughtful look on his little mug though – a tiny kitten, staring into the void.
There seems to have been a series of these cards and with this very cat, which I have found online and share below. The second one seems to have been more recently appropriated.
Cats are ace jumpers. They seem to understand not only their own overall capacity for the leap, but have the ability to size up distance and other factors which you can see get calculated in their brain. Those of us who live with cats have seen them study such a situation, sometimes resulting in a preliminary butt wiggle – the tail is essential to the balancing act of the cat – especially when it is a floor up trajectory. A cat rarely misses its mark with a jump – and are very embarrassed if they do. I had a little girl tuxie, Otto Dix, who seemed to just float upward. It was as if all she needed to do was think about being somewhere and land there.
And who hasn’t stood poised in a similar, if metaphorical, position? There have been a few notable times in my life where there was a leap to be made. I always think of leaving my job at the Metropolitan Museum to go to Jazz at Lincoln Center as an enormous leap – which it was. I almost broke my neck but I found my footing eventually.
The more recent vocational leap was to the animal hospital I raise money for and that was less dramatic, but a bit of a leap nonetheless. (Posts about those professional leaps of faith can be found here, here and here, although much of my time at Jazz was shared in the annals of this blog.) I am still finding my sea legs on that one so the jury remains out.
Bonus picture of Cookie and Blackie from early this morning – rare sleeping together pose!
Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today’s postcard, celebrating a local summer spot where I grew up in New Jersey, seems like a fitting Memorial Day holiday kick-off card. I purchased it at the postcard show bonanza of a few months ago with the intention of framing it for the house in NJ where I am gathering a few early cards of local spots I love.
This one was mailed on August 8, 1923 from Atlantic Highlands at 11 AM. It was mailed to Mr. Robert Del Paso, 44 Est 98th Street, New York. Written on the back is a brief note, Best regards to you and your sister from Dorothy and Eugene.
The view shown here is the one that you now see from the ferry when it pulls in. It looks nothing like this now, a small public beach is at the landing and some low condos not far beyond. Boats dock nearby and restaurants and small businesses dot the edge of the water along with some houses, although you don’t see those right in this spot either, as it is largely in the shadow of a much larger bridge.
The approach to Atlantic Highlands via ferry from 2021.
The first time I took the ferry into Atlantic Highlands, the sense memory of that spot was amazing. On the occasions I would go sailing with my dad or on the creaking wooden fishing boat of my grandfather, the Imp, we would head first under one bridge and then the other and to the bay or ocean. The sense of history smacked me hard being on that spot of the water again.
I have touched on this Jersey shore enclave before, not long ago in a post about Bahr’s Restaurant which can be found here. I opined on the thoughts I had about living there at one time, and the history of that restaurant where I had what turned out to be a last birthday dinner with my sister, a few decades past now.
Atlantic Highlands, and it’s kissin’ cousin Highlands, abut the area of the shore I grew up in. (Highlands is the hamlet slightly further into the river side, Atlantic Highlands faces out toward the ocean and beyond.) However, while Sea Bright, a spit of land that adjoins it, was an almost daily destination, the Highlands while hard by, somehow were the route less taken. I believe that this was probably largely due to beach traffic and while being almost within shouting distance as the crow flies it was rarely the shortest way to go anywhere from Memorial Day through Labor Day.
The parking lot for the ferry, next to the small public beach and some condos.
Once I hit high school we made it part of our route when traffic died down late in the evening. We ate lobster rolls and drank beer at shacks at the edge of the river at the junction where the bay joins the river and the ocean. Also on our route was a movie theater that showed films recently fallen out of circulation for an admission of $1.00. Beyond that, expensive restaurants that hugged the shore and gave a view as far as Manhattan on a clear day and those were beyond our means.
Atlantic Highlands, as shown in this postcard, attaches to Sandy Hook beach (and now state park) via the bay. Not only has this quaint wooden bridge been replaced, but the concrete one of my childhood (which seemed plenty big at the time, bigger than its Sea Bright counterpart which required a draw bridge function for the passing parade of boats) was replaced very recently by a true behemoth of a bridge.
Moby’s lobster shack on the water.
The one in Sea Bright is also under reconstruction and I gather will no longer be the draw bridge of my childhood – it’s opening hourly in the summer was how we timed our days in the summer in order to avoid it and the traffic back-up it would cause. I had a boyfriend in high school who had a summer job working the bridge which was a great gig and the retirement job of numerous fishermen. I don’t know how, in retrospect, Ed got that job but many envied him it. I am sorry to say I never visited the tiny shack mid-bridge that was the man cave you stayed in if you worked the bridge.
The theater is evidently still there.
I’m also sorry to have to say that one of the people I spent the most hours with in Atlantic Highlands is gone now. A long former boyfriend, I had fallen out of touch with Sam Lutz, and found out via local connections that he died a few years ago.
I suspect I will eventually return to writing about this area. For some reason it lives in my memory in a way other places do not. However, for now, this rosy sun setting over the Highlands hills is a good place to leave Pictorama for the holiday weekend as I head out there shortly.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: Since cats, both real and cartoon, are more or less my gig I’m surprised that I am only now learning about Bunz, the hardware store tabby, who rules the roost a few blocks away here in our Yorkville neighborhood at a place simply called New York Paint and Hardware. However, it turns out that Bunz is quite the neighborhood celebrity and somehow I have missed him entirely. Kim has had a nodding acquaintance with him on his morning walks, but says that to date, Bunz is usually being petted while getting his morning air so Kim has not actually met to pet him either. Although this establishment is within my territory, I tend to walk by in the evening or run in late in the afternoon of a weekend, I have not seen him. I feel remiss.
The hardware store in question – there is a mural devoted to NYC on the side which is hard to see – more sincere than good. I do wonder if it is the same guy.
There is a strange quality about living in New York which we all accept, but rarely discuss and that is one generally has a set path from your apartment out into the world – an unofficial number of blocks where you shop and eat locally and often you are more devoted to one direction than the other. When running I would hit the tip of the eastern point of the neighborhood and then down the south side which I got to know and because of work, I spend a lot of time walking south on York and First and know it well, but we mostly don’t go south to eat, get take out or shop. (Having previously worked at the Metropolitan Museum I also know the path west intimately but oddly this is a north south thing, not an east west thing.) I speak to people who live on 85th and typically never go north of 86th and I don’t find that unusual.
I have on occasion documented aspects of Friday night take out stroll here at Deitch Studio. (See my pre-pandemic post which was an ode to local take out and a Mexican place we were fond of. Read it here.) This is our walk north most Fridays, often veering west to Second Avenue after a stroll up First. On First I generally like to stop and look in the window of the junk store there. (Some excellent finds from this store have been documented and can be found here and here.) Kim peers a bit at a newish thrift store nearby too. Sometimes the kitties need some food from the pet store on that block and we’ll pick it up on the way.
Me as model – thank you Kim for the pic!
We tend to fiercely embrace our corner of this Yorkville neighborhood. We mourn the tearing down of a brownstone building resulting in the loss of a nice plant store on the corner, the demise of a take out place. The pandemic made us hyper aware of our neighborhood since we rarely left it for a year, but since then and with the effects of the Q line which opened in 2017, the neighborhood has become more popular and shifted. However, generally speaking it is a good corner of the universe, these few blocks of Manhattan all the way over by the river.
Window of the nearby junk store from a prior post.
And, since cats are my thing, I like to think I know a bit about where they reside in the nabe – those who sit in apartment windows daily on my path (I’m talking about you Mr. Tuxedo on the first floor of this building), and a smattering of those felines we think of as bodega cats, the working kitties of the area. Interesting to note that, to my knowledge, the few I am thinking of are all tabbies. Perhaps the tiger stripe of cats is the unofficial mascot of the Yorkville working puss? The only one of the three I have met is a charming youngster on York Avenue who lives in a Deli. I’m not sure that his name is known but I did just find him on a Google search while looking for the cat who evidently patrols the Gristedes on York nightly. His pleasure includes a tree outside the deli where pigeons occasionally perch to tempt him.
I only know of the Gristedes cat because someone I used to work with walks his young lab pup there nightly and the dog became fascinated with the cat in the window after hours on late night strolls. They have a joyous spitty, barking, hissy moment nightly. Mark looked into it and evidently found evidence that the cat is identified as an employee on some paperwork he stumble across in a professional capacity (yes, odd, I agree), although when asked his existence is routinely denied. He is a mouser incognito if extraordinaire as technically he is not allowed to live there.
I came home to this corner on First and 86 being torn down a few months ago.
This past Friday night on our way to pick up dinner (from a new place with an extraordinarily large and diverse menu called Soup and Burger on Second), I noticed this t-shirt in the window of the hardware and paint store on the corner of 87th and First. I pointed it out to Kim and we agreed it is well done.
To backtrack a bit, I have lived in Yorkville long enough that I remember a few decades back (30 years evidently) when this store was the new kid on the block. Ostensibly a paint store with a bit of hardware it did not seem especially useful and I ignored it for a long time. It replaced, to my vague memory, an electronics store which repaired televisions and VCR’s and I had utilized that service. (Yep, seriously dating myself here although we actually still own a VCR/DVD player or two, or three.)
View of First Avenue from inside Taco Today, taken waiting for our Friday night order back in ’19.
Anyway, I don’t know that I darkened their door for years. Slowly however, the hardware aspect took over and it developed a less chain oriented more neighborhood vibe. They are now depended upon for our general local hardware needs (they are the last of several standing) and a look at their website earlier today reveals that I can get my knives sharpened there and I think I will pay them a visit for that. It is funny though how even a chain store can evolve into a neighborhood joint.
So evidently Bunz, this sprightly tabby, rules the roost over there. I suspect that hardware stores must keep some mouse friendly stock which requires the services of such a kitty – planting soil and whatnot. I know of a few Lowe’s and Home Depots that sport Instagram accounts for their flagship cat employees. (Notably there is Leo, another tabby, in a Home Depot in Mt. Laurel, NJ and Francine, a calico mix at a Lowe’s in North Carolina.) Garden supplies and a very old building in the case of our neighborhood store which probably makes it a mousy delight.
Francine, the Lowe’s catLeo, the Home Depot kitty
We didn’t stop on Friday night but I made a mental note to come back on the weekend so we went on Saturday and yes – they were selling the t-shirts and I realized that there was a big stack, organized by size, on a rack by the window. The Bunz tee cost $20 (Kim paid – thank you Kim!) and I got a large but they run a tad small. I asked about the artist and the young man waiting on me just said Shawn which makes me think maybe it is someone else who works there, a nascent illustrator.
It’s a bold design and has hardware cattitude going for it. Bunz sports workman’s overalls, hightops and shades – a cool cat. Both his overalls and his top (striped like him) have his name. Paws in pockets – he is all business. He appears to have a can of paint and brush in front of him and the sign for the store behind him – a decent rendition of the window looking in. Kim says he would personally have made more of the second color and I tend to agree, but these are artistic choices, right? I hoped that maybe their website or account would have his origin story and perhaps where his name came from but alas, currently not.
Bunz from their IG accountHis fame is growing.
So finally I share photos of the real Bunz. He’s clearly a beloved member of the team there and what he might lack in a typical home life seems to be largely made up for by being a working cat with an appreciative following here in Yorkville. Long may he remain at the helm of New York Paint and Hardware.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: I have written before about Blackie and his adventures at the vet – these adventures (five days in the ICU there) which ultimately radically influenced my leaving Jazz at Lincoln Center for the huge change and challenge of raising money for this remarkable and unusual animal hospital here in New York City. (That pivotal post can be found here.) Today is an all about animals post.
Most recently over Thanksgiving we had to haul the little fellow in because he wasn’t eating and I was treated to the ER experience of our visitors (over a holiday – always a holiday or weekend, or the middle of the night I say) and I wrote about it here.
Blackie is now a thirteen year old diabetic cat who requires insulin daily. Although we’ve tried pinning a monitor on him to track his sugar it either falls out or he cheerfully tears it off – I can’t blame him I’m sure. He can’t understand why someone would stick such a thing in him. It would be life changing however if we could track his sugar, like a human, and adjust it to at least major trends. Instead, we have to pack him up periodically and take him over.
People both professionally and personally ask me about pet insurance and my answer is usually that with seven cats there’s no way I can afford insurance. It would have been nice to figure out that he should have it early on but no, it was before it was really prevalent. Meanwhile, Blackie has long been in the lead for cost of health care however and I am relieved to blunt it some with a staff discount. (For the record, our vets urge people to get insurance for their pets.)
Taking Blackie to the vet (or anywhere – think trips to NJ) is an ordeal. Somehow through magic cat radar he intuits our intentions bizarrely early in the process. (What are the tells I wonder? How do we keep tipping him off?) The result is him heading to the one spot under our bed where we cannot reach him without taking the mattress off of said bed. This is an athletic feat to say the least.
However, the little fellow has been drinking a lot of water and is looking a bit thin so I finagled an appointment and this week we took him over for a sugar check. Kim was very crafty and got him in the carrier very early. He was unusually quiet on this trip, not his usual yowling.
A pensive Blackie on my lap the other morning.
We got there very early and he was taken to the new feline unit (recently named by a generous donor) in the bowels of our building – a new tower in the final stages of completion which is appended onto the original 60’s white brick building. He was extremely unimpressed although it is so much nicer than where he has stayed previously – a cramped space about a third of the size and cheek by jowl with noisier dogs who are also there for a stay. The new space is reserved for cats (and the occasional bunny) and is very quiet and calm. I am told that it is a favorite place for LVT’s (like nurses at an animal hospital) to want to work in and that the cats are responding well to it. Cages have space for litter boxes and a hideaway area. Blackie embraced the hideaway. (Shown in the photo at the top in his cage – this taken by one of my colleagues, Erica, who stopped by to give him some pets.)
It always interests me where the personal pet parent and the professional fundraising for the hospital cross and this is what I was thinking about when I started this post today. Although I get frustrated with the pace of change there and what I am trying to accomplish, I am always so incredibly impressed and grateful for the superb care that Blackie gets. It is very real inspiration to get back on it and move forward. The new space as a result of money received through our capital campaign is a tangible result. It helps to blunt and curb my daily frustrations.
Hard to know, but this is Blackie signaling that I should leave my work chair and let him have it.
Blackie’s sugar was very high so we have increased his insulin. Additional blood tests came back okay so we think the weight loss (not insignificant, several pounds) is related to that. As always, the thoroughness and thoughtfulness of the team inspires and reinvigorates me.
Due to the blood tests Blackie came home with a bright red bandage on his hind leg. As he hopped out of the carrier (always amazed to be back home) he made pretty short shrift of joyfully tearing it off and sending it flying! Later that evening I got a thoughtful text from one of the interns or residents who referenced the bandage and said I should feel free to take it off. I told them of Blackie’s gleefully disposal of it and they laughed. He goes back in a month for a check up, but we are relieved and grateful for his relative clean bill of health.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today is a pile of Easter bits. I looked and it appears I haven’t really written about Easter since 2021 which was a spring still fraught with pulling out of the pandemic. At that time I wrote a bit about the family Easter/Passover traditions from my childhood there including glorious Easter egg hunts at my grandmother’s house. (That post can be found here and another from an earlier post about my grandmother can be found here.)
When weather permitted we were outside in her yard and finding Easter eggs and treats among the nascent tulips and hyacinth planted there. In retrospect it was likely my uncle who did the Easter planning since mom and dad were with us and my grandparents were already older. I think there was at least one year when weather did not permit and we did it inside.
My sister Loren and I back on Easter 1966.
As it happens, I have a photograph from one of those Easter Sundays above. It is not an especially good photograph but it is family history for me so I am stretching the point. I (on the right in the yellow flowered dress) would have just turned two and my sister Loren (in a very unlikely pink dress), would be a month beyond her fourth birthday. We are seated on my grandmother’s green couch which was covered in impossibly scratchy fabric, flowered wallpaper behind us and and window where in particular the blinds were not raised in my memory. The living room was always cool and dark. There was matching green figured wall-to-wall carpet on the floor there.
Somewhere in my possession is a photo of us all outside on an Easter Sunday morning and I am wearing a light blue coat and Easter bonnet I feel like I can still remember being very proud of. Perhaps we’ll have that one next year if found.
Loren, true to form, looks like she is only seated reluctantly for the moment this photo took. She’s smiling but I recognize her tightly wound energy – she’s ready to go tearing around. While meanwhile yours truly was more of a jolly lump who would go along with whatever. We never wore dresses, let alone ones like this, and if I had to guess I would say these were a single symbolic for Easter only wearing.
This photo hung in my grandmother’s house forever, actually right near the couch shown here if memory serves, and this snapshot shows its wear. I can’t remember if this is before or after the egg hunt. I suspect they did it first thing before we had time to ruin our clothing.
Mom and Dad, Loren and I in November 1964.
I found it in an ancient plastic sleeve and behind it is a photo I prefer of the four of us, above. Printed neatly on the photo is November 1964 which makes me, shown in my mom’s arms, only 11 months old here; Loren in the plaid coat is only three. Mom and dad are very young here, Betty about 26 and Elliott 36. They are in what appear to be matching trench coats (normal for dad, a bit unusual for mom, dad must have bought it for her) and I love the little plaid jacket Loren is sporting. This the same front yard of my grandparents, my mom’s dad, Frank, would have still been alive, now a bit barren for fall. We lived in northern Jersey then, about an hour’s drive, and would have come in for a Sunday visit. This is more evocative for me – I can feel the fall air and smell that yard.
****
Yesterday Kim and I shook the dust off a bit and went downtown. Ostensibly, I had new eyeglass prescriptions to fill and I dropped those off in the East Village but it was a gorgeous unusually warm spring day. I was pleased I decided to stop next door to the eyeglass store at Porto Rico Coffee Importers as my favorite Danish roast was on sale. Particularly with the expectation of rising coffee prices I stocked up.
I love his toes! look at the size of the Steiff button in his ear!
However I also detoured us to the John Derian stores where I heard there was a large display of Steiff toys. I was not disappointed. We were greeted in one store by the giant elephant below (I should have taken a close up picture of the Steiff button in his ear – it was enormous, consistent with his enormity) and at the one devoted to fabrics, by the even more spectacular nodding warthog! For me these were well worth the price of admission right there. All three stores were nicely done up for Easter with a lot of vintage bunnies.
This moving warthog greets you at the John Derian fabric shop!
John Derian and I seem to have a more or less separated at birth sensibility. I know where he acquires much of his antique stock (or at least the type of places) and how much he pays so I can’t really ever buy from him – the mark up is too high. That doesn’t mean I don’t like seeing what he’s found and how he’s put it together. I purchase this or that small item, sort of on the edges of what is available. Somewhere deep inside what I really want is to see his house which probably has all the really good stuff! Sadly I do not think an invitation is forthcoming. (Some photos of the shops to scroll through below.)
Lastly, a teaser, something I can’t remember doing before but we have the chance today. I leave you with this photo of Cookie atop box she has happily commandeered. It contains a major toy purchase so she won’t be enjoying it for too long as I plan to open it today and share the contents with you soon. To be continued as they say.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: As those in the New York area know, it was a freakishly warm day here yesterday, topping out around 80 degrees. As a result the denizens of this metropolis poured onto the streets in wrinkled summer garb (or simply lack thereof) all white bellied and sleepy like a city of Rip Van Winkles. Kim and I entered the fray and spent the day hunting small Pam pleasures as is our program for my birthday.
A February birthday girl, this year I was bedeviled first by Kim’s Covid, followed by my own – and then a distressing string of funerals and memorials, plus one wedding! The MoCA comics festival thrown in too. All this to say, yesterday was our first day in a long time when we were left to our own devices.
Old Good Things is chock-a-block full of antique fixtures and a lot of brass. My dad was a utter sucker for brass fixtures and I can only imagine he would have come home with one of these. My father’s daughter, I too was tempted…
I started our itinerary with a stop at an antique and architectural salvage store, way over on the westside of midtown called Old Good Things which I have been curious about. (Their website can be found here.) I follow these folks on Instagram and while what they offer is generally just too large for my living situation but I have always wanted to visit the store. I do fantasize about replacing bathroom fixtures, maybe a fireplace mantel in NJ and light fixtures as well, and it sends me musing. There is much wonderful furniture, with an emphasis on wooden cabinets of drawers which is one of my own forms of kryptonite, hard to resist. Still, these are very large pieces for the most part and I live in small spaces.
Two intriguing standing lamps that had just come into stock. They are being rewired so I have a minute to think about investing in them.
Notably there were a few rather comfy and wonderful leather arm chairs but all I could see were happy cat claws so I moved along. These two standing lamps which just came into stock and had yet to be rewired were of interest – we could use a standing lamp here in the New York apartment and the weird sort of jadeite on one interests me. They were pricey but I will consider them. A good standing lamp is hard to find.
Then we headed downtown for what I considered the main event – the Metropolitan Postcard Club show and sale. I have not been to one since before Covid when they used to take place on 57th Street at a rundown Howard Johnson’s hotel near 8th Avenue. It was then a much larger affair, easily 3-4 times the size of the group yesterday. However, this just meant I burrowed a bit deeper and a very patient Kim joined me in sorting through boxes of cat postcards, with a few of New Jersey thrown in for good luck.
It was held at a pleasant, small and essentially non-descript church in the West Village called the Church of the Village. About a dozen dealers had a large circle of tables and it was quiet enough that you could sit and patiently go through the labeled boxes. I flashed a picture of yesterday’s Felix card on a few dealers to see if they had ever had any go through their hands. One looked quite stunned and said no, the other gave me a knowing look and said he might have one at home. I gave him my card.
I left the show lighter in dollars but happily heavy in cards and I will commence a liberal dissemination of them here in the coming weeks. It was well passed lunchtime and our tummies called so we wandered over to the Old Town Bar on 18th Street. I had a craving for an old establishment and this fit the bill perfectly. We’d eaten upstairs not that long ago but for lunch were seated at a table in the back.
My view of the main room at lunch yesterday.I would like to be there when it is quiet enough to go around the room and read what is on all the walls.
After lunch we made a quick trip to Blick so I could buy some watercolor brushes and paper. My friend Eileen (@EileenTravell) gave me a very lovely birthday gift of a nifty watercolor set for my birthday and I hope to commence playing with them soon.
Thank you again Eileen! I hope to make some use of these.
The next real stop of the day was The Strand bookstore. Our original thought was that we would just pop in to look in used fiction. (Kim looking for Dumas and I for someone named Carol Brink. We just saw a somewhat obscure Barbara Stanwyck 1953 film based on a Brink novel called Stopever. The films was renamed All I Desire, and directed by Douglas Sirk. It is masterful film making and visually stunning, like many of his films although this one in black and white and not the signature saturated color. A good TCM write up of the film, with spoilers, can be found here.) We came up empty handed on both scores but decided to head up to the Rare Book Room.
We’ll see if this acquisition is more than good looking on the outside.
Kim and I more or less nibble at the edges of the Rare Book Room. We aren’t interested in the signed first editions, but instead make our way to a few bookcases of more or less random old books. I have scored several items at this venue, including some that lead me further down the path of interesting authors or series. Despite the name, some of these volumes are very affordable.
Very competent illustrations by someone named G. Demain Hammond R.I.
However, I did pay up a bit for the book I bought yesterday. Shown here, it is a very pretty looking, illustrated volume which helps its cause. It actually may not need any help. I looked up the author, Rosa Mulholland, and she appears to be quite interesting. She was an Irish writer, very prolific and also wrote under the name of Rosa Gilbert, her married name – aka Lady Gilbert. Rosa appears to have worked the side of the street of fiction I like so maybe more about her to come over time as well.
A frequent stop either to or from The Strand.
We wrapped up with a quick look in AlabasterBookshop around the corner from The Strand. Still checking for Dumas and coming up empty handed. I like Alabaster although they focus more on recent books and art volumes and I feel like I haven’t bought anything there in a while. I always check their kids and juvenile books, but it is a somewhat diminished section. I always remember that had a charmingly grumpy calico cat I saw grow from kittenhood on there. Her ghost still wafts through and I miss her.
That was it, a wrap on another birthday, perhaps all the better for the wait this year.
Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: My fascination with these cards is at the root of starting this blog (as a summer project while recovering from foot surgery, confined to bed for weeks) as a way of organizing and recording my then nascent collection. It expanded to toys and eventually life, but the square one was folks with Felix in a parade of early 20th century photos.
If you consider reincarnation you might think that some time back, about 100 years ago, I decided to forego and opportunity to have my picture taken with Felix, or I was a small child and no one would listen to me, or it was taken and lost. I have found a tiny window onto my past passion and devote myself to the glorious fulfilling of it now.
Margate photo. Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.
Romantic day dreams of Felix lost and found aside, I now own a pile of these photos – far more than I have room to display here in the apartment although I have started to think of what a series of them would look like in New Jersey and need to consider a spot without much sun which is more challenging there.
As postulated in my post last week about two somewhat different cards from the same negative, I now have a large enough collection to make some interesting (at least to me) connections between them. In that way I bring you today’s acquisition, a card recently purchased from England, the locus primary for these photos.
Today the breaking news is that this card, which was never sent, was taken in Margate, England, a summer resort town there. As you can see, it is the kissing cousin of another postcard in my collection, purchased back in 2022 and posted about at that time. That post can be read here. Ironically I evidently paid a lot for that card and this one was a bit of a steal. (It averages out I find and try to be philosophical about it.) Interesting to note that, like the one last week, the card above was unusual in that it came via a US dealer. It was identified with Margate on the back.
Magnificent Kim Deitch original valentine depicting Margate. Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.
Margate! Where you could also have your photo taken on a giant black cat chair, was a swinging summer resort if having your photo taken on the beach was part of a good time. It lives in my imagination and Kim has brought it to life in these drawings he has done for me. Read about those here.
Kim Deitch original drawing, valentine from this year. Proudly in the Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.
These two cards share the singular vision of this photographer who liked to blur his (or her) background, bringing just the Felix and child into focus. The children are also remarkably similar, but a careful look shows that it does not seem to be the same day and the negative numbers are far apart as well. Still, this cheerful little boy and the sad small girl could easily be related.
I have more, different Felix treats in store although Kim and I are heading out for a much belated birthday celebration for me which includes a postcard show I haven’t been to since before Covid so who knows what else might lurk there!
Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Today is a somewhat rare occasion, a family photo post. I have done them before when I discovered some very early family photos (a few posts of those can be found here and here), but I am not sure I have done many from my own childhood – except maybe in passing to document a toy or a beloved cat.
Today is a photo my mom sent to me, matted and framed, as a surprise several years ago. A cousin had given her two photos of me and my sister as small children. She kept one, which hangs in the kitchen in New Jersey, and sent me the other. This one lives on a shelf in direct eye shot of my “home office” desk. I am looking down and on the left. So like us that Loren is running toward the camera and I am turned aside, a bit diffident.
Undated photo of Loren with our cat Winkie.
I don’t remember these matching outfits at all. We were rarely dressed alike, although photos seemed to be taken when we were giving the impression after the fact that it happened often. Probably the outfits were gifts and the pictures documenting our wearing them. These are the sort of typical dresses of the late 1960’s to be expected on little girls. Most of our time was spent in indestructible things like Danskin shorts or jeans. (I had a flowered pair of jeans in red and blue I was especially fond of a few years later. Very 1970’s fashion forward. They live on in my memory.)
We are in a yard I cannot identify – probably a long forgotten, not especially distinct yard where the cousin in question was living. There’s not much to it. Just the sort of suburban yard of my youth where we’d just run around with chasing each other and some imagined foe or friend until exhausted.
Loren with I believe Mitsy, a lovely little tuxedo.
I have also rarely written about my sister, Loren, before. I did a tribute to her rugby trophies a while ago (that post can be read here) but I have not written too much about her. Loren Butler (married name Feffer) was born on March 15, 1962 – two years my senior and a fact that I was unlikely to forget. Loren was definitely an older sister. She died after a long fight with breast cancer on January 20, 2003, just shy of her 41st birthday.
She was quite brilliant (a PhD in mathematics), did not suffer fools gladly, and was very athletic most of her life – she had a constant need to burn off her restless energy. Loren was also very opinionated (about all things), extremely generous and extraordinarily loyal. As my sister and fairly close in age, Loren and I had that weird symbiotic relationship that siblings have. Hatched over time in the same protective family bubble of early childhood, we shared experiences and a history that only we experienced together. (My brother Edward entered the story a bit later and adds another chapter to the Butler clan story.)
Loren probably about 1990 judging from the car she is driving.This photo also lives near my desk at home but was actually framed to take it to the office which somehow has not happened.
As we know, death means spending the rest of your life limited to a now one-sided dialog with that person. In this case many of my earliest memories were shared only with her – conversations in bed at night when we shared a room as small children, games and of course epic battles with each other. Her opinions (memories of real ones and now imagined based on her track record) play in my brain. These range from world politics to my most recent hair cut.
Someone contacted her widower about publishing some of her work recently while a recent wedding celebration of a mutual friend was a chance to hear a few stories I had not heard before which is always a good day.
It has been 23 years since I have been able to wish her a happy birthday in person. (For her 40th birthday I gave her gold hoop earrings, still hopeful that there was a future and that she would wear them for years to come. I have those now with most of her other jewelry.) However, she still lives large in my mind and a day doesn’t go by without thinking about her, so here’s to Loren on what would have been her 63 birthday.
Pam’s Pictorama Toy Post: This just in – my first ever Mr. Peanut! He comes via an auction house that sends me endless listings and from which I rarely win anything. (The first item I ever won from them were these nice metal dogs featured in a post here.) On the rare occasion that I do win something, it was because no one else wanted it or was looking at the moment I think and therefore I got it for a good price. I do believe that part of the method of buying from these folks is to actually participate in the live auction but I am almost never able to do that and so, mostly I lose.
I had spotted this fellow in a listing along with a bunch of jointed Felix toys and admired him. Never seen the likes of him. I put a watch on it but expected that like many things (I keep trying to get a deal on cat andirons for the fireplace in New Jersey) it would go high and slip away. In fact, I never got around to putting a bid on it.
However, I was at loose ends the other day and a reminder that the he was going live in the auction. I believe I was feeling a bit burned by something I had just lost on eBay and I thought what the heck and put a live bid in just as the bidding was closing. Low and behold – I won Mr. Peanut!
Nothing much unexpected on his back side. Schoenhut has no markings on these toys but they are very distinctive.
He is an early product of the Schoenhut Toy Company, circa the 1930’s. He is of course, an early example of an advertising to toy crossover. My fellow is missing his cane which would have stuck in one hand. And yes, if I was about 100% handier I could replace it easily! I especially like his blue hat with Mr. Peanut boldly printed! (Was his hat always blue? I think not.) When you look closely at his peanut body you see small black spots to create the peanut shell surface of his body.
Insert jaunty cane here.
What I never knew is that Mr. Peanut was originally conceived of by a 14 year old boy, Antonio Gentile, who won a contest to design a mascot for the company back in 1916. The charming monocle, top hat and spats were added subsequently by commercial artist Andrew S. Wallach. (Fascinating that spats manage to carryover on him – common in 1916 but unheard of now, of course he just appears to be wearing socks.)
Original drawings of Mr. Peanut
To jump down a tributary – it turns out that although Antonio Gentile only won $5 for the contest, it was his lifelong friendship with the founder of the company that was significant. Amedeo Obici befriended the boy and helped put him through medical school. He pursued a life of service as a doctor and surgeon. A moving quote from an article in Smithsonian Magazine, evidently published in a newspaper as part of an obituary article (sadly Dr. Gentile died quite young, only a year after getting married) and is summed up below:
For Dr. Antonio Gentile, skilled physician and surgeon, loved by a paying clientele who admired his ability and his personality, was perhaps held dearer to those who were not a paying clientele, whose money was gratitude only but whom he served as freely, as fully and as willingly as though they had been able to return wealth for service. (The full and rather touching article can be found here.) The Smithsonian owns the original drawings and the dapper cast iron version below.
You may be saying to yourself, what’s up with Mr. Peanut and why, given how much stuff I have found over the years, have I long neglected this particular desire. I asked myself that as well, I admit. My interest in Mr. Peanut advertising predates my current collecting passions. The first time I remember seeing an early bit of Mr. Peanut advertising was on a trip to Paris in my 20’s. I saw a nice early metal one and was entranced but it was too dear for my extremely limited budget, but it stayed with me.
Of course I have encountered this and that small item over time but none really spoke to me. I do remember that on American Pickers once they found the giant Mr. Peanut peanut butter producing machine! Oh my goodness, I was in love! I gather one like it was in use and on display in Atlantic City. Shown below, this one hails from a Peanut Shop in Columbus, Ohio. Their site can be found here and it would be absolutely top of my list if visiting Columbus.
From The Peanut Shop in Columbus Ohio.
In looking online at Mr. Peanut items I am reminded that even as a child I very much wanted the Mr. Peanut hand crank peanut butter maker. Alas, this was not the kind of toy that made its way into the Butler house (I can see my mom thinking, complicated and very messy) and I don’t believe I ever had the pleasure of acquainting myself with one via a friend in those formative years.
I believe it was a less impressive version of this figure that made me salivate in Paris those many years ago.
However, if there is a Mr. Peanut item I still long for, it would be that long ago cast iron one in Paris. I found it online and actually, it would appear that it is indeed quite rarified and remains too expensive for me to acquire – certainly in this pristine condition.
Meanwhile, I intend to bring my Mr. Peanut to New Jersey where the heat in the house is less dry than here at Deitch Studio. This in the hopes of keeping his stringing in order. Somehow now that I have acquired him I think more Mr. Peanut may be forthcoming – increasing rather than sated my appetite for this natty fellow.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: There are a handful of traditions here at Deitch Studio and Pam’s Pictorama that we hold dear and none is so anticipated and celebrated than the annual Valentine Kim makes for me. A tradition that reaches back to our first year together (now a few decades back), today’s is an entry in a long line of wonderful drawings, all which have depicted me and illustrated my interests over the decades and placing me at the heart of my own Catland. (This includes frequent allusions to me as the jolly and of course benign ruler of the land, Queen of Catland. A few examples can be found here, here and here and other pictures below.)
A February 2020 edition. This too could be Margate! Pams-Pictorama.com collection.
This year is very special however. The idea grew out of a recent post some of you may remember devoted to review the splendid new biography of Louis Wain, Catland, which can be read here. Kim has brought to life my suggestion that there was a moment when Louis Wain and T.S. Eliot were living on different sides of the same beachside community, Margate, where I have noted, many people had photo postcards made posing with a splendid giant Felix the cat doll. (Some of those posts can be found here and here.)
Pams-Pictorama.com collection.
Kim has brought all these elements together. Rather than running into each other and meeting TS and Louis are both so wrapped up in their own views of the world they never see each other – although Felix loitering outside the photo studio arguably sees them both. They are both witnessing a (real) catburgler in action – for Eliot it inspires the poem Macvity the Mystery Cat (who appears to be reading about his exploits at the bottom) while Wain wanders off into a world of anthropomorphic kits which, around the perimeter of the picture range from jaunty to disintegrating, and forming Cubist cat delights.
A Margate Felix. Pams-Pictorama.com collection.
Louis is painting the very scene, or a variation on it, while some of his humanoid cats enjoy exploits swimming and strolling just out of the frame. Big white kitties standing on their hindlegs point at the scene with even more imaginative cats portraits above them. T.S. Eliot recovering from a nervous breakdown, meeting Louis Wain drifting off into his own world of ever morphing felines.
In some ways, this is the perfect melding of worlds, Wain’s, Eliot’s, mine and Kim’s. Bravo yet again my beloved Mr. Deitch!
T.S. Eliot 1888 - 1965
Macavity: The Mystery Cat (1939) Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw — For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law. He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair: For when they reach the scene of crime — Macavity’s not there!
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity. His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare, And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity’s not there! You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air - But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!
Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin; You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in. His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed; His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed. He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake; And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity. You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square - But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!
He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.) And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s. And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled, Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled, Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair - Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!
And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray, Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way, There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair - But it’s useless to investigate - Macavity’s not there! And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say: ‘It must have been Macavity!’ - but he’s a mile away. You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs, Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity. He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare: At whatever time the deed took place - MACAVITY WASN’T THERE! And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone) Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
Pam's Pictorama 