Kathleen Marple Kalb's Blog, page 18
April 6, 2022
THE HEIR AND THE SPARE
Women weren’t quite livestock in the 19th century, but they weren’t that far from it, either. And human and animal husbandry get disturbingly close when we start talking about aristocrats and inheritance.
Anyone who’s watched THE TUDORS knows about Henry VIII’s need for a male heir. (And anyone who knows what happened when his daughter Elizabeth took over knows just how wrong he was!) Things hadn’t changed much by the Regency, which is why the romance landscape is littered with penniless younger sons desperately hoping for an attractive heiress.
It all comes from a very simple idea: if the oldest son gets almost everything, the family wealth and power will remain consolidated. For titled families, there was usually some kind of entail, a legal setup that kept all the major property with the holder of the title. There might (or might not) be additional family cash to provide daughters with dowries, or younger sons with a start in the church or military.
Which meant that the wife of a titled British aristocrat had exactly one job: produce an heir. Usually an “heir male,” as the entail would put it. A few peerages – usually ones with Royal or Scottish history – allowed the title to pass to a woman, but that was very rare.
Nothing but a boy would do.
You know how well that turned out for Henry VIII, and you may be aware that it didn’t work remarkably better for Princess Diana’s parents. They tragically lost a baby boy, but kept trying through more daughters – including Diana – until they had an heir. And not much of a marriage left.
Most aristocrats, though, had better luck. In the Gilded Age, the “Dollar Princesses” used the whole system to get some freedom for themselves. After they’d done their duty of producing, as Consuelo Vanderbilt, Duchess of Marlborough, famously put it, an “heir and a spare,” they were free to enjoy the partner-swapping fun of Edwardian house parties.
And they did.
All of this is in the room as Gilbert Saint Aubyn, Duke of Leith, contemplates a match with opera singer Ella Shane. Bad enough that she’s a “theatre person,” as he once insultingly called her before he knew better. Worse that she’s Jewish – and worse still, Irish. (Yes, in that order – another post for another day!)
Ella, though, is also a woman of unassailable virtue and fine character, and a revered artist, not a showgirl.
None of that would cut any ice if her Irish and Jewish blood were going to mix in the main line of Saint Aubyns. But Gil was married before, to a woman of his own class, with whom he had two sons, the requisite heir and spare.
The fact that he’s done his duty to the entail makes it barely possible for him to contemplate a marriage to Ella. Just barely.
By 1900, when Ella and Gil are attempting to find a way forward together, any number of “Gaiety Girls,” nicely-brought-up chorus girls from London’s Gaiety Theatre, had married aristocratic and even titled men. A performer, even one of a less exalted background, was not automatically unsuitable.
Though some people will still wonder why he bothers to marry her. At least until they meet Ella.
The only question now is, will she have him?
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
Anyone who’s watched THE TUDORS knows about Henry VIII’s need for a male heir. (And anyone who knows what happened when his daughter Elizabeth took over knows just how wrong he was!) Things hadn’t changed much by the Regency, which is why the romance landscape is littered with penniless younger sons desperately hoping for an attractive heiress.
It all comes from a very simple idea: if the oldest son gets almost everything, the family wealth and power will remain consolidated. For titled families, there was usually some kind of entail, a legal setup that kept all the major property with the holder of the title. There might (or might not) be additional family cash to provide daughters with dowries, or younger sons with a start in the church or military.
Which meant that the wife of a titled British aristocrat had exactly one job: produce an heir. Usually an “heir male,” as the entail would put it. A few peerages – usually ones with Royal or Scottish history – allowed the title to pass to a woman, but that was very rare.
Nothing but a boy would do.
You know how well that turned out for Henry VIII, and you may be aware that it didn’t work remarkably better for Princess Diana’s parents. They tragically lost a baby boy, but kept trying through more daughters – including Diana – until they had an heir. And not much of a marriage left.
Most aristocrats, though, had better luck. In the Gilded Age, the “Dollar Princesses” used the whole system to get some freedom for themselves. After they’d done their duty of producing, as Consuelo Vanderbilt, Duchess of Marlborough, famously put it, an “heir and a spare,” they were free to enjoy the partner-swapping fun of Edwardian house parties.
And they did.
All of this is in the room as Gilbert Saint Aubyn, Duke of Leith, contemplates a match with opera singer Ella Shane. Bad enough that she’s a “theatre person,” as he once insultingly called her before he knew better. Worse that she’s Jewish – and worse still, Irish. (Yes, in that order – another post for another day!)
Ella, though, is also a woman of unassailable virtue and fine character, and a revered artist, not a showgirl.
None of that would cut any ice if her Irish and Jewish blood were going to mix in the main line of Saint Aubyns. But Gil was married before, to a woman of his own class, with whom he had two sons, the requisite heir and spare.
The fact that he’s done his duty to the entail makes it barely possible for him to contemplate a marriage to Ella. Just barely.
By 1900, when Ella and Gil are attempting to find a way forward together, any number of “Gaiety Girls,” nicely-brought-up chorus girls from London’s Gaiety Theatre, had married aristocratic and even titled men. A performer, even one of a less exalted background, was not automatically unsuitable.
Though some people will still wonder why he bothers to marry her. At least until they meet Ella.
The only question now is, will she have him?
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
March 31, 2022
WHO'S GOT A PROBLEM WITH JOAN OF ARC?
Joan of Arc was immortal while she was still alive.
An innocent young girl, called to battle by angels, leading hardened men into victorious combat against an occupying force, she was unique in history. Even now, nearly six hundred years later, people are still trying to make sense of her.
She’s not easy.
Well, for us, she’s not.
Modern observers are at least skeptical of her claims of conversations with angels, for starters. But okay, she believed it, and she convinced everyone around her to believe. So was she sent by the Divine (however you understand it) or was she a master scammer? Does it even matter?
We spend a lot of time pondering the mysteries of faith, motivation, and persuasion. In our secular time, it’s hard to accept her story at face value, never mind wrapping our heads around the idea that a whole lot of smart, powerful people did just that.
You can tell yourself that the French cynically bought her story to give them a mechanism to push out the English. You can argue that the English burned her to scare the fire out of the next rebel – not because they feared her power.
Reasonable arguments that don’t quite get you there.
So Joan is tough.
Not just for modern observers. Victorians had a different problem with her: she was the exact opposite of appropriate female behavior. Taking her orders from the angels – to whom she personally spoke! – leading men into combat while wearing armor, and refusing to back down, even at the cost of her life.
Absolutely wrong by the standards of the time, and absolutely admirable, if not something you want to see in your wife or daughter.
Not to mention, just one heck of a story.
No painter, poet, playwright or composer in his (and it was usually his) right mind could resist the tale, with the angels, the triumphant victory – and of course, the big finish of heroic and utterly horrific martyrdom. Spectacle on spectacle.
Plus, of course, the fun of seeing a beautiful woman in men’s clothes, and later in that white martyr’s shift. And yes, whatever the real Joan looked like, she was always beautiful in the paintings and cabinet photos.
That, the Victorians could handle. I have a wonderful old print of Joan in armor getting ready for battle. She’s lovely, and she looks like every sweet maiden dreaming of her prince. Of course she does.
Martyr Joan also worked really well for the 19th century mind: the “good victim” at her best. Usually, she showed up in a white dress, and often with historically inaccurate hair flowing around the chains holding her to the stake.
No wonder Ella Shane has a problem with Joan. In A FATAL OVERTURE, she’s singing Joan’s martyrdom aria for a benefit, and absolutely hates the idea.
Victorious Joan pushing the English out of France is someone Ella can identify with, considering that she’s spent much of her life fighting one battle or another. The holy victim on a stake, not so much.
So Ella comes up with a take that makes sense even now: Joan chooses martyrdom. She knows the English won’t let her live, so she goes out in a last great act of defiance.
It fits the facts, it’s very Ella, and it’s not her fault that things go very, very wrong…
No spoilers here!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
An innocent young girl, called to battle by angels, leading hardened men into victorious combat against an occupying force, she was unique in history. Even now, nearly six hundred years later, people are still trying to make sense of her.
She’s not easy.
Well, for us, she’s not.
Modern observers are at least skeptical of her claims of conversations with angels, for starters. But okay, she believed it, and she convinced everyone around her to believe. So was she sent by the Divine (however you understand it) or was she a master scammer? Does it even matter?
We spend a lot of time pondering the mysteries of faith, motivation, and persuasion. In our secular time, it’s hard to accept her story at face value, never mind wrapping our heads around the idea that a whole lot of smart, powerful people did just that.
You can tell yourself that the French cynically bought her story to give them a mechanism to push out the English. You can argue that the English burned her to scare the fire out of the next rebel – not because they feared her power.
Reasonable arguments that don’t quite get you there.
So Joan is tough.
Not just for modern observers. Victorians had a different problem with her: she was the exact opposite of appropriate female behavior. Taking her orders from the angels – to whom she personally spoke! – leading men into combat while wearing armor, and refusing to back down, even at the cost of her life.
Absolutely wrong by the standards of the time, and absolutely admirable, if not something you want to see in your wife or daughter.
Not to mention, just one heck of a story.
No painter, poet, playwright or composer in his (and it was usually his) right mind could resist the tale, with the angels, the triumphant victory – and of course, the big finish of heroic and utterly horrific martyrdom. Spectacle on spectacle.
Plus, of course, the fun of seeing a beautiful woman in men’s clothes, and later in that white martyr’s shift. And yes, whatever the real Joan looked like, she was always beautiful in the paintings and cabinet photos.
That, the Victorians could handle. I have a wonderful old print of Joan in armor getting ready for battle. She’s lovely, and she looks like every sweet maiden dreaming of her prince. Of course she does.
Martyr Joan also worked really well for the 19th century mind: the “good victim” at her best. Usually, she showed up in a white dress, and often with historically inaccurate hair flowing around the chains holding her to the stake.
No wonder Ella Shane has a problem with Joan. In A FATAL OVERTURE, she’s singing Joan’s martyrdom aria for a benefit, and absolutely hates the idea.
Victorious Joan pushing the English out of France is someone Ella can identify with, considering that she’s spent much of her life fighting one battle or another. The holy victim on a stake, not so much.
So Ella comes up with a take that makes sense even now: Joan chooses martyrdom. She knows the English won’t let her live, so she goes out in a last great act of defiance.
It fits the facts, it’s very Ella, and it’s not her fault that things go very, very wrong…
No spoilers here!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
March 24, 2022
NO ANGEL IN THE HOUSE
Women who wanted to vote were scary enough for the Victorians, but what about women who kill?
Some people – not all of them clueless males – were unwilling to even admit that such women existed. The very idea that the “Angel in the House” might turn on her charges was more than a significant number of 19th century people could handle.
Even when they could wrap their brains around it, they usually had a very specific idea of the woman killer: a “bad” woman who used poison to achieve some conventionally female goal, like an advantageous marriage, or to benefit her children.
Lady poisoners were definitely a thing. Since women were in charge of feeding, tending, and nursing, the idea that there might be a generous dose of arsenic in that comforting cup of tea was especially unsettling – and especially thrilling to newspaper readers when it actually happened.
People snapped up the extras and pored over every detail, with husbands assuring themselves that it couldn’t possibly happen in their house, and wives remaining diplomatically silent.
A woman poisoning her husband, or someone else who got in her way – maybe even a bunch of someones (there were a few lurid cases of boardinghouse owners disposing of tenants) was still just barely within the Victorian understanding of females. Poison, after all, had been considered a woman’s weapon for centuries.
An ax, not so much.
You knew we were going to get to Lizzie Borden.
A great deal of ink was, is, and will be spilled over whether Miss Borden did indeed chop her father and stepmother to death on that hot August day in 1892. Some modern observers (including me!) are pretty sure she was acquitted because the jurors just couldn’t imagine a nice lady picking up that ax.
Even historians who aren’t willing to go that far will admit that Lizzie got a great big benefit of the doubt from the Victorian ideal of womanhood. Make that reasonable doubt.
And of course, we’re still arguing about whether she did it.
But not, in 2022, about whether she was capable of it.
THAT was the question that led to the acquittal.
It’s also a question that Ella Shane and her friends spend a lot of time talking about. In A FATAL FIRST NIGHT, most of the cast sits around the tea table discussing whether a woman on trial for murder did indeed stab her husband 40 times. Their conclusion – entirely in keeping with the time: she could have killed him, but the stabbing seems out of character.
The issue comes up again in A FATAL OVERTURE. This time, a predatory man is found stabbed to death in a bathtub at his parents’ hotel. Ella and her friends have no trouble believing that his demise has something to do with his poaching on young maids at the hotel.
But even Father Michael, though he knows Ella is capable of defending herself against all comers, thinks the culprit is the brother or father of one of the maids. Almost all of our observers make assumptions based on their ideas of what women are, and what they can do…and a big twist proves them very wrong. (That’s the only hint you get!)
Just one more reminder that it’s a very bad idea to underestimate a woman.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
Some people – not all of them clueless males – were unwilling to even admit that such women existed. The very idea that the “Angel in the House” might turn on her charges was more than a significant number of 19th century people could handle.
Even when they could wrap their brains around it, they usually had a very specific idea of the woman killer: a “bad” woman who used poison to achieve some conventionally female goal, like an advantageous marriage, or to benefit her children.
Lady poisoners were definitely a thing. Since women were in charge of feeding, tending, and nursing, the idea that there might be a generous dose of arsenic in that comforting cup of tea was especially unsettling – and especially thrilling to newspaper readers when it actually happened.
People snapped up the extras and pored over every detail, with husbands assuring themselves that it couldn’t possibly happen in their house, and wives remaining diplomatically silent.
A woman poisoning her husband, or someone else who got in her way – maybe even a bunch of someones (there were a few lurid cases of boardinghouse owners disposing of tenants) was still just barely within the Victorian understanding of females. Poison, after all, had been considered a woman’s weapon for centuries.
An ax, not so much.
You knew we were going to get to Lizzie Borden.
A great deal of ink was, is, and will be spilled over whether Miss Borden did indeed chop her father and stepmother to death on that hot August day in 1892. Some modern observers (including me!) are pretty sure she was acquitted because the jurors just couldn’t imagine a nice lady picking up that ax.
Even historians who aren’t willing to go that far will admit that Lizzie got a great big benefit of the doubt from the Victorian ideal of womanhood. Make that reasonable doubt.
And of course, we’re still arguing about whether she did it.
But not, in 2022, about whether she was capable of it.
THAT was the question that led to the acquittal.
It’s also a question that Ella Shane and her friends spend a lot of time talking about. In A FATAL FIRST NIGHT, most of the cast sits around the tea table discussing whether a woman on trial for murder did indeed stab her husband 40 times. Their conclusion – entirely in keeping with the time: she could have killed him, but the stabbing seems out of character.
The issue comes up again in A FATAL OVERTURE. This time, a predatory man is found stabbed to death in a bathtub at his parents’ hotel. Ella and her friends have no trouble believing that his demise has something to do with his poaching on young maids at the hotel.
But even Father Michael, though he knows Ella is capable of defending herself against all comers, thinks the culprit is the brother or father of one of the maids. Almost all of our observers make assumptions based on their ideas of what women are, and what they can do…and a big twist proves them very wrong. (That’s the only hint you get!)
Just one more reminder that it’s a very bad idea to underestimate a woman.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
March 17, 2022
ERIN GO BRAGH IS NOT GAELIC FOR GREEN BEER
Kiss me, I’m Irish today! Green donuts. Green beer. Green bagels. (Oy vey!)
Maybe a chorus of “Danny Boy.”
For a lot of Americans, that’s a typical Saint Patrick’s Day.
Whether you’re Irish – for the day – or not, it’s mostly a celebration of how we think of the Irish: a poetic and musical people who like the color green and know how to party.
Which…yeah.
But Americans have been observing Saint Patrick’s Day since before they were Americans. There are rumblings in Irish-American historical circles about a Royal Governor of New York in the 1600s who was Irish and Catholic and must have done something to mark the day.
If he did, he was smart enough to keep it quiet. Even before the Great Hunger, the Irish were second-class citizens at best, and Irish ancestry – and especially Catholic faith – were not things to celebrate.
Still, the Irish are not known for keeping their lights under a bushel, and in the early 1700s, there were modest and dignified celebrations in Boston that spread to other cities. By the 1800s, there were plenty of parades, usually fairly quiet and restrained events, again with the emphasis on pride and dignity, in no small part because of growing nativist prejudice.
It’s hard to imagine in our current multicultural world, but at one point, the Anglo-Saxon Protestant aristocracy in Britain and the U.S. didn’t even consider the Irish human, never mind white people like them. You don’t let people starve in the road if you think they’re anything like you.
But the Irish are a resilient bunch. They’ve had to be.
By the late 19th century, they’d beaten back a lot of the prejudice just by showing up and working hard, and celebrations of Irish heritage continued and grew. Not without incident – a melee after dueling New York parades in 1867 led to a renewed emphasis on decorum. It apparently worked – the City’s famous parade moved to almost its current spot on Fifth Avenue in 1891, and became a key place for the Irish political machine to show its power…and for New York’s Irish community to show its pride.
Ella Shane and her cousin Tommy Hurley would be two of those proud Irish folks; Ella honors both her Irish father and Jewish mother whenever she can. As tenement kids made good as a singer and boxing champ, our heroes would be careful to celebrate in a restrained and proper fashion. But celebrate they would!
If they’re in town and not on tour, Ella and Tommy would start the day like all good Irish Catholics, with Mass, though Tommy’s best friend Father Michael Riley leads a more festive service than usual at Holy Innocents. Then off to Fifth Avenue to watch the parade…and home for dinner. Not corned beef and cabbage, though – for them, it’s still poverty food.
Not for me, though!
My grandfather was proudly Scotch-Irish (we were never entirely sure he didn’t add the “Scotch” part to please Grandma’s Scottish immigrant father!) but he sure liked to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day like a regular Irishman. Which meant a big pot of corned beef and cabbage. My very Scots grandmother made it for him each year, grumbling all the way.
Dessert? Grandpa’s favorite lemon meringue pie. Maybe key lime meringue if Grandma was moved go with the green theme. Irish coffee for the grownups, too.
You’ll note there was no green beer.
And speaking of things that should not be green, I can assure you that the hamantaschen will be their natural color when the Professor, the Imp and I mark both St. Pat’s and Purim today!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
Maybe a chorus of “Danny Boy.”
For a lot of Americans, that’s a typical Saint Patrick’s Day.
Whether you’re Irish – for the day – or not, it’s mostly a celebration of how we think of the Irish: a poetic and musical people who like the color green and know how to party.
Which…yeah.
But Americans have been observing Saint Patrick’s Day since before they were Americans. There are rumblings in Irish-American historical circles about a Royal Governor of New York in the 1600s who was Irish and Catholic and must have done something to mark the day.
If he did, he was smart enough to keep it quiet. Even before the Great Hunger, the Irish were second-class citizens at best, and Irish ancestry – and especially Catholic faith – were not things to celebrate.
Still, the Irish are not known for keeping their lights under a bushel, and in the early 1700s, there were modest and dignified celebrations in Boston that spread to other cities. By the 1800s, there were plenty of parades, usually fairly quiet and restrained events, again with the emphasis on pride and dignity, in no small part because of growing nativist prejudice.
It’s hard to imagine in our current multicultural world, but at one point, the Anglo-Saxon Protestant aristocracy in Britain and the U.S. didn’t even consider the Irish human, never mind white people like them. You don’t let people starve in the road if you think they’re anything like you.
But the Irish are a resilient bunch. They’ve had to be.
By the late 19th century, they’d beaten back a lot of the prejudice just by showing up and working hard, and celebrations of Irish heritage continued and grew. Not without incident – a melee after dueling New York parades in 1867 led to a renewed emphasis on decorum. It apparently worked – the City’s famous parade moved to almost its current spot on Fifth Avenue in 1891, and became a key place for the Irish political machine to show its power…and for New York’s Irish community to show its pride.
Ella Shane and her cousin Tommy Hurley would be two of those proud Irish folks; Ella honors both her Irish father and Jewish mother whenever she can. As tenement kids made good as a singer and boxing champ, our heroes would be careful to celebrate in a restrained and proper fashion. But celebrate they would!
If they’re in town and not on tour, Ella and Tommy would start the day like all good Irish Catholics, with Mass, though Tommy’s best friend Father Michael Riley leads a more festive service than usual at Holy Innocents. Then off to Fifth Avenue to watch the parade…and home for dinner. Not corned beef and cabbage, though – for them, it’s still poverty food.
Not for me, though!
My grandfather was proudly Scotch-Irish (we were never entirely sure he didn’t add the “Scotch” part to please Grandma’s Scottish immigrant father!) but he sure liked to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day like a regular Irishman. Which meant a big pot of corned beef and cabbage. My very Scots grandmother made it for him each year, grumbling all the way.
Dessert? Grandpa’s favorite lemon meringue pie. Maybe key lime meringue if Grandma was moved go with the green theme. Irish coffee for the grownups, too.
You’ll note there was no green beer.
And speaking of things that should not be green, I can assure you that the hamantaschen will be their natural color when the Professor, the Imp and I mark both St. Pat’s and Purim today!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
March 9, 2022
CALL ON ME
When a society lady shows up at Ella Shane's Washington Square townhouse one afternoon in A FATAL OVERTURE, Ella says: "She probably thinks I'm at home."
"You ARE at home," says her cousin Tommy.
"Not that kind of at home," Ella replies, reminding Tommy of one more custom they didn't learn as poor children on the Lower East Side.
In the tonier parts of town, society ladies were "at home" at particular times to entertain visitors, and a complex code of etiquette governed the process of calling.
A formal call usually took place in the late morning or early afternoon, and was likely the first event on a lady's schedule. (Remember, she'd probably been up into the wee hours for dinner, dancing, and opera and she needed her beauty sleep!)
Usually, the most socially prominent woman was the hostess, and women hoping to break into her circle would call on her, or try to do so. That's not a whiff of snobbery -- it's a giant toxic cloud!
More, unless you were arriving with an introduction, a connection, or something that trumped everything, like a title, the lady in question might not be "at home" to you on the given day. The social dance often began with a hopeful new arrival leaving her cards at the important matron's home with no hope of a meeting...and eventually being graced with a return card letting her know when the matron is "at home."
By Ella's time, those cards could be extravagant, with pictures and illustrations, gold print and more, and the expensive embellishment was the point. Though, of course, one would want to see what was "done" at the moment, because every step in the process allowed for a potentially fatal mistake.
At least, late 19th century social climbers didn't have to fold their cards. From the 18th century to the mid-Victorian era, there were rules for turning down corners of the card to convey anything from condolence to congratulations. But they changed over time, and finally fell out of favor, maybe because people didn't want to crumple those fancy cards.
What didn't change was the protocol for the visit.
If you were calling or visiting, you -- and possibly a marrigeable daughter -- would appear at the lady's home at the appointed hour in your best afternoon clothes. Nothing too over the top, though. By the late 19th century, everyone knew what nouveau riche looked like, and it was as grave a social sin as showing up in calico.
Assuming you were granted the great privilege of a visit, a footman, probably in livery, would conduct you to the drawing room. There, you would make appropriately polite and deferential conversation for your allotted twenty minutes. As a sign of favor, not to mention an additional social minefield, you might be offered tea. You would of course accept and consume it in the most graceful fashion possible. Or else.
Of course, it was all a performance to make sure you would mix suitably in that social circle, and if you passed muster, further invitations would be forthcoming. If not, you might as well move to a different city. And that's how the game was played.
No wonder Ella takes particular pleasure in serving tea and comeuppance to her society visitor in A FATAL OVERTURE!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
"You ARE at home," says her cousin Tommy.
"Not that kind of at home," Ella replies, reminding Tommy of one more custom they didn't learn as poor children on the Lower East Side.
In the tonier parts of town, society ladies were "at home" at particular times to entertain visitors, and a complex code of etiquette governed the process of calling.
A formal call usually took place in the late morning or early afternoon, and was likely the first event on a lady's schedule. (Remember, she'd probably been up into the wee hours for dinner, dancing, and opera and she needed her beauty sleep!)
Usually, the most socially prominent woman was the hostess, and women hoping to break into her circle would call on her, or try to do so. That's not a whiff of snobbery -- it's a giant toxic cloud!
More, unless you were arriving with an introduction, a connection, or something that trumped everything, like a title, the lady in question might not be "at home" to you on the given day. The social dance often began with a hopeful new arrival leaving her cards at the important matron's home with no hope of a meeting...and eventually being graced with a return card letting her know when the matron is "at home."
By Ella's time, those cards could be extravagant, with pictures and illustrations, gold print and more, and the expensive embellishment was the point. Though, of course, one would want to see what was "done" at the moment, because every step in the process allowed for a potentially fatal mistake.
At least, late 19th century social climbers didn't have to fold their cards. From the 18th century to the mid-Victorian era, there were rules for turning down corners of the card to convey anything from condolence to congratulations. But they changed over time, and finally fell out of favor, maybe because people didn't want to crumple those fancy cards.
What didn't change was the protocol for the visit.
If you were calling or visiting, you -- and possibly a marrigeable daughter -- would appear at the lady's home at the appointed hour in your best afternoon clothes. Nothing too over the top, though. By the late 19th century, everyone knew what nouveau riche looked like, and it was as grave a social sin as showing up in calico.
Assuming you were granted the great privilege of a visit, a footman, probably in livery, would conduct you to the drawing room. There, you would make appropriately polite and deferential conversation for your allotted twenty minutes. As a sign of favor, not to mention an additional social minefield, you might be offered tea. You would of course accept and consume it in the most graceful fashion possible. Or else.
Of course, it was all a performance to make sure you would mix suitably in that social circle, and if you passed muster, further invitations would be forthcoming. If not, you might as well move to a different city. And that's how the game was played.
No wonder Ella takes particular pleasure in serving tea and comeuppance to her society visitor in A FATAL OVERTURE!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
March 2, 2022
NOT THOSE KNICKERBOCKERS!
When you think of early Colonial settlers, you probably think of the Puritans straggling off the Mayflower onto Plymouth Rock. Maybe Virginia tobacco planters. Definitely not the Knickerbockers, the early Dutch aristocracy.
But the Dutch were already here and setting up shop in New Amsterdam, better known as New York. The Dutch started out in the very lucrative fur trade, and eventually had a vibrant shipping business going out of the port, which continues to this day.
The English took over – and renamed – the place before the turn of the 18th century, and the Colonial story turned to the Founding Fathers we all learned about in school. The English got credit for John Adams and George Washington…the Knickerbockers got Washington Irving.
Not that there’s anything wrong with him, though most of us probably wouldn’t want our entire culture remembered for the Headless Horseman and Rip Van Winkle. The Knickerbockers, though, were always in the background in New York.
They were the aristocracy before the Four Hundred, living quietly comfortable lives in downtown townhouses, some of which survive to this day. And they weren’t very impressed by the newly rich folk after the Civil War, which is why Mrs. Astor and company had to make their own society – and did it so well that the Knickerbockers were forgotten.
Not that they disappeared.
The old Dutch families were woven into the fabric of the City and nation. Alexander Hamilton’s wife Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton was a granddaughter of one of the oldest families: the Van Rensselaers.
You may have heard of one of the other Knickerbocker clans: the Roosevelts. At least one historian considers Teddy Roosevelt’s old-school aristocratic upbringing a key part of the politician he became.
The Dutch influence is also all over New York, if you know where to look. Many iconic place names come from the early settlers – including Brooklyn, Staten Island and even Broadway. Not to mention, as one expert points out, that every place name ending in “kill” is Dutch.
By the late 19th century, Knickerbocker was less a designation for an Olde Dutch aristocrat, and more popular slang for a Manhattanite. That’s why we’re Knicks fans…aren’t we?
A real Knickerbocker, though, turned out to be the perfect addition to Ella Shane’s world. Cabot Bridgewater – the family name was originally de Brede Wege, also anglicized to “Broadway” – is from a clan so old and wealthy they don’t bother much with pretensions. He’s an opera and baseball fancier, and committed to using his resources for good. All of which makes him a great friend for Ella and her cousin Tommy.
Unfortunately, his wealth and prominence also makes him a target, and he’s not going to have an easy ride in A FATAL OVERTURE!
A later Knickerbocker appears in my contemporary mystery, LIVE, LOCAL, AND DEAD. The Vermont governor was originally Will Auchincloss, from an old Scots family, but while I was researching Cabot, I came across the name Ten Broeck…and the Knickerbocker, as the main character calls him, was born.
And then there’s “Knickerbocker Glory.” It’s probably too sweet for Cabot or Will – but I want to try the British dessert, which apparently is sort of a fancy fruit sundae. Sign me up!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
But the Dutch were already here and setting up shop in New Amsterdam, better known as New York. The Dutch started out in the very lucrative fur trade, and eventually had a vibrant shipping business going out of the port, which continues to this day.
The English took over – and renamed – the place before the turn of the 18th century, and the Colonial story turned to the Founding Fathers we all learned about in school. The English got credit for John Adams and George Washington…the Knickerbockers got Washington Irving.
Not that there’s anything wrong with him, though most of us probably wouldn’t want our entire culture remembered for the Headless Horseman and Rip Van Winkle. The Knickerbockers, though, were always in the background in New York.
They were the aristocracy before the Four Hundred, living quietly comfortable lives in downtown townhouses, some of which survive to this day. And they weren’t very impressed by the newly rich folk after the Civil War, which is why Mrs. Astor and company had to make their own society – and did it so well that the Knickerbockers were forgotten.
Not that they disappeared.
The old Dutch families were woven into the fabric of the City and nation. Alexander Hamilton’s wife Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton was a granddaughter of one of the oldest families: the Van Rensselaers.
You may have heard of one of the other Knickerbocker clans: the Roosevelts. At least one historian considers Teddy Roosevelt’s old-school aristocratic upbringing a key part of the politician he became.
The Dutch influence is also all over New York, if you know where to look. Many iconic place names come from the early settlers – including Brooklyn, Staten Island and even Broadway. Not to mention, as one expert points out, that every place name ending in “kill” is Dutch.
By the late 19th century, Knickerbocker was less a designation for an Olde Dutch aristocrat, and more popular slang for a Manhattanite. That’s why we’re Knicks fans…aren’t we?
A real Knickerbocker, though, turned out to be the perfect addition to Ella Shane’s world. Cabot Bridgewater – the family name was originally de Brede Wege, also anglicized to “Broadway” – is from a clan so old and wealthy they don’t bother much with pretensions. He’s an opera and baseball fancier, and committed to using his resources for good. All of which makes him a great friend for Ella and her cousin Tommy.
Unfortunately, his wealth and prominence also makes him a target, and he’s not going to have an easy ride in A FATAL OVERTURE!
A later Knickerbocker appears in my contemporary mystery, LIVE, LOCAL, AND DEAD. The Vermont governor was originally Will Auchincloss, from an old Scots family, but while I was researching Cabot, I came across the name Ten Broeck…and the Knickerbocker, as the main character calls him, was born.
And then there’s “Knickerbocker Glory.” It’s probably too sweet for Cabot or Will – but I want to try the British dessert, which apparently is sort of a fancy fruit sundae. Sign me up!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
February 24, 2022
SHARP MEN IN SHARP COATS
It’s no secret that I appreciate the sight of a fine man in a nice overcoat.
These days, though, that overcoat is probably a trenchcoat, beloved of foreign correspondents and spies. (Like every little girl who grew up watching Peter Jennings, I love me some tan trench!)
In Ella Shane’s day, though, the fine overcoat was probably an Ulster.
The Ulster first appeared in the 1850s, as a heavy wool coachman’s coat, with loose wide sleeves, and a short cape.
If you’re thinking it sounds like something Sherlock Holmes would wear, you’re right!
It’s the style associated with him, but it took a while to work its way there.
By the 1890s, people higher on the social scale had realized what the coachmen knew: a warm coat with sleeves that enable you to move, topped by a cape that provides some extra protection, is a very good thing if you’re going to be out in cold weather.
No surprise, then, that hunters picked it up, and soon enough, so did men who spent their time in a different kind of wilderness. It was definitely on the streets of major cities at the turn of the century, and became a stylish male fashion option.
An Ulster was a natural choice for Holmes, who spent his time stalking criminals rather than deer, and might be out in all times and weathers. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle knew this, and actually dressed the famous detective and his friend Dr. Watson in them.
Then, the illustrator for the original Strand magazine made Holmes’ Ulster iconic. More than 120 years later, that is still many people’s Holmes.
These days, it’s hard to see an Ulster and NOT think of Holmes.
In the late 19th century, though, it was still just a big heavy coat.
There were, and are, two different styles known as Ulsters. Fashion historians say the kind with a cape is the less formal one, which makes sense, since it’s designed for tromping over the moors.
They do, though, accept the existence of a more formal Ulster coat with lapels and no cape. Which to me sounds like nothing more than a sharp winter topper.
So the real question is, what makes an Ulster an Ulster – and why do we call it that?
Turns out the fabric is the key. Ulsters began as a heavy tweed coat, in – you guessed it – the Ulster province of Ireland. In the beginning, any coat made of that tweed was an Ulster.
Then, the name became associated with a particular style of very sturdy and warm coat, the one the coachmen, hunters – and ultimately Holmes – adopted. And let’s face it, Ulster sounds a lot cooler than “big overcoat.”
Soon enough, though, the cape variety was pretty much left to fictional detectives and Mary Poppins (yes, that’s a version of an Ulster on Julie Andrews in the original movie!) because the world, and clothing, had completely changed.
Enter the trenchcoat, which started as a World War I military issue and spread throughout the world. That’s a different story – and look – for a different day! In the meantime, I’ll just appreciate the Professor in his tan trench, and be glad that he doesn’t feel like sporting an Ulster!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
These days, though, that overcoat is probably a trenchcoat, beloved of foreign correspondents and spies. (Like every little girl who grew up watching Peter Jennings, I love me some tan trench!)
In Ella Shane’s day, though, the fine overcoat was probably an Ulster.
The Ulster first appeared in the 1850s, as a heavy wool coachman’s coat, with loose wide sleeves, and a short cape.
If you’re thinking it sounds like something Sherlock Holmes would wear, you’re right!
It’s the style associated with him, but it took a while to work its way there.
By the 1890s, people higher on the social scale had realized what the coachmen knew: a warm coat with sleeves that enable you to move, topped by a cape that provides some extra protection, is a very good thing if you’re going to be out in cold weather.
No surprise, then, that hunters picked it up, and soon enough, so did men who spent their time in a different kind of wilderness. It was definitely on the streets of major cities at the turn of the century, and became a stylish male fashion option.
An Ulster was a natural choice for Holmes, who spent his time stalking criminals rather than deer, and might be out in all times and weathers. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle knew this, and actually dressed the famous detective and his friend Dr. Watson in them.
Then, the illustrator for the original Strand magazine made Holmes’ Ulster iconic. More than 120 years later, that is still many people’s Holmes.
These days, it’s hard to see an Ulster and NOT think of Holmes.
In the late 19th century, though, it was still just a big heavy coat.
There were, and are, two different styles known as Ulsters. Fashion historians say the kind with a cape is the less formal one, which makes sense, since it’s designed for tromping over the moors.
They do, though, accept the existence of a more formal Ulster coat with lapels and no cape. Which to me sounds like nothing more than a sharp winter topper.
So the real question is, what makes an Ulster an Ulster – and why do we call it that?
Turns out the fabric is the key. Ulsters began as a heavy tweed coat, in – you guessed it – the Ulster province of Ireland. In the beginning, any coat made of that tweed was an Ulster.
Then, the name became associated with a particular style of very sturdy and warm coat, the one the coachmen, hunters – and ultimately Holmes – adopted. And let’s face it, Ulster sounds a lot cooler than “big overcoat.”
Soon enough, though, the cape variety was pretty much left to fictional detectives and Mary Poppins (yes, that’s a version of an Ulster on Julie Andrews in the original movie!) because the world, and clothing, had completely changed.
Enter the trenchcoat, which started as a World War I military issue and spread throughout the world. That’s a different story – and look – for a different day! In the meantime, I’ll just appreciate the Professor in his tan trench, and be glad that he doesn’t feel like sporting an Ulster!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
February 16, 2022
VALENTINES DAY, VICTORIAN STYLE
Whether it was Valentine's, Galentine's, or Palentine's Day, hopefully this week you got a reminder that you're loved -- and some good candy! In the 19th century, though, Valentine's Day was mostly a couple day.
Couples had been exchanging love tokens on February 14th for centuries, of course, in memory of the martyred and possibly mythical saint. The Victorians, though, had the romantic sensibility to raise it to an art form -- and the resources to do it.
While spouses certainly marked the day in an era when the love match was the ideal, courting couples really took the day as their own.
Propriety kept gifts in a very narrow range: books, flowers, cards, and perhaps candy. A lady could not accept anything of significant material value from a man -- and a gentleman would never insult her by offering such a thing.
Books were an excellent choice for the literary-minded. In the guise of an entirely respectable work from the Renaissance canon, a couple could get their hands on some very exciting stuff for shared reading sessions. Even better if one reads to the other, as Ella Shane's Duke does.
Then, as now, a fella could hardly go wrong with a bouquet. A 19th century swain, though, did a lot more than throw down a dozen red roses. The Language of Flowers was a big deal (and an earlier post, BTW!) so each stem carried a message. The Duke, for example, always gives Ella purple lilacs, which mean first feelings of love. Her old friend Connor Coughlan sends white roses for innocent intentions, though the gangster is anything but.
The most popular Valentine's token, though, was the card.
By the late 19th century, they were affordable, popular, and in many cases, just lovely.
The Victoria and Albert Museum has a wonderful collection of cards that are absolute extravaganzas of flowers, Cupids, and paper lace. One spectacular piece features "Love's Barometer" with an actual Barometer!
Cards were also where the tradition widened a bit. Just as we often exchange jokey cards with friends, folks sent nastily funny "Vinegar Valentines" to pals for a shared laugh.
The "Vinegar Valentine" tradition wasn't always in good fun, though. They could also go to former sweethearts -- or just someone people didn't like. The Victoria and Albert also has a card of a serpent body with a top-hatted man's head, captioned "Beware the Snake in the Grass."
All of these traditions get a nod in A FATAL OVERTURE. Ella and her Cousin Tommy exchange funny "Vinegar Valentines," and she fields floral messages from her stage-door admirers. And then the Duke arrives, for Ella's first real romantic Valentine's Day....
No spoilers here!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
Couples had been exchanging love tokens on February 14th for centuries, of course, in memory of the martyred and possibly mythical saint. The Victorians, though, had the romantic sensibility to raise it to an art form -- and the resources to do it.
While spouses certainly marked the day in an era when the love match was the ideal, courting couples really took the day as their own.
Propriety kept gifts in a very narrow range: books, flowers, cards, and perhaps candy. A lady could not accept anything of significant material value from a man -- and a gentleman would never insult her by offering such a thing.
Books were an excellent choice for the literary-minded. In the guise of an entirely respectable work from the Renaissance canon, a couple could get their hands on some very exciting stuff for shared reading sessions. Even better if one reads to the other, as Ella Shane's Duke does.
Then, as now, a fella could hardly go wrong with a bouquet. A 19th century swain, though, did a lot more than throw down a dozen red roses. The Language of Flowers was a big deal (and an earlier post, BTW!) so each stem carried a message. The Duke, for example, always gives Ella purple lilacs, which mean first feelings of love. Her old friend Connor Coughlan sends white roses for innocent intentions, though the gangster is anything but.
The most popular Valentine's token, though, was the card.
By the late 19th century, they were affordable, popular, and in many cases, just lovely.
The Victoria and Albert Museum has a wonderful collection of cards that are absolute extravaganzas of flowers, Cupids, and paper lace. One spectacular piece features "Love's Barometer" with an actual Barometer!
Cards were also where the tradition widened a bit. Just as we often exchange jokey cards with friends, folks sent nastily funny "Vinegar Valentines" to pals for a shared laugh.
The "Vinegar Valentine" tradition wasn't always in good fun, though. They could also go to former sweethearts -- or just someone people didn't like. The Victoria and Albert also has a card of a serpent body with a top-hatted man's head, captioned "Beware the Snake in the Grass."
All of these traditions get a nod in A FATAL OVERTURE. Ella and her Cousin Tommy exchange funny "Vinegar Valentines," and she fields floral messages from her stage-door admirers. And then the Duke arrives, for Ella's first real romantic Valentine's Day....
No spoilers here!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
February 10, 2022
THE PRINCES IN THE TOWER
Victorians loved their history. Even more when it featured some of their favorite things, like tragic children or unspeakably evil villains, and British Royalty. The Princes in the Tower have it all.
But, of course, the Victorians told the story their own way.
We always hear that history is told by the winners, and that’s true…but it’s also told in the way the winners see their world at the moment. In the 19th century, especially, history was an “improving” thing, providing heroes and villains and lessons for the striving masses. The story of the young Edward V and his brother Prince Richard, sent to the Tower of London by their uncle Richard III, never to be seen again, was a favorite.
A little background, for those who haven’t watched all those historical fiction miniseries on the streaming channels:
In the second half of the 15th century, two aristocratic clans fought to rule Britain in what are known as the “Wars of the Roses,” for the flower badges of each family, white for York and red for Lancaster. By the 1480s, the House of York had won (for the moment) and Edward IV was king. Then he died suddenly, and his 12-year-old son Edward V acceded, only to be deposed by his uncle Richard III. Eventually, the Lancastrian Henry Tudor, vanquished Richard III and married Edward V’s sister Elizabeth.
Their son may be a little more familiar: Henry VIII.
Serial monogamy (or beheading) isn’t part of this story, though. Most 19th century historians treated Richard III as a ruthless, evil man who had his nephews killed to clear his path to the crown, then tyrannized the country until heroic Henry came to save them.
It might even have happened that way.
But maybe not, too.
Some modern historians argue Richard’s reason for deposing young Edward – a question about whether Edward IV’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was legitimate – had some validity. There’s also the argument that in such a turbulent time, an adult king would be a better and safer ruler than a child under a regent. More, these folks will argue, Richard would not have had the boys killed because he was smart enough to know he would be blamed.
As indeed he was, and has been for the last several centuries.
From a 19th century standpoint, though, this one is easy. Tragic victim, vile villain, conquering hero. Some nice lessons about overreaching, and turning on your family…it’s all good.
Plus those two tragic kids. There’s a whole Victorian literature of brave little children facing sad ends. See Beth in Little Women, for starters. In a time before vaccines and antibiotics, any simple childhood illness could end in death, and everyone knew it. Tragic child figures provided a kind of acknowledgement and comfort to people at the time that we (thankfully) can’t imagine.
Add all of those factors together, and you get some very popular history. It’s no wonder that the historians and others trying to clear Richard III’s name have been fighting an uphill battle all of these years: the story is just too good.
More than good enough for an Ella Shane Opera Company production…especially since both Ella and her favorite singing partner, Marie de l’Artois get not one but two great roles: Ella as the older prince and conquering Henry Tudor, Marie as the younger boy and their vengeful mother Queen Elizabeth Woodville. Much drama ahead!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
But, of course, the Victorians told the story their own way.
We always hear that history is told by the winners, and that’s true…but it’s also told in the way the winners see their world at the moment. In the 19th century, especially, history was an “improving” thing, providing heroes and villains and lessons for the striving masses. The story of the young Edward V and his brother Prince Richard, sent to the Tower of London by their uncle Richard III, never to be seen again, was a favorite.
A little background, for those who haven’t watched all those historical fiction miniseries on the streaming channels:
In the second half of the 15th century, two aristocratic clans fought to rule Britain in what are known as the “Wars of the Roses,” for the flower badges of each family, white for York and red for Lancaster. By the 1480s, the House of York had won (for the moment) and Edward IV was king. Then he died suddenly, and his 12-year-old son Edward V acceded, only to be deposed by his uncle Richard III. Eventually, the Lancastrian Henry Tudor, vanquished Richard III and married Edward V’s sister Elizabeth.
Their son may be a little more familiar: Henry VIII.
Serial monogamy (or beheading) isn’t part of this story, though. Most 19th century historians treated Richard III as a ruthless, evil man who had his nephews killed to clear his path to the crown, then tyrannized the country until heroic Henry came to save them.
It might even have happened that way.
But maybe not, too.
Some modern historians argue Richard’s reason for deposing young Edward – a question about whether Edward IV’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was legitimate – had some validity. There’s also the argument that in such a turbulent time, an adult king would be a better and safer ruler than a child under a regent. More, these folks will argue, Richard would not have had the boys killed because he was smart enough to know he would be blamed.
As indeed he was, and has been for the last several centuries.
From a 19th century standpoint, though, this one is easy. Tragic victim, vile villain, conquering hero. Some nice lessons about overreaching, and turning on your family…it’s all good.
Plus those two tragic kids. There’s a whole Victorian literature of brave little children facing sad ends. See Beth in Little Women, for starters. In a time before vaccines and antibiotics, any simple childhood illness could end in death, and everyone knew it. Tragic child figures provided a kind of acknowledgement and comfort to people at the time that we (thankfully) can’t imagine.
Add all of those factors together, and you get some very popular history. It’s no wonder that the historians and others trying to clear Richard III’s name have been fighting an uphill battle all of these years: the story is just too good.
More than good enough for an Ella Shane Opera Company production…especially since both Ella and her favorite singing partner, Marie de l’Artois get not one but two great roles: Ella as the older prince and conquering Henry Tudor, Marie as the younger boy and their vengeful mother Queen Elizabeth Woodville. Much drama ahead!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
February 3, 2022
THE ONLY GROUNDHOG THAT MATTERS
There is only one groundhog, and he has been looking for his shadow since 1887.
I’m aware that my pals who await the annual verdict from Staten Island Chuck, Holtsville Hal and Malverne Mel may disagree. Too bad. This one’s mine.
Unnamed and uncelebrated groundhogs have apparently been popping out of their holes in early February for thousands of years. Sometime in the Dark Ages, early Christians grafted the tradition of nursing candles through the winter to watching small rodents as a possible sign of spring.
No judging. I’ll do anything for a sign of spring right now – and I have central heat, a coffeemaker, and a good streaming service!
Eventually, the tradition arrived in Western Pennsylvania along with German settlers, who decided that the local woodchucks were the ideal rodent for the purpose. Fast forward a bit, and we find the enterprising town fathers of Punxsutawney looking at the little fuzzballs and realizing that this was a great way to get some attention for the town – and maybe make a buck.
So, in 1887, a newspaper editor and his pals proclaimed that “Punxsutawney Phil” was the One True Forecaster. Over the years, they kept the top hats and the over-the-top language – and added a lot of events and festivities to bring tourists and their lovely money to town.
By the time I was growing up a few miles away in Brookville, that darn groundhog was the area’s principal claim to fame. And the annual celebration had turned into a flat-out bacchanalia.
As a kid, I didn’t really believe my mother’s stories about the crazy groundhog fans who showed up at the Senior Center Pancake Breakfast, a huge annual fundraiser. I figured Mom just liked to tell a good story, like we do back home.
And then I went to Gobbler’s Knob myself.
Trying to hustle my way into a real radio job, I took a tape recorder and covered the event. Which is when I learned that Mom had actually underplayed it.
Let’s just say that the groundhog and I were the only ones who were sober that year.
Before the Punxsutawney Chamber of Commerce – or the groundhog people – come after me, this was a very long time ago, and as far as I know, events are now much more family-friendly, and entirely alcohol-free. That said, the groundhog still inspires an impressive level of passion, not to mention local pride.
There’s a reason for that. Staten Island and Long Island both have a lot more to recommend them. That rodent is just about all we’ve got in Jefferson County.
As I’ve worked my way through newsrooms in Vermont, Connecticut, and New York, someone always asks me if it was anything like the movie GROUNDHOG DAY, and if the people are really that crazy about Phil.
No – and yes!
When I started writing my first contemporary mystery, I knew I wanted my main character to be a Western PA girl like me…but I also knew that I’d go all the way and make her from Punxsutawney. And so, when you meet Jaye Jordan in LIVE, LOCAL, AND DEAD, know that she’s a proud woodchuck.
Oh, and one more fun fact. The groundhogs who come out in February are the boys. They’re looking for the girls…but females are smart enough to stay inside where it’s warm! Darn right we are.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
I’m aware that my pals who await the annual verdict from Staten Island Chuck, Holtsville Hal and Malverne Mel may disagree. Too bad. This one’s mine.
Unnamed and uncelebrated groundhogs have apparently been popping out of their holes in early February for thousands of years. Sometime in the Dark Ages, early Christians grafted the tradition of nursing candles through the winter to watching small rodents as a possible sign of spring.
No judging. I’ll do anything for a sign of spring right now – and I have central heat, a coffeemaker, and a good streaming service!
Eventually, the tradition arrived in Western Pennsylvania along with German settlers, who decided that the local woodchucks were the ideal rodent for the purpose. Fast forward a bit, and we find the enterprising town fathers of Punxsutawney looking at the little fuzzballs and realizing that this was a great way to get some attention for the town – and maybe make a buck.
So, in 1887, a newspaper editor and his pals proclaimed that “Punxsutawney Phil” was the One True Forecaster. Over the years, they kept the top hats and the over-the-top language – and added a lot of events and festivities to bring tourists and their lovely money to town.
By the time I was growing up a few miles away in Brookville, that darn groundhog was the area’s principal claim to fame. And the annual celebration had turned into a flat-out bacchanalia.
As a kid, I didn’t really believe my mother’s stories about the crazy groundhog fans who showed up at the Senior Center Pancake Breakfast, a huge annual fundraiser. I figured Mom just liked to tell a good story, like we do back home.
And then I went to Gobbler’s Knob myself.
Trying to hustle my way into a real radio job, I took a tape recorder and covered the event. Which is when I learned that Mom had actually underplayed it.
Let’s just say that the groundhog and I were the only ones who were sober that year.
Before the Punxsutawney Chamber of Commerce – or the groundhog people – come after me, this was a very long time ago, and as far as I know, events are now much more family-friendly, and entirely alcohol-free. That said, the groundhog still inspires an impressive level of passion, not to mention local pride.
There’s a reason for that. Staten Island and Long Island both have a lot more to recommend them. That rodent is just about all we’ve got in Jefferson County.
As I’ve worked my way through newsrooms in Vermont, Connecticut, and New York, someone always asks me if it was anything like the movie GROUNDHOG DAY, and if the people are really that crazy about Phil.
No – and yes!
When I started writing my first contemporary mystery, I knew I wanted my main character to be a Western PA girl like me…but I also knew that I’d go all the way and make her from Punxsutawney. And so, when you meet Jaye Jordan in LIVE, LOCAL, AND DEAD, know that she’s a proud woodchuck.
Oh, and one more fun fact. The groundhogs who come out in February are the boys. They’re looking for the girls…but females are smart enough to stay inside where it’s warm! Darn right we are.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
