Kathleen Marple Kalb's Blog, page 19
January 27, 2022
WHEN THE SCOTS ARE HOT
Scotland is cool all year round at my house, since I’m one-quarter immigrant Scot myself…and my husband believes the One True Bond was Sean Connery.
But the rest of the world celebrates Scots heritage on or close to Robert Burns Day, January 25th.
Plenty of Scots, and those who love them, enjoy whisky and haggis – quite possibly at the same time – at Robert Burns dinners to mark the late poet’s birthday, listen to some pipe music, and put the tartan on the back burner for another year.
But, in the 19th century, thanks to Sir Walter Scott and the overactive imagination of his most famous fan, Queen Victoria, Scotland and particularly the Highlands, were all the rage.
Victoria and Albert bought a highland retreat, Balmoral, and proceeded to spend long summer vacations hunting, stalking and walking in the heather. The Queen even wrote a couple of bestselling books about their life in the Highlands, and Albert designed a Balmoral tartan that Royal men still wear when they’re up there.
Good thing, by the way – until the future George VI had the sense to marry an actual Scotswoman, the royals had no real right to wear any tartan, unless you count that EXTREMELY distant connection to Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots.
For many Victorians, Scotland was a thing, a just-distant-enough, just-romantic-enough escape from English or American reality. Scots, as everyone knew from the stereotypes, might have red hair, appealing accents, and very nice legs to look at in kilts – but they were also canny, hardworking and thrifty.
The Scots also seemed happy enough to be part of Britain, unlike the Irish who’d never really stopped demanding some level of autonomy. Of course, the British Government hadn’t starved a million or so of them to death in the Great Hunger, either…but that’s a different post.
So, the Scots were the safe Celts. They had all of the romantic legends, beautiful scenery, and musical accents…but none of the baggage of the Irish, who many Anglo-Saxons still considered barely human. Or at least rebellious, ungrateful and drunk.
Scots versus Irish, by the way, was still an issue as late as my grandparents’ courtship when my grandfather, who had an Irish last name, swore that he was SCOTCH-Irish – a good hardworking Protestant man! – to win over my great-grandfather.
In the late 19th century, though, it was enough to know that Scots were hot. From Queen Victoria putting Albert in a kilt (and later enjoying the company of her “Highland Servant” John Brown) to the ladies swooning over Scott’s heroes, everyone loved a Scotsman.
Victoria’s love of tartan and bagpipes was a harder sell. Many aristocrats snickered at the Balmoral décor, and cringed at the sound of Her Majesty’s piper at dinner. But middle-class Victorians, the queen’s real fans, were all in, laying down tartan rugs and cheering on their local pipe corps.
All of this is more than fun background for Ella Shane and her Duke. Gil’s mother is Scots, and he grew up with a love of his heritage…and a rebellious Highland streak. Ella, raised in an Irish family, finds some of her first common ground with him as a fellow Celt, realizing that this fine aristocrat is at least a little bit like her.
Oh, and that irresistible accent. As a Duke and a Member of the House of Lords, Gilbert St. Aubyn normally speaks standard London English. Except in angry – or intimate -- moments. Then, his natural North of England accent, similar to a Scottish burr, emerges. In my mind, Gil sounds very much like Sir Sean Connery, and I love to imagine him reading to Ella with that accent.
If you do too, feel free…good fantasies are for sharing!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
But the rest of the world celebrates Scots heritage on or close to Robert Burns Day, January 25th.
Plenty of Scots, and those who love them, enjoy whisky and haggis – quite possibly at the same time – at Robert Burns dinners to mark the late poet’s birthday, listen to some pipe music, and put the tartan on the back burner for another year.
But, in the 19th century, thanks to Sir Walter Scott and the overactive imagination of his most famous fan, Queen Victoria, Scotland and particularly the Highlands, were all the rage.
Victoria and Albert bought a highland retreat, Balmoral, and proceeded to spend long summer vacations hunting, stalking and walking in the heather. The Queen even wrote a couple of bestselling books about their life in the Highlands, and Albert designed a Balmoral tartan that Royal men still wear when they’re up there.
Good thing, by the way – until the future George VI had the sense to marry an actual Scotswoman, the royals had no real right to wear any tartan, unless you count that EXTREMELY distant connection to Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots.
For many Victorians, Scotland was a thing, a just-distant-enough, just-romantic-enough escape from English or American reality. Scots, as everyone knew from the stereotypes, might have red hair, appealing accents, and very nice legs to look at in kilts – but they were also canny, hardworking and thrifty.
The Scots also seemed happy enough to be part of Britain, unlike the Irish who’d never really stopped demanding some level of autonomy. Of course, the British Government hadn’t starved a million or so of them to death in the Great Hunger, either…but that’s a different post.
So, the Scots were the safe Celts. They had all of the romantic legends, beautiful scenery, and musical accents…but none of the baggage of the Irish, who many Anglo-Saxons still considered barely human. Or at least rebellious, ungrateful and drunk.
Scots versus Irish, by the way, was still an issue as late as my grandparents’ courtship when my grandfather, who had an Irish last name, swore that he was SCOTCH-Irish – a good hardworking Protestant man! – to win over my great-grandfather.
In the late 19th century, though, it was enough to know that Scots were hot. From Queen Victoria putting Albert in a kilt (and later enjoying the company of her “Highland Servant” John Brown) to the ladies swooning over Scott’s heroes, everyone loved a Scotsman.
Victoria’s love of tartan and bagpipes was a harder sell. Many aristocrats snickered at the Balmoral décor, and cringed at the sound of Her Majesty’s piper at dinner. But middle-class Victorians, the queen’s real fans, were all in, laying down tartan rugs and cheering on their local pipe corps.
All of this is more than fun background for Ella Shane and her Duke. Gil’s mother is Scots, and he grew up with a love of his heritage…and a rebellious Highland streak. Ella, raised in an Irish family, finds some of her first common ground with him as a fellow Celt, realizing that this fine aristocrat is at least a little bit like her.
Oh, and that irresistible accent. As a Duke and a Member of the House of Lords, Gilbert St. Aubyn normally speaks standard London English. Except in angry – or intimate -- moments. Then, his natural North of England accent, similar to a Scottish burr, emerges. In my mind, Gil sounds very much like Sir Sean Connery, and I love to imagine him reading to Ella with that accent.
If you do too, feel free…good fantasies are for sharing!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
January 20, 2022
EVERYONE SHOULD LEARN TO PLAY
Show of hands, how many of you had to take piano lessons?
For more than a century, the piano and the ability to play it were an important sign of status for families, as generations of kids forced to sit at the keyboard and struggle with scales can attest.
Music has long been a key part of being considered an accomplished person. Everyone from Irish bard-kings to Greek philosophers took pride in being able to play a tune. By the Renaissance, Henry VIII was composing songs, and his daughter, Elizabeth I, even had a little royal play-off with her cousin and rival Mary, Queen of Scots.
They had courtiers compare their performances on the virginals, an early keyboard instrument, and surprise, it was a tie! (YOU want to tell either of those ladies that someone was better?)
By the late eighteenth century, many upper-class families had a pianoforte in the drawing room, and the daughters of the house were expected to entertain guests, and perhaps impress potential husbands. Gradually, with the invention of the modern instrument, and industrial production methods, the family piano moved down the social spectrum.
In the late 19th century, it was an important symbol that a family had arrived in the middle class. Even a relatively cheap, mass-produced instrument still represented a huge investment. At that point, traveling salesmen (and they were almost always men) were crisscrossing the country signing up families to buy instruments “on time,” so more and more people had them.
Once you had the piano, you had to be able to play it. Plenty of genteel ladies supplemented waning family fortunes by teaching the next generation of pianists, whether they wanted the lessons or not.
Early on, those pianists were almost always girls. Piano playing was an important accomplishment for a young lady. Eventually, though, many families decided that boys, too, should be able to noodle a bit on the keyboard – as you’ll hear from generations of fellas glued to their scales by a stern glare.
A piano and a few moderately-skilled players, though, weren’t just a sign of class. They were also a very practical upgrade to a family’s life. Before the phonograph or radio – and long before television – unless you wanted to sing, you were in for a lot of silence at home. Some families were lucky enough to have a fiddler or guitar player, but the simple fact was, the only entertainment people had was what they made.
No surprise, then, that once pianos became affordable, they were all the rage. It’s another post for another day, but as the piano industry exploded, so did the sheet music business. People snapped up the hot new songs and played them.
Underlying all of this, though, was the idea that families were well-off enough to afford and enjoy the amusements. Showing off a little musical skill is one more way to demonstrate that you have “culture.”
And piano lessons remained an appropriate accomplishment long after other forms of entertainment were available. I remember my grandmother encouraging me to stick with piano because “a girl who can play piano will always be popular.”
As it happened, I was lousy at piano…and pretty decent with a bassoon.
So much for popular.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
For more than a century, the piano and the ability to play it were an important sign of status for families, as generations of kids forced to sit at the keyboard and struggle with scales can attest.
Music has long been a key part of being considered an accomplished person. Everyone from Irish bard-kings to Greek philosophers took pride in being able to play a tune. By the Renaissance, Henry VIII was composing songs, and his daughter, Elizabeth I, even had a little royal play-off with her cousin and rival Mary, Queen of Scots.
They had courtiers compare their performances on the virginals, an early keyboard instrument, and surprise, it was a tie! (YOU want to tell either of those ladies that someone was better?)
By the late eighteenth century, many upper-class families had a pianoforte in the drawing room, and the daughters of the house were expected to entertain guests, and perhaps impress potential husbands. Gradually, with the invention of the modern instrument, and industrial production methods, the family piano moved down the social spectrum.
In the late 19th century, it was an important symbol that a family had arrived in the middle class. Even a relatively cheap, mass-produced instrument still represented a huge investment. At that point, traveling salesmen (and they were almost always men) were crisscrossing the country signing up families to buy instruments “on time,” so more and more people had them.
Once you had the piano, you had to be able to play it. Plenty of genteel ladies supplemented waning family fortunes by teaching the next generation of pianists, whether they wanted the lessons or not.
Early on, those pianists were almost always girls. Piano playing was an important accomplishment for a young lady. Eventually, though, many families decided that boys, too, should be able to noodle a bit on the keyboard – as you’ll hear from generations of fellas glued to their scales by a stern glare.
A piano and a few moderately-skilled players, though, weren’t just a sign of class. They were also a very practical upgrade to a family’s life. Before the phonograph or radio – and long before television – unless you wanted to sing, you were in for a lot of silence at home. Some families were lucky enough to have a fiddler or guitar player, but the simple fact was, the only entertainment people had was what they made.
No surprise, then, that once pianos became affordable, they were all the rage. It’s another post for another day, but as the piano industry exploded, so did the sheet music business. People snapped up the hot new songs and played them.
Underlying all of this, though, was the idea that families were well-off enough to afford and enjoy the amusements. Showing off a little musical skill is one more way to demonstrate that you have “culture.”
And piano lessons remained an appropriate accomplishment long after other forms of entertainment were available. I remember my grandmother encouraging me to stick with piano because “a girl who can play piano will always be popular.”
As it happened, I was lousy at piano…and pretty decent with a bassoon.
So much for popular.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
January 13, 2022
KEEP YOUR HANDS IN
They’re beautiful and warm, but they’re completely impractical for most people in the world we live in now. Unless you marry into some Scandinavian royal family and start riding around in carriages in the middle of winter, you’re probably never going to need a muff.
Which is really too bad.
Muffs have been around for a long time. They first became really fashionable in the 1500s, when fur trimming started to be a thing. But the general idea has probably been around ever since some cold prehistoric person realized they could wrap both hands in a piece of material and keep them warm.
You’ll note that I said prehistoric person. We think of the muff as a feminine accessory, but stylish men wore muffs in the 1690s and again in the late 1700s. Those were both periods where the fellas were at least as flamboyant as the ladies, with lots of ribbons and lace and extravagant hair. It’s not surprising that a guy who was comfortable wearing “petticoat breeches” – essentially a frilly skirt over knickers – would appreciate a muff!
Muffs were usually fur, feathers, or some heavy fabric. That didn’t change much over the centuries. What did change a lot was the size. In some eras, they were just big enough to hold two hands. But in others, they grew into truly epic proportions, turning into almost a giant fur apron. Not only were they pretty funny-looking, but they were unwieldy, too.
You have to do something with a muff. Unlike gloves, which can just be taken off and stuffed in a purse or pocket, a muff demands attention. If you’re not going to put it down somewhere (and considering the cost and value of these pieces, you aren’t), you find a work-around. One that comes up time and again in fashion plates is simply shoving the muff up one arm, so it becomes a super-sized cuff. It looks sharp, if a little asymmetrical.
It’s not just the muff itself that is the issue. There’s what – or who – might be inside.
Handbag muffs were big in the late 19th century, as women started having more interesting lives outside the home and needing to carry stuff with them. So they got in the habit of slipping their essentials in the muff – and muffs were soon designed to accommodate them.
It’s also a practical matter. A muff is hard enough to navigate; you don’t need to be dragging a bag, too.
A muff, though, wasn’t just a good way to carry a few coins. It was also a nice way to bring a companion.
Just as you’ll sometimes see a cute little puppy face peeking out of a nice tote bag on the train now, in the 1600s, you’d have seen woman’s best friend in her muff. It was a major fashion trend for a time, but even after it waned, ladies were well aware that they could use a muff as a convenient carrier for a small dog. Never a cat!
Even after women started driving and living more active lives, little girls still wore muffs with their best winter dress-up outfits. And big girls sometimes still do – Carrie famously rocked one on “Sex and the City.”
And, writing this has made me think I may just need to invent one in fleece with an internal heater and a tape recorder pocket for my reporter pals. I know I’d like one on a winter stakeout!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
Which is really too bad.
Muffs have been around for a long time. They first became really fashionable in the 1500s, when fur trimming started to be a thing. But the general idea has probably been around ever since some cold prehistoric person realized they could wrap both hands in a piece of material and keep them warm.
You’ll note that I said prehistoric person. We think of the muff as a feminine accessory, but stylish men wore muffs in the 1690s and again in the late 1700s. Those were both periods where the fellas were at least as flamboyant as the ladies, with lots of ribbons and lace and extravagant hair. It’s not surprising that a guy who was comfortable wearing “petticoat breeches” – essentially a frilly skirt over knickers – would appreciate a muff!
Muffs were usually fur, feathers, or some heavy fabric. That didn’t change much over the centuries. What did change a lot was the size. In some eras, they were just big enough to hold two hands. But in others, they grew into truly epic proportions, turning into almost a giant fur apron. Not only were they pretty funny-looking, but they were unwieldy, too.
You have to do something with a muff. Unlike gloves, which can just be taken off and stuffed in a purse or pocket, a muff demands attention. If you’re not going to put it down somewhere (and considering the cost and value of these pieces, you aren’t), you find a work-around. One that comes up time and again in fashion plates is simply shoving the muff up one arm, so it becomes a super-sized cuff. It looks sharp, if a little asymmetrical.
It’s not just the muff itself that is the issue. There’s what – or who – might be inside.
Handbag muffs were big in the late 19th century, as women started having more interesting lives outside the home and needing to carry stuff with them. So they got in the habit of slipping their essentials in the muff – and muffs were soon designed to accommodate them.
It’s also a practical matter. A muff is hard enough to navigate; you don’t need to be dragging a bag, too.
A muff, though, wasn’t just a good way to carry a few coins. It was also a nice way to bring a companion.
Just as you’ll sometimes see a cute little puppy face peeking out of a nice tote bag on the train now, in the 1600s, you’d have seen woman’s best friend in her muff. It was a major fashion trend for a time, but even after it waned, ladies were well aware that they could use a muff as a convenient carrier for a small dog. Never a cat!
Even after women started driving and living more active lives, little girls still wore muffs with their best winter dress-up outfits. And big girls sometimes still do – Carrie famously rocked one on “Sex and the City.”
And, writing this has made me think I may just need to invent one in fleece with an internal heater and a tape recorder pocket for my reporter pals. I know I’d like one on a winter stakeout!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
January 6, 2022
CROCHET WITH A HOOK
One of the many things I have in common with Ella Shane is crocheted afghans. Hers are from her beloved Aunt Ellen, beautiful hand-crafted reminders of the family who loves her. Mine? Hideous neon-colored acrylic…but made with every drop as much love by my late grandmother.
My grandmother, one of the younger American-born children in her Scottish immigrant family, probably didn’t know or care that crochet was very much an Irish thing. Ella’s aunt, though, would have been well aware of it – and what crochet meant to the Irish.
It’s not just a pretty fiber art.
It’s a callback to the Great Hunger.
In the 1840s, as the Irish economy fell apart, Ursuline nuns started teaching the women and children in their parishes how to crochet lace as a way to bring in desperately-needed funds. Soon people were crocheting across Ireland in hopes of staving off starvation.
Wealthy women founded stores, and crochet schools, and talked up the product to their friends to help get the industry off the ground, and it worked. Crochet was one of the few things Irish people could do to help themselves during the Hunger, and many seized it as an opportunity.
Initially, Irish crocheted lace was seen as a lesser product than the work of Venetian artisans, but after Queen Victoria herself endorsed it, the crocheters had all the business they could handle.
When the Irish came to America, they brought crochet with them. Some were the highly-skilled artists who helped make a living for their families. Others, though, just knew enough to make useful and pretty household items.
And that, of course, was part of their job. At every spot on the social spectrum, women were expected to do some kind of handiwork. Upper-class ladies did spectacularly elaborate and expensive tapestries and other decorative things. Middle-class women embroidered and embellished their clothing and accessories. (A society woman would not do the fancywork on her clothes because that was for the designer or her lady’s maid.)
Further down the social scale, handiwork was the way women made their homes more comfortable for their families, or made sure that they had pretty things. A tenement mother couldn’t afford to buy a First Communion dress for her daughter, but she might be able to scrape up the pennies for thread and steal bits of time to make a veil.
And then there are afghans.
It’s been the term for a knitted or crocheted blanket since at least the 1860s, growing out of the term “Afghan Shawl” for those cashmere wraps that were everywhere in the early Victorian era. Before reliable central heating, and especially when it was a struggle to afford heat, people needed all the blankets and shawls and throws they could get.
It wasn’t just literal warmth, though.
An awful lot of work goes into making an afghan, even an easy one – and most of them were as elaborate as the maker could manage – so the effort is part of the gift.
Even though Ella’s afghan from Aunt Ella is, as she puts it “a moderately hideous crochet,” and the ones from my grandmother could very easily burn your retinas, they’re the best possible way to warm your soul as well as your body.
You’re not just wrapping yourself in fiber – you’re wrapping yourself in love.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
My grandmother, one of the younger American-born children in her Scottish immigrant family, probably didn’t know or care that crochet was very much an Irish thing. Ella’s aunt, though, would have been well aware of it – and what crochet meant to the Irish.
It’s not just a pretty fiber art.
It’s a callback to the Great Hunger.
In the 1840s, as the Irish economy fell apart, Ursuline nuns started teaching the women and children in their parishes how to crochet lace as a way to bring in desperately-needed funds. Soon people were crocheting across Ireland in hopes of staving off starvation.
Wealthy women founded stores, and crochet schools, and talked up the product to their friends to help get the industry off the ground, and it worked. Crochet was one of the few things Irish people could do to help themselves during the Hunger, and many seized it as an opportunity.
Initially, Irish crocheted lace was seen as a lesser product than the work of Venetian artisans, but after Queen Victoria herself endorsed it, the crocheters had all the business they could handle.
When the Irish came to America, they brought crochet with them. Some were the highly-skilled artists who helped make a living for their families. Others, though, just knew enough to make useful and pretty household items.
And that, of course, was part of their job. At every spot on the social spectrum, women were expected to do some kind of handiwork. Upper-class ladies did spectacularly elaborate and expensive tapestries and other decorative things. Middle-class women embroidered and embellished their clothing and accessories. (A society woman would not do the fancywork on her clothes because that was for the designer or her lady’s maid.)
Further down the social scale, handiwork was the way women made their homes more comfortable for their families, or made sure that they had pretty things. A tenement mother couldn’t afford to buy a First Communion dress for her daughter, but she might be able to scrape up the pennies for thread and steal bits of time to make a veil.
And then there are afghans.
It’s been the term for a knitted or crocheted blanket since at least the 1860s, growing out of the term “Afghan Shawl” for those cashmere wraps that were everywhere in the early Victorian era. Before reliable central heating, and especially when it was a struggle to afford heat, people needed all the blankets and shawls and throws they could get.
It wasn’t just literal warmth, though.
An awful lot of work goes into making an afghan, even an easy one – and most of them were as elaborate as the maker could manage – so the effort is part of the gift.
Even though Ella’s afghan from Aunt Ella is, as she puts it “a moderately hideous crochet,” and the ones from my grandmother could very easily burn your retinas, they’re the best possible way to warm your soul as well as your body.
You’re not just wrapping yourself in fiber – you’re wrapping yourself in love.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
December 30, 2021
BEFORE -- AND AFTER -- THE BALL
Even before New Yorkers had a ball to drop, they knew how to throw a New Year’s party.
That big crystal ball, actually, is a late add to holiday celebrations that began before the turn of the eighteenth century.
The massive Times Square party started in 1904, when the newspaper decided to celebrate its new building with fireworks, and the ball was added in 1907. Midtown was just taking off as the center of “New York, the Wonder City,” as one of my favorite vintage postcards puts it, and the party just became part of the legend.
But long before the Wonder City, New York was a great place to celebrate.
As early as 1698, New Yorkers were literally ringing in the new with the help of the bells at Trinity Church. By the late nineteenth century, Trinity Church was the magnificent Lower Manhattan edifice we know, and the ringing was the center of the festivities.
Not that the church fathers were especially pleased to be the belle of the ball. The huge crowds of New Yorkers who filled the streets around the Wall Street sanctuary did not stand in decorous silence whilst listening to the sweet peal of the bells. Not even a little. The “ragamuffins” and their older counterparts enjoyed much the same sort of raucous street party that we associate with New Year’s – only with loud tin horns instead of smartphones. It was a classic New York celebration: loud, joyful, and not especially concerned with what anyone else thought.
So it’s not really a surprise that the rector cancelled the ringing in 1893.
It’s also no surprise that the ragamuffins brought their horns to his house that night and rang in the New Year near his stoop. Amazingly enough, the Reverend Dr. Morgan Dix, who looks like a real party-pooper in the surviving pictures, decided it was better idea to have the ruffians hold their party in the usual spot the next year.
New Year’s Eve, then, has a long record of being a big party night, one way or another, and New York Times owner Adolph Ochs just took it and ran with it.
New Year’s Day, though, was a much quieter affair, and not just because folks were nursing hangovers. It’s a Holy Day of Obligation for Catholics, and a special day for many African-American churches. And many New Yorkers of every race and creed enjoyed taking part in the custom that started with the Knickerbockers, the City’s first settlers, and the true old-school gentry: New Year visits. Sometimes it was a formal open house, other times just a stop to say hello to friends, but the New Year visit was definitely a good thing.
It certainly is for Ella Shane and her cousin Tommy. When they’re not on tour, they enjoy both ends of the party, taking their horns and heading down to Trinity Church, then dragging out of bed next morning for Mass at Holy Innocents and the round of visits.
Ella would do well to rest up – she’s going to have a very busy winter in A FATAL OVERTURE!
Whatever your celebration brings, may it be safe and joyful – with best wishes for a better 2022!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
That big crystal ball, actually, is a late add to holiday celebrations that began before the turn of the eighteenth century.
The massive Times Square party started in 1904, when the newspaper decided to celebrate its new building with fireworks, and the ball was added in 1907. Midtown was just taking off as the center of “New York, the Wonder City,” as one of my favorite vintage postcards puts it, and the party just became part of the legend.
But long before the Wonder City, New York was a great place to celebrate.
As early as 1698, New Yorkers were literally ringing in the new with the help of the bells at Trinity Church. By the late nineteenth century, Trinity Church was the magnificent Lower Manhattan edifice we know, and the ringing was the center of the festivities.
Not that the church fathers were especially pleased to be the belle of the ball. The huge crowds of New Yorkers who filled the streets around the Wall Street sanctuary did not stand in decorous silence whilst listening to the sweet peal of the bells. Not even a little. The “ragamuffins” and their older counterparts enjoyed much the same sort of raucous street party that we associate with New Year’s – only with loud tin horns instead of smartphones. It was a classic New York celebration: loud, joyful, and not especially concerned with what anyone else thought.
So it’s not really a surprise that the rector cancelled the ringing in 1893.
It’s also no surprise that the ragamuffins brought their horns to his house that night and rang in the New Year near his stoop. Amazingly enough, the Reverend Dr. Morgan Dix, who looks like a real party-pooper in the surviving pictures, decided it was better idea to have the ruffians hold their party in the usual spot the next year.
New Year’s Eve, then, has a long record of being a big party night, one way or another, and New York Times owner Adolph Ochs just took it and ran with it.
New Year’s Day, though, was a much quieter affair, and not just because folks were nursing hangovers. It’s a Holy Day of Obligation for Catholics, and a special day for many African-American churches. And many New Yorkers of every race and creed enjoyed taking part in the custom that started with the Knickerbockers, the City’s first settlers, and the true old-school gentry: New Year visits. Sometimes it was a formal open house, other times just a stop to say hello to friends, but the New Year visit was definitely a good thing.
It certainly is for Ella Shane and her cousin Tommy. When they’re not on tour, they enjoy both ends of the party, taking their horns and heading down to Trinity Church, then dragging out of bed next morning for Mass at Holy Innocents and the round of visits.
Ella would do well to rest up – she’s going to have a very busy winter in A FATAL OVERTURE!
Whatever your celebration brings, may it be safe and joyful – with best wishes for a better 2022!
Got a Throwback Thursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
December 23, 2021
A VERY MERRY WORKDAY
Scrooge wasn’t the only boss who expected people to work Christmas Day or else – though he might have been the meanest. When Charles Dickens wrote “A Christmas Carol,” the round-the-clock business of the Industrial Revolution had begun, and the workers’ movements that led to paid holidays and decent conditions were still far in the future.
Poor Bob Cratchit was the extreme case, but plenty of people, in factories, docks, and town houses, would have been working on that Victorian Christmas Day.
Even before our Covid-influenced 24/7 cycle of email and work from home, there were always jobs that had to be done each day, every day. Servants, for example, had to get their “betters” homes clean and their fancy dinner cooked and laid out. They might get a half day and a small gift from the mistress if they were lucky.
As social conditions improved, and more people took – and expected – time off, the idea of working holidays became unusual, or actively bad.
Still, though, some places simply can’t shut down for the holidays: police and fire stations, hospitals – and newsrooms.
Some people even choose to work the holidays for any number of good reasons.
Many of my Jewish colleagues offer to work Christmas Eve and Christmas Day so our Christian friends can be with their families. It happens a lot, at least in radio – the owner of a Vermont station where I worked was Jewish, and he had the engineer teach him the bare minimum he needed to know to stay on the air so his employees could be free for the day.
Holiday work can also be part of a larger picture. I’m not the only mother who chooses to work weekends and holidays so I can be home at the end of the school day.
Working holidays is really just part of the deal in many industries – and especially broadcasting. Early in your career, you’re taking those shifts as a foothold at a better station…later you’re scoring an occasional shift just to stay in the game.
At least for us, it can be a good thing. Some of my favorite holiday moments have been in newsrooms, especially Christmases with the 1010 WINS team. We’ve become a “work family.”
Even though I was technically home for Christmas last year because we were working remotely, it didn’t feel like home – or a holiday -- without the gang. Special shout-out here to Jon Belmont, living treasure anchor, king of the headline, and master of gallows humor, who’s NOT working for the first time in decades. We miss you.
Honestly, holidays are just fun to work. The bosses are out of the building, the mood is looser and more fun, and inevitably, things happen.
Say, the year I worked a double shift at the tiny radio station in my Western PA hometown. We were running all-Christmas music on reel-to-reel tapes -- yes, this was a very long time ago! The tenth or twelfth time I heard “Happy Christmas, War is Over,” I realized something.
John, Yoko, and the kids weren’t singing what I thought they were.
Country girl that I am, I’d heard lyric as:
“It wouldn’t be Christmas without any beer.”
Whatever your holiday brings, may it be safe, happy and full of joy.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
Poor Bob Cratchit was the extreme case, but plenty of people, in factories, docks, and town houses, would have been working on that Victorian Christmas Day.
Even before our Covid-influenced 24/7 cycle of email and work from home, there were always jobs that had to be done each day, every day. Servants, for example, had to get their “betters” homes clean and their fancy dinner cooked and laid out. They might get a half day and a small gift from the mistress if they were lucky.
As social conditions improved, and more people took – and expected – time off, the idea of working holidays became unusual, or actively bad.
Still, though, some places simply can’t shut down for the holidays: police and fire stations, hospitals – and newsrooms.
Some people even choose to work the holidays for any number of good reasons.
Many of my Jewish colleagues offer to work Christmas Eve and Christmas Day so our Christian friends can be with their families. It happens a lot, at least in radio – the owner of a Vermont station where I worked was Jewish, and he had the engineer teach him the bare minimum he needed to know to stay on the air so his employees could be free for the day.
Holiday work can also be part of a larger picture. I’m not the only mother who chooses to work weekends and holidays so I can be home at the end of the school day.
Working holidays is really just part of the deal in many industries – and especially broadcasting. Early in your career, you’re taking those shifts as a foothold at a better station…later you’re scoring an occasional shift just to stay in the game.
At least for us, it can be a good thing. Some of my favorite holiday moments have been in newsrooms, especially Christmases with the 1010 WINS team. We’ve become a “work family.”
Even though I was technically home for Christmas last year because we were working remotely, it didn’t feel like home – or a holiday -- without the gang. Special shout-out here to Jon Belmont, living treasure anchor, king of the headline, and master of gallows humor, who’s NOT working for the first time in decades. We miss you.
Honestly, holidays are just fun to work. The bosses are out of the building, the mood is looser and more fun, and inevitably, things happen.
Say, the year I worked a double shift at the tiny radio station in my Western PA hometown. We were running all-Christmas music on reel-to-reel tapes -- yes, this was a very long time ago! The tenth or twelfth time I heard “Happy Christmas, War is Over,” I realized something.
John, Yoko, and the kids weren’t singing what I thought they were.
Country girl that I am, I’d heard lyric as:
“It wouldn’t be Christmas without any beer.”
Whatever your holiday brings, may it be safe, happy and full of joy.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
December 16, 2021
A WOMAN OF MANY LAYERS
When the temperature drops, I cultivate what my husband only half-jokingly calls the full Ellis Island look, in tribute to ancestors on both sides: “Is she wearing all of her clothes, or does it just look like it?”
Actually, Professor, I’m simply following a fine, long-standing tradition of layering up!
!9th century women, of course, had this down to a science.
“A proper lady never wears less than three petticoats, at least one flannel.” I’m not sure which Victorian character said it, but it was a reasonable description of the process.
In the winter, when it might actually do some good – as opposed to summer layering, which is a whole different post – women did a truly magnificent job of swaddling themselves. Unless you were seriously old-fashioned, you’d probably start with a nice wool union suit. Even if you were old-fashioned, you’d figure out pretty quickly that your prissy pantaloons weren’t nearly as warm as some good figure-hugging merino. Union suits caught on fast and hard for the simple reason that they worked.
Then, you’d move into the girly stuff. Chemise first. Then corset. Then corset-cover, which was just a nicer-looking chemise. You might skip one of those on a warmer day, but nobody minds extra help in the era of dicey indoor heating.
On the bottom, stockings, preferably wool. Though I’m not sure how they avoided gridlock; I’ve had a tough enough time when I wore tights under skinny pants. Even with modern fibers, it’s a static-electricity nightmare. With wool and maybe cotton? Yikes!
Now, finally, we get to the pantalets, and all of those petticoats. By the 1890s, crinolines and bustles are long dead, and skirts have that nice trumpet shape, so you probably aren’t wearing ridiculous numbers of slips. But you’d still have several – and one would definitely be flannel on a cold day!
The flannel, by the way, could be wool or cotton at this time. Wool was considered nicer, but cotton was available. It’s hard to imagine now, when un-blended natural fibers are reserved for the highest of the high end, but people wore some truly amazing fabrics in their daily lives.
We’re finally ready for the real clothes. Probably, since we’re sensible working ladies, a wool suit with a nice cotton shirtwaist. It’s elegant and well-fitted…and you’d probably wear the same thing with a bit less wool and flannel underneath on a warm day. You’d have to – most women had only a handful of everyday outfits. Some had fewer.
You’d almost certainly have only one coat.
Just as they are now, coats were expensive compared to other clothing, and you’d want the warmest thing you could afford. But you’d also have a couple of hats, and as many scarves and shawls as you could knit or crochet to keep it warm and stylish.
On your feet, boots. Women’s everyday shoes were sturdy and sensible.
I’d go for the high-buttoned kind, myself, even if it meant an extra few minutes fastening them with my button hook.
Grab your gloves and muff, and you’re ready to get out there.
We often wonder how people, especially women, managed to move in that many clothes, but I think it’s actually a lot like the difference between winter and summer clothes now. You get used to it, and you don’t notice anything until something changes.
Like, say, spring…or the Roaring 20s. I suspect flappers danced their beads off just because they could!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
Actually, Professor, I’m simply following a fine, long-standing tradition of layering up!
!9th century women, of course, had this down to a science.
“A proper lady never wears less than three petticoats, at least one flannel.” I’m not sure which Victorian character said it, but it was a reasonable description of the process.
In the winter, when it might actually do some good – as opposed to summer layering, which is a whole different post – women did a truly magnificent job of swaddling themselves. Unless you were seriously old-fashioned, you’d probably start with a nice wool union suit. Even if you were old-fashioned, you’d figure out pretty quickly that your prissy pantaloons weren’t nearly as warm as some good figure-hugging merino. Union suits caught on fast and hard for the simple reason that they worked.
Then, you’d move into the girly stuff. Chemise first. Then corset. Then corset-cover, which was just a nicer-looking chemise. You might skip one of those on a warmer day, but nobody minds extra help in the era of dicey indoor heating.
On the bottom, stockings, preferably wool. Though I’m not sure how they avoided gridlock; I’ve had a tough enough time when I wore tights under skinny pants. Even with modern fibers, it’s a static-electricity nightmare. With wool and maybe cotton? Yikes!
Now, finally, we get to the pantalets, and all of those petticoats. By the 1890s, crinolines and bustles are long dead, and skirts have that nice trumpet shape, so you probably aren’t wearing ridiculous numbers of slips. But you’d still have several – and one would definitely be flannel on a cold day!
The flannel, by the way, could be wool or cotton at this time. Wool was considered nicer, but cotton was available. It’s hard to imagine now, when un-blended natural fibers are reserved for the highest of the high end, but people wore some truly amazing fabrics in their daily lives.
We’re finally ready for the real clothes. Probably, since we’re sensible working ladies, a wool suit with a nice cotton shirtwaist. It’s elegant and well-fitted…and you’d probably wear the same thing with a bit less wool and flannel underneath on a warm day. You’d have to – most women had only a handful of everyday outfits. Some had fewer.
You’d almost certainly have only one coat.
Just as they are now, coats were expensive compared to other clothing, and you’d want the warmest thing you could afford. But you’d also have a couple of hats, and as many scarves and shawls as you could knit or crochet to keep it warm and stylish.
On your feet, boots. Women’s everyday shoes were sturdy and sensible.
I’d go for the high-buttoned kind, myself, even if it meant an extra few minutes fastening them with my button hook.
Grab your gloves and muff, and you’re ready to get out there.
We often wonder how people, especially women, managed to move in that many clothes, but I think it’s actually a lot like the difference between winter and summer clothes now. You get used to it, and you don’t notice anything until something changes.
Like, say, spring…or the Roaring 20s. I suspect flappers danced their beads off just because they could!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
December 9, 2021
BLAME IT ON MR. ROCHESTER
It was a big mistake to let me read JANE EYRE in middle school.
That’s when I met Mr. Rochester, and that mope has been following me around ever since.
I know I’m not the only one.
Writers had created moody hot heroes before him – looking at you, Mr. Darcy – but that particular combination of danger, power, and appeal was new. It caused a sensation when the book was published, and it hasn’t let up since.
Even in the mid-19th century, the governess marrying the boss wasn’t groundbreaking on its own. Governesses were usually from respectable but poor families, so they often made perfectly acceptable wives. Not that anyone would let them forget about the governessing.
Plus, considering how thoroughly miserable the job was, it’s not hard to imagine a woman considering marriage a promotion, or at least a move to a better part of the basement.
That’s all in the room with Jane and Rochester, but it’s not the big emphasis. The emphasis is the danger, and that was definitely new.
A real governess – like Charlotte Bronte once was -- knew she was in the power of her boss, that he could do any number of awful things to her, and that she had no recourse. Bronte’s genius is turning that ugly real-life dynamic into something magical.
Or at least magical until the madwoman gets out of the attic.
Yeah, we’re going to have to at least acknowledge that whole thing.
As a kid reading the book, I took it as just part of the story, and didn’t think too much about the real, and horrible conditions that actual humans with mental health issues suffered at the time. As an adult, I’m glad that some fiction writers have taken on the first Mrs. Rochester.
She deserves it.
The point today, though, is that Charlotte Bronte set the standard for the brooding, dangerous hero. (And, let’s not forget, she made him pay dearly for his wrongs before the end of the book.) That guy, Mr. Tall Dark and Dangerous, keeps popping up in all kinds of romantic and suspenseful fiction, to this day.
He’s pretty much the house love interest in Victoria Holt’s work, another of my middle school standards. My favorite of hers, MISTRESS OF MELLYN, even features a governess who ends up in all kinds of trouble when she – yep – falls in love with the boss.
Rochester is in every movie hero who leaves the heroine wondering if he’s going to kiss her or kill her. And leaves me wanting to buy the poor girl a good cannister of pepper spray.
Some of Rochester even shows up in my own characters. Ella’s swain, the Duke, has the power to do whatever he likes, but he’s a genuinely good man and wouldn’t take advantage. He’s also tall, dark and dangerous – looking.
There’s probably even a hint of Rochester in Will Ten Broeck, the love interest in my contemporary mystery. He’s a powerful and attractive man who keeps a big secret from the main character – even as they’re falling in…
Thanks again, Charlotte Bronte!
Got a ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
That’s when I met Mr. Rochester, and that mope has been following me around ever since.
I know I’m not the only one.
Writers had created moody hot heroes before him – looking at you, Mr. Darcy – but that particular combination of danger, power, and appeal was new. It caused a sensation when the book was published, and it hasn’t let up since.
Even in the mid-19th century, the governess marrying the boss wasn’t groundbreaking on its own. Governesses were usually from respectable but poor families, so they often made perfectly acceptable wives. Not that anyone would let them forget about the governessing.
Plus, considering how thoroughly miserable the job was, it’s not hard to imagine a woman considering marriage a promotion, or at least a move to a better part of the basement.
That’s all in the room with Jane and Rochester, but it’s not the big emphasis. The emphasis is the danger, and that was definitely new.
A real governess – like Charlotte Bronte once was -- knew she was in the power of her boss, that he could do any number of awful things to her, and that she had no recourse. Bronte’s genius is turning that ugly real-life dynamic into something magical.
Or at least magical until the madwoman gets out of the attic.
Yeah, we’re going to have to at least acknowledge that whole thing.
As a kid reading the book, I took it as just part of the story, and didn’t think too much about the real, and horrible conditions that actual humans with mental health issues suffered at the time. As an adult, I’m glad that some fiction writers have taken on the first Mrs. Rochester.
She deserves it.
The point today, though, is that Charlotte Bronte set the standard for the brooding, dangerous hero. (And, let’s not forget, she made him pay dearly for his wrongs before the end of the book.) That guy, Mr. Tall Dark and Dangerous, keeps popping up in all kinds of romantic and suspenseful fiction, to this day.
He’s pretty much the house love interest in Victoria Holt’s work, another of my middle school standards. My favorite of hers, MISTRESS OF MELLYN, even features a governess who ends up in all kinds of trouble when she – yep – falls in love with the boss.
Rochester is in every movie hero who leaves the heroine wondering if he’s going to kiss her or kill her. And leaves me wanting to buy the poor girl a good cannister of pepper spray.
Some of Rochester even shows up in my own characters. Ella’s swain, the Duke, has the power to do whatever he likes, but he’s a genuinely good man and wouldn’t take advantage. He’s also tall, dark and dangerous – looking.
There’s probably even a hint of Rochester in Will Ten Broeck, the love interest in my contemporary mystery. He’s a powerful and attractive man who keeps a big secret from the main character – even as they’re falling in…
Thanks again, Charlotte Bronte!
Got a ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
BLAME IT ON MR. ROCHESTER
It was a big mistake to let me read JANE EYRE in middle school.
That’s when I met Mr. Rochester, and that mope has been following me around ever since.
I know I’m not the only one.
Writers had created moody hot heroes before him – looking at you, Mr. Darcy – but that particular combination of danger, power, and appeal was new. It caused a sensation when the book was published, and it hasn’t let up since.
Even in the mid-19th century, the governess marrying the boss wasn’t groundbreaking on its own. Governesses were usually from respectable but poor families, so they often made perfectly acceptable wives. Not that anyone would let them forget about the governessing.
Plus, considering how thoroughly miserable the job was, it’s not hard to imagine a woman considering marriage a promotion, or at least a move to a better part of the basement.
That’s all in the room with Jane and Rochester, but it’s not the big emphasis. The emphasis is the danger, and that was definitely new.
A real governess – like Charlotte Bronte once was -- knew she was in the power of her boss, that he could do any number of awful things to her, and that she had no recourse. Bronte’s genius is turning that ugly real-life dynamic into something magical.
Or at least magical until the madwoman gets out of the attic.
Yeah, we’re going to have to at least acknowledge that whole thing.
As a kid reading the book, I took it as just part of the story, and didn’t think too much about the real, and horrible conditions that actual humans with mental health issues suffered at the time. As an adult, I’m glad that some fiction writers have taken on the first Mrs. Rochester.
She deserves it.
The point today, though, is that Charlotte Bronte set the standard for the brooding, dangerous hero. (And, let’s not forget, she made him pay dearly for his wrongs before the end of the book.) That guy, Mr. Tall Dark and Dangerous, keeps popping up in all kinds of romantic and suspenseful fiction, to this day.
He’s pretty much the house love interest in Victoria Holt’s work, another of my middle school standards. My favorite of hers, MISTRESS OF MELLYN, even features a governess who ends up in all kinds of trouble when she – yep – falls in love with the boss.
Rochester is in every movie hero who leaves the heroine wondering if he’s going to kiss her or kill her. And leaves me wanting to buy the poor girl a good cannister of pepper spray.
Some of Rochester even shows up in my own characters. Ella’s swain, the Duke, has the power to do whatever he likes, but he’s a genuinely good man and wouldn’t take advantage. He’s also tall, dark and dangerous – looking.
There’s probably even a hint of Rochester in Will Ten Broeck, the love interest in my contemporary mystery. He’s a powerful and attractive man who keeps a big secret from the main character – even as they’re falling in…
Thanks again, Charlotte Bronte!
Got a ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
That’s when I met Mr. Rochester, and that mope has been following me around ever since.
I know I’m not the only one.
Writers had created moody hot heroes before him – looking at you, Mr. Darcy – but that particular combination of danger, power, and appeal was new. It caused a sensation when the book was published, and it hasn’t let up since.
Even in the mid-19th century, the governess marrying the boss wasn’t groundbreaking on its own. Governesses were usually from respectable but poor families, so they often made perfectly acceptable wives. Not that anyone would let them forget about the governessing.
Plus, considering how thoroughly miserable the job was, it’s not hard to imagine a woman considering marriage a promotion, or at least a move to a better part of the basement.
That’s all in the room with Jane and Rochester, but it’s not the big emphasis. The emphasis is the danger, and that was definitely new.
A real governess – like Charlotte Bronte once was -- knew she was in the power of her boss, that he could do any number of awful things to her, and that she had no recourse. Bronte’s genius is turning that ugly real-life dynamic into something magical.
Or at least magical until the madwoman gets out of the attic.
Yeah, we’re going to have to at least acknowledge that whole thing.
As a kid reading the book, I took it as just part of the story, and didn’t think too much about the real, and horrible conditions that actual humans with mental health issues suffered at the time. As an adult, I’m glad that some fiction writers have taken on the first Mrs. Rochester.
She deserves it.
The point today, though, is that Charlotte Bronte set the standard for the brooding, dangerous hero. (And, let’s not forget, she made him pay dearly for his wrongs before the end of the book.) That guy, Mr. Tall Dark and Dangerous, keeps popping up in all kinds of romantic and suspenseful fiction, to this day.
He’s pretty much the house love interest in Victoria Holt’s work, another of my middle school standards. My favorite of hers, MISTRESS OF MELLYN, even features a governess who ends up in all kinds of trouble when she – yep – falls in love with the boss.
Rochester is in every movie hero who leaves the heroine wondering if he’s going to kiss her or kill her. And leaves me wanting to buy the poor girl a good cannister of pepper spray.
Some of Rochester even shows up in my own characters. Ella’s swain, the Duke, has the power to do whatever he likes, but he’s a genuinely good man and wouldn’t take advantage. He’s also tall, dark and dangerous – looking.
There’s probably even a hint of Rochester in Will Ten Broeck, the love interest in my contemporary mystery. He’s a powerful and attractive man who keeps a big secret from the main character – even as they’re falling in…
Thanks again, Charlotte Bronte!
Got a ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
December 2, 2021
NOT HER GRANDMA'S HANUKKAH
At the end of A FATAL FIRST NIGHT, Ella Shane is lighting her menorah and enjoying an unexpected present from a friend. (Can’t tell you who because – spoiler!) The note points out that Hanukkah is not nearly as important a holiday to Jews as Christmas is to Christians…and that’s true, from a religious standpoint. By 1899, though, Hanukkah is taking on considerable cultural importance for American Jews, and that would only grow in the 20th century.
For Ella, and real people who came up from the tenements, Hanukkah was a marker of how far they’ve progressed. Poor new immigrants like Ella’s Jewish mother would not have brought, or spent limited family money to buy, a menorah. It just wasn’t that important an event to tie up precious resources. The High Holy Days in the autumn, and Passover in the spring were the holidays that mattered.
Hanukkah was a relatively minor spot on the Jewish calendar for centuries. But things changed in America.
As the 19th century went on, there was a deliberate drive among Jewish leaders to encourage immigrants to celebrate the holiday. Part of it was the way the Hanukkah story speaks to self-determination and religious freedom in a new country founded on those very ideals. Also, at least part of it, as immigrants wanted to assimilate, was the desire to have a December holiday too. Not that community leaders meant to encourage that – the whole point of the Hanukkah celebrations was to foster Jewish identity, not copying Christmas.
Someone like Ella, a tenement orphan made good, is exactly the sort of person who would start a more elaborate Hanukkah observance than what, if anything, she had as a kid. Prosperous families would send their children to special events, and light beautiful menorahs, putting them in the window in the Jewish tradition. Of course, people probably didn’t feel comfortable putting them in the window in every neighborhood…but the menorah in the window isn’t just a universal symbol of light against darkness – it’s also a very Jewish statement: We are here, we are still here, and we are bringing our light to help heal the world.
For Ella, and likely many others, it’s also at least partially an act of defiance. While her specific situation was unusual, there were plenty of people who were determined to hang onto whatever bits of their heritage they could, even while becoming and remaining wholly American. Hanukkah became one way to do that.
And about Ella. As the daughter of an extremely rare interfaith marriage, raised by her Irish Catholic father’s family after the death of her Jewish mother, she sees honoring and celebrating her Jewish identity as a way to keep her mother’s memory alive. So Hanukkah has a much more personal meaning to her, in addition to the religious and cultural one.
One more little note about Ella. While her friend imagines her lighting her candles to celebrate, that’s not what she’s doing. She’s actually lighting an oil menorah, popular in the 19th century…and a callback to the Hanukkah miracle of one day’s oil burning for eight. It’s also a callback to my family: my husband has his grandmother’s oil menorah.
Whatever you celebrate this season, may it be joyful and blessed! #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
For Ella, and real people who came up from the tenements, Hanukkah was a marker of how far they’ve progressed. Poor new immigrants like Ella’s Jewish mother would not have brought, or spent limited family money to buy, a menorah. It just wasn’t that important an event to tie up precious resources. The High Holy Days in the autumn, and Passover in the spring were the holidays that mattered.
Hanukkah was a relatively minor spot on the Jewish calendar for centuries. But things changed in America.
As the 19th century went on, there was a deliberate drive among Jewish leaders to encourage immigrants to celebrate the holiday. Part of it was the way the Hanukkah story speaks to self-determination and religious freedom in a new country founded on those very ideals. Also, at least part of it, as immigrants wanted to assimilate, was the desire to have a December holiday too. Not that community leaders meant to encourage that – the whole point of the Hanukkah celebrations was to foster Jewish identity, not copying Christmas.
Someone like Ella, a tenement orphan made good, is exactly the sort of person who would start a more elaborate Hanukkah observance than what, if anything, she had as a kid. Prosperous families would send their children to special events, and light beautiful menorahs, putting them in the window in the Jewish tradition. Of course, people probably didn’t feel comfortable putting them in the window in every neighborhood…but the menorah in the window isn’t just a universal symbol of light against darkness – it’s also a very Jewish statement: We are here, we are still here, and we are bringing our light to help heal the world.
For Ella, and likely many others, it’s also at least partially an act of defiance. While her specific situation was unusual, there were plenty of people who were determined to hang onto whatever bits of their heritage they could, even while becoming and remaining wholly American. Hanukkah became one way to do that.
And about Ella. As the daughter of an extremely rare interfaith marriage, raised by her Irish Catholic father’s family after the death of her Jewish mother, she sees honoring and celebrating her Jewish identity as a way to keep her mother’s memory alive. So Hanukkah has a much more personal meaning to her, in addition to the religious and cultural one.
One more little note about Ella. While her friend imagines her lighting her candles to celebrate, that’s not what she’s doing. She’s actually lighting an oil menorah, popular in the 19th century…and a callback to the Hanukkah miracle of one day’s oil burning for eight. It’s also a callback to my family: my husband has his grandmother’s oil menorah.
Whatever you celebrate this season, may it be joyful and blessed! #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
