My dad often referred to his seven siblings when recalling how the family split up when their parents died, and they were “farmed out” in 1900 to various aunts and uncles. But he seldom mentioned the ninth member of the family, William Albert Weyand, who was only two years old when he died in 1884.

Historic Baby Shoes

Years later, when I discovered two pairs of baby shoes that had been saved with old photos and other family memorabilia, he told me they had belonged to his mother. When my parents died, the shoes remained with me, tiny reminders of my family, and their early struggles. Recently rediscovered, they had spent years hidden away as our family went about our lives.

Although my dad traced the shoes to his mother, I have a strong hunch they belonged to her late son, and she saved them to honor his memory. In the mid-1800s, when many babies died in infancy, E.D.E.N. Southworth, a novelist, wrote a short essay in Godey’s Lady’s Book on the subject, according to an article by Jeanne Gutierrez for the New York Historical Society. “There is no part of a baby’s wardrobe so suggestive and beautiful as the little shoes,” he wrote. Southworth’s essay made several references to grieving mothers who kept baby shoes in the 1800s.

Some vintage items bring back a lot of memories. In 1953, I had the good fortune of traveling in Europe with the director of the Apollo Boys Choir. As a 16-year-old Missouri farm kid, my “travel budget” was tiny, limited to cheap souvenirs and a few postcards I sent to my parents.

Of the “souvenirs,” I was attracted to a pair of terracotta sculptures at a crowded marketplace stall in Naples. A woman was selling a pair of beautifully-detailed, tan-colored figurines for less than $15. One showed an elderly woman with knitting tools. The other was a street musician with a guitar. I had never seen anything like them, and I parted with the last of my pocket money, and crossed my fingers I could get them home safely.

I recall the marketplace seller was a large woman, with masculine and work-worn hands. But she wrapped my treasures carefully in a length of tissue paper until they were shrouded like a cocoon, and stuffed them into a small cardboard box. Later I would pack the box into my small suitcase and hope for the best.

For the next three weeks, as our tour crossed Italy, Switzerland, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and returned to the U.S., I often watched baggage handlers throw my suitcase atop busses, and feared the worst. What would my parents think of a box of dusty and broken clay?

At the end of the trip, I opened the box, and unwrapped the layers of tissue, expecting the worst. But my figurines survived, and found their way to my house when my parents passed on.

They measure a little over five inches tall, and stand on small circular bases. The detail is incredible, a credit to the artisans who still do similar work in Catania, a city in eastern Sicily, near the toe of Italy’s “boot.” Similar figurines can be found on eBay and other internet sites, with prices generally in the $30 to $45 range.

Late 1800s and early 1900s

Back in the late 1800s and early 1900s, before the days of Chautauqua or Vaudeville, an assortment of show-people performed on theater stages and opera houses throughout the U.S. Various comedy acts, musical groups, magicians, and other entertainers were usually booked for a few nights – some were “one-night stands.”

Besides advance notices in local papers, publicists relied on posters sent to the theaters. The theater managers added the necessary dates and times, and posted them in their lobbies and other locations.

Many Posters

Many of the posters of the period were printed in various sizes using lithography, a printing process invented in the mid-1800s. Most of them measured about 22 x 32 inches.

The better ones were stone-lithographed, a process using eight colors and produced mostly in Boston and other large cities in the east. They were colorful and eye-catching, but printed on pulp paper designed to be thrown away by the time the attraction was shown.

Grand Theater in Keokuk, IA

At the Grand Theater in Keokuk, IA, posters were dutifully displayed before each engagement. When they were no longer needed, a custodian took them down. But instead of throwing them away, the custodian, sensing they might be of value, rolled many of them up in a large bundle and saved them in his garage. The process continued until about 1920.

At some point, Harry B. “Potsy” Andressen, who for several years operated the “Addie May,” an excursion boat out of Hamilton, Illinois, across the Mississippi River from Keokuk, acquired the posters. Before he retired, Andressen gave the collection to his physician and friend, my wife’s father, Dr. B.C. Kappmeyer, who eventually gave them to me.

Newsprint posters

By the time I acquired them, the roll of newsprint posters was in pretty bad shape – a bit on the moldy side and generally falling apart. I managed to salvage a few of the better ones, and had several dry-mounted and framed. Four of the posters were reprinted and sold as a set to gift shops.

Today a few of the framed posters and lithographed copies remain in my collection – reminders of a forgotten era of theater history.