DIY Newspaper Jigsaw Puzzles

by Erin Doane, Senior Curator

I love jigsaw puzzles and I love happening upon random interesting things in historic newspapers. A recent find brought both these loves crashing together. From February 6 to 17, 1933, the Star-Gazette ran daily jigsaw puzzles in its pages. The idea was that readers would paste the puzzle to a piece of cardboard, cut out the scrambled pieces, then put them together again. It was a fun, low-cost, diy activity - perfect for those suffering through the Great Depression - and it drew on the jigsaw puzzling craze that was sweeping the nation.

“Not Animal Crackers, It’s a Jigsaw Puzzle,” Star-Gazette, February 10, 1933

The craze seems to have begun in June 1932 when the Pro-Phy-Lac-Tic Brush Company of Florence, Massachusetts offered a free 50-piece jigsaw puzzle with the purchase of one of their toothbrushes. The promotion was such a huge success that other companies followed suit. Cardboard jigsaw puzzles quickly became the hot-to-go item for those looking for inexpensive entertainment. By early 1933, people of all walks of life had been swept up in the craze. Searching though the February Star-Gazette of that year shows that jigsaw puzzles were very popular locally. Clubs and organizations were putting together puzzles at their social meetings and individuals included them at their card parties. Stores like Izsard’s, Rubin Bros., and S.S. Kresge Co. carried full lines of jigsaw puzzles and sold them for as little as $0.25 each (about $6.25 today).

The Star-Gazette also reported on jigsaw puzzle news from further afield. On February 8, it reported that burglars broke into the store of Mrs. Catherine W. Garrahan in Watervliet, New York and stole 10 jigsaw puzzles among other items. On February 11, the newspaper shared the story of the first ever reported jigsawing injury. Mrs. Abbie Burns of Norristown, Pennsylvania was holding her 9-month-old baby while working on a puzzle when the baby jabbed her in the eye with one of the pieces. Physicians said the injury was not serious. In business news, it reported on the five-story factory in Long Island City that produced jigsaw puzzles day and night and the St. Paul puzzle manufacturer that experienced an 85 percent increase in business in one week when the jigsaw craze hit.

“See Who He is by the Jigsaw Method!,” Star-Gazette, February 6, 1933

It's not surprising at all that the Star-Gazette itself wanted to get in on the craze. On Monday, February 6, 1933, it ran its first jigsaw puzzle. It was a cut-up photograph of “a prominent Elmiran.” The caption declared, “This one’s easy to initiate you to the craze.” It also promised the man’s name would be printed with the next puzzle. So, it was sort of a twofer puzzle – put together the jigsaw, then guess who or what was shown in the picture. Most of the puzzles showed local people and places including Elmira College President Dr. Frederick Lent, Elmira Patrolman Edward P. Carroll, Fitch’s Bridge, a fire at St. Anthony’s Church, and the Elmira Reformatory. The first published puzzle showed Elmira Police Chief Elvin D. Edwin.

Star-Gazette jigsaw puzzle from February 6, 1933, printed on plain paper and put together.

The newspaper’s puzzle the next day offered an additional challenge. “Five minutes is the limit for putting together this jigsaw puzzle of a leading Elmira educator.” How quickly a person could put the puzzle together became a common theme. The puzzle on February 13 was titled “Time Yourself on This Cutout Puzzle” so I did. “It took the photographer half an hour to change a perfectly good picture into the picture you see herewith,” the caption states. It took me 13 minutes to cut it out (plain paper not glued to cardboard) and 5 minutes to put it together.

“Time Yourself on This Cutout Puzzle,” Star-Gazette, February 13, 1933

February 13 jigsaw puzzle put together showing the lobby of the Second National Bank in Elmira after a fire.

The first few puzzles were cut into geometric pieces. The February 10 jigsaw puzzle (shown at the top of this post) was the first to be cut into pieces that more closely resemble the puzzle pieces we know today. Perhaps this was done in reaction to reader feedback. “Its interlocking parts will remain where you place them,” according to the caption. I had to use tape to hold my puzzle pieces together, but mine were on plain paper not glued to cardboard.

February 10 jigsaw puzzle put together showing Elmirans at the Orange County races.

The final puzzle in the series was published on February 17, 1933. It was a return to geometric pieces – all triangles in this case. I don’t think it was intended to be the last puzzle as no answer as to what the picture showed was provided. Of course, I had to put it together and find out. It’s described as “a thing of beauty” in the caption. It is a lovely picture of a house, but I have no idea where it is or why it’s significant. So, the 1933 Star-Gazette jigsaw puzzle series ended on a mystery.

“You Working These Cut-Out Puzzles?,” Star-Gazette, February 17, 1933

February 17 jigsaw puzzle put together.

But wait, there’s more! Five days after that last puzzle was published, the Star-Gazette printed one more “Puzzle for the Holiday” (i.e. Washington’s Birthday). The solution to the jigsaw puzzle was also included several pages later making it clear that this was a stand-alone and not part of the previous series.

“Here’s Cutout Puzzle for the Holiday,” Star-Gazette, February 22, 1933

“Here’s the Cut-Out Properly Assembled,” Star-Gazette, February 22

For two weeks in February 1933, the Elmira Star-Gazette fully embraced the jigsaw puzzle craze and then it abruptly stopped. At least we still have the newspapers so we can enjoy the historic diy puzzles. If you’d like to try them yourself, click here for a pdf of all the puzzles. I didn’t include pictures of the solutions, so you’ll just have to figure them out for yourself. A stopwatch is optional.

The Billiard Table

 By Susan Zehnder, Education Director

It’s hard to miss the billiard table on display in the Museum in the Bank Gallery’s Mark Twain section. It came from the third floor playroom of the Langdon home on Church and Main streets. When the home was demolished in the 1930s, the table was moved to the J. Langdon & Co. office on Baldwin Street. It was later sold to lawyer and businessman John Sullivan who had offices on East Church Street and, later, Baldwin Street. When Sullivan died in 1965, Sullivan’s cousin and law partner, William Delaney, inherited the property along with its contents and donated the table to the Historical Society.

Clemens with his biographer Albert Bigalow Paine

The connection with the Langdon family is one reason it's placed in the Mark Twain exhibit, since Samuel Clemens, who often went by the pen name Mark Twain, was Jervis Langdon's son-in-law. Sam's passion for the game of billiards is another.

His daughter Susy wrote that “Papa’s favorite game is billiards, and when he is tired and wishes to rest himself he stays up all night and plays billiards, it seems to rest his head.”  The family home in Connecticut even had a distinctive room used just for billiards.

The Billiard Room, Hartford, Connecticut

If you look closely, the table in the Connecticut home has corner and side pockets. Games played on this table would be slightly different than those played on the museum's table, which has no pockets.

Billiard games peaked in popularity in the mid-19^th century. Billiards is a general term for games played on a billiard table, with or without pockets. There are two main categories of billiard games: those played on tables without pockets, and those, called pool, played on tables with pockets. Both categories have a common origin in a popular lawn game from the 15^th century, somewhat like lawn croquet. The word “billiards” is connected to the French word “bille” meaning ball while the word “pool” means a collective bet, as in pooling bets. From early on billiard games have appealed to and been played by people from all social classes.

When the game moved indoors, the playing surface required walls called banks, like the river, to prevent the balls from escaping. Players initially shoved the balls around using a mace. Like the weapons, a mace has a large head on one end of a long pole. Its pole or handle is called a tail, or “queue.” However if a ball landed near a side wall, players found they needed to turn the stick around to shove the balls with the queue because the mace’s head wouldn’t fit. What we now know as cue sticks seemed to have developed in the late 1600s and players soon discovered using a bit of chalk on one end of the cue stick increased friction, and was advantageous. Early on women were not allowed to use the cue end of the mace, as it was thought women weren’t capable of skillful moves and would just rip the table surfaces. At the turn of the 18^th century, leather tips were added to cues. This now allowed players to apply side-spin, topspin, and backspin to the ball in play. The two-piece cue stick came on the scene in 1829, and table surfaces changed from wood to slate to prevent warping. By 1845, tables sported rubber billiard cushions.

The goal of any billiard game is to make a carom shot. This is a shot where the object ball or cue ball hits another ball to move or pocket it. Scoring depends on the game being played, and there were many versions developed. American Four-Ball was the most popular game played until the 1870s when Straight Rail and American Fifteen-Ball Pool then surpassed it. The Nine-Ball was developed in the 1920s.

The game was so popular during the 19^th century that championship tournaments were held yearly, even during the Civil War, and celebrated players would earn their likenesses on trading cards.

Billiard tables were often located in hotels and bars. In Elmira City directories from the 19^th century, suppliers of billiard equipment are listed, but no independent billiard businesses. One local site of tournaments was located on East Gray Street. There the Father Matthew Society, a Catholic society built on the idea of total abstinence, erected a clubhouse in 1898. It had a room dedicated to billiards on the second floor and held a yearly tournament.

In 1907, Elmira passed an ordinance to require a license fee or tax on billiard tables in halls or saloons and prohibited play between the hours of 1 am and 7 am and all day Sunday.

Billiards became less popular after World War I when returning troops didn’t have time to spend entire afternoons hanging out around a pool table. 2020 has been such a strange year, seeing some pastimes like puzzles rediscovered. I wonder what iconic object from the 2020s will be on display in the future.

To see an example of play on a billiards table, here's a link .