Better Films

by Susan Zehnder, Education Director

The 19^th century saw photography inspire a brand-new medium: moving pictures. By the end of the century, most movies were 30 seconds or less, but they captivated audiences who flocked to see them. New York City was the industry’s production center, though there were few designated venues to show films. Most early movie venues or “houses” were hastily improvised. Often located in immigrant and working-class neighborhoods, movies were frequently shown in overcrowded rooms. There was legitimate concern about fire safety. They also became associated with illicit activities like gambling and prostitution. Social reformers pressured the city’s mayor, George McLellan, to do something.

Mayor McLellan was the son of the famous Civil War general and had first been elected at the age of 29. Near the end of his time in office, on Christmas Eve 1909, he suddenly revoked all film exhibition licenses throughout the city. The order temporarily shut down the movie business. His reasons were hazardous conditions (the celluloid film sometimes spontaneously ignited) and the degradation of community morals. It couldn’t have hurt that he had the backing of Broadway live theater owners concerned with the new competition.

Movie exhibitors fought back. Declaring their fight for freedom of speech, they formed the New York Board of Motion Picture Censorship. Ironically, they soon found the word ‘censorship’ to be too politically charged and changed their name to the National Board of Review of Motion Pictures. The organization is still around today and continues to advocate for movies as a legitimate art form to be judged on the same aesthetics as theater and literature.

Closing early venues didn’t slow the movie business. By 1914, it was estimated that over sixteen million people in the nation went to the movies every day. Elmira venues, which started showing up around 1900, reported that six thousand people attended movies every day but Sunday.

Star-Gazette June 5, 1914

Movies started featuring speaking actors, a variety of sound effects, and multiple camera angles, adding to a heightened sense of realism. They were entertainment for anyone with a little extra money in their pocket, and a welcome escape during fraught times. However, concern for the medium’s immoral influence continued to grow. In 1915, the Supreme Court ruled that films didn’t fall under free speech protection. Immediately, chapters of moral advocacy groups popped up around the nation to protect their communities. Members of these organizations included political, civic and religious leaders who advocated for the protection of public morals, especially in youth aged 15-20.

To counter, the film industry came up with its own guidelines. In 1930 industry executives established the Motion Picture Production Code, commonly known as the Hays Code. Its strict moral guidelines were written by a Catholic priest.

Popular movies in the 1930s included Walt Disney’s first animated feature film, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, at 88 minutes long, The Wizard of Oz, at 102 minutes, and Gone with the Wind, at a lengthy 222 minutes. However, communities continued to question the industry.

What, if anything, was going on in Elmira? In 1920 the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) formed a motion picture committee to “promote a sentiment toward securing and patronizing better films in Elmira.” One prominent member of this group was Mrs. Charles (Lina) Swift. Swift was a practical nurse, art teacher, fierce PTA advocate, and mother of four.

In November of that year, Swift spoke at a local PTA meeting, with over 200 parents in attendance. She told them about the “patriotic, historic and educational work” the DAR was doing. She wanted to share the DAR’s alignment with the national movement “to get rid of offensive, unwholesome pictures that are shown.” She wasn’t against movies, but wanted to see control of them, and wanted the PTA’s support.

Soon the DAR committee spun off to be an active independent community group first called the Motion Picture Community Council and later the Better Film Council. Swift was appointed president. She spoke at local and national meetings. In Elmira, monthly meetings were well attended and often featured their own entertainment. At one meeting in 1935, members performed a dramatization of American history from the early days at Plymouth Colony to the present time. Other meetings held private screenings and talks by local clergy and academics. The council also endorsed movies they thought were proper.

(endorsement in lower right)

Members of the committee traveled around the state speaking and encouraging other towns and cities to start their own film oversight committees. According to local newspapers, the council had the full support of Elmira area theater managers, who pledged to work with representatives of over 40 local organizations. No doubt theater managers didn’t want to lose any business.

Colonial Movie House, Elmira. c. 1930s

By end of the 1930s, the committee's work seems to have quieted down. No more activity from the Better Film Council appears in the local newspapers, and their movie endorsements ceased. Community attention must have turned to the rumblings of impending war.

In 1952, the Supreme Court ruled again. Movies were now protected by first amendment rights. Two years later, at 70 years of age, Mrs. Swift died. She is buried in Woodlawn Cemetery.

 (Note that our next two Out to Lunch events, scheduled for noon on Dec 11 and January 8, will feature short videos from the Arts Council’s Community Documentation Workshop project)

An Artist’s Artist: Julius Lars Hoftrup

by Erin Doane, Senior Curator

Two different donors recently gave us paintings by Lars Hoftrup. One donated three watercolors and the other a single oil on board. It felt like an odd coincidence that these four paintings came to us in just two months’ time, so I decided I should write something about them for this blog.

The Haunted House, by Lars Hoftrup, 1947, oil on board, new donation

Upon doing some research online, I discovered that while the Swedish-born painter, who lived out most of his life in Pine City, was nationally-known in his time, there is very little about him on the internet outside of local sources. Elmira city historian Diane Janowski has a page about him and his longtime companion Armand Carmen Wargny on her website. There is also an active Lars Hoftrup and Armand Wargny Facebook group administered by Jan Kevin Liberatore. Otherwise, there are only a few very brief biographies on general art websites. Fortunately, the archive here at CCHS has a thick folder of information and a subscription to Newspapers.com.

Lars Hoftrup (standing) and Armond Wargny (seated) at Artstorp
taken by Star-Gazette photographer Wells Crandall in the mid-1940s
and reprinted in the June 1961 Chemung Historical Journal.

Julius Lars Hoftrup was born in Kjevlinge, Sweden in 1874 to parents Anders and Anna. He came to the United States with his family in 1881 when he was just six years old. At first, they lived on the top of Mt. Zoar before purchasing a farmhouse and barns on Curren Road near Pine City. The young Lars always wanted to be an artist. He got his primary education in Elmira schools then studied art in fits and starts when money was available. He attended Cooper Union in New York City briefly, worked to save more money, studied at the Art Student’s League for a time, then took a position as photographer with a small motion picture company. The company sent him to work in the Midwest and it was in Davenport, Iowa that his art career really took off.

Watercolor by Lars Hoftrup, new donation

While in Davenport, Lars became acquainted with the wealthy Mrs. Baker who bought a number of his paintings and became his first patron. With the money he made from the sales, he was able to take his first trip abroad. He traveled and painted throughout the Mediterranean, finding the South of France and Northern Africa particularly inspiring. After his journey, he moved back to New York City where he eventually became one of fifteen artists who established their own gallery called “The Fifteen Gallery.”

Play boat, Auray, France, by Lars Hoftrup, watercolor, new donation

During the summers, Lars spent his time painting at his family home in Pine City. When the Great Depression hit and the Fifteen Gallery closed, he returned to Pine City and settled there permanently. He established a studio there where he hosted artist friends and taught students. Sculptor Ernfred Anderson, another Swedish-born artist who moved to the Elmira in the 1930s, dubbed Lars’s residence “Artstorp,” meaning “art farm” in Swedish. Artstorp became a sort of mecca for established artists, watercolor enthusiasts, and students alike and Lars welcomed them all. The Elmira Art Club’s annual picnic was held there for many years.

Watercolor of Artstorp by Talitha Botsford, 1960

Many artists visited Artstorp but only one, other than Lars himself, lived there long-term. Armand Wargny was born in France in 1870. He came to the United States and studied art at the Chicago Institute. That was where he met Lars Hoftrup. The pair became close companions and in 1932, Armand moved in with Lars at his Pine City farm. According to Lars’s obituary in the Star-Gazette, “The men were such good friends that neither intruded upon the work or the mood of the other. Work over, they prepared their own meals and whiled away their evenings in artists’ talk.” Toward the end of his life, Armand became quite ill. Lars took care of him “with the loving care of a mother for her babe,” according to Rosamond C. Gaydash who spent some time at Artstorp. Armand’s death in 1947 was a severe blow to Lars.

Film of J. Lars Hoftrup and Armand Wargny
at Artstorp Studio, c. 1941

Lars continued to paint and travel. In the 1952, while in France, he underwent emergency surgery at the American Hospital in Paris. He never really regained his health after that. He returned to Pine City and died at home early in the morning on April 11, 1954. He was 80 years old. He was laid to rest in Woodlawn Cemetery. His beloved Artstorp was left mostly empty for years, only visited occasionally by the heirs of the estate. In the 1960s, vandals damaged the buildings and scrap metal scavengers looted the home and barns. In January 1972, the home was destroyed by fire. It was thought that vandals had set it ablaze.

Harbor Concarneau by Lars Hoftrup, watercolor, new donation

Long-time friend Ernfred Anderson described Lars Hoftrup as “an artist’s artist.” He was a modern impressionist working chiefly in watercolors but also in oils. The subject of many of his works was the beauty that he saw all around him on his travels throughout the United States and the world, and at home in the Chemung Valley. He once said, “real art is spiritual, not physical. It is the painter’s method of expressing emotion and is not made to sell.” His works have found permanent homes in major galleries such as the Brooklyn Museum, Cleveland Museum, Duncan Phillips Memorial Gallery, and the Arnot Art Museum, as well as right here at the Chemung County Historical Society and in countless private homes.

 

The Victrola

 by Phoenix Andrews, Curator Assistant

A few weeks ago while looking  through some off site collections I came across a beautiful standing phonograph. With seemingly no visible accession number (that would allow me to look it up in our database) and a hope that we could put it on display, it was brought back with us to the museum. With it back in our main facility, it was time to do some research.

Starting off, this seemed like it would overall be a simple project. Having more time to look it over, I was able to discover that it still had the data plate containing its model and serial number, as well as its lid decal and patent sticker. I was swimming in information. The phonograph was made by The Victor Talking Company, It was a Victrola the Sixteenth or also known as VV-XVI. I was lucky in this aspect, there is a wealth of information out there about Victor phonographs. With it, I was able to figure out that our specific model was the fifth iteration in its design and was manufactured in 1910. This is however where my luck started to run out.

I noticed that none of the other phonographs I was finding pictures of had a piece that ours did. It seemed ours had a second tonearm that was quite different from the original.

After ruling out what I could about the second tonearm's origins, I decided I was going to need some outsider help identifying this tonearm. After asking for some help from a few knowledgeable sources, someone had an answer. They were able to identify it as a Vitaphone arm and sent me to a source to learn more about the company, if only I knew then just how much digging I was going to have to do to find more information.

As if sensing that the Vitaphone rabbit hole was inevitable, I switched sources for a bit. I was able to confirm in my original research that the original machine was fully intact; nothing had been removed for the modifications or broken over the years. Knowing that, I went through and oiled what was needed and wound the crank. It worked! I tested it on a few of the records that were housed inside of it and they played beautifully. It was also then that I realized that there was an accession number on it, just hidden away inside the machine. I went back to the database to see if it held any more information on the phonograph. While it did not tell me anymore about the phonograph itself, I was able to find out that it had been donated by Talitha Botsford (who, if you are unfamiliar with, you can read about here)!

 Having taken a step back, I was ready to return to my research into Vitaphones with newfound vigor. Now before I even get into my research into Vitaphones I want to make something very clear. This is not about the Vitaphone Company that is associated with sound film systems and Warner Bros., that is a completely separate entity that is much more well known and existed after the Vitaphone Company I will be discussing.

Clinton B. Repp was the creator of the Vitaphone. His idea was to make a new, distinctive sounds using his patented Wooden Arm and Stationary Sound Box. He believed it produced a softer, less metallic sound. Then, in 1912, the Vitaphone Company was in business. Manufacturing was done at a plant in Plainfield, New Jersey. A subsidiary of the Vitaphone Company also opened the next year in Toronto, Canada.

This is where my leads run dry for the most part. I was able to find some other minor information out there and some images of a few different models. Overall, it does not seem like this company has lasted in people's minds the way other phonograph companies have. However, if you know how to restore Vitaphone arms or know somebody who has worked with them in the past, I am still hoping that the Vitaphone tonearm can be used as well. Please reach out with any regarding restoration to cchs@chemungvalleymuseum.org.

 

 

Reclaiming Her Art: Frances S. Sinnett

 by Monica Groth, Curator

Too often the work of women is overlooked or dismissed. In some cases, a woman's accomplishments are even erroneously attributed to a man. 

I came across an example of the latter case recently. Coincidence brought about its discovery and the correcting of a decades old mistake. County Historian Kelsey Jones was researching the lives of two county artists - a couple, John Townsend and Frances Smith Sinnett - when I ran into him at the office. John Townsend Sinnett (1807-1891) was born in Dublin, Ireland and immigrated to the U.S., making painting his profession. His wife Frances, was born closer by, in Tioga County, and she too developed skills as an artist. We know that the couple lived at Southport Corners in the town of Southport by 1850, and had eight children by 1865. 

Kelsey showed me a painting attributed to John Townsend Sinnett held by the Arnot Art Museum. This painting, included below with permission of the Arnot, is entitled Demon Rum Versus Water. It depicts the moral hazard of the alcoholic carafe, encircled by a serpent, by contrasting it with the purity of water, complemented by a white pitcher and a waterfall to the far right. I was impressed by the quality of the painting and the obvious skill of the artist, but was unfamiliar with their name. According to our database, there were no Sinnett paintings in our collection. 

Demon Rum Versus Water, c. 1860
Image courtesy of the Arnot Art Museum

However, only the next day, I was researching 19th century art to include in an upcoming exhibit and was struck by this painting, a colorful tableau filled with exotic fruits:

Still Life painted by Mrs. Frances S. Sinnett, 1863

Notice anything? The pitcher looked nearly identical to the one in Demon Rum Versus Water! The painting style is also similar - could the paintings be by the same artist? Or artists in the same household and studio using the same still life props?

Our painting, an untitled still life, was anonymously donated to the Museum in memory of Robert L and Mary Cain many decades ago. It is attributed to W.J.R. Sinnott, an artist seemingly unconnected to Frances or John. So who was W.J.R. Sinnott? History draws a blank. No one by that name appears to have lived in the area during the 1860s. W.J.R. Sinnott doesn't appear to exist. 

Any record of a W.J.R. Sinnott, elsewhere spelled Sinnett, seems to equate him with John Townsend Sinnett. But we know J.T. Sinnett would have no reason to invent new initials for himself. A newspaper clipping advertising his services as a painter is signed J.T. Sinnett. Perhaps this is simply a case of mislabeling or misreading? A spelling mistake could be easily made due to the similarities of the last name. Check out this close up on the painting's signature. Could this painting have been painted by a Sinnett...could it have been painted by the other Sinnett?

Close-up of signature on Still Life Painting

We believe that this signature does not read "WJR Sinnott" but rather "Mrs. F. Sinnett".

Frances S. Sinnett was an artist in her own right. Indeed, in the 1857 Elmira City Directory it is she, not her husband,  who is listed, her profession clearly delineated as "artist". The entry even includes an address at 48 Water St, perhaps a art business? Kelsey Jones has done a lot of excellent research on the Sinnetts. He discovered a newspaper account rhapsodizing about Frances' award of first prize at an art exhibition. The excerpt declares that her "fruits and flowers" in particular were "very fine" and that there was really "no competition" between her and the other female applicants.

I theorize that "Mrs" was repeatedly misread by art sellers and even historians as "WJR". This isn't actually that surprising. There weren't many women acknowledged as professional painters in 19th century America, and few of them were signing their paintings in a way which openly advertised their femininity.  "Mrs" was not something an art lover would expect to see in a florid signature; so they didn't.

Frances had to distinguish her art from her husband's, but it is interesting the she chose to do so by including the address of "Mrs" rather than simply including her first initial. Indeed, in another painting attributed to Frances, she signs it simply "F. Sinnett". Many other women of this period, especially authors, choose to hide their sex from readers and buyers, preferring the anonymity of gender-neutral initials. They were more likely to be published and purchased if their publishers and readers thought them male. 

Perhaps the art world was different. Perhaps Mrs. Sinnett was proud of her success and wanted the world to acknowledge her womanhood as well as her talent. We may never know what she intended, but there's a little welcome feminist vindication in applauding her work today and reclaiming her talent. Her painting will be on display in our upcoming exhibition. 

Sadie Belton or Millport’s Fairy Queen

By Rachel Dworkin, archivist

Everywhere she performed, Millport native Sarah “Sadie” Belton received rave reviews. In 1881, the Columbus Daily Evening Republic wrote, “The singing of Miss Sadie Belton is especially good, and her dramatic ability would do credit to any star actress.” The Cuba Evening Review described her as “The wonder and admiration of all.” Yet, it wasn’t her prodigious talent that made her famous. No, what Sadie Belton was most famous for was her height.

Sadie Belton, ca. 1880s

 At just 33 inches tall, Belton was one of the so-called midget performers who took the world by storm in the mid-1800s. Today, the word midget is considered highly offensive and the preferred terms are Little Person or dwarf. Born in Millport in 1842, she first took to the stage sometime in the 1860s touring under the stage name of “Fairy Queen.” In her early days, she mostly worked in traveling freak shows. In 1868, she was working at one called Miss Belton’s Museum of Wonders, although it was actually run by a man named Professor Carruthers. Around 1877, she joined Deakin’s Lilliputian Comic Opera Co. The company was different from the freak shows. They put on actual plays like Jack the Giant-Killer and Gulliver’s Travels. Most of the cast were fellow dwarfs with just a couple of conventionally-sized folk to play Gulliver or the giant. She worked with them until 1891 when she helped form the Royal Midgets before retiring from the stage by the end of the decade. 

Flier for Deakin's Lilliputian Comedic Opera Co.

 

At the time, dwarf performers were hugely popular. Like Belton, most of them got their start in freak shows as objects of curiosity. In 1842, showmen P.T. Barnum and Charles Stratton (better known as General Tom Thumb) changed things up by adding impersonations, musical numbers, and actual acting. By the time Deakin’s Lilliputian Comic Opera Co. was touring, dwarf entertainers had moved from carnival tents into respectable theaters. The actors were no longer “freaks,” but legitimate actors. And yet said actors’ size remained the main draw and source of the audience’s amusement. “The little folks show a keen appreciation of the humor of the situation in which they find themselves, and sustain their parts with a self-possession which is laughter-provoking,” the Swanton Courier wrote of Deakin’s Lilliputian Comic Opera Co. on January 3, 1879. More than a few reviewers marveled at just how like real actors Belton and her co-stars were.

There are over 200 medical conditions which can result in dwarfism. Belton was a pituitary dwarf whose stature was likely the result of a growth hormone deficiency. Most of her co-stars had similar issues. Today, there is a debate among the Little Person community as to whether or not dwarfism is a disability. It’s certainly not for me to decide that, but their dwarfism certainly had a profound impact on the lives of Belton and her associates.

Display of Belton's clothing at the Schuyler County Historical Society, 1976

 Life for such performers wasn’t easy and they were often exploited. P.T. Barnum purchased Stratton from his parents when he was just five-years-old and his situation was in no way unique. Sadie Belton was at least an adult when she began touring, and even she ran into difficulties. It apparently wasn’t unusual for strangers to just pick her up and cuddle her. In 1868, she secretly married fellow freak-show performer George Luther Saxe (stage name Brother Joseph) in an attempt to protect herself from the abuses of her employer, Professor Carruthers. When Carruthers found out, a fight broke out and Saxe was arrested on the grounds the marriage must be somehow illegal owing to her childlike stature. In the end, the marriage was annulled without charges and Belton left the show in the company of her mother.

Deakin’s Lilliputian Comic Opera Co. turned out to be a much better fit for Belton. By the 1870s, she was raking it in. In 1878, she temporarily misplaced a diamond necklace at a Massachusetts hotel. The Elmira paper which reported the incident noted “It is unusual for Chemung County girls to have diamonds.” After retiring from the stage, she purchased a home in Harrisville, Rhode Island where she lived until her death on April 14, 1915 at age 73. She is buried in a family plot in Millport.

Elmira and the Widow Bedott

By Rachel Dworkin, Archivist

 

In 1849, Frances Miriam Berry Whitcher cost her husband his job as pastor of Elmira’s Trinity Episcopal Church. It was a funny story. Actually, it was several funny stories. That was the problem.

Born Frances Miriam Berry (Miriam to her friends), Whitcher (1811-1852) is known as the first female American satirists. Growing up in Whitesboro, New York as the eleventh of fifteen children, she was shy and bookish with wicked sense of humor. After years of writing humorous stories for her friends in the Whitesboro literary society, she submitted several satirical sketches to Neal’s Saturday Gazette of Philadelphia under the pseudonym “Frank” in 1846. They were an instant success.

 

Frances Miriam Whitcher, 1849

The main character of the tales was the Prissilla “Silly” Bedott, widow of Deacon Hezkiah Bedott and active pursuer of every eligible widower in the fictitious Wiggletown, New York. The sketches focused on the foibles of small town life with particular attention paid to the travails of courtship and women’s social circles. In some ways, Bedott’s life mirrored Miriam’s. Both women ended up marrying preachers and moving with them to a new setting.  

Widow Bedott & Rev. Sniffles

 On January 6, 1847, Miriam married Episcopalian minster Benjamin William Whitcher, just about the same time as her fictional counterpart married Sharack Sniffles of Scrabble Hill. Soon after, Reverend Whitcher was hired as rector of Elmira’s Trinity Church. The couple’s income was meager, just $500 a year, so Miriam continued to supplement it with her writing. Not long after their move, Louis Godey of Godey’s Lady’s Book, America’s first women’s magazine, contacted her and asked her to write a new series for his magazine. Miriam created a new character, Aunt Maguire, the Widow Bedott’s sister in Scrabble Hill. While Bedott was cynical and ambitious, Maguire was a compassionate voice of reason. Her stories were no less funny or popular though.

 The first of the pieces written in Elmira was about a disastrous donation party put on for a new local minister. At the time, it was common to hold a yearly pot-luck fundraiser at the minister’s home to supplement the meager annual income with gifts of household items. The story was inspired by the Whitchers’ own welcome donation party, although theirs involved considerably way less humiliation and property damage. Over the next few years, Miriam wrote a number of Aunt Maguire stories, some of which were re-printed in the local paper.

Aunt Maguire scolds her sister

The trouble came with a story about a sewing circle which was published in Godey’s Lady’s Book in January 1849. It included a fairly incisive take down of “Mrs. Samson Savage.”

“She’s one o’ the big bugs here—that is, she’s got more money than a’most anybody else in town. She was a tailoress when she was a gal, and they say she used to make a dretful sight o’ mischief among the folks where she sewed. But that was when she lived in Vermont. When Mr. Savage married her, he was one o’ these ere specilators…So she sot up for a lady. She was always a coarse, boisterous, high-tempered critter, and when her husband grow’d rich, she grow’d pompous and over-bearin’. She made up her mind she’d rule the roast, no matter what it cost—she’d be the first in Scrabble Hill.”

 All across New York, people were convinced that their local bully was the inspiration for Mrs. Savage. Nearly all of them were wrong, as it turned out she was based on Elmira’s Mrs. John Arnot Sr. The local speculation about Savage’s true identity might have died down if Reverend Whitcher hadn’t confirmed that his wife was the author. The reverend was called before the church vestry in February 1849 in order to justify his continued employment. Miriam, meanwhile, found herself hounded and insulted by Mrs. Arnot and her clique. By June, the couple couldn’t take it anymore. Unable find a new position elsewhere, Reverend Whitcher resigned and the couple moved back to Whitesboro to live with the Berrys.

Over the next few years, Miriam’s writing slowed as her health declined until her death from tuberculosis in January 1852. Not long after, in 1855, her collected writings were gathered together and published in book form as The Widow Bedott Papers. The stories were later turned into a play. While few have heard of her today, she was wildly popular in her heyday. Even the famous Mark Twain was a huge fan.

How Grocer Girl Caused a Dictionary Shortage

by Erin Doane, Curator

On February 2, 1933, WESG aired the first in a series of weekly musical radio programs sponsored by Standard Food Stores. Just nine weeks later, on April 7, an article in the Star-Gazette reported that dictionaries were suddenly in high demand at the Steele Memorial Library.  “Legitimate” students were being crowded away from the library’s few available dictionaries as a direct result of this new radio show. How did this strange turn of events happen?

Postcard showing the Steele Memorial Library, c. 1940s

The perpetrator of the unexpected dictionary shortage was Standard Food Stores. In 1929, grocers in Elmira, under the guidance of C.M. and R. Thompkins, came together to form a group under the name “Standard Food Stores.” Each member business in the group remained independent but they worked together to give customers “better quality, better service, and better prices.” Initially, it was just grocers within the city of Elmira who were members of this group but it quickly grew to include stores throughout Chemung County and northern Pennsylvania.

Standard Food Stores Advertisement from the Star-Gazette, May 23, 1929

As part of its promotional efforts, Standard Food Stores started sponsoring a musical program on local radio station WESG in February 1933. For 15 minutes every Thursday morning starting at 11:30, listeners were treated to the sounds of the Standard Food Stores Orchestra under the direction of Don Huber. Also featured were Grocer Boy with his flowing tenor and Grocer Girl with her pleasing voice who would sing old time tunes. The duo was credited with much of the show’s popularity. Fans said they made the program one of the best broadcasts of its kind on the local station.

Many listeners wanted to know who Grocer Boy and Grocer Girl actually were. The pairs’ identities remained a secret until early May when their names were finally revealed. Grocer Boy was Paul Huber, brother of the orchestra leader. He was a regular performer on WESG throughout the early 1930s and also involved in local minstrel shows.

Grocer Girl was 31-year-old Florence Rohan. Florence was a musical prodigy who started playing the piano before she was three years old. Around 1925 she started touring with her two young daughters Jacqueline and Marilynn as the vocal group the Lullaby Trio. The group’s heyday was in the late 1930s and early 1940s when they performed on several national radio program including NBC’s Children’s Hour, the Horn and Hardart Children’s Hour on CBS, and Major Bowes’ Amateur Hour. The Trio also performed numerous times in Florida and once on a cruise ship to Bermuda.

Florence had moved with her family to Elmira from Hornell in 1932 and quickly became a regular on WESG. She was particularly active on the Arctic League programs. She ended up being the first woman announcer on Elmira radio, writing and presenting her own programs as “the Rosenbaum Stylist.” At the time of her unexpected death in 1962, she was one of the region’s best known musicians and performers.

But what does all this have to do with the shortage of dictionaries? Well, I’m getting there. On March 30, 1933, a word-building contest was announced on Standard Food Stores’ weekly musical radio program. During the 1930s, word games and contests became quite popular. In one particular type of word-building game, a song title was given and people tried to make as many words from the letters in the title as possible. Those with the most words could win prizes. A large dictionary was a great tool for such a challenge. I don’t know the particular details of the WESG contest, but because of the large audience brought in by the song stylings of Grocer Girl and Grocer Boy, many people heard about the contest and got working on word-building.

Headline from the Star-Gazette, April 7, 1933

Within a week, the three dictionaries at the Steele Memorial Library were in high demand. Librarian Kate Deane Andrew reported seeing people stand in front of their newest dictionary, which was tied to a table, for up to an hour at a time. “It is obvious that many of them are contest workers who hope to make some money by sending in the solutions to the word puzzles,” she told a reporter from the Star-Gazette. She seemed perturbed that the contesters were keeping those with more studious inquiries away from the dictionaries. The library did make efforts to accommodate these new patrons; they got a small booklet containing all of the three-letter words in the English language.

By mid-summer, the run on dictionaries at the Steele Memorial Library slowed down. The series of entertainments on WESG featuring Grocer Girl, Grocer Boy, and the orchestra with the associated word contests came to an end on August 3, and a whole series of novelty broadcasts commenced under the sponsorship of Standard Food Stores.