‘Now With No Morphine!’:  A Look at Patent Medicine Bottles Donated to Ferry Farm

Recently, George Washington’s Ferry Farm received a generous donation of bottles from the Mary Ball Washington Museum and Library.  For the most part they date from the late 19th to early 20th century and therefore have no connection to the Washingtons.  However, our Archaeology Department can certainly use them for a type collection.  A type collection is a teaching tool that will employ these bottles, known as an assemblage, to compare with bottle sherds we excavate from the field.  As such, we needed to do a thorough analysis of these bottles and it turns out a sizable portion of them are what we would call ‘patent medicines’.

Patent Medicine Bottles

Patent medicines have been around for a long time but reached the height of their popularity in the 19th century.  The term is a bit of a misnomer because it wasn’t the formula of the medicine that was patented but rather just the medicine’s name.  By doing this the manufacturer was not obligated to disclose the ingredients of their potions and as such could mix anything together and call it ‘medicine’.  Subsequently, many of these concoctions included ingredients designed to make you feel better, even if they did not actual cure any of your ailments.  This included, but was not limited to, copious quantities of alcohol, laudanum, cocaine, heroin, morphine, ether, chloroform, opium, etc.  In some cases, the medicines, particularly creams and ointments, contained zero active ingredients but also included a substance to make you feel a physical healing sensation. For example, capsaicin, eucalyptus, camphor, or menthol in these medicines could make your skin feel hot, cold, or tingly.

Patent medicine manufacturers emphasized the consumer’s ability to take their health into their own hands since their products could be purchased without a prescription.  Their advertisements vilified traditional doctors, who they portrayed as agents of death.  Often marketed as cure alls, some purported to treat dozens of ailments ranging from headaches to warts.  The patent medicine propaganda machine was strong, often trumpeting false testimonials from people miraculously cured by them and millions of bottles of quack medicine were sold in the 19th century.  Eventually, concern mounted over the addictive quality of many of these medicines, bolstered by a mounting death count attributed to the unregulated concoctions. Many of the deaths were unfortunately children.

One good example of a highly dangerous patent medicine was Porter’s Pain King.  It claimed to relieve colds, nervous and sick headache, rheumatic and neuralgic pains, toothache, backache, sprains, bruises and burns.  Containing a whopping 63 percent alcohol (much more than tequila) mixed with ether (a powerful anesthetic which is even more intoxicating than alcohol), it had dosages for adults, children, and animals.  The manufacturer also recommended bathing in it, which was potentially an even worse idea than ingesting this toxic brew.  Ether is really good at rendering people unconscious when inhaled and the fumes are more potent and unstable when heated by hot water.  Although, you wouldn’t feel any pain after taking Porter’s Pain King, it probably wasn’t worth the risk of addiction and death.  To combat the rampant patent medicine industry the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act was passed, which eventually led to the creation of the Food and Drug Administration (FDA).  The act forced patent medicine makers to reveal their active ingredients and ensure that they actually contained what was advertised. It proved the downfall of many and we can all be grateful for that.

BUT back to our own bottles!  We selected a few of the most interesting ones and have described them below along with a brief history of each.[1]

 Sharp and Dohme White Pine Compound Syrup

Upon looking at this bottle, you may notice the reassuring words “without morphine”. Though today we might hope this would go without saying, by the time of the Civil War, morphine was an extremely popular pain-killer. Unfortunately, morphine was as addictive as it was effective and morphine addictions were common. Said one writer, “As an allayer of pain it is king, but as a destroyer of men, mentally, morally, and physically, it is as the traitor, pretending to be friendly, but at the same time slowly dragging its victim to death.”[2]

Sharp and Dohme White Pine Compound Syrup

The morphine epidemic, or morphinism, as it was called at the time, was a growing problem in the early 20th century. Recognizing the dangers of morphine, pharmaceutical companies, like Sharp and Dohme, began turning to other alternatives, like chloroform and heroin.[3] These were just as effective at numbing pain, but supposedly less habit forming than morphine (they weren’t).[4] Like in this bottle, the mixing of herbs, alcohol, and opiates or chloroform was fairly common in patent medicines.  As a side note, ingesting chloroform is an absolutely awful idea and you should never do it.

Wine of Cardui

Medicines advertising the treatment of ‘female complaints’ became their own sub-category of patent medicine. In the late 19th and early 20th century, women’s tonics, such as Wine of Cardui and Lydia Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound were extremely popular solutions to all manner of ‘womanly troubles’. At this time, discussion of women’s health issues such as menstruation and childbirth were fairly taboo so many women turned to patent medicines for help.[5] These tonics advertised curing everything from menstrual pain to acting as a general restorative for ‘delicate’ women.[6] Discussions of rampant sexism of the marketing aside, Wine of Cardui was over 50% potassium carbonate, 16% salt, and 20% alcohol,[7] with alcohol being its most potent active ingredient. Women’s tonics and medicines were also a socially acceptable way for women to consume alcohol. At the time, there was a significant stigma associated with women drinking alcohol recreationally, but there was no stigma with drinking alcoholic tonics to aid her womanly issues.[8] Unfortunately, many of these remedies also contained powerful opiates which led many to become unknowingly addicted.

Mount Vernon Whiskey

During Prohibition, patent medicines experienced a revival of sorts. One of the only legal ways to obtain alcohol during Prohibition was through a prescription. During this time, the government permitted limited production of spirits for medicinal purposes and wine for religious sacraments. Though the efficacy of medicinal alcohol was debated and, at times, discouraged, the practice continued.[9] Medicinal alcohol could be prescribed to treat a wide variety of ailments, from cancer to depression and could be prescribed to anyone willing to pay the hefty price tag. In fact, prescribing alcohol became a pretty lucrative business for doctors and pharmacists. Obtaining and filling a prescription could cost around $6 for a pint at the time, which is upwards of $70 in today’s money.[10] Upon obtaining this prescription, patients could receive one pint of their drink of choice every ten days. The practice proved extremely popular and doctors prescribed an estimated 64 million pints of medicinal alcohol in the first year of Prohibition.  Eventually, the Willis-Campbell Act of 1921 tightened the restrictions of these prescriptions limiting doctors to 100 prescriptions every 90 days and patients to a half-pint of alcohol. These restrictions did little to lessen the frequency of prescriptions, and physicians wrote millions of prescription a year throughout the 1920s.[11] Mount Vernon Whiskey is a classic example of ‘medicinal alcohol’, and it clearly states on the back label that it is only to be ingested for medical purposes (yeah right!).  And at a whopping 100% proof, it would surely make you feel better, at least initially.

Conclusion

Although most patent medicines have disappeared, a few held on because they actually did cure certain ailments.  These include Bayer aspirin, Doan’s pills, Luden’s cough drops, and Vick’s VapoRub, to name a few, although now these medicines are regulated by the government.  However, that is not to say that unregulated medicines do not still exist in our country.  ‘Supplements’, often taken for medical purposes, were ruled to be a category of food in 1994 and as such are not required to do rigorous testing by the FDA.  Drugs have to be proven safe before they can be sold but supplements are assumed to be safe until proven otherwise and have no obligation to show that they actually work in the manner advertised.  Additionally, they do not have to disclose all ingredients or demonstrate they contain the concentration of ingredients advertised, making them the patent medicines of our modern era.

Carolyn Currin, UMW Student
Spring 2019 Fleming Smith Scholar

Mara Kaktins, Archaeologist
Archaeology Lab Supervisor

 

[1] Fike, Richard, The Bottle Book: A Comprehensive Guide to Historic, Embossed medicine Bottles. The Blackburn Press, New Jersey, 1987; Carson, Gerald, One for a Man, Two for a Horse: A Pictoral History, Grave & Comic, of Patent Medicines. Bramhall House, New York, 1961.

[2] L.L. Stanley, “Morphinism” Journal of the American Institute of Criminal Law and Criminology 6, no. 4 (1915): 586-93, https://www.jstor.org/stable/1132738?sid=primo&origin=crossref&seq=3#metadata_info_tab_contents [accessed April 8, 2019].

[3] Joe McKendry, “Sears Once Sold Heroin.” The Atlantic, March 2019, https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2019/03/sears-roebuck-bayer-heroin/580441/ [accessed April 8,, 2019].

[4] “Ether and Chloroform” History.com, April 21, 2018, https://www.history.com/topics/inventions/ether-and-chloroform [accessed April 8, 2019].

[5] “Quack Cures and Self-Remedies: Patent Medicine” Digital Public Library of America. https://dp.la/exhibitions/patent-medicine/women-health-household-hints/?item=1303 [accessed April 8, 2019].

[6] “Black Draught and Cardui Promise Quick Relief” The History Engine, 2015 https://historyengine.richmond.edu/episodes/view/4650 [accessed April 8, 2019].

[7] Ibid; Cramp, Arthur J. “Nostrums and Quackery: Articles on the Nostrum Evil, Quackery and Allied Matters Affecting the Public Health” American Medical Association, vol. 2 (1921). https://books.google.com/books?id=8AVEAAAAIAAJ&pg=PA171&lpg=PA171&dq=wine+of+cardui&source=bl&ots=Uj6v9dWCFj&sig=ACfU3U2BbKfuBig1nwqlbX1WzoNZkQdBLA&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi16Jjw7MDhAhVEqlkKHThZBV04ChDoATAOegQICBAB#v=onepage&q=wine%20of%20cardui&f=false [accessed April 8. 2019].

[8] Becky M. Nicolaides, “The State’s ‘Sharp Line Between the Sexes: Women, alcohol, and the law in the United States, 1850-1908” Addiction 8, no. 91 (1996): 1211-1230, https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/8828248 [accessed April 8, 2019].

[9] Megan Gambino, “During Prohibition, You Doctor Could Write You A Prescription for Booze,” Smithsonian.com, October 7, 2013, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/during-prohibition-your-doctor-could-write-you-prescription-booze-180947940/ [accessed April 8, 2019].

[10] Paula Mejia, “The Lucrative Business of Prescribing Booze During Prohibition” Atlas Obscura, March 15, 2017, https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/doctors-booze-notes-prohibition [accessed April 8, 2019]; “Medicinal Alcohol” The Ohio State University, 2019. https://prohibition.osu.edu/american-prohibition-1920/medicinal-alcohol [accessed April 8, 2019].

[11] Ibid.

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Glass Guns: A Late 19th/Early 20th Century Phenomenon

Recently, archaeologists at George Washington’s Ferry Farm came across an odd glass fragment in our collection.  We poured over it, passing it from person to person trying to figure out what it was.  Then came the ‘ah-ha’ moment: it was a gun barrel.  That’s odd, right?  Turns out it isn’t.

Glass Gun Barrel Sherd

Glass gun barrel sherd excavated at George Washington’s Ferry Farm.

This story starts in the late 19th century when machines to blow glass were developed and glass finally became a fairly cheap commodity.  Add to this the discovery of natural gas, an inexpensive fuel, on the East coast and boom…a revolution in glassmaking.  Previously, a team of glass blowers made all glass objects by hand one at a time. Now, machines could crank out dozens of bottles a minute and American households (and landfills) began filling up with glass.

Glass novelties exploded in the early 20th century, with their heyday hitting during the Great Depression.  Figurines and bottles were pressed into novel shapes like telephones, fire trucks, boats, hats, every animal imaginable, chairs, dust pans, and the list goes on and on.  Much of this glass was given away as incentives or premiums to buy products like flour, movie tickets, toothpaste, detergent, an oil change, you name it.  Much of these glass is now termed ‘Depression glass’, which most commonly refers to the brightly colored yet cheaply manufactured tablewares common in antique stores today.

Most of the glass guns of this era were bottles that held either candy or whiskey (big disparity, there).  These guns were small with the consumable of choice poured from end of the barrel.   The candy guns were filled with brightly colored hard candies and could be given out as prizes at carnivals or purchased cheaply at a five and dime store.  The gun-shaped whiskey bottles were frequently either purchased as souvenirs or given out as promotional samples.  Once emptied, many of these guns became toys.

Our barrel, however, is solid.  Solid glass guns are far less common.  Most exhibited a non-glass grip and were modeled after actual guns available on the market.  Ours appears to mimic a snub nose revolver.  It is unclear whether this was intended as a toy or a curio, although we suspect those lines frequently blurred.  Regardless, during the 1940s and ‘50s with great advances in chemical technology most glass novelties were replaced were replaced by the newest cheap material…plastic.

Mara Kaktins, Archaeologist
Ceramics & Glass Specialist

“A Silly Bauble”: Ferry Farm’s Sputnik Moment

EDITOR’S NOTE: Sixty years ago today, the Soviet Union launched Sputnik, Earth’s first artificial satellite, into orbit.  It was an event with consequences, both great and small, that spanned the globe, even reaching Ferry Farm, once the boyhood home of George Washington, in Virginia. Today, we reshare this blog post about Ferry Farm’s Sputnik moment.

Sputniks and mutniks, flying through the air,
Sputniks and mutniks, flying everywhere,
It’s so ironic. Are they atomic?
Those funny missiles have got me scared.
-Lyrics from “Sputniks and Mutniks” by Ray Anderson and the Home Folks (1958)

sputnik

A replica of Sputnik at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC. Credit: NASA/Wikipedia.

“Beep, Beep, Beep…” went the sinister telemetry signals from the Earth’s first artificial satellite.  Launched by the Soviet Union on October 4, 1957 — 59 years ago today — those irritating beeps, which can be heard below, provided undeniable evidence of the successful launch. It occurred during the Cold War between the Communist East and the Capitalist West, and represented the dawn of the space age. Embedded within Sputnik were two radio transmitters that, using a single watt of power, broadcast a series of beeps received by radios and televisions all over the world. These beeping sounds frightened some, who mistrusted the technological breakthrough and its potential military applications.

 

awake-at-last

Uncle Sam is “Awake at Last” from his bed of complacency while Sputnik can be seen through the window hurtling across the sky transmitting it’s urgent ‘beep.’ Cartoon by Edwin Marcus. Credit: Library of Congress

Sputnik roused considerable political anxiety on the part the United States, a country determined to perfect satellite technology and to engage in cosmic exploration.  They underestimated the progress of the Soviet program. Today, in popular parlance, a “sputnik moment” refers to being spectacularly caught off guard by the unanticipated advancements of a rival. President Obama incorporated “Sputnik moment” in his 2011 State of the Union Address designed to encourage investment in research and technology.

At the height of the crisis in 1957, the Eisenhower administration referred to Sputnik as “…a silly bauble….” The satellite represented a rather modest accomplishment whose engineers prioritized being first in orbit over producing a sophisticated data-gathering tool. Recently, some scholars have suggested that the satellite was a bit of a ‘bluff’ to make the United States believe that the Soviet program was more sophisticated than it was.  Like many martial ‘bluffs,’ the impact was far-reaching and it exacerbated and escalated an already frigid Cold War.

About the size of a beach ball, Sputnik orbited less than 600 miles above earth. Each orbit lasted 96 minutes. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) was created in 1958 as a response to this (perceived) technological “wake up” call. Nationally, efforts to strengthen primary school science education ensued and encouraged more students to seek technologically-oriented careers in service of a more robust space program.

In 2014, Ferry Farm archaeologists unearthed a tangible prize from this moment: a plastic toy “Sputnik” finger ring. Remember that Ferry Farm remained home to a variety of individuals and families in the centuries since the Washingtons lived there.  The flashy gold-colored ring, originally dispensed from a gumball machine, featured an idealized image of the satellite and the word “SPUTNIK.” It was no doubt cherished by its original owner, and envied by the prospective young space explorer’s friends.

sputnik-ring-2

The Sputnik ring recovered archaeologically at George Washington’s Ferry Farm.

sputnik-ring-3

A 3D image of the Sputnik ring.

As an archaeologist, the find confused me: why would toys commemorating Soviet satellites exist in the United States?  Who would buy this celebratory object for their child? For goodness sake this land had once been Washington’s home, first president of the definitely-not communist United States. I foremost saw the object through a politico-military lens, rather than as a space-age wonder for all people.

In popular American culture of the late 1950s, the surprise of Sputnik frequently was one of delight rather than apprehension. For some, those cosmic beeps were inspirational, promising future space travel and technological progress. From this new age of cosmic exploration emerged songs, dance, theatre, literature, and graphic art.

A generation of young Americans, enthralled by science fiction adventures of Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, could not contain their excitement.  They were captivated by the real-life manifestation of their outer space fantasies. The launch excited children who dreamed of the day they might defend the earth against hostile invaders from space. Kids who spent their school days engaged in “duck and cover” drills ironically raced out to their back yard for a glimpse of the Soviet technology racing across the night sky.

childs-drawing-1

American child’s drawing of Sputnik by a female, aged 13, October 18, 1957. Crayon on paper. Credit: Manuscript Division, Library of Congress (252L)

childs-drawing-2

American child’s drawing of Sputnik by a female, aged 13, October 16, 1957. Crayon on paper. Credit: Manuscript Division , Library of Congress (252h)

The satellite orbited the earth for three months, though its radio signals tactfully subsided after three weeks.  Sputnik’s orbit eroded 4 January 1958.  Its effects were as far reaching as they were long lasting.

The Sputnik launch garnered a diverse array of reactions nationally and internationally: pride, disquiet, excitement, imagination, and infinite inspiration. The rich variety of these responses led to the creation of a wide range of material culture – objects as small and inexpensive as a child’s toy ring and as massive an investment as the Kennedy Space Center. People created – and experienced – music, technology, literature, dance, and theatre that allowed them to understand this event in ways relevant to their own lives.   These responses reflect humankind’s desire to comprehend pivotal events that are beyond their control through personal agency.  Material culture – artifacts – gives us the capacity to participate in, to understand, and to ‘own,’ grand events that are larger than we are.

This was true in the past as well, as the assorted artifacts analyzed daily at Ferry Farm attest. Prehistoric ground stone tools were an astonishing advancement in their time: this technology allowed our ancestors to maximize the nutritional benefits of nuts, seeds, and grains, to fell trees that made dwellings more comfortable, and to toss spears farther and with greater force. Such scientific wonders no doubt inspired non-ground stone-producing peoples to invest in technological developments of their own.

Have a Sputnik moment! Let’s redefine the phrase to commemorate the boundless scientific and artistic creativity that the launch stimulated, rather than the political anxiety that emerged. Create a technologically- or arts-inspired marvel of your own! Don’t avoid sputnik moments… pursue them.  Show your support for World Space Week, which is held annually October 4-10. To learn more about this year’s events: http://www.worldspaceweek.org/

Laura Galke, Archaeologist
Site Director/Small Finds Analyst

Further Reading

Blair, Elizabeth
2007  “Sputnik in Space and Song.”  National Public Radio.  Accessed 15 September 2016. http://www.npr.org/temptates/story/story.php?storyId=14937486.

Blough, Glenn O.
1957  “Children, Put Away Your Sputniks.”  The Science Teacher 24(8):373-374.

Bonner, Thomas N.
1958  “Sputniks and the Educational Crisis in America.”  The Journal of Higher Education 29(4):177-184, 232.

Brandau, Daniel
2015  “Demarcations in the Void: Early Satellites and the Making of Outer Space.”  Historical Social Rsearch/Historische Sozialforschung 40(1[151]):239-264.

Cowen, Ron
2007  “Sputnik + 50: Remembering the Dawn of the Space Age.”  Science News 172(14):216-217, 221.

Kabakchi, V. V. and Charles Clay Doyle
1990  “Of Sputniks, Beatniks, and Nogoodniks.”  American Speech 65(3):275-278.

Launius, Roger D.
2009  “Abandoned in Place: Interpreting the U.S. Material Culture of the Moon Race.”  The Public Historian 31(3):9-38.

Moskowitz, Clara
2012  “How Sputnik Changed the World 55 Years Ago Today”.  Space.com. http://www.space.com/17894-sputnik-anniversary-changed-the-world.html.  Accessed 14 September 2016.

Osgood, Kenneth
2006  Total Cold War: Eisenhower’s Secret Propaganda Battle at Home and Abroad. Lawrence, KS: University of Kansas Press.

Starnes, Bobby Ann
2011 “Change, Sputnik, and Fast Food.”  The Phi Delta Kappan 92(7):72-73.

Usselman, Steven W.
2010  “From Sputnik to SCOT: The Historiography of American Technology.”  OAH Magazine of History 24(3):9-14.

The Surveyor’s Shed at Ferry Farm

Surveyor's Shed in Spring

The “Surveyor’s Shed” at George Washington’s Ferry Farm.

It isn’t known when the myths about the small white building called the Surveyor’s Shed at George Washington’s Ferry Farm began, or why it was believed by so many that the structure existed during George Washington’s childhood. It was long-held myth was that Augustine Washington taught his son, George, how to survey in this building but, in truth, the structure was built after the Civil War. As with many historic structures, the years have not been kind to the little frame building. Repairs and renovations over the years have periodically exposed its architectural secrets, revealing the true story of Ferry Farm’s oldest standing building. The collection of myths about this structure, referred to as the “Surveyor’s Shed” or “Surveyor’s Office” are of equal importance to its documented architectural history. Valuable oral histories from the people who once lived, worked, or visited at Ferry Farm include their own interpretations of the land on which George Washington spent his boyhood. Collected by Ferry Farm staff, these oral histories offer insights into the myth of the Surveyor’s Shed and give us clues as to why the story has remained so entrenched, regardless of the fact that the structure was built a century after George’s mother, Mary, left the property.

The Myth

For decades, the Surveyor’s Shed was believed to be and indeed was introduced to visitors as George Washington’s first surveying office, where his father, Augustine, taught George how to survey. Having purchased the property years earlier, James B. Colbert built a large Victorian-style farm house at Ferry Farm in 1914. This farmhouse changed hands multiple times and was occupied for most of its existence. The house burned down on the morning of September 26, 1994.

James B. Colbert

James B. Colbert

It is believed that Mr. Colbert began the Surveyor’s Office myth, since the building was not referred to by that name before Colbert owned the property. In Where the Cherry Tree Grew, Philip Levy, describes the relationship between J.B. Colbert and the Ferry Farm myths:

“Was it Colbert’s idea to serve up these stories in aid of his own ends, or were visitors bringing their beloved Washington tales with them? There is no way to know for sure,  but J.B. was orchestrating these stories- adding to them, accommodating them, making the most he could of them, and seeking ways to profit from them. He may not have set this Ferry Farm Weemsian renaissance in motion, but he certainly kept it rolling along and was its principal beneficiary.”[1]

In an oral history interview, Charles Linton, a later resident of the home, remembered that Belle Colbert — J.B.’s daughter — came to pay her respects once a year at the Surveyor’s Office.

The Linton family continued to share Ferry Farm’s most famous myths with visitors to the property during the 1940 and 50s. While the Linton’s lived at Ferry Farm, tourists were welcomed. Charles Linton recalled two or three guests showed up unexpectedly in a single day. The family kept a guestbook inside the Surveyor’s Office and greeted anyone who showed up to visit. When guests arrived, they were offered a tour that included the Surveyor’s Office and a cherry tree stump purported to be descended from the tree George cut down with his little hatchet. This stump was revered by visitors and treated as a shrine.  The Lintons never questioned the authenticity of the shrines.

Boy with Cherry Tree Shrine

A young boy stands proudly by the cherry tree stump. The rear of the Surveyor’s Shed is visible in the background.

Additionally, a trunk of a cherry tree was housed inside the Surveyor’s Office, and the Linton children cut off pieces of its bark to sell as souvenirs. Charles Linton remembered in his interview, that when one trunk was used up, he and his brother, Tayloe, crossed Kings Highway to cut down another cherry tree and sell parts of that trunk, as pieces were in such high demand.

Paul Millikan moved into the Colbert house with his wife and children in 1962. He recalled during an oral history interview that upon moving in, most of the downstairs of the home was used as a museum and the upstairs was the family’s living area. He also noted that the Surveyor’s Office had surveying equipment on display, although the equipment was not of the Washington’s era. Like the Lintons, Millikan did not immediately question the authenticity of the Surveyor’s Office at first. Over time, he began to question the possibility that the building was not of Washington’s time, but remained inspired by those who revered this land and its shrines as authentic Washington era relics.

The Truth

The Surveyor’s Shed was officially listed as “George Washington’s First Surveying Office” in the Historic American Building Survey of 1935 but this listing was accompanied by a note stating that the claim was not supported with written proof.  In 1972, the Surveyor’s Shed was added to the National Register of Historic Places. Its nomination form (PDF) described the building as a 13’ x 12’ frame house sitting on loose stones, 20 feet to the south of where “George’s mother’s house stood”.  While the structure was referred to as “George Washington’s surveying shed” on the NHRP application, this document clearly stated the building was not of colonial origin.

In reality, the construction of the shed likely began when the Carson family owned Ferry Farm in the late 19th century; a full 100 years after Mary Washington left the property.  To build the structure, the Carsons used materials from other structures owned by the family on the property. Machine-cut lath in the original plaster walls and ceiling, the cut nails holding the structure together, and the platform framing are all evidence the building was constructed after 1870. The onslaught of the Civil War and the occupation of Ferry Farm by Union soldiers would have almost definitely caused major damage, if not complete destruction, of a small building like the shed if it had been standing pre-war. The war’s destruction was immense as evidenced by letters and photographs of Ferry Farm from the Civil War show a land denuded of trees or wood of any kind. Soldiers used every scrap of wood they could find to fuel fires for cooking keeping warm.

Surveyor's Shed in Winter

The Surveyor’s Shed in winter.

Nevertheless, the Surveyor’s Office was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1972, and was again carefully recorded and repaired by historic preservationists after suffering damages from weathering, aging, and even wildlife.  Ferry Farm’s oldest building, while not from George Washington’s times, is still an important part of George’s boyhood home, and is considered an important American shrine by Fredericksburg locals. The myth of the structure being from the Washington era has been dispelled, but the little building is close to its sesquicentennial year as a symbol of the importance of the property it sits on. The myth behind the Surveyor’s Shed has become valuable in its own right, similar to the Cherry Tree Story. Both myths have affected the way we look at George Washington’s formative years. Had it not been for this little white building, and J.B. Colbert propagating these myths as facts, the narrative of the Surveyor’s Shed might not be as well-known, and Ferry Farm itself might not have been saved and protected as it is today.

Elyse Adams, Archaeologist
Artifact Cataloger & Field Monitoring Technician

[1] Levy, Philip. Where the Cherry Tree Grew: The Story of Ferry Farm, George Washington’s Boyhood Home. New York, St. Martin’s Press. 2013: 148.

 

“I wonder if this was mine?”: Robert Bailey’s Ferry Farm

We have a unique situation here at the Ferry Farm Archaeology Lab.  One of our volunteers, who has spent hundreds of hours washing, sorting and labeling excavated artifacts, is oddly enough, also partially responsible for creating some of those artifacts in the first place!

Robert Bailey 1

Robert Bailey

Robert Bailey, his father Ray, mother Peggy and older brother Ray Jr., lived here at Ferry Farm from the late spring of 1957 until August of 1959.  His parents rented what was referred to as the “Colbert house,” a large three-story home built in 1914 by James Colbert, a farmer and businessman.

Colbert House 1

Colbert House

Robert was only five years old when he moved to Ferry Farm.  He vividly remembers playing in the many barns, running through the fields and woods that surrounded the farmhouse, and swimming in the stream that runs alongside the historic Ferry Road on hot summer days. He and his brother also showed visitors stopping to see George Washington’s boyhood home around the property and invited them to sign the guest book located inside the small late 19th century building called the Surveyor’s Shed.

Young Robert

Robert as a child (foreground left in the rocker) in the Colbert House back yard.

He also remembers playing with lots of toys typical of the time, most notably glass marbles, plastic army men, toy cars and trucks, and especially a new toy called Play Doh, a wallpaper cleaner compound that had just been reinvented as a moldable clay product for children.

DSC_0071

Collection of 20th century items excavated at Ferry Farm. Clockwise from left: portion of a Playdoh canister lid, marbles including a large green shooter, green plastic army man, red plastic Indian, blue plastic Civil War soldier, four .22 caliber shelling casings.

Over 800 toy-related artifacts have been excavated and catalogued in our artifact database.  As a collection, these toys span all time periods, from colonial clay marbles, to Civil War-era dice, to a Cold War-era Sputnik ring, and most recently, Dora the Explorer sunglasses! We have also catalogued fragments of bicycle parts, dominoes, board game pieces, dolls, plastic figurines, toy guns and planes, toy cars and trucks, and dishes and tea sets.

Of course, Robert and his brother were not the only children who lived on or visited this site. Other children lived in the Colbert house before and after the Baileys resided there, and hundreds have visited the site on field trips and for special events, such as our annual Fourth of July celebration.

Robert cannot say with any certainty that any of the marbles he has washed in the lab once belonged to him, but the conversations that those marbles start are an important part of the oral and archaeological history of the site.  Robert Bailey has participated in the Foundation’s oral history program with a detailed accounting of his memories of the house and grounds.  Because he experienced living at Ferry Farm, he can tell us about not only the events and activities his family took part in, but also of the perceptions that visitors to the farm had about the importance of this site as Washington’s boyhood home.

Another vivid childhood memory that often comes to Robert’s mind is of his mother shooting at the black snakes that appeared in and around the house and yard.  According to Robert, one day a snake came out of a hole in an old gnarled tree located near the Surveyor’s Shed.  His mother dutifully brought out her rifle and proceeded to, as Robert says, “blast away” at the snake. Despite the countless number of bullets expended, she missed and the snake eventually slithered back into its hole.

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Surveyor’s Shed in the foreground left with Colbert House in the background right.

While washing artifacts in the wet lab, Robert has come across a lot of .22 shell casings.  Just this past week he washed seven.  Each time one appears in an artifact bag, Robert chuckles and says “this shell casing might be one that my mom shot at the snake in the tree – and missed!”

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Robert looks over some of the 20th century items excavated at Ferry Farm that, who knows, might have belonged to him in his youth.

Sixty years have passed since the Bailey family first came to live at Ferry Farm, but the past certainly comes full circle and is alive again when Robert empties another artifact bag onto the tray and begins to sort its contents.  His connection with our archaeological site provides staff with many opportunities to record and analyze more about Ferry Farm in the 20th century. Robert’s deep commitment to helping preserve George Washington’s boyhood history, combined with his own unique insights, creates a new understanding about Ferry Farm for Robert too.

Robert’s history lies mostly in the topmost soil layers of the site as not enough time has passed to deeply bury his things. Although Robert’s lost marbles and plastic army men are mixed in with excavated toys dropped by other boys and girls, it’s fun to hear him say “I wonder if this was mine?”

Judy Jobrack, Archaeologist
Assistant Lab Supervisor

“A Silly Bauble”: Ferry Farm’s Sputnik Moment

Sputniks and mutniks, flying through the air,
Sputniks and mutniks, flying everywhere,
It’s so ironic. Are they atomic?
Those funny missiles have got me scared.
-Lyrics from “Sputniks and Mutniks” by Ray Anderson and the Home Folks (1958)

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A replica of Sputnik at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC. Credit: NASA/Wikipedia.

“Beep, Beep, Beep…” went the sinister telemetry signals from the Earth’s first artificial satellite.  Launched by the Soviet Union on October 4, 1957 — 59 years ago today — those irritating beeps, which can be heard below, provided undeniable evidence of the successful launch. It occurred during the Cold War between the Communist East and the Capitalist West, and represented the dawn of the space age. Embedded within Sputnik were two radio transmitters that, using a single watt of power, broadcast a series of beeps received by radios and televisions all over the world. These beeping sounds frightened some, who mistrusted the technological breakthrough and its potential military applications.

 

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Uncle Sam is “Awake at Last” from his bed of complacency while Sputnik can be seen through the window hurtling across the sky transmitting it’s urgent ‘beep.’ Cartoon by Edwin Marcus. Credit: Library of Congress

Sputnik roused considerable political anxiety on the part the United States, a country determined to perfect satellite technology and to engage in cosmic exploration.  They underestimated the progress of the Soviet program. Today, in popular parlance, a “sputnik moment” refers to being spectacularly caught off guard by the unanticipated advancements of a rival. President Obama incorporated “Sputnik moment” in his 2011 State of the Union Address designed to encourage investment in research and technology.

At the height of the crisis in 1957, the Eisenhower administration referred to Sputnik as “…a silly bauble….” The satellite represented a rather modest accomplishment whose engineers prioritized being first in orbit over producing a sophisticated data-gathering tool. Recently, some scholars have suggested that the satellite was a bit of a ‘bluff’ to make the United States believe that the Soviet program was more sophisticated than it was.  Like many martial ‘bluffs,’ the impact was far-reaching and it exacerbated and escalated an already frigid Cold War.

About the size of a beach ball, Sputnik orbited less than 600 miles above earth. Each orbit lasted 96 minutes. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) was created in 1958 as a response to this (perceived) technological “wake up” call. Nationally, efforts to strengthen primary school science education ensued and encouraged more students to seek technologically-oriented careers in service of a more robust space program.

In 2014, Ferry Farm archaeologists unearthed a tangible prize from this moment: a plastic toy “Sputnik” finger ring. Remember that Ferry Farm remained home to a variety of individuals and families in the centuries since the Washingtons lived there.  The flashy gold-colored ring, originally dispensed from a gumball machine, featured an idealized image of the satellite and the word “SPUTNIK.” It was no doubt cherished by its original owner, and envied by the prospective young space explorer’s friends.

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The Sputnik ring recovered archaeologically at George Washington’s Ferry Farm.

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A 3D image of the Sputnik ring.

As an archaeologist, the find confused me: why would toys commemorating Soviet satellites exist in the United States?  Who would buy this celebratory object for their child? For goodness sake this land had once been Washington’s home, first president of the definitely-not communist United States. I foremost saw the object through a politico-military lens, rather than as a space-age wonder for all people.

In popular American culture of the late 1950s, the surprise of Sputnik frequently was one of delight rather than apprehension. For some, those cosmic beeps were inspirational, promising future space travel and technological progress. From this new age of cosmic exploration emerged songs, dance, theatre, literature, and graphic art.

A generation of young Americans, enthralled by science fiction adventures of Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, could not contain their excitement.  They were captivated by the real-life manifestation of their outer space fantasies. The launch excited children who dreamed of the day they might defend the earth against hostile invaders from space. Kids who spent their school days engaged in “duck and cover” drills ironically raced out to their back yard for a glimpse of the Soviet technology racing across the night sky.

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American child’s drawing of Sputnik by a female, aged 13, October 18, 1957. Crayon on paper. Credit: Manuscript Division, Library of Congress (252L)

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American child’s drawing of Sputnik by a female, aged 13, October 16, 1957. Crayon on paper. Credit: Manuscript Division , Library of Congress (252h)

The satellite orbited the earth for three months, though its radio signals tactfully subsided after three weeks.  Sputnik’s orbit eroded 4 January 1958.  Its effects were as far reaching as they were long lasting.

The Sputnik launch garnered a diverse array of reactions nationally and internationally: pride, disquiet, excitement, imagination, and infinite inspiration. The rich variety of these responses led to the creation of a wide range of material culture – objects as small and inexpensive as a child’s toy ring and as massive an investment as the Kennedy Space Center. People created – and experienced – music, technology, literature, dance, and theatre that allowed them to understand this event in ways relevant to their own lives.   These responses reflect humankind’s desire to comprehend pivotal events that are beyond their control through personal agency.  Material culture – artifacts – gives us the capacity to participate in, to understand, and to ‘own,’ grand events that are larger than we are.

This was true in the past as well, as the assorted artifacts analyzed daily at Ferry Farm attest. Prehistoric ground stone tools were an astonishing advancement in their time: this technology allowed our ancestors to maximize the nutritional benefits of nuts, seeds, and grains, to fell trees that made dwellings more comfortable, and to toss spears farther and with greater force. Such scientific wonders no doubt inspired non-ground stone-producing peoples to invest in technological developments of their own.

Have a Sputnik moment! Let’s redefine the phrase to commemorate the boundless scientific and artistic creativity that the launch stimulated, rather than the political anxiety that emerged. Create a technologically- or arts-inspired marvel of your own! Don’t avoid sputnik moments… pursue them.  Show your support for World Space Week, which is held annually October 4-10. To learn more about this year’s events: http://www.worldspaceweek.org/

Laura Galke, Archaeologist
Site Director/Small Finds Analyst

Further Reading

Blair, Elizabeth
2007  “Sputnik in Space and Song.”  National Public Radio.  Accessed 15 September 2016. http://www.npr.org/temptates/story/story.php?storyId=14937486.

Blough, Glenn O.
1957  “Children, Put Away Your Sputniks.”  The Science Teacher 24(8):373-374.

Bonner, Thomas N.
1958  “Sputniks and the Educational Crisis in America.”  The Journal of Higher Education 29(4):177-184, 232.

Brandau, Daniel
2015  “Demarcations in the Void: Early Satellites and the Making of Outer Space.”  Historical Social Rsearch/Historische Sozialforschung 40(1[151]):239-264.

Cowen, Ron
2007  “Sputnik + 50: Remembering the Dawn of the Space Age.”  Science News 172(14):216-217, 221.

Kabakchi, V. V. and Charles Clay Doyle
1990  “Of Sputniks, Beatniks, and Nogoodniks.”  American Speech 65(3):275-278.

Launius, Roger D.
2009  “Abandoned in Place: Interpreting the U.S. Material Culture of the Moon Race.”  The Public Historian 31(3):9-38.

Moskowitz, Clara
2012  “How Sputnik Changed the World 55 Years Ago Today”.  Space.com. http://www.space.com/17894-sputnik-anniversary-changed-the-world.html.  Accessed 14 September 2016.

Osgood, Kenneth
2006  Total Cold War: Eisenhower’s Secret Propaganda Battle at Home and Abroad. Lawrence, KS: University of Kansas Press.

Starnes, Bobby Ann
2011 “Change, Sputnik, and Fast Food.”  The Phi Delta Kappan 92(7):72-73.

Usselman, Steven W.
2010  “From Sputnik to SCOT: The Historiography of American Technology.”  OAH Magazine of History 24(3):9-14.

Kenmore’s Famed Gingerbread

Historic Kenmore was associated with gingerbread for decades.  Many people’s first memories of Kenmore involve the square of gingerbread and a cup of tea that used to be served at the end of every tour.    The dessert welcomed visitors to the world of colonial Fredericksburg, it comforted soldiers on their way to war in Europe or the Pacific, and, most important of all, it helped save the historic house itself.

The ladies of the Kenmore Association, which owned and operated the historic home in the 20th century, took on a great challenge when they accepted stewardship of Kenmore.  Raising the money to purchase the house was not the only obstacle they faced.  They also needed funds to restore and staff the house. Unfortunately, the ladies drive to save Kenmore coincided with the Great Depression and the Second World War.  Led by Annie Fleming Smith or “Miss Annie,” the ladies triumphed, kept Kenmore running, and even used the grounds to assist Fredericksburg in the war effort.  They did all this with their indomitable drive and patriotism and with a little help from gingerbread.

The beneficial partnership between gingerbread and Kenmore began in the early 1930s when the Dromedary Cake Mix Company launched a nationwide search for gingerbread recipes new and old.  In the search, Mary Washington’s personal recipe was found in a cookbook owned by the Washington-Lewis Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution. It was tried and well-liked.  The firm approached the chapter about producing the recipe as one of their mixes.  Because the Washington-Lewis Chapter worked closely with the Kenmore Association in saving, restoring, and caring for Kenmore, Miss Annie and the ladies, being astute business women, brokered a deal with the company to benefit the historic home.

Dromedary Ad

An 1940s-era advertisement for Dromedary gingerbread mix “made from the 200-year-old Recipe of George Washington’s Mother.”

The arrangement allowed Dromedary to produce gingerbread mixes based on Mary Washington’s recipe.  In exchange, the Kenmore Association got all the gingerbread they could serve to visitors.  The company also donated mixes to be sold by the Association and various DAR chapters for 25 cents a box.  The Association got half of the money realized from these sales minus the shipping costs.  This agreement, in the end, earned the Kenmore Association over $38,000 – a hefty sum in the mid-20th century – and provided countless visitors with a yummy Washington family treat.

In 1941, the United States entered World War II.  Fredericksburg became a hub of activity with thousands of soldiers stationed at the A.P. Hill Military Reservation in Bowling Green visiting town to get a break from military life.

The Association’s ladies knew that Kenmore, with its historical and patriotic legacy, had a unique opportunity to welcome soldiers who would be fighting for the country and ideals that the Lewis and Washington families helped create. So, they threw open the gates, set out the picnic tables, and recruited local women to put on their colonial best and greet the men of the United States military. At the heart of this hospitality was iced tea and Mary Washington’s gingerbread.

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Servicemen enjoy gingerbread and tea on the grounds at Kenmore.

During the war years, Kenmore hosted over 60,000 soldiers making sure each one was fed and knew his service was greatly cherished.  The ladies of the Washington-Lewis DAR even took time to write each serviceman’s mother, wife, or sweetheart about their loved ones.

Gingerbread (2)

C.R. Murphy, Sr. of Coolidge, Georgia wrote The Free Lance Star to express his gratitude for Annie Fleming Smith’s (identified in the letter as Mrs. H.H. Smith)  hospitality towards him and his son during a visit to Fredericksburg from a nearby military post where the son was stationed.

The humble gingerbread recipe from Mary Washington’s cookbook gave Kenmore a perfect tangible link to its colonial past and bright future.  The gingerbread that resulted assisted the ladies in their community outreach, their historic preservation, and their national patriotic duty.   It was a sign of nostalgia, of hospitality, and most of all appreciation.

Today, when you tour Kenmore, our guides will happily take you through the reconstructed colonial kitchen that functioned as the Kenmore Association’s tea room.  Regrettably, gingerbread and tea are no longer served to visitors because we do not have a fully-functioning kitchen.  Gingerbread mixes and teas specifically created for The George Washington Foundation are available for purchase by anyone who might wish to relive their first taste of Kenmore’s famed gingerbread.

Heather Baldus
Collections Manager