“Your mama wishes for an outing to Washington Park in the Oldsmobile. I will indulge her until a quarter before two, when I go to the Club.” Papa grumbled about muddy roads and every-man-for-himself intersections, but Mama prevailed. I had no say in the matter.
[Blue Thread, Chapter 3]

What would Julius Josefsohn’s prized Oldsmobile have been like? Chances are, it would have looked like this beautifully-restored 1910 Limited model. Most cars at the time had convertible tops; many had four doors. On the other hand, Julius might have preferred a black car; he might have thought this light-colored, pin-striped color scheme too ostentatious for his old-world tastes.

(Thanks to Royal Feltner for permission to use images from his wonderful website on early American car history.)

Oldsmobile is one of the oldest American brands. The Olds Motor Works was founded by Ransom E. Olds in Lansing, Michigan, in 1897. In 1901, Olds’ company was the first high-volume manufacturer of gasoline-powered cars: it built 425 of them. There were 725 Limiteds produced; the retail price was about $4600, which was more than the cost of a simple three-bedroom house. It’s easy to see why Julius didn’t like getting mud on his car!

Oldsmobile became a part of the growing General Motors Company in 1908. Oldsmobiles were last produced in 2004. Here’s an Aurora sedan from about 2001, one of the last years.

In its 107-year history, Oldsmobile produced 35.2 million cars.

And now, for your listening (and maybe singing) pleasure, here’s a 1909 recording of “In My Merry Oldsmobile” sung by Billy Murray (1877-1954), one of the most popular recording stars of the early 20th century. The song dates from 1905 and would have been popular in Miriam’s 1912 Portland. It’s worth including the lyrics here, so you can sing along. The song is flirtatious, but the sex is between the lines.

Verse 1

Young Johnny Steele has an Oldsmobile and he loves a dear little girl
She is the queen of his gas machine, she has his heart in a whirl
Now when they go for a spin, you know, she tries to learn the auto, so
He lets her steer, while he gets her ear, and whispers soft and low…

Chorus

Come away with me, Lucille, in my merry Oldsmobile
Down the road of life we’ll fly, automobubbling, you and I
To the church we’ll swiftly steal, then our wedding bells will peal
You can go as far as you like with me, in my merry Oldsmobile.

Verse 2

They love to “spark” in the dark old park, as they go flying along
She says she knows why the motor goes: the “sparker” is awfully strong
Each day they “spoon” to the engine’s tune; their honeymoon will happen soon
He’ll win Lucille with his Oldsmobile and then he’ll fondly croon…

Repeat Chorus

I love what they got away with in these old songs! On the other hand, in 1912, a proper lady’s ankles were not to be seen in public. I think old-fashioned Julius would’ve found these lyrics to be absolutely scandalous, unfit for the ears of his 16-year-old daughter. And certainly Lillian’s outing to Portland’s beautiful Washington Park (perhaps 30 minutes from the Josefsohn residence) was not the kind referred to in the song!

And think she will, when I take over this blog later on this summer, as soon as I figure out how. My parents will be livid, but what else is new? If I had done everything they wanted, I never would have started a new life on the edge of San Francisco Bay. I never would have welcomed my beloved Mim at the Oakland train station back in 1912 and witnessed what happened to her over the years. I never would have seen the vote for justice card that Mim printed.

When I take over Ruth’s blog, I’ll show you Mim’s card, which Ruth never did, did she? There’s a veritable mountain of narrative bits that she has no intention of putting on the page. I should know. I live in Ruth’s brain. I haunt her dreams.

Stick with me. Mum’s the word for now. I’ll be back. Soon.

Earth's major tectonic plates

Alfred Wegener liked to puzzle out problems, and one of them was how the world’s continents came to be. South America and Africa looked like two puzzle pieces that should have fit together once.  Back in 1912, while our fictional Miriam Josefsohn was campaigning for woman suffrage, Wegener proposed the theory of continental drift. A hundred years later, most of us see the sense in his explanations. But when Wegener first spoke about his hypothesis, few geologists took him seriously. Wegener’s specially was meteorology, not geology. His ideas about a supercontinent that split apart seemed unbelievable.

Wegener taught at the University of Marburg in Germany, and he published his research findings in German. During World War I (1914-1918), when the United States and much of Europe was at war with Germany, Wegner’s book was largely ignored.

Wegener didn’t give up. By the 1920s, more scientists began to take him seriously. Not many, though. Wegener was determined to convince them that his hypothesis was correct.  In 1930, he went to Greenland to collect data. Wegener, age 50, never returned. Friends found his body buried in the snow. Apparently Wegener’s guide, Rasmus Villumsen (on the right in this photo), buried Wegener and died soon afterward.

The hypothesis of continental drift survived—just barely at first. Now it fits well with our understanding of our planet’s interior and tectonic plates. Had Miriam lived in Portland today, she would certainly be aware of earthquakes from the Cascadia (Juan de Fuca) plate.

The opening scene in the movie notes that Chaplin plays the role of “the militant suffragette.” Chaplin in drag is at a parade in the United States, and he makes a fool of him (her) self. At this time in 1914, Sylvia Pankhurst and the real “militant suffragettes” (they embraced the once-derogatory name) were fighting for women’s rights. Pankhurst’s group was known at the East London Federation of Suffragettes (ELFS). They campaigned for universal suffrage, founded a Montessori school for young children, and set up a free health clinic. The ELFS also opposed Britain’s entry into World War I.

Here’s an image of Charlie Chaplin in “A Busy Day.” And here’s a link to see the entire silent film (it’s only a few minutes long).

Did Charlie Chaplin (1889-1977) look like Sylvia Pankhurst (1882-1960)? Here’s a photo of Pankhurst from 1909. You decide.

The celebration continues, thanks to the Maypole Dancers from the Laurelhurst School. Here’s a recent snapshot of them performing in front of the Kennedy school (now a McMenamin’s hotel and restaurant). See them dance today!

May Day has been around for 2,250 years. At least. Way back when, the Romans celebrated the coming of spring with a festival honoring Flora, the goddess of flowers. In northern Europe some people celebrated April 30-May 1 with bonfires, and treated the time as a gathering of witches six months after All Hallows’ Eve. For others, May 1 was the official start of summer, a time to send the cattle into the summer pastures and to perform rites to insure a good crop. Perhaps Miriam celebrated May Day the way these young ladies did in Maryland in 1906. Happy May Day!

Here it is, spring 2013, a hundred years after the Steinbachers’ ocean crossing, and I’ve discovered a coincidence that might have shocked writer Gerhart Hauptmann. Here’s the story.

By 1912, German-Polish author Gerhart Hauptmann had written several excellent plays and novels. His latest work that year, Atlantis, was a novel about a romance on board a doomed ocean liner. The idea seemed perfect for a dramatic rendition, and a Danish company soon set about producing a silent film with the same name. About a month after Hauptmann completed Atlantis, the ocean liner Titanic sank. Yes, after.

The Danish silent film was a flop. The sinking of Titanic that was too recent a tragedy. On December 10, 1912, Gerhardt Hauptmann accepted the Nobel Prize for Literature “primarily in recognition of his fruitful, varied and outstanding production in the realm of dramatic art.” Not one word about the Titantic or Atlantis appears in the official presentation speech about Hauptmann at the awards ceremony.

In 1970, the Willamette River was starting to recover from the mess it was back in 1912. According to a 1976 report for the Environmental Protection Agency, the river that flows through much of northwestern Oregon was described as stinking, ugly, filthy, and an “open sewer” during the first half of the 1900s. Workmen refused to take jobs close to the the Willamette near sewer outfalls. The riverfront Fourth of July festivities Miriam remembers in Blue Thread took place well away from the river’s edge. Although the first chemical analysis of Willamette River water was made in 1910, and the Oregon adopted the first pollution laws for the river in 1919, not much improved until after the state passed the “Water Purification and Prevention of Pollution Bill” in the 1938 election created the State Sanitary Authority in 1938.

Speaking for the River, a blog by historian James V. Hillegas-Elting, provides a wealth of material on the Willamette River. Stop by his blog for details. And Happy Earth Day!

The Congress shall have power to lay and collect taxes on incomes, from whatever source derived, without apportionment among the several States, and without regard to any census or enumeration”

A sufficient number of States ratified the Amendment, so that it went into effect in February, 1913, with the certification by Secretary of State Philander C. Knox. Really. I couldn’t have made up a better name. The original date for filing income tax was March 1st. Later Congress shifted the date to March 15th, and, in 1954, to April 15th. The Library of Congress has a lot more information about this.

The cost of the Civil War led to the first American income tax in 1861. Congress repealed that tax in 1872, but later enacted a similar one. The U.S. Supreme Court decided that the tax was unconstitutional because it was a direct tax not apportioned according to the population of each state. Congress solved that problem by amending the Constitution to allow the Federal government to tax the income of individuals without regard to the population of each State.

Income Tax Form, 1913

In 1913, less than one percent of the population paid income taxes at the rate of one percent of net income. The government allowed many exemptions and deductions. So, did Julius pay any taxes? You’ll have to ask him.

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