A Tale of Two Trophies

The Maidstone Club Women's Golf 2nd Eight Trophy awarded in 1913 to Mrs. John H. Whiting



The Women's Tennis Singles Trophy Awarded by Ekwanok Country Club of Manchester Vermont in August 1910 to Jean F. Whiting.

About a month ago, my favorite auction house sold a bunch of things from out of the estate of a man who had worked as a personal servant of some kind, a chauffeur I think I heard the auctioneer say, for Juan Trippe, the founder of Pan Am Airline. There were some Charles Lindbergh books, autographed by Lindbergh (out of my league – I forget how much they fetched, hundreds at least).

Juan Trippe with Charles Lindbergh

There were also some box lots of Pan Am memorabilia, mostly odds and ends of airline promotional items: a matchbox with a pop-up 747, tumblers commemorating various special flights, etc. I bought one such box. I looked through it then auctioned most of it’s contents on Ebay. (Attending two auctions a month means I have to operate on a catch-and-release policy so we aren’t completely crowded out of the house and so my husband doesn’t kill me).

I had Shackleton with me at the Pan Am auction. He spotted another box lot with a lot of metalware in it, including these two trophies. They also came out of the estate of the Trippe servant.

Shackelton and I both liked the look of these, so Chariots of Fire, aren’t they? And isn’t it wonderful that they were awarded to women nearly a hundred years ago? So, we pursued and won the box. In addition to the trophies, the box included a small silver-plated cocktail shaker, rusted on the inside, a squashed baby’s cup with “Marion” engraved on it, a beautiful little creamer and sugar bowl from Peru with a dimple where something hard hit it. In fact, about every piece had a flaw – a ding or a bend. Needless to say, everything was black with tarnish.

My theory is that these were things marked “discard” by the Master or Mistress of the house (I assumed the Trippes, but more on that in a minute), but offered to or rescued by a member of the household staff. The household staff member duly held onto them for God knows how long and died with them still in his possession. Their story did not travel to the auction house. I was left guessing about their origins but, at this stage of my life, this kind of guessing is my idea of a good time.

Note: I am sufficiently self-aware to sometimes feel guilty about being covetous and materialistic. OK. I am covetous and materialistic. I admit it. But there is a kind of educational silver lining to my vice. Having acquired something that I had determined to own, and before I release it (if it is to be released) I make an effort to learn a little something about it. For instance, I went off to the library after I bought the Pan Am memorabilia and read up on Juan Trippe. His wife was on a trip to Peru when Pan Am opened up its routes there. I read in a diary that she wrote and that has been published that she did some shopping in Lima. Did the creamer and sugar bowl come from that shopping trip? I wonder…

These trophies, being engraved with the names, “Mrs. John H. Whiting” and “Jean F. Whiting” gave me a particularly good place to start my research. The larger trophy was won by Mrs. John H. in 1913 for “Women’s Golf Second 8,” at "The Maidstone Club.” I don’t golf. I don’t even like golf, so I had never heard of the Maidstone Club. I learned with no trouble at all, however, that Maidstone is a very famous old country club in East Hampton on Long Island. (You have to be a member even to look at their website). Hmm.



Teeny Internet Image of the Clubhouse at the Maidstone Club

The smaller trophy was won by Jean F. in August 1910 at another venerable country club in Manchester, Vermont, the “Ekwanok Club”

Wikipedia will inform anyone who cares to know that Juan Trippe had been president of the Maidstone Club in the 1940s, but Google didn’t cough up for me a connection between him and the Whitings. Also, Trippe was too young to have been a contemporary of the winner (or winners) of these trophies, having been born in 1899. He was only 11 when Jean beat back the competition on the tennis courts at Manchester and only 14 when Mrs. John H. proved to be the best woman golfer at Maidstone in 1913.

Amazing thing that the internet is, however, with a few more searches, I was rewarded.

I found out that “John Hill Whiting” was a manufacturer of equipment necessary to build foundries and by 1911, president of the Whiting Foundry and Equipment Co. of Harvey, Illinois near Chicago. He was born Sault Ste. Marie in. 1852 and in 1883 he married, Carrie F. Spence. Voila! The “Mrs. John H. Whiting” whose trophy now sits on my dresser. John H. and Carrie had four children: Florence H.. Barbara, Bradford, and, last but not least, Jean. John H. was a Republican and a Presbyterian (no surprise there).

This information comes from, The Book of Chicagoans: A Biographical Dictionary of Leading Living Men of the City of Chicago, 1911. Harvard had a copy of and it was digitized in 2007. Thanks, Harvard. Thanks Google. Thanks Internet.

At first I had assumed that “Jean Whiting” (the tennis trophy winner in 1910) and Mrs. John H. Whiting (golf winner in 1913) were the same person with one trophy engraver using her given name and one her married name. Wrong. Mrs. John H. must have been quite an athlete to win the golf trophy when she was probably a grandmother. She had been married to moneybags metallurgist for 30 years by 1913. I was intrigued by this, and also by the fact that she obviously encouraged sports for her daughter(s).

Jean was, clearly, one mean tennis player, as well as a debutante. I soon learned that with one "Kenneth Trimingham", she won the mixed doubles cup in March 1912 on the Courts of the famous pink Hamilton Hotel in Bermuda (New York Times society pages archives – thanks NYT). Mrs. O. DeGray Vanderbilt (!) put up the cup and Jean and Kenneth just squeaked by the second place team at 9-7, 9-7. Later that same week, Jean and her mother also went to the Derby Day race and Jean was also present at the subscription dance a few days later, a dance “given by the men of the younger set” at the casino.

So we are firmly entrenched in the gilded age with Americans who probably actually knew Edith Wharton, or were maybe one degree of separation form her. (I spent a lot of time about a year ago with the House of Mirth and having these relics in my possession makes that whole lost world seem real. See the sidebar for some links to Wharton info.). As I said, this is my idea of a good time.

We’re not done yet, however. The most dramatic tidbit served up by the Internet was that my trophy winners were among the passengers on the famous, doomed White Star passenger ship, the RMS Republic. This shipwreck foreshadowed the Titanic disaster, although without the same great loss of life (or potential for a mawkish top 40 hit and a banal blockbuster film).


The Republic had departed New York for England on January 22, 1909. The following day, it collided with another ship. Six people died in the collision, but the Republic stayed afloat long enough for everyone else to be rescued. The passengers were evacuated in lifeboats to the other ships that rushed to the scene, thanks to the newfangled invention of shipboard telegraphy. I don’t imagine either Jean or Carrie had any trouble getting down ladders or pulling on oars, although it must have been cold in the waters off New England in January 1909. The Republic was put under tow for return to New York, but it never made it. The wreck sunk on the way back to port – with lots of treasure on board, they say.

I haven’t found in any of this what the Whitings had to do with the Trippes. My speculation is that the man who last owned these trophies may have worked for the Whitings before signing on with the Trippes in the 1960s. Maybe Juan Trippe, in the market for a chauffeur, met a Whiting at Maidstone and learned about our hero. I don’t expect I’ll get an answer to that question, but learning all this other stuff was fun and oddly gratifying.

After all this, can you believe I’m still thinking I’ll put them on Ebay? But why not? I think I have gotten from them what good they have to offer me, and I do need to have some funds for next week’s auction.

One last note:I couldn’t find any further information about Carrie and Jean Whiting and how they wound up, but some information about Jean’s sister Barbara, can be found 1914-1915 volume of Woman’s Who’s Who in America. (Thanks again Harvard):

Barbara Whiting (Mrs. Thomas Stevens Hammond), 162 E. Superior St.. Chicago, III. Born Detroit, Mich., Jan. 7, 1887; dau. J. Hill and Carrie F. (Spence) Whiting; grad. Mrs. Hazen's School, Pelham Manor, N.Y., '05; m. Chicago, June 3, 1908, Thomas Stevens Hammond; one son: Stevens Hill. Favors woman suffrage. Episcopalian. Recreations: Golf, tennis.

7 Random Things Or, My Refrigerator Door, Myself

Lulu Labonne, over at Earwig Sandwich has tagged me to write about 7 Random Things.

Lulu wrote along a kitchen theme, and I am following in her footsteps, diverging just a bit.

Let's start here:


This is a full-frontal of the refrigerator in the kitchen here in the Last House in America. Our fridge is vintage Sears circa 1994. WHusband, then only WBoyfriend, bought this brand new back when we (that is, "he") bought the farm (I'm on the title now - of course - I am a lawyer, you'll recall). If you think the outside looks, hmmm, "unkempt" you should see the inside. Well, no, you wouldn't want to do that. Let's move on to some Random Things.



1. Santa's Village is a twee little amusement park in Jefferson, New Hampshire, about an hour and a half from where I am sitting. It is a complete throwback. Prices for things like hamburgers and soft ice cream are roughly the same as those in the outside world. If you get there after 2 PM, they give you a ticket to come back on another day, any day that season that you choose, for free. (!) When Shackleton and the Understudy were just past toddlerhood, Santa's Village was their idea of heaven.

This magnet was a prize one of them collected about two years ago for getting to each of the 26 alphabet elf stations around the park. The magnet has the holding power of a thrice-used bit of scotch tape, but the elves have a certain daffy something...



2. Another magnet, another story. Choco Kitty holds the high school graduation photo of Whusband's lovely niece. She is as nice as she looks and she finished high school in Wisconsin this last summer. She sent us an invitation to her graduation and we sent her, well, nothing yet. I am a a bad aunt. I feel bad, so let's hurry on.

Beneath the lovely niece is Shackleton as he appeared in kindergarten. His afterschool caregivers at the YMCA - both young women - asked for copies for of this picture for themselves. He has charisma. His shirt says, "I do my own stunts" which is still true.

The "U" is from a set of alphabet letters I bought before the Understudy (now 10) could even stand up. Oh, those early days of parenthood! Years before she was born, we bought a box of something that was supposed to help us teach our baby math. We never.




3. This koala is actually the answer to an equation. 1 Kid + 1 Kid + 1 store = 2 items minimum purchase. I was in a nice kids book store a month or two ago with the Understudy and Shackleton. The Understudy got a book. "What about me?" wailed Shackleton. (The alphabet letters, and every other literacy support we have tried for him, have, to date, failed miserably to make a reader out of him).

"A book? Noooo!"

"How about a magnet?" (I will and do bribe, but as cheaply as possible).
"Actually, you can get two. These are cute."

He got a fuzzy hippo (you might be able to make it out in the full frontal view) and this Koala. Both creatures have magnets in each of their four little feet. They were displayed in the store spread-eagled, like bugs who have gotten the worst part of a windshield. On the ride home from the book store, however, the Understudy discovered they could assume this amusing pose.



4. The Understudy and I got to go to England this spring. At last! During part of our trip we sponged off some friends in Oxford. The lovely Spongee, Aidan, drove us out to nearby Blenheim Palace for a day of ogling a real palace inhabited by a real old Duke and a lot of animatronic fakes. Loved it. The camera was out of batteries so I bought postcards. The English Post Box magnet came from a tourist trap across Cromwell Road from the Victoria and Albert Museum. We loved the V&A - and this junk shop. It may even be a tie - well, no, the V&A actually had a great place to eat as well as the Great Bed of Ware. It wins. Nevertheless, this card and magnet, I feel, should raise the appraisal on our crappy old house.



5. This is actually stuck to the side of the fridge. Sorry if that's cheating. It's a reprint, a bad one, of a picture taken of Whusband, aged 7, by his father. Whusband is instantly recognizable in this picture, lo these many years later. His father was gone long before I came on the scene and the only things I have ever heard about him are bad. No wonder the poor kid looks a little worried. His shirt was ironed, though. He had a very nice and careful mother.



6. Here is a little grouping of things that have survived my various fridge clearing efforts for several years. An old Christmas card, showing the kids near their peak cuteness; the Attack of the 50 Foot Woman Magnet I bought in another life - a single life. (I am tall, just under 50 feet, but fortunately not so tall that perverts in the houses below can look up my tiny, white, tattered skirt).

The magnet featuring the house and laptop on it came in the HR package at my last job - I think. Maybe they sent it to me? It has the number for the Employee Assistance Line, which you can call if you are considering suicide or having any mental or emotional health crisis that might result in a claim against the health insurance. I haven't called it, yet. As far as I know I have only held onto it because you can't have too many fridge magnets.

And, of course, we have Hello Kitty. Back a couple years ago, in a toy store, one kid wanted the Hello Kitty Magnet. Choco Kitty (see #3 above) was bought to placate the other kid.



7. Please see Number 4 above. The Understudy and I sent this London postcard across the sea to comfort poor Shackleton while we were gone for a week. He still talks about how much he missed us then. The blue doughnut of a magnet is a TV and computer destroyer and potential finger breaker that Whusband brought into this deal. That postcard is not going anywhere.

OK. That's seven. Thanks Lulu. That was fun. I know not everyone likes to be tagged but I found it sort of like getting assigned to a fun essay topic back in 9th grade. Oh, I can do that! I am going to tag Old Man Neill because I think this kind of thing may be up his street. If anyone else reads this far and wants to take a hand I'd love to see the result.

Didn't You Love Tears for Fears?

Nan from a Hill Farm wrote in a comment on the A-ha Video (one post back) that she had missed out on the iconic music videos of the 1980s. I said I would post a link to one more literal video version by the same guy who so brilliantly sent up that second most famous Swedish pop band ever. This one is also worth a look, and it was one of my favorite songs not so long ago - oh, has it been 20 years? Time flies. I used to go running with this on my Walkman. Is it possible?

Man vs. Wild: Mount Royal Park

From the Discovery Channel website:

In each episode of Man vs. Wild, Bear strands himself [and his cameraman and his caterer, for all we know] in popular wilderness destinations where tourists often find themselves lost or in danger. As he finds his way back to civilization, he demonstrates local survival techniques, including escaping quicksand in the Moab Desert, navigating dangerous jungle rivers in Costa Rica, crossing ravines in the Alps and surviving sharks off Hawaii.

Man vs. Wild: Mount Royal Park

Bear: (Shouting into camera to be heard over noise of helicopter blades).
We've come to Montreal, one of the most popular tourist destinations in North America. It's a big city, with a really extreme climate. In summer, it's hotter than Mexico City and in winter its colder than Moscow. Making things tougher, most of the people in Montreal don't speak English as their first language. Many speak a kind of French called "Quebecois" and with all the immigrants to Montreal in recent years, you never know when you speak to someone in English if they are going to understand you.

We're headed for Mount Royal Park, the largest city Park in Montreal at more than 120hectares. The park was designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, who also designed New York's Central Park - but Montreal went nearly broke in the 1870s and the park was not completed to his design. So if you come here with Olmsted's plans for this massive city park, forget about using those to get around. Unless you have a more modern map, you're going to have to find your own way through the dozens of paths, trails, staircases and pavilions that line this volcano, long believed to be extinct. And if you've got a fear of heights, it's going to be even more difficult. The summit of Mount Royal looms over the city at a height of 234 meters, or more than 767 feet, not counting the lighted cross or transmission towers at top. But we're not starting at the top. We're starting at the bottom. It's July and its hot, nearly 30 degrees Celsius or verging on the high 80s in Fahrenheit. I am wearing typical tourist gear - sandals, shorts and a T-shirt. I do have my knife but no food or water.

(Bear leans into the camera then falls back toward a large green space. His parachute opens)



Bear: Now, it's true that most people don't arrive here on the eastern foot of "Mont Royal" as they say in Quebecois, by helicopter. But traffic can get pretty bad on Parc Avenue and there is NO PLACE to park. Parc Avenue also has a really strange traffic pattern. It has three lanes, and the middle lane is sometimes open to north flowing traffic and sometimes to south flowing traffic. If you're not used to watching out for the white arrows or red x's that indicate when that lane is open you can get yourself into serious trouble fast.

(Gestures to a statue near to where he is landing and folding up his parachute; camera pans an angel on a tall pedestal flanked by lions couchant)

Bear: This World War I monument is quiet today, but on Sundays crowds of drug users and people with little or no sense of decency crowd around these bronze lions for something called a "tam tam", a kind of informal communal drumming meet that's been going on here for years. The authorities pretty much leave the drummers alone, but there was a lot of graffiti on the base of that statue for a while and lots of the drummers do not wear shirts, when they really should. If you come here on a Sunday, you may want to think twice about getting too close to the tam tammers.

But our objective is the top of the mountain, and we had better get started. I'm thirsty, I haven't got anything to drink, and there is no free potable water anywhere near the bottom of the mountain. To get that, you have got to go up.

(Camera pans to the bristled top of the hill where we see a tuning-fork shaped transmission tower and a large metal cross).

Bear (walking). From the Parc Avenue entrance to the Park, the easiest route is up this graveled road, but this is a really popular park, and if you're going to walk on this road, you had better beware the mountain bikers and joggers who can come barrelling at you at a tremendous rate of speed. Also, there are still from time to time horse drawn carriages taking tourists up the road. These rides are really expensive, so you probably won't want to take one yourself. There are also mounted police that patrol the Park. So, especially if you've got sandals on in the summer, you will want to be aware of the risk of horse droppings on this road.

(shot of fresh horse manure, which Bear picks up and mushes between his fingers)

Though I am really thirsty, I don't want to chance squeezing the water out of these horse droppings. I could get a nasty g-i infection from it and I know there is water ahead. But, even in the shade, I am hot and I need to get to water now. Luckily, if you're in a hurry to get up Mont Royal, you can leave this road, and take the stairs.

(He turns to a long, wooden stair case. We see a shot of him from higher up the stairs).

Bear: You can get all the way to the "Kondiaronk Belvedere", a semicircular plaza with a chalet, overlooking downtown Montreal on these stairs. Once you're there, you're almost to the summit. This chalet and plaza were built in 1906, and, though no one in Montreal is likely to know this, it is named for the Huron chief Kondiaronk, who signed a major peace accord with the French regime in 1701. But, it's a lot of stairs. Hundreds of stairs. Last year an overweight woman got halfway up one of the longest sets and suffered a heart attack. She tumbled back down nearly to the bottom and only just survived.

(Bear runs up the remaining stairs. We see a panoramic shot of downtown Montreal).



Bear: It's not an easy climb, but it's worth it. Woooooo! Look at that view! Now let's see if the Chalet is open so I can get something to drink.



(Shot of Bear wandering in an empty, large room, sort of like a medieval dining hall. He approaches a vending machine).

Bear: There are some vending machines and a snack bar here in the chalet, and they are open, which isn't often the case. But all I have with me are some 20p coins and 10 pounds. I can't use these here. I'd really love an ice cream but, because of rich subsidies to Quebec farmers, dairy products are really extra expensive here. There's a water fountain near the men's room, but it isn't working. The person at the snack bar wouldn't give me a free cup of water, I am not sure he understood what I was asking for. So, my hunt for water has to continue.

(Bear approaches a bank of doors, tries several, finds one that opens, and exits. We see him next with trees close in on either side of him).

Bear: There are miles of trails through these woods on Mount Royal. During the winter, people ski on them. In the summer, people walk on them - and do other things. I need to keep my eyes open - I don't want to be propositioned by one of the local homosexuals, but not too open because I don't want to see what they may be getting up to. This is the shortest route to water though, and I need some now.

(Shot of a large, stone watering trough in front of a handsome stone building)

Bear: This trough was constructed here by a local animal lover for the horses that once dominated the road up Mount Royal park. It's near the giant cemetery that dominates the western slope of the mountain. It's made for animals, but the water is clean, it's clear and I'm thirsty.

(Bear ducks his head into the trough).

Bear: Well, that's better. Now I'm hungry. From where I am standing I can see Beaver Lodge and Beaver Lake. Let's get down there. We'll have to make our way through some really ugly sculptures from the 60s and some Haitian guys playing soccer but after those stairs, that will seem easy.



(Shot of 1950s era building fronted by amoeba shaped lake).

Beaver Lake, or "Lac au Castors" as some people say, was dug out in the 1950s. If your sensitive to Brasilia-gone-wrong architectural disasters, stay away. But if you want to skate or sled in the winter and you're in Mount Royal park, you're going to wind up here. Since it's July, there are no sleds today, and the ice cream vendors are out in force, but I still have my problem with not having any local currency. They might take US dollars, but I don't have those either.

(Shot of a flock of ducks swimming in a weedy lake. Bear crouches by the cement edge of the lake).

Bear: I have my knife, and these ducks would make a suitable meal. They're practically tame and I could reach in and grab one and break it's neck. The famous squirrels of Mount Royal Park are also easy prey. If you need to catch one, stand still and hold out your hand, as if you have a peanut. A squirrel will probably jump on your thigh to get the peanut - grab it and squeeze. Watch your fingers.

However, the ducks and the squirrels here have a really horrible diet of picnic leavings, strange Canadian snack foods, and garbage, so the meat is questionable. Also, given the number of families out at the park today, I have decided not to kill one. Fortunately, I also have dinner reservations. I know that if I walk due west from Beaver Lake, I will find the park access road. One really important thing to remember about getting around in Montreal, is that if you are going downhill from the south side of Mount Royal park, it means you are heading downtown. Once I get to the access road, I just walk down hill, toward the St. Lawrence River. Then I should be able to find the Omni, and safety.

You'll Be Happy You Clicked, Or Your Money Back!

I know that while tripping around the Blogiverse one doesn't want to get mired in a YouTube video, and that posting a YouTube video is a cheap date for a blogger. I was grateful to the Shopping Sherpa, however, for posting this on her blog (a great place to visit, by the way, with all kinds of oddly fascinating information about mid-century doll houses and fabulous and strangely powerful photos of same, among other things).

I remember when this video came out in the darkest 1980s and how we watched with wonder and no irony, not the least iota of irony, at all. Oh, Former Self, you were so, so lame.

Wait for the subtitles to appear a few seconds in. You will be happy you did, I guarantee it or I'll give you back every cent you paid to watch it.

Take on Me: Literal Video Version - watch more funny videos

Who Cares What You Think?

This is a question I ask myself frequently. I have a history of being all too ready to tell people what I think. I still do that too much though, I really should have learned by now. We're not 16 anymore, are we? If you're writing a blog, it's also a question you had better be able to answer. Now, was that said like a true bore?

Winston Churchill once said, "If you would be remembered, do something worth writing about or write something worth reading." I am not particularly concerned with "being remembered" as per WC(I always think of Ozymandias when people start talking about immortality)but if we're going to write anything, even a blog post, shouldn't it be worth reading? That's a rhetorical question and the correct answer is "Yes."

In touring the blogiverse, linking usually from a blog I like to one that has been recommended by that writer, I have been surprised at the amount of good writing that is out there, for free, being written by people who are not getting paid to write it. (See e.g., the blog roll on the right). I seem to gravitate to people who write well and amusingly and who take good pictures. The medium of the blog seems to lend itself best to that kind of thing. A few are a little more serious. Some are a little clubby. None are bores. I know I have a capacity to be a bore - and not a small one. I need to keep my "who cares" filter running. It's on now and I have just barely squeezed through. So, I'll shut up now.

Coming Soon!

So much to write about, so little time...

I have been planning a couple of posts that I am fairly itching to write. Life is getting in the way, however. Today is a day off, but the tub demands recaulking NOW, dust (some of it anyway) must be chased, captured, and banished from the house, and the sheets stripped off and washed (they can still be dried on the line in the sun and it's not a chance to be missed this time of year). So, here by way of a little coming attraction are some of the titles I am contemplating:

"Who Cares What You Think?" (Insights on blogging that will be devastating in their accuracy);
and
"Subversion is For Amateurs" (just you wait: think "art").

Now you'll be compelled to check back, won't you?

As an aside, I have been reading and enjoying Stephen King's book, On Writing (2000). He suggests a few exercises there and invites readers to try them and email him about how they went. I like Stephen King, although I am often sorry when his books veer off into something sick and violent (I know, I know, it's like complaining about Mickey Mouse showing up at DisneyWorld). Still, I was impressed that such a famous writer would invite this kind of contact. I haven't tried his exercises or emailed him but, who knows, if I ever manage to clean my house etc. I might one day. I don't know if he regards that invitation as still open, but I commend the book to anyone interested in writing and here's a link to his website and information on the book.