What I Discovered at the Bottom of Grandma's Button Jar

 

ONA’S BUTTON JAR MYSTERY

Part I

Part II

ONA'S BUTTON JAR MYSTERY: Part II

 (Post-Smith)

ONA’S BUTTON JAR MYSTERY

Part II

THEORY #1: Ona may have known the woman who was given the photo pin.

I began my investigation by using clues from the image to date the photo of the young man. His clothing suggests that the photo button was made sometime around 1900 when that type of starched collar was fashionable.

If so, the young man was likely aged in his early-to-mid-twenties. I can just imagine him providing this Edwardian-era memento button to a young woman of serious intent.

But, looking closer at the image, I was able to see some resemblance to a person in our family tree. The man I am referring to is not kin, so-to-speak, but a previous husband to my grandmother Ona’s step-mother, Grace (Ryan) Post.

In 1903, Grace married her first husband, a 29-year-old barber named Henry (E. not G. as shown) Woodrow. By 1908 that marriage had dissolved and she had married again but this second union would also be short-lived.

Since husband #3—my great-grandfather (and Ona’s dad) Daniel Post—was divorced from my great-grandmother Mae in 1909 we might assume that Grace and Daniel became acquainted while she was married to husband #2 but likely did not get together until Grace’s 2^nd divorce was final. By terms of his own divorce, Daniel was “prohibited from marrying from two (2) years of this decree,” suggesting that there had been a 'lady-in-waiting' …and he’d just have to wait, too. So, since Grace was not free to remarry until 1914, it is reasonable to assume they were wed after that time. (I’ve yet to find any documentation for Daniel and Grace’s subsequent marriage. They may have chosen common law.)

But, getting back to Grace’s first husband, Henry E. Woodrow, (who appears to have wooed and then wed six women in his lifetime) it seems to me that there is a marked likeness between a much-later photo taken of Henry (below, left) and the image on the button.   

Of course, it may only be wishful-thinking, but I do see similarities in both men’s features despite a forty-year time gap: note hairlines, eyebrows, eyes, chins and corners of the mouths, and even the shape of the ears. In the photo button image (right) there even seems to have been an effort by the photographer to minimize the outline of the younger man’s eyeglasses. (Note, I reversed the photo image of the older man for comparison—making the hair appear to be parted on the opposite side.)

So, like me, you still may wonder why Ona would have the young man’s vintage photo button in her notions jar. Since it wasn’t carefully preserved amongst her own prized family photos, she probably did not know the man’s identity.

My guess is that she acquired her stepmother’s possessions after Grace’s death in 1935 since Ona was as close to a daughter as Grace ever had. (Photo: Ona, daughter Emma F., and Grace-circa 1928)

~Had Grace tucked the little photo button away in a corner of her jewelry box, long-forgotten?

~Had Ona discovered it there, not knowing that the clean-cut young man pictured was a former husband that Grace may have never mentioned?

~And then, rather than throw away the mysterious item, did Ona place this turn-of-the-century, sentimental yet anonymous, courtship memento in with her own collection of buttons and pins, where I found it eighty-five years later?

Maybe. 

Let me know if you have a Theory #2!

ONA'S BUTTON JAR MYSTERY: Part I

 (Post/Smith)

ONA’S BUTTON JAR MYSTERY

Part I

In the late summer of 2020, I wrote a little book about my maternal grandmother, Ona Dort (Post) Smith. And, as I recorded my own memories of her, nestled among a photographic timeline of her life and ancestry, I discovered things. A lot, as it happens.

Most importantly, I discovered that my grandmother influenced me in subtle, yet important ways. Small things. New skills. Little lessons that seemed unimportant at the time. Her careful attention to the smallest of tasks—doing what needed to be done and then quietly moving on to the next small thing—unintentionally created a template for how to live life day-by-day as she accepted and then accomplished each trifling, everyday task with personal satisfaction and deft purpose.

My grandmother was crafty, thrifty, and creative. She sewed and crocheted, neatly storing the tools of her trade in an old, decorative tin and a repurposed glass jar. Buttons, pins and needles, thread and crochet hooks, elastic and snaps—everything she needed was always within easy reach. So, as I sorted through her small metal sewing box, I was inspired to share what I had found. As a complement to the little book about my grandma, I decided to assemble some “mini” sewing tins as Christmas gifts to the crafty members of my family.

But, as I prepared the little sewing kits with bits and pieces from my grandmother’s few remaining sewing supplies, I emptied her glass jar of notions and made a surprising discovery at the very bottom, hidden amidst safety pins, upholstery tacks, buttons and such:

 —an almost pristine metal-based photo lapel button of a handsome young gent.

How the button survived for a century without being marred from the sharp contents of the jar, I’ll never know. I’ll also never know the obvious: who was he and why was his image secreted there?

An online paper notes that “The photo button craze began in America around 1900 as the demand for the decorative display of family pictures increased, and buttons soon also gained popularity in England. They presented a novel decorative means of displaying photographs in private residences, but also entered the public sector as they were adapted for wearing. Photo buttons appear to have been at their zenith in American society from around 1910 through the 1920s.” 

Had Ona known this young man or did she only accidently spot this treasure one day and pick it up off the sidewalk after it had inadvertently dropped from its backing, still pinned to some forlorn young woman’s coat? Since it didn’t make its way to the “box at the back of the closet,” it doesn’t seem likely that he was part of our family tree. And, upon further research, his clothing dates him to a generation before her time. Besides, the young man’s visage reveals no characteristic family traits. His story—like his identity—is unknown and so it will remain, at least to me. But the mystery behind the very old photo pin will endure. Who was he, Ona?