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?