Also, he always had corset bone on hand, sold in quantities to suit purchasers — not like the whole corset bone dealers who required you to take an entire whale’s worth of bone at a time.
Plain Street, which once ran west from South Pearl between Hudson and Hamilton, is no more, destroyed by the South Mall Arterial.
could have some assurance as to what he did, even if you were led to
doubt whether he was using his real name. There were a number of photographers operating down on Broadway in the years following the Civil War, and while others may have offered portraits, views and interiors, they may have offered finishing in oil, water color, or India ink, and they may even have had photographs of the new Capitol on hand, it is unlikely that any of the other photographic establishments could lay claim to being publishers of “stereoscopes of morbid specimens for the medical profession.” That sideline could be why “Haines” was perhaps using an assumed name.
Albany’s current Tulip Festival has its origins in Pinkster, which was celebrated by slaves and servant. There is an excellent description of Pinkster at the Knickerbocker Ledger. This definition from an Albany guide book explains Pinkster as:
“A negro festival which used to be celebrated on Capitol hill when slavery existed in the State. It began on the Monday following Whitsunday or Day of Pentecost, and lasted a week. The ground was laid out in the form of an oblong square, enclosed on three sides by rude booths, and here the dancing and merry-making took place. ‘Charley of the Pinkster hill,’ an old African negro, was king of the revels. After his death the festival was not so much observed, and fell into disrepute. In 1811 the common council forbade the erection of stalls on account of the scenes of disorder which prevailed, and so the custom died out.”
Pinksteren is a Dutch word for Pentecost.
This Schenectady city directory was probably printed by Joel Munsell’s large printing house in Albany. If you were a big, successful printing house with dozens or perhaps hundreds of fonts available, you wanted to let people know that, even if you had to do it on the back of an innocent merchant.
The disincentive to this kind of typographical splattering is one I’d love to see returned to use today, to put an end to people who think they can design in Word and that “text art” is ever a good idea. (N.B.: It is not.) When the printing was done, the ink wiped away and the forms were broken up, somebody in the composing room had to put every single character on this page away, in its proper slot, in the right drawer, in the right size. It would have taken a lot of time, and would have made you think twice before you’d try the shotgun-font effect again. If only we could get that disincentive back.
However, if you were creating a document with the intention of making multiple copies of it, you had a few options other than letterpress. Mimeograph made high-quality, black-ink documents created by typing on a stencil; ditto machines, which anyone my age remembers well from school quizzes, had both distinctive purple ink and a delightful smell from the duplicating fluid.
In Albany in 1940, there were a number of full-service mimeographing firms. They also provided addressing services, which required that every address be typed onto an individual stencil, which was framed in cardboard and then run through a machine called an Addressograph. There were also mimeos and dittos in thousands of offices.
Apparently there’s still quite a market for Hartshorn shade rollers, and their ads only got better.