Here’s more of my mother’s wit and wisdom.
One of my friends never had a doll. Those who are too young to remember the depression cannot understand that. Children now have too many toys. It stifles their creativity. But to grow up without a doll would have been tragic.
Billy Bunk was a small, celluloid doll. There is a picture of Billy lying on the ground in front of our Christmas tree. (It had been moved outside.) Ruth and I are in the picture, too. The doll was named for “Billy,” my first-grade teacher. Her name was Helen Gookins, but her dad, “Bunk” Gookins called her “Billy.” Everyone called him “Bunk.” I don’t remember his name.
Martha Lou was a “Mama doll.” Mama dolls said “Mama” when turned over. She was almost as large as a real baby, and she wore my baby coat. The coat was white, very long and had a large cape-like collar. The collar had a lot of white embroidery on it. Mary Jane was an Effanbee jointed doll with long brown curls. I got her from Sears Roebuck. I had announced to my older brothers and Uncle Will that I was “saving up.” They generously gave me nickels and dimes. Sometimes I was required to earn my money by doing small chores such as shining a pair of shoes.
Finally, I had enough money to send an order for a doll which fit my fancy and my pocketbook. Several days later my package arrived. With it was an explanation that they had sold out of the doll I ordered. In its place they sent one of “equal or better value.” The doll was beautiful and I promptly dubbed her “Mary Jane.” That name had just jumped into my mind. Later we checked the catalog hoping to find a picture of Mary Jane. Yes, we found her and her catalog name was Mary Jane. No wonder that name had popped into my mind. We also learned she was one of the most expensive dolls they offered. I suspect that was the reason I hadn’t chosen her.
My sister had a doll just like Mary Jane but the elastic, which made its joints move, had worn out. By then Ruth was more interested in boys than dolls and her doll was never repaired
Sometime after I was married, my oldest brother decided to do some housecleaning for our parents. I had left my toys in the old smokehouse which for years had served as my playhouse. I thought the toys were safe there; my parents would have left them there till I decided to bring them home.
Brother did not know the value of old old toys. He thought he was being helpful when he burned my dolls, my baby coat, a small wooden truck he had given me one Christmas, a large, leather-covered camel-back trunk and anything else he could find that was burnable. I was glad I had given my doll bed and my fanciest doll to two little neighbor girls. (Otherwise they wouldn’t have had any Christmas gifts.) Also I had given my doll buggy to my niece. At least that much didn’t burn!
Uncle Will made the doll bed when I was about 6 or 7. Cousin Vera bought the beautiful sleeping eyed doll. Aunt Dora made pillow, mattress, bed covers, silk doll dresses and an everyday outfit. The silk dress was white, trimmed with pink silk ribbon down the front and around the neck and sleeves. I don’t recall this doll’s name. Another doll I had was handed down from Vera. The body was rag but the head was China. Heads like hers are quite valuable now. Poor thing met a sad fate at the hands of my youngest brother. He made a parachute consisting of a large handkerchief, some string and a bolt. To see how well the parachute would worked, my brother borrowed my doll. Too bad bolts and China heads aren’t more compatible.
Little girls outgrow their dolls as a multitude of other interests takeover. In later years the interest sometimes returns. One lady got disgusted with her alcoholic friend and told him not to come back. Then she bought a crib and a baby doll. That arrangement was much more satisfactory, she said.
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There are several lessons to glean from my doll stories. One obvious one is to take care of your own belongings. If you don’t, don’t blame anyone who destroys them. Also, don’t loan anything that isn’t expendable. Remember, one man’s junk may be another man’s treasure.
If you happen to be the one who is doing the burning, find out the value of the article before deciding whether to destroy it. My brother could quote you prices on old furniture and old China. He obviously didn’t know much about toys.
(I once saw a tin toy at a yard sale. The toy was marked $.25. I did not buy it because it was dirty. Later I saw a similar one sell for around $100. At the same sale a broken toy piano sold for over $100. Junk? Treasure?)
By Dorothy Howard Adler