“She’s waving her scallions at
Hitler’s battalions—
She’s up to her heart in victory!”

Chances are, the scallions celebrated in that World War II ditty first caught the eye of their gung-ho Victory Gardener courtesy of a colorful seed catalog. From the mid-1800s onward, many a wintry day passed faster as mailboxes welcomed the latest seasonal offerings from Gurney’s, Earl May, Burpee’s, and other gardening industry “names.” Seed companies were in the business of selling attainable dreams. The dawn of inexpensive mass printing allowed them to present those dreams as enticingly as possible.

Just look at those “Giant Mastodon” strawberries cascading down the cover of 1950’s Earl May catalog. Nearly 70 years later, they’re as ripe and luscious as ever, holding the promise of strawberry-shortcakes-yet-to-come. Would yours look the same? Well, of course they would! As Earl May promised, “you can’t go wrong planting a Mastodon” (Or a “Superfection.” Or “Red Rich—The Wonder Berry.”).

Seed catalog copywriters and art directors aimed for descriptions and illustrations guaranteed to thrill. Chrysanthemums weren’t just chrysanthemums; at Gurney’s, they were “Brilliant Blaz-O-Mum Bargains.” A simple red petunia was reborn as “Fire Dance: strikingly beautiful, rich scarlet–red, with a bold flashlight throat of golden yellow!” (“Large packet only 50 cents postpaid!”).

Paging through a vintage seed catalog is like … well, chatting over a garden fence. Seed companies specialized in a folksy neighborliness that kept the customers coming back for more. It was an all-in-the-family operation, and various Gurneys, Burpees, and Mays dot the pages, offering planting tips and posing with oversize garden bounty (“Here’s Jill Gurney, Sid’s youngest, enjoying a ripe, delicious Gurney plum”). The writing style was conversational and determinedly one-on-one. A few samplings, courtesy of Earl May, 1950:

“You’re missing some mighty fine eating unless you have some clumps of Rhubarb on your place.”

“Flower friends, I have made up a collection of annual flowers which I know will bring you a world of beautiful blooms.: ‘Mrs. May’s Garden Gay’!”

“Boys! Girls! Sell seeds! Earn cash! Win valuable prizes! Special grand prize: this fine Pony, black and white, gentle and well-mannered! Hurry! Hurry! Send for your seed collections right away!”

“Be a Clown! Be a Clown!
All the world loves a Clown!”
– Cole Porter, 1948

OK, maybe not “all the world.” If memories of “Pennywise,” the evil clown in Stephen King’s It, still have you shuddering, then you and Cole Porter might find yourselves at odds. For everyone else, those brightly painted faces, big red noses, multicolored costumes, and oversized shoes mean good times are on the way!

Circuses. Carnivals. Parades.

All sorts of charity events. If it seems like clowns are everywhere, well—they are. And they’ve been hopping out of those little cars and spreading their particular brand of joy for ages.

The first clowns entertained the imperial courts of Egypt (2400 B.C.) and China (1000 B.C.). In some early societies, court clowns even served a triple purpose, as funnymen, magicians, and religious figures. By the time clowning made its way to the theatres of ancient Greece and Rome, the clown characterization had evolved to that of a country bumpkin. And, while court jesters amused royalty with their antics (not to mention those jingling caps and shoes) during the Middle Ages, Shakespeare’s “Fools,” in his Elizabethan plays, brought bumpkins back to prominence.

Hmmm. These don’t sound much like “Bozo,” do they? Where was the whiteface? The wild wig? Enter Joseph Grimaldi.
In the early 1800s, Grimaldi took the London stage by storm. His costumes were a bizarre mix of colors. His face was plastered in white, accented by red cheek highlights. The wig was there, too–not carrot-y like Bozo’s, but a blue Mohawk. He did high leaps and headstands. He sang and offered impersonations. He even presented a boxing match—with himself! Viewing Grimaldi’s success, other clowns quickly slapped on the whiteface, pulled on the baggy pants and wigs, and climbed aboard the circus wagon. Clowning was no longer just the filler during the main event. Thanks to Grimaldi, clowning now was the main event. By the mid-20th century, no circus was complete without a clown (or better yet, a whole carful of them).

Modern clowns came in many types. There were “tramp clowns” like Emmett Kelly and Charlie Chaplin. Rodeo clowns. Sophisticated whiteface clowns like “Frosty” Little. Much less sophisticated whiteface clowns like Bozo and Ronald McDonald. (Here’s an interesting clownfact: did you know that weatherman Willard Scott once played both Bozo and Ronald McDonald?)

And, of course, there were “evil clowns,” from Pennywise to Batman’s “The Joker,” eager to scare us silly (There’s even a name for clown fright: it’s “coulrophobia”).

“You’re my funny Valentine,
     sweet comic Valentine,
          you make me smile with my heart!”
             – Lorenz Hart, 1937

In the musical Babes in Arms, the “Valentine” being sung about was actually another character. And, just like the lyrics say, he was both “sweet” and “comic.” But when it comes to the cards which fill our mailboxes each Valentine’s Day, “sweet” and “comic” didn’t always go hand in hand.

Recently, while poking through souvenirs from bygone days, I came across a carefully preserved packet of Topps “Funny Valentines,” dating from 1959 and 1960. When it came to the last word in knee-slapping hilarity among young Baby Boomers, Topps was definitely tops!

The Topps format was simple: each card had a colorful front with a sweetly traditional message: “You’re like sugar candy!” The comedy came on the reverse: “Sticky and gooey!!”

Cards like these never made it to the hand-decorated valentine box which held a place of honor on each grade-schooler’s desk. These were cards for trading, just like Topps baseball cards—and trading took place out on the playground during recess. Discovery during class meant after-school hours diligently scribbling “I will not. . .” (etc.) over and over on the chalkboard.

Although Topps “Funny Valentines” were brand-new to bright-eyed schoolkids, the idea behind them had been around for awhile. Ever since traditional valentines were introduced in the 1840s, “vinegar valentines” with much sourer sentiments were also on the market. These cards were actually sent, often anonymously. A quick check of some opening lines (“To A Wolf”; “To A Professional Scandal-Monger”), and it’s easy to see why. Apocryphal stories abound of vinegar valentines leading to fistfights between formerly friendly neighbors, and postal employees disposing of the cards before they reached their intended recipients.