Poor Spencer Tracy. As Elizabeth Taylor’s hapless dad in 1950’s “Father of the Bride,” he not only gave away his daughter, but also plenty of cash. MGM’s ads said it all: “The Bride gets the THRILLS! Father gets the BILLS!”

Just a few years earlier, with “wartime weddings,” things were a lot more austere. The wedding dress? Perhaps Mom’s carefully preserved gown, altered and called back into service. The groom’s “tux?” Most likely a military uniform. And the wedding reception? Probably a simple event, held in a church basement decked out with crepe paper streamers.

After World War II, however, the country raced full speed ahead into a new and exciting future. With wartime restrictions lifted, there was an “urge to splurge.” If that meant treating your daughter to the fairy-tale wedding of her dreams, well. . . like Dad Spencer in “Father of the Bride,” the only thing to do was to grin and bear it.

That new face on 1950s newsstands, the “bridal magazine,” brought out the romantic in every bride-to-be. Should the wedding dress have lots of heirloom lace? Of course! (All that lace on Grace Kelly’s 1956 gown was 125 years old!) A diamond for the engagement ring? Naturally! (Long before Ian Fleming, De Beers Jewelry declared that “Diamonds are Forever”). Should the wedding be in June? (Sure thing! That tradition dates back to ancient times, when Juno, the Roman goddess of marriage, was said to always bless a June wedding.)

Plenty of planning went into preparing the perfect 1950s wedding. Lilies, gardenias, or orchids in the bridal bouquet? (All three were ‘50s favorites.) What about the main course at the reception? Roast beef, baked ham, or that mid-century mouthful, “Chicken a la King?” (All had their adherents.) And how about the wedding cake? You could have a giant one, in vogue since the days of Queen Victoria, whose own cake weighed 300 pounds. A bride-and-groom “cake topper” was a must, to be kept as a souvenir of the happy day.

If a smaller cake was desired, that went to the immediate wedding party. For everybody else, dessert options included frosted fruit cake, glazed fruit cocktail, or artfully molded Jell-O, embedded with fruit and nuts, and topped with whipped cream.

Donald-Brian Johnson is the co-author of numerous Schiffer books on design and collectibles, including “Postwar Pop,” a collection of his columns. Please address inquiries to: donaldbrian@msn.com

“M” is for the million things she gave me,

Mom. Artists of every sort have always found her fair game. There’ve been moms in song (“My Mammy”). Moms in story (“Mommie Dearest”). Moms on stage (“Mamma Mia!”), on screen (“I Remember Mama”), and on television (“My Mother, The Car”). Of course, some depictions were more successful (and more flattering) than others.

“O” means only that she’s growing old,

Over the years however, the most time-honored and heartwarming representation has been the Madonna. With or without the Christ Child in tow, the image of Mary was a particular favorite of artists during the medieval and Renaissance eras. Since no contemporary illustrations existed, each artist envisioned the Madonna according to his or her own imagination, incorporating individual concepts of motherhood, and prevailing artistic trends of the time.

“T” is for the tears were shed to save me,

Twentieth-century artisans were also inspired by the Madonna concept. During the 1940s and ‘50s, almost every well-known ceramics firm included a Madonna figurine in its inventory, (although many remained on store shelves). As Reuben Sand, founder of Madison’s Ceramic Arts Studio later recalled, “we just did not do well with the religious stuff. Except ‘St. Francis’. He was always a good seller.”

Nowadays, collectors are drawn to ceramic Madonnas for their innate beauty, and their endless variations on a single theme, as interpreted by a wide variety of artists. Compare a glamorous Betty Lou Nichols Madonna, for instance, with an abstract by Howard Pierce. Both approach their subject from widely different perspectives, yet both offer valid interpretations, spotlighting each artist’s individual technique and style.

“H” is for her heart of purest gold,

Heading the roster of desirable mid-century Madonnas are four by Ceramic Arts Studio, each vastly different, and each by principal designer Betty Harrington. “Madonna with Halo,” dating from the early 1940s, is a traditional, popular-religious-art depiction: the Madonna with folded hands and downcast eyes, in robes of pristine white, or royal blue and red. 1950’s “Our Lady of Fatima” was based on descriptions of a religious vision, while 1953’s ethereal “Madonna with Child” uses swirling lines to great effect. The final CAS Madonna, 1955’s Madonna with Bible, is also the simplest, with incised lines and a sandstone glaze. That starkly modern look was more than just a design choice: in the waning days of the Studio, a figurine which did not require decoration by hand was much less costly to produce.

Ceramic Arts Studio was noted for its attention to detail. To ensure accuracy, Betty Harrington always presented her religious designs to the nuns at a nearby convent. With their seal of approval, the figurine was a “go.”

Donald-Brian Johnson is the co-author of numerous Schiffer books on design and collectibles, including “Postwar Pop,” a collection of his columns. Please address inquiries to: donaldbrian@msn.com

“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!”

Donald-Brian Johnson is the co-author of numerous Schiffer books on design and collectibles, including “Postwar Pop,” a collection of his columns. Please address inquiries to: donaldbrian@msn.com

“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”).

Donald-Brian Johnson is the co-author of numerous Schiffer books on design and collectibles, including “Postwar Pop,” a collection of his columns. Please address inquiries to: donaldbrian@msn.com

“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.

Donald-Brian Johnson is the co-author of numerous Schiffer books on design and collectibles, including “Postwar Pop,” a collection of his columns. Please address inquiries to: donaldbrian@msn.com