Snoopy. . .that fiddle-player from Fiddler on the Roof. . .Winnie the Pooh. . . the Easter Bunny. What could the members of this unlikely quartet possibly have in common?

Well, at one time or another, they’ve each been featured on a novelty music box. Joining them: a multitude of other pop culture characters, from Minnie Mouse to Humpty Dumpty. Also churning out the music box tunes: plenty of easily recognizable things (souped-up ‘50s roadsters, merry-go-rounds); easily recognizable places (Alpine hillsides, the “Little Brown Church in the Vale”); and easily recognizable generics (little kids with pets, old men puffing on pipes, sad-faced clowns. . .the list is never-ending).

Novelty music boxes are often gifts for special occasions (birthdays, graduations, weddings, anniversaries, etc.) Some celebrate certain times of the year (Christmas for sure, but Easter, Halloween, and St. Patrick’s Day are in the mix). Even holiday-themed music boxes usually stay out year-round, since many do double duty: open the lid, and there’s a velvety-cushioned repository just right for miniature mementos.

Numerous novelty music boxes are fashioned of china, metal, or glass. A bit higher up on the value ladder: all-wood, hand-carved boxes. A bit lower down: all-plastic. But regardless of their base material, the function remains the same. Wind them up (or, on the newer battery-operated versions, flip a switch), and the music boxes repeatedly tinkle out identifiable 18-note segments of a popular or semi-classical tune. You can even make a reasonably accurate stab at the manufacture date by identifying the song that’s playing (If it’s the “Theme From Love Story,” chances are good the box dates from the 1970s).

The music box heritage is a lengthy one. The very first “mechanical musical instrument” is credited to a trio of brothers in Baghdad, who created a “hydropowered organ” in the 9th century. By the 13th century, a bell ringer in Flanders had come up with a means of making his job easier, with pins and cams mechanically striking out melodies on the church bells. Over the next several centuries, a variety of mechanized musical objects continued to pour forth from inventive minds. There were towering musical clocks and tiny musical snuff boxes, plus plenty of musical automata, like the jeweled singing bird Hans Christian Andersen wrote about in “The Emperor’s Nightingale.”

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

“Having wonderful time—wish you were here!”

It’s short. It’s sweet. It’s the perfect picture postcard message!

Postcards have been sending us their brief mess-ages since the mid-1800s. The very first is credited to English writer Theodore Cook: in 1840, he sent one to himself. “Souvenir” post-cards, showing spots where you’d like to be if only you had the time and money, made an 1871 debut in Vienna. Sales really took off in 1893, with the introduction of picture postcards at the Chicago World’s Fair. Soon, sending the folks back home a postcard became a rite of travel. Why waste vacation time writing letters? An eye-pleasing illustration on one side of a card, with a few cheery words penned on the other, got the point across. If “a picture is worth a thousand words,” picture postcards were the living proof. And if one picture was good, a whole batch was even better. Enter the “travel postcard folios.”

Postcard folios (“accordion folders”) were 6” by 4-1/2” booklets. The cardboard cover opened to reveal views of the featured attraction. Visiting Silver Springs, Florida? Well, here are shots of a bevy of “mermaids” frolicking underwater. . . guides to feeding monkeys, and milking rattlesnakes. . . and a merry crowd aboard a glass-bottom boat. The back cover interior gave a breathless preview of what awaited travelers at “Nature’s Underwater Playground”: “shell mountains, with their faces dipped in snow”. . .“rainbow colors, iridescence at its best”. . .a “jungle cruise one will never forget.”

With fancier folders, the interior pix were all in color, on both sides of sturdy, postcard-size stock. The pages were horizontally joined to each other, which meant when the booklet was opened they tumbled out, accordion-style. Folder exteriors were generally equipped with a tuck-in flap to keep things contained. The flap interior included a few blank lines for that all-important message to the gang back home.

When the flap was opened, the complete exterior picture was repeated beneath it, so not a bit of scenic wonder was missing. The cover reverse featured a different illustration, usually paired with address lines and a stamp box. Originally retailing for about a quarter, with mid-century postage averaging 3 cents, travel card folios were a luxury every pocketbook could afford.

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

“The hand-carved cedar frame you are now holding, and the artistic and beautiful feathercrafted bird within it, are the result of patient and skillful hand work, traditional from our ancestors. Together, they are a symbol of a million bird songs that anciently haunted our great forests, and still hold something of that mysterious beauty.” -- Feathercraft label--

In other words, that plaque you just picked up at a garage sale, featuring a bird pictorial made entirely of feathers, isn’t just any old souvenir. During the 1940s and ‘50s, these exquisitely detailed renderings of colorful exotic birds were prized keepsakes of a trip south of the border. Although the warblers depicted existed, for the most part, only in their creators’ imaginations, only a bird-brain would quibble. Realistic or not, feathercraft bird plaques were the 20th-century descendants of a time-honored tradition:

“The art of feathercraft is very ancient, originating years before the 1521 Spanish conquest of Mexico. Birds have a prominent place in Aztec mythology and Mexican history. The Tarascos, a noble race, used hummingbird feathers in the robes and crowns of their kings. And Cortés, the Spanish conqueror, speaks many a great thing of the feathered jewels of the Aztecs.”

Of course, the feathered jewels Cortés was talking about were quite a bit different from the framed bird plaques snapped up by travelers centuries later. “Plumaria,” the technical term for featherwork, was an Aztec craft used for both sacred and secular purposes. Among the many items adorned with feathers: cloaks, banners, shields, and headdresses.

Feathercraft of centuries past utilized the feathers from a resplendent aviary of tropical birds—the Central American quetzal, the hummingbird, macaw, toucan, and parrot (just for starters). Now you may be saying to yourself, “Wait a minute. I am not about to feather my nest with plaques made from the feathers of endangered birds, no matter how pretty they look!”

Fortunately for you, and most especially for the parrots and their fine feathered friends, the tradition of using feathers from rare birds for feathercraft died out long ago, thus saving the birds themselves from a similar fate. The winged wonders on feathercraft plaques of the 20th century are constructed entirely of chicken feathers.

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

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