The Brady boys wanted a rowboat.
The Brady girls wanted a sewing machine.
And, in true Brady Bunch fashion, it wasn’t long before the whole family—even Tiger the dog—got in on the action. The Bradys had 94 books of “Checker Trading Stamps,” and those stamps had to be redeemed before the local redemption center closed its doors.

So who won? Well, you’ll have to wait until the end of this episode. . .er, article. . .to find out.

By 1970, when the Bradys were facing their dilemma, trading stamps were nearing the end of their shelf life. But, like the Bradys, trading stamps live on in pop culture (Especially in the minds of those who spent hours sponging—or, worse yet, licking—the stamps, then pasting them into savings books).

Ever since their 1891 debut at Schuster’s Department Store in Milwaukee, trading stamps traded on the Ebenezer Scrooge in all of us. For every 10 cents spent, you received a stamp, and 1,200 stamps filled a book. With enough books, the sky was the limit: you got something for nothing! In 1956, a “Big Boy Barbecue Grill” took just 7-1/2 books of S & H Green Stamps; 1961’s “Westinghouse Portable Roaster Oven” was just 11-3/5 Gold Bond books. A 24-inch “Boys’ Huffy Bicycle” set you back 15 Top Value books in 1972. In 1955, Gold Bell offered animal lovers a “Thoroughbred Live Cocker Spaniel Puppy” for 20 books. And for super-savers, if you amassed 1,000 Top Value books, a “1962 Ford Galaxie 500 Club Victoria with Fordomatic Transmission” would soon pull into your driveway!

In 1896, trading stamps really came into their own, when Thomas A. Sperry (who had the idea), and Shelly B. Hutchinson (who had the cash), teamed up to form the S & H Co. Stores bought S & H Green Stamps, then distributed them to customers with each purchase. Customers brought filled books to “premium parlors” and claimed their prizes. With S & H eventually joined by such regional competitors as Gold Bond and Top Value, trading stamp firms comfortably puttered along toward mid-century. Then, just after World War II, “puttered along” transformed into “zooming forward.”

OK, gang. Today’s topic: buttons!

Not push buttons. Not campaign buttons. Not even Bachelor Buttons.

Nope. We’re talking honest-to-goodness button buttons. The kind without which your shirt would be flapping open and your overcoat blowing in the wind.
Those kind of buttons have been with us since ancient times. Buttons have been dug up on archeological expeditions in Egypt and Greece. Sculptures and coins dating back to the eighth century depict personages tidily buttoned up at neck and sleeve. Paintings from the Renaissance onward show their subjects in garments fashionably festooned with buttons.

Once a button served its utilitarian purpose, it was artistry’s turn. Over the centuries, a parade of possibilities has captivated button-makers and button-wearers. Among the many media employed in button creation: silver, steel, copper, brass, pewter, ivory, horn, wood, porcelain, china, ceramic, glass, carved pearl, shell, cloth, leather, and such 20th-century latecomers as celluloid, Bakelite, plastic, Lucite, and rubber. Some buttons were studded with, or formed from, real or rhinestone gems. Others featured enameled designs or reverse paintings. Sometimes the button illustrations were embroidered or done on paper, ivory, or silk, then captured under glass. Until the dawn of the Industrial Age, buttons were hand-made, fragile, and costly.

In the 1700s, buttons were a man’s game. Anything that could be buttoned was. There were decorative buttons of all sizes on waistcoats, cloaks, sleeves, and pockets. By the mid-1800s, though, men’s clothing had become less flamboyant, and ladies ruled button fashion. Thanks to mass manufacturing, extravagantly-styled buttons came within reach of almost every pocketbook.

Particularly popular were “picture” buttons, many of stamped metal, celebrating a variety of subjects. Among them: children, animals, birds, insects, angels, flowers, sporting activities, and characters from favorite stories and fables.

Fashion trends of the time were often dictated by the doings of the famous. After Queen Victoria’s husband died in 1861, her entire wardrobe, including buttons, was transformed overnight to unrelieved black. Victorian fashionistas quickly embraced that idea, and “Jet” buttons, originally fabricated from fossilized driftwood, but later from less expensive black glass, became the rage.

With the 20th century introduction of plastics, buttons could be created in almost any shape, and were. Why settle for a button with just a painting of a horse on it? If you loved horses, the winning ticket was a button which recreated a horse in full gallop.

For the beginning “button-eer,” the question is: where to start? For some collectors, the passion begins with a search for buttons just like the ones that populated Grandma’s sewing basket. For others, it’s a theme. You like dogs, and you like buttons. What you’re on the hunt for is an easy choice. Some folks are into the material used: if you adore Bakelite, but your jewelry box is already stuffed with Bakelite bracelets, the next step might be Bakelite buttons.

“People Will Say We’re In Love”. . . “76 Trombones”. . . “Tomorrow”. . .
“The Impossible Dream”. . . “I Could Have Danced All Night”. . .

You may never have seen a Broadway musical in your life. You may have a tin ear. A voice like a frog. But, there’s no denying it: you know these songs. You know them because, for decades, showstoppers like these were what popular music was all about.
Nowadays, we call them “the standards.” They were popularized by big bands, belted out on the radio, and given the Hollywood treatment. For entertainers, Broadway was an inexhaustible gold mine. Performers gave their unique “takes” on show tunes, and we happily listened to the results. On records.

Until CDs and other digital storage media made them passé, records ruled. If you wanted to hear the latest hit song, there was no downloading. You bought the record, and switched on the hi-fi. And, if you wanted to hear the latest Broadway hit song, “just as performed on the New York stage,” you bought the “original cast album.”

The earliest cast albums were recorded in England (1928’s Show Boat was one of the first). Until the introduction of the LP (“long play”) record in 1948, recording a show was an unwieldy process. A 78-rpm disc held approximately 4-1/2 minutes of music per side. Recording a show’s entire score required many more 78s than could be packaged in a set. Less notable songs went unrecorded (or unreleased). And, while leading performers were usually called upon to repeat their stage successes, the chorus and orchestra were often studio musicians.

In 1943, Decca released the first recording that could truly be billed as featuring the “original Broadway cast”: Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Oklahoma! The leads were the Broadway originals — but so were the chorus, the orchestra, and even the conductor. Issued as a set of 78s, Oklahoma! sold over one million copies.

The debut of the LP, with a playing time of 40-50 minutes, meant that more of a show’s score could be preserved, in approximately correct running order — all on one disc. There were the hits, such as West Side Story, South Pacific, and My Fair Lady; the semi-hits, such as 1960’s Wildcat, (its main selling point: TV’s “Lucy,” Lucille Ball, croaking her way through “Hey, Look Me Over”); and lots and lots of no-hits-at-all, such as a musicalization of Gone With The Wind, complete with an onstage burning of Atlanta.

Scores of movie musicals were also recorded, but there’s an important distinction. A movie recording is a soundtrack, its selections taken from pre-recorded tracks. “Original cast” albums refer to recordings made of a stage presentation. An “original Broadway cast album” means that the show played on the Great White Way, with substantially the same personnel. A “studio cast” recording indicates performers have simply been contracted for the recording session.