“We Live in an Age of Progression”

“Don’t be a Dounderfunk!” Save yourself from this sad fate by buying soap! A modest and lightly-regarded local directory is a treasure-trove of 19th-century retail information, even if some of the ads were somewhat puzzling.

A slim and rather tattered book has sat on the Archives bookshelf of the Needham History Center for many decades, but to be honest, I never paid it much attention. It is The History & Directory of Needham, Mass., 1888. The History Center has other references that cover that year – poll tax lists, town reports, etc. All are filled with valuable information, and because they form an annual series, all are well-used reference sources. In contrast, the 1888 Directory is one of only a few discontinuous volumes – so I did not consider it to be all that interesting. 

Oh, how wrong I was!

I sought out the book again after I got a note from one of our members, who sent along a scan of an ad for George Adams, “Dealer in Fruits & Vegetables, Ocean Lake and River Fish.”  Is it possible, he asked, that people were eating local fish from the Charles River? Given the long-standing industrial activity around Upper and Lower Falls, I sure hope they were not eating anything that came out of that part of the river, or out of Needham’s small lakes, most of which were used for industry as well.  On the other hand, the southern stretch was cleaner, and the Charles River Street pumping station produces some very fine water indeed, so maybe… 

Naturally, I couldn’t resist paging through the other ads in the book, which turned out to be a treasure-trove of 19th century commercial endeavor.  There are numerous ads for the usual domestic and household needs – the butcher, the baker, general stores, clothiers, paperhangers. The General Stores were truly General – Dawson & Woodruff (“Successors to T.J. Crossman & Co.”) not only sold groceries, tea, flour, and patent medicines, but also stationery, hardware and farming tools.

But what really struck me is the way so many merchants maximized their custom by offering a bewildering variety of products and services.  M.F. McDonald on Reservoir Street was an “Auctioneer, and Dealer in First-Class Groceries, Grain, Choice Brands of Flour, Clothing, Small Wares [kitchen supplies], Fruit, Confectionery, &c.”  Samuel Hudson on Hunnewell Street was not only an Auctioneer, but made and sold “Shetland Shawls, Polka Mittens, Gloves, and Hosiery.” George Wragg’s Domestic Bakery and Variety Store on Great Plain Avenue sold not only baked goods (“Fresh Home Made Bread, Cakes, Pies, &c. hot every day at five p.m.” with “Special attention given to Wedding Cake”), but his inventory also included periodicals, candies, cigars, and tobacco. But wait – there’s more!  In a second ad for his store on a different page in the Directory, he lists himself as “George E. Wragg, Auctioneer,” and a dealer in sewing machines and their accessories, as well as pianos and parlor organs. George E. Eaton is listed no fewer than four times, as a real estate agent, insurance broker, undertaker, and yes, auctioneer.  The funeral part of his business is still thriving, in the hands of this descendants.

“Auctioneer” puzzled me for a while. There are no fewer than TEN Auctioneers in the Directory; only knitting firms (15) and ladies’ dressmakers (11) have more listings.  All of the Auctioneers have other lines of retail business – general stores, bakeries, feed and grain merchants, etc.  Although I assume they saw a fair number of property or bankruptcy auctions, it looks like what they are mostly doing is taking on goods for consignment.

George Eaton did have competition in the undertaking business.  George H. Robbins over in Wellesley also advertised in the book, with “Personal Attention Given in All Cases. Having graduated from Professor Clarke’s School for Embalming, will give special attention to preserving and embalming dead bodies.” This ad leaves me with so many disturbing questions. Was there a reduced rate for Impersonal Attention?  If he was giving his Special Attention to the embalming of the dead, what kind of embalming was he giving his divided attention to?

G.H. Ware, printer, took a kind of guerilla Burma Shave approach; his ads appeared along the bottom margin for several pages in succession (odds and evens).  James H. Foss, a man ahead of his time, took out two full illustrated pages (complete with palm trees and flamingoes) to advertise his sale of orange groves in Florida (hmmm…..) Though since he was probably related to the directory publisher, Alonzo E. Foss, he no doubt got special rates.

Since the Directory is nearly 140 years old, it naturally includes services that are no longer needed in our lives.  There were two carriage dealers, a harness-fitter and a carriage painter/decorator.  The Ladies’ Hair Store not only provided hairdressing services, dying, and wigs, but also wove hair combings from loved ones into mourning jewelry or crafted “hair work” – shadow boxes with wreaths or flowers crafted out of the tresses of the departed.  And Mrs. Stephen Putnam was the sole owner of the formula for The Celebrated Dr. William Clarke’s Restorative Bitters (“Unlike Many Others, Do Not Intoxicate, Even if Taken to Excess.”) Dr. Clarke’s restorative Bitters was used to treat “chronic ailments of the viscera” as well as “obstinate torpidity of the liver.”  Ernest F. Robbins, however, was clearly a young man gearing up for the brave new future – “Ernest F. Robbins, Mechanical Expert.  Inventions Perfected and Models Constructed in the Best Manner. Special Attention Given to Automatic Machinery.”

The last ad in the book is by far the most puzzling.  Jinks’ Soap Manufacturing Company of Mansfield, MA placed an otherwise unremarkable ad for its soap powder, Puritene (“Soap in a Concentrated State.”) It had the usual encomiums (“Puritene is the greatest invention of the 19th century”), and the usual warning to not be fooled by other unscrupulous soap-sellers. But right in the middle of this is the banner notice: 

DON’T BE A DOUNDERFUNK.  WE LIVE IN AN AGE OF PROGRESSION.

Huh?  I googled “Dounderfunk,” but the only citations were other copies of this ad, which was distributed widely.  There is an obsolete naval term “dunderfunk,” which referred to a mixture of chopped hardtack and molasses, and there is also (of course there is) a scatological slang meaning for that term. But neither of these would be used by a soap-seller in an ad to convince housewives to buy his product. 

Maybe this is some sort of Mansfield slang. Or a way of getting attention? It certainly got mine! You would think that calling your potential customer a Dounderfunk is not great salesmanship, but Puritene was sold for at least 30 years, so it seems to have worked pretty well for them.