Crossword Puzzles–a Twenties Phenomenon

         Yep, I didn’t know it either, but it’s true. The first crossword puzzle is generally considered to have been this one, from 1913, but the idea didn’t catch on until the Twenties. In 1921, the N Y Public Library reported, “The latest craze to strike libraries is the crossword puzzle,”–but they weren’t happy about it. Those crossword fanatics hogged the dictionaries! What really drove the fad was the book of crossword puzzles that Simon & Schuster published in 1924. By the next year, nine New York newspapers and fourteen others across the country were carrying crosswords.

The Twenties was a decade devoted to fads, most of which came and went in the blink of an eye. Everyone assumed that these controversial new puzzles (were they a waste of time? the spawn of Satan? an intellectual stimulant?) were just another short-lived fad. The New York Times noted, ”Fortunately, the question of whether the puzzles are beneficial or harmful is in no urgent need of an answer. The craze evidently is dying out fast and in a few months it will be forgotten.” That newspaper would not give in and publish its own crossword puzzle until 1942 when, presumably, they were quite sure it wasn’t a passing fancy.

 

Men and Women Drinking Together?? How Shocking!

Before Prohibition, men and women almost never drank together. Most consumed alcoholic beverages–even those who didn’t think they were drinking were downing copious amounts of patent medicine which was largely made of alcohol–but they didn’t drink together. Men left the dining room table and congregated for drinks and smokes in  another room, rejoining the ladies when they were through. It was universal pretense that women didn’t drink. 

But with the advent of the speakeasy and the beginning of women’s liberation in the Roaring Twenties, men and women started sharing the same space at parties. The saloon, once an all-male bastion, was declared illegal. It’s replacement, the illegal speakeasy, was open to all. Private gatherings, which had previously meant dinner parties, morphed into stand-up drinking occasions called cocktail parties that often didn’t include any food beyond nibbles. Men and women, married and single, gathered outside their home to drink cocktails, dance to the phonograph, and flirt. “Nobody stays home anymore,” said novelist Willa Cather in 1924. 

So I make sure that, in my Roaring Twenties mysteries, Jessie (my main character) visits speakeasies and mingles with men. It doesn’t always turn out well. Like when she is looking for information about a certain suspect and gets attacked by a drunken lout. Here’s an excerpt:

Henry scanned the room, his eyes passing over me without a flicker of recognition, and when he saw that none of the larger tables was empty, he approached the center one and emptied it with a scram motion of his thumb. Henry and his associates called to the bartender for drinks. The guy knew what to bring without being told. Ah, the advantages of regular patronage.

They were loud, but not loud enough for me to make out more than the stray word or two. Curious, I nursed my drink and watched from the wings. Henry sat facing me from the far side of the table, tipping back on his chair legs, smoking one cigarette after another as he tossed off snide remarks that were received with raucous laughter by his minions. David was the only one not laughing. I had a profile view of him as he leaned forward from the edge of his seat, his hands clasped around a mug of ale, staring glumly at the foam.

As I watched, he said something to Henry, who frowned, took out his wallet, and handed him several bills. David pocketed the money and stood up, made a curt farewell, and disappeared up the stairs.

Which, now that I’d gotten what I came for, was exactly what I needed to do. I motioned to the bartender that I was leaving, and fished through my purse for a dollar. Suddenly there was a tough standing over me.

Markie’s was obviously not the first bar he’d seen this evening. He swayed a little, and his words were slurred, but he was not yet blotto. I realized with dismay that he was one of Henry’s party.

“Ev’ning, dollface. What’s a looker like you sitting all alone for? Come join us and I’ll buy you a glass of bubbly.” His friends were watching, all of them, to see what luck he would have. I wasn’t overly concerned. The light was dim and my costume, wig, and makeup were good enough that I would feel comfortable speaking directly to Henry without fear he would recognize me. Still, Shakespeare had it right, discretion is the better part of valor.

“Thank you, but I need to meet my husband at the theater in a few minutes.” I folded the dollar under my glass and stood.

“Husband, eh? Well, now, that’s one lucky man, that husband,” he sneered, grabbing my arm with his rough fingers. “I think he should spread his luck around a little, eh dollface?” I twisted away from his grasp as I threw what was left of my drink in his face. He sputtered with rage.

I crossed the room toward the stairs, weaving through several patrons. The boozehound shoved them aside as he followed. Suddenly he crashed to the floor, tripped by an outstretched foot that a gentleman at another table had kindly extended on my behalf. He sprawled messily, and I made my escape into the night.

Markie’s was two blocks from the main strip, and the street was quiet. The cold air tasted fresh and clean after the thick smoke in the bar. The corners were dark—no streetlights in this part of town. No place for a girl alone, I thought, heading toward an intersection where a gaslight beckoned. Behind me, the door to Markie’s slammed shut. A glance over my shoulder told me my suitor had been down but not out.

Anger at his humiliation trumped inebriation. I bolted for the gaslight but my ridiculous shoes slowed me down, and before I could put any distance between us, he was on me. He snatched at me and got a handful of rabbit stole which I immediately released, but not soon enough to avoid being slung into the gutter, tearing a hole in my dress with my knee. I swung backward hard with my elbow, hoping to hit something vulnerable. I heard him scream, but oddly enough, my arm hit only air.

Someone had lifted the goon off me and a familiar voice drawled, “This man bothering you, lady?”

Miniature Golf Explodes during the Twenties

Sure, miniature golf existed before the Twenties, in a few places where golf courses offered a smaller version for ladies. These were on grass, like the real thing, and involved playing with a putter and perhaps a short driver. It was called various things: garden golf, par 3, and pitch and putt.

But what we think of today as miniature golf, with the fake grass carpet and fanciful props, began in the Twenties when a golf fanatic named Thomas Fairbairn developed artificial green that made it possible to put a miniature course just about anywhere, including rooftops. (One source claims there were more than 150 rooftop courses in New York City by the end of the Twenties.)

Mary Pickford dedicated a Wilshire miniature golf course in Hollywood in the Twenties. Maybe it looked like this one in Rochester, NY, that claims to be the oldest miniature golf course in America. It was designed in 1929 and opened in 1930. I guess they were able to prove it, because it earned a place on the National Register of Historic Places in 2002. 

The Lure of Absinthe

This green alcoholic beverage has had a colorful career since its debut in the late 18th century. Flavored with wormwood, fennel, anise, and other herbs, the beverage has a bitter, licorice flavor and a high alcoholic content. Drinking it was supposed to bring on hallucinations. 

 

Absinthe reached the pinnacle of its popularity in the Roaring Twenties in Paris, where the bohemian population of writers and artists made it their trademark beverage in spite of it being illegal. Toulouse-Lautrec, Van Gogh, Oscar Wilde, and Ernest Hemingway are associated with absinthe. 

There were several ways to consume the drink, but the most famous one involves placing a sugar lump on a slotted spoon held over a glass of absinthe, then pouring ice water over the sugar cube. The beverage turns milky. 

Many countries banned the production of absinthe in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries because it was believed to be more dangerous than other alcoholic beverages. After this was disproved–it has no hallucinogenic effects after all–it gradually became legal. In 2007, it became legal in the United States, so you can buy it if you like. Personally, I can’t stand licorice-flavored drinks like pastis, ouzo, pernod, or anisette, so I’ll pass. 

The Return of the Cloche Hat

The NY Times has reported several times in the past few months on the fashion trend toward cloche hats. Today another article appeared, so I thought I’d share it.

Come Hither, Sighed Her Hat

As “The Artist,” the black-and-white silent film set in late 1920s Hollywood, gathers Oscar chatter, the Jazz Age fashion of that time is having a moment in real time. Cloche hats, the toppers the ingénue Peppy Miller (charmingly played by Bérénice Bejo) wears on her rise to stardom, were all over Ralph Lauren’s romantic spring runway as well as at Marc Jacobs. “There’s a mystery to the cloche,” said Mark Bridges, the costume designer of “The Artist.” “They sort of half hide the face and are coy.” Bridges used period styles to frame Bejo’s face, but these cloches are available now — for warmth and a little hat flirting.

For example, here’s Ralph Lauren’s latest, obviously inspired by the fashions of the Roaring Twenties. 

King Tut Craze

     In 1922, Howard Carter broke into an untouched Egyptian tomb that turned out to belong to the boy ruler, King Tutankhamen. Little did he know he was setting off a stylistic frenzy throughout the Western World. Why does this impact my vaudeville mystery story set in the Roaring Twenties? Simple. The King Tut craze affected style at all levels, from clothing to furniture to architecture. Many of the theaters that were built during the Twenties boasted King Tut features. The most famous is probably Grauman’s Egyptian Theater built in 1922, pictured here. Interestingly, the opulent faux-Egyptian style building, complete with hieroglyphics and palm trees, was actually constructed just before Howard Carter discovered the famous tomb. In fact, it opened two weeks before the big discovery. But the search for King Tut’s tomb had been going on for some years and public interest was high. It was, shall we say, perfect timing for Grauman to open his theater just as the discovery was making headlines across the Western world.

     Other, smaller theaters in other, smaller cities across the country sprang up in the King Tut style. Not many are still around. I use one of them in my mystery.  

Here She Comes! Miss America!

Beauty contests didn’t begin in the Roaring Twenties, but they became popular during that decade. (The actual origins of beauty pageants can  probably be found in old European festivals where a symbolic Queen and her court are chosen to reign over the tournament or throughout the holiday. The queen was naturally the prettiest–or wealthiest–girl around!)

The Miss America contest began at the start of the Twenties, in 1921 in Atlantic City. At first, it was a publicity stunt meant to bring attention to the beach in Atlantic City. Not many girls entered. A high school junior won and was named “The Most Beautiful Bathing Girl in America,” the bathing suit strut being pretty much the only event. The title “Miss America” didn’t exist until the following year.  

Beauty pageants flourished across the country. Hollywood’s version was the WAMPAS Baby Stars. Each year, the Western Association of Motion Picture Advertisers selected a dozen promising young starlets–hence the designation “baby stars”–to promote Hollywood and the movies in general. It was a coveted award, because it brought invitations to social events and auditions for plum roles. All the young ladies were beautiful–an average-looking actress, regardless of talent, wasn’t something Hollywood wanted in those years.  

The Big Secret: Mary Pickford’s Fake Curls

The famous curls of silent screen megastar Mary Pickford were real–at least, most of them. The big secret? She also had 18 false curls that she could add to her own when hers got limp or she needed more volume. They were made of real hair and she paid $50 a piece for them–about $200-300 in today’s money, depending on the year she purchased them. 

Early in her career, Mary Pickford told her fans (honestly) that her hair was light brown, and that it had been blond as a child. But in the black and white films of the 1910s and 1920s, it photographed lighter and she was usually described as a blond. Often she was backlit, giving her a golden halo effect. At last she succumbed to her reputation and dyed her hair with peroxide to make it more blond. 

Her fans were horrified when she finally bobbed her hair in 1928. It made front page news all over the country, and of course, a feature in Photoplay:

 

The Silliest Fad Ever

Of all the Twenties fads, surely the stupidest was flagpole sitting. 

It started when someone dared stunt actor “Shipwreck” Kelly to sit on a flagpole in 1924. He did. He lasted 13 hours. Others glommed on to the idea and the record grew longer. Finally in 1929, Kelly decided to reclaim his record and sat on a flagpole for 49 days in Atlantic City, NJ. The next year, the Great Depression started and people lost interest in such pointless things.

Just What is a Cake Walk?

The Cakewalk was popular in the Twenties—and in other decades before and after. Webster’s Dictionary defines it as “a black American entertainment having a cake as prize for the most accomplished steps and figures in walking; a stage dance developed from walking steps and figures typically involving a high prance with backward tilt; an easy task.” 

The Cakewalk seems to have begun in the days of slavery, when black folks strutted along in a fanciful manner in imitation of formal white dancing. Supposedly the name comes from the custom of the master awarding a cake to the couple who put on the best performance. The dance came back around in the twentieth century when white folks started to imitate the black version.

Below are a few short clips of cakewalks in the early twentieth century, featuring both black and white dancers. Who’s imitating whom? By now, it’s hard to tell.

And here are some more great images: