‘The Nota’s from America’ by Gerrit van Weezel en Henry ter Hall, published by B. H. Smit (Amsterdam, s.d.) and illustrated by D. Coene.
The Nota’s from America is a Dutch song written in pidgin English. The title sarcastically refers to the notes (nota’s in Dutch) which U.S. President Woodrow Wilson sent to the German government in 1915 to criticise their sinking of the Lusitania.
The Lusitania was an ocean liner owned by the famous British Cunard Line. When the Lusitania came into service in 1907, she was an extraordinary ship in every way. With a length of 240 meters the vessel was not only the largest, but also the fastest passenger ship up to that time. The ocean liner sailed regularly from Liverpool to New York and back.
Source: Delcampe
On 17 April 1915, the Lusitania left Liverpool on her 201st transatlantic voyage, arriving a week later in New York. Before her return to Liverpool, the German Embassy placed a warning advertisement in 50 American newspapers, including those in New York. This warning was printed adjacent to an advertisement for Lusitania’s return voyage on May 1. Two months before, Germany had declared the waters around the British Isles a war zone and warned that its U-boats would sink any ship entering the zone without notice.
On May 7, 1915, the German submarine U20 hit the Lusitania with one torpedo. The ship sank in less than twenty minutes about 18 km off the coast of Ireland. Nearly 1,200 people were killed including 114 Americans.
‘As the Lusitania went down’ by Arthur J. Lamb & Frank Henri Klickmann, published by Frank K. Root & Co. (Chicago, 1915). Source: Gonzaga University.
At the start of the war, President Woodrow Wilson had declared that the United States would be neutral. That neutrality however was challenged and fiercely debated in the U.S. after the sinking of the Lusitania.
But president Wilson decided to remain neutral and to keep out of the war. Instead he issued a first note to the German government urging it to abandon its policy of unrestricted submarine warfare against commercial ships of any nation, and to pay reparations.
Wilson then issued a second note rejecting Germany’s accusation that the Lusitania had been carrying munitions.
The third Wilson note was a warning that the United States would consider any subsequent sinking of merchant vessels with Americans aboard as deliberately unfriendly.
In 1916 the Dutch painter and illustratorJan Sluijters created the cartoon Slachterij “der Hochkultur“ (Slaughterhouse “High Culture“): Woodrow Wilson, his gun at the ready, shows his notes to Emperor Wilhelm dressed as a butcher. What seems a human torso hangs by the door.
Slachterij “der Hochkultur“, by Jan Sluijters, 1916. Source: Library of Congress.
In January 1917, German U-boats resumed attacking ships in the Atlantic Ocean and the British disclosedthe Zimmermann telegram to the American government. This telegram revealed a German proposal for a military alliance with Mexico against the United States. After the American press published the Zimmermann telegram, Wilson got enough public and political support for a declaration of war on Germany on April 6, 1917. This inspired a series of patriotic and belligerent sheet music covers…
Left: ‘Answer Mr. Wilson’s Call’ by Billy Gould, published by A.J. Stasny Music Co. (New York, 1917) and illustrated by Al Barbelle. Right: ‘When Woodrow Wilson Takes A Hand’ by S. E. Cox, published by Dixie Music Co. (Nashville, 1918). Courtesy The Lester S. Levy Collection of Sheet Music, The Sheridan Libraries, Johns Hopkins University.Left: ‘We’ll knock that little “U-boat” high and dry’ by Al. Franz & Alice D. Elfreth, published by Alice D. Elfreth (Philadelphia, 2017). Right: ‘Why we want to lick Germany’ by George H. Klay & Raymond Leeroy Blymyer, published by Klaymyer (Lima, 1918). Source: Library of Congress.
‘Kaugummi – Ich muss den Jonny küssen’ by Frank Fox & Erich Meder, published by Ludwig Doblinger (Leipzig, 1945). Cover designed by Anton Stursa (AS-monogram).
Before WWII chewing gum wasn’t common in Europe. The liberation changed that: GIs came with their jeeps and Coca-Cola, offering cigarettes and gum, and thus introduced us to the American way of life. Chewing gum was here to stay.
Although archaeologists have found evidence that the ancient Greeks, the Mayans, and the Aztecs all chewed sticky substances, the mass production of chewing gum happened but around the middle of the 19th century. In 1848, the Curtis family of Maine —inspired by the spruce resin gums enjoyed by Native Americans and by early American pioneers— started to sell the world’s first commercial chewing gum, the State of Maine Pure Spruce Gum. They later changed the recipe to a flavoured paraffin wax gum. In 1852 the family founded the Curtis & Son Company, the nation’s first chewing gum factory with 200 employees. The gum became a success, however, the family never patented any recipe…
The first patent for chewing gum was granted to a dentist: William Semple of Mount Vernon in 1869. But instead of using resin or paraffin his gum was a mixture of rubber, chalk, powdered liquorice and charcoal, yuck! It was supposed to clean the teeth and strengthen the chewer’s jaw. William Semple did not market his invention very well though, and this left the door open for other players…
‘She Chews Gum’ by T. J. Briner, published by Briner (Reading PA – 1898). Courtesy The Lester S. Levy Collection of Sheet Music, The Sheridan Libraries, Johns Hopkins University.
In the late 1850s the New Yorker Thomas Adams, a photographer and inventor, met General Santa Anna, the former Mexican president of the-Alamo-massacre fame, who lived in exile in Staten Island. Santa Anna had brought with him a shipment of chicle. Chicle is a natural gum from the sapadillo tree native to Middle America and the Caribbean.
This unlikely business duo, Thomas Adams and General Santa Anna, at first weren’t focused on gum. They intended to sell the chicle to rubber manufacturers as a cheap substitute for making carriage tires. This getting-rich-quickly scheme never took off because all their vulcanising experiments failed, and Santa Anna left the partnership. Adams though stuck with the chicle and it would make him very rich indeed. Noticing chicle’s resilience and elasticity he discovered the method to turn it into flavourless chewing gum. In 1871 he patented this process and christened the product Adam’s New York Chewing Gum, Snapping and Stretching.
A few years later he flavoured the chicle with liquorice and sold the gooey concoction as Black Jack gum. It was the first gum to be offered in sticks, and it quickly became the public’s favourite. In 1888 he established a large factory and built the first vending machine in the US, selling tutti-frutti flavoured gum on New York subway platforms.
In 1899 Thomas Adams became the first chairman of the American Chicle Company, which brings us to the why of this post. I found an old album with collectable cards in the attic. This album was published as a promotion during the Twenties by a Belgian agent of the American Chicle Company. Ever curious I decided to explore the matter…
Collectible Cards Album, published by the Belgian representative of the American Chicle Company, Alb. Vandenbroeck (Visscherij-Pêcherie 154, Gent-Gand). source: Images Musicales Stories
The American Chicle Company was an amalgamation of Adams’ and other chewing gum giants. One of them was a Cleveland company, Beeman Chemical, established by pepsin manufacturer Dr. Edwin Beeman in 1887. He was a physician who discovered that pepsin, an extract from the stomach of freshly butchered hogs, provided relief from indigestion. Pepsin is an enzyme found naturally in the stomach that breaks down proteins. At first Beeman attempted to sell powdered pepsin in a bottle, but that failed.He then started to manufacture pepsin-flavoured chewing gum. It became a huge success, but only after he changed the picture of a pig on the wrapper by his own bearded face.
In Everybody’s Song, Susie chews some pepsin gum in order not to ‘be woozy‘.
‘Don’t be woozy’ by Chas B. Lawler & Edgar Selden, published by Howley Haviland C° (New York, 1897) and illustrated by Geo. Hart. Courtesy The Lester S. Levy Collection of Sheet Music, The Sheridan Libraries, Johns Hopkins University.
But it wasn’t until a travelling salesman, named William Wrigley junior, got into the business, that chewing gum became a national pastime. He was a genius when it came to marketing. He started as a soap salesman for his father’s company. In 1891 he offered baking powder as a premium with each box of soap. In 1892 he started selling baking powder as a sideline, this time offering chewing gum as a premium. And again the premium proved more popular than the base product. He dropped both soap and baking powder, and concentrated on manufacturing and selling chewing gum.
‘Oh You Spearmint Kiddo With the Wrigley Eyes’ by Jean Schwartz & William Jerome and published by Jerome H. Remick & Co. (New York, 1910). Courtesy The Lester S. Levy Collection of Sheet Music, The Sheridan Libraries, Johns Hopkins University.
In 1893 Wrigley started selling two of the most popular gums in history Juicy Fruit and Wrigley’s Spearmint Gum, and it made his fortune. In the song Oh You Spearmint Kiddo With the Wrigley Eyes, the names of the three gum giants, Adams, Beeman and Wrigley are united in the lyrics
‘Chiclets‘ by Joseph Fowle, published by Henry Krey (Boston, 1906) and illustrated by Fisher. Source: ebay.com
Chiclets was an innovation of chewing gum, with a hard sugar coating offered in several flavours and colours. Various people have been credited with inventing Chiclets, and as the above sheet music illustrates, they became popular around 1906.
‘Does the Spearmint Lose Its Flavor’ by Breuer, Rose & Bloom. Published by J. Albert & Son (Sydney, 1924). Source: ebay.com
Chu-Chu, a 7-minutes documentary film from around 1920, shows us the production process from chicle to chewing gum. It tells us that every American soldier in World War I received regular rations of gum while they were overseas. During World War II Wrigley supported US troops by taking Spearmint, Doublemint and Juicy Fruit off the civilian market, and dedicating the entire output of these brands to the US Armed Forces. This brings us back to the start of this post, the WWII liberation when the Europeans learned to appreciate chewing gum.
‘Got any Gum Chum?’ by Evans, Butler & de Bear, published by Sam Fox (New York, 1945). Source: ebay.com
‘Belle Italie’ by Ludo Langlois and L. Frings, published by L’Art Belge (Bruxelles, 1928) and illustrated by Peter De Greef.
Without the post from Olivier Castel we would never have paid attention to the shape of the gondola prow. Browsing our collection for gondolas —while keeping a sharp eye out for the fero da prova— the image created by Peter De Greef for ‘Belle Italie‘ caught our attention. A small covered cabin, the felze, offers privacy to a smooching couple. Although stylised, the representation of the iron bow is like it should be. De Greef clearly passes the bow test.
‘A kiss in the dark’ by Victor Herbert published by Salabert (Paris, 1922) and illustrated by Roger De Valerio.
From the creative energy of another giant of illustration, Roger de Valerio, emerged a similar powerful image of luxurious intimacy under a cloak of Venetian darkness. De Valerio probably didn’t care about the exact morphology of the iron bow: three teeth are missing.
‘In my Gondola‘ by Harry Warren & Dud Green. Left: published by Shapiro, Bernstein, & Co. (New York, 1926). Right: published by Salabert (Paris, 1927) and illustrated by de Valerio.
For the song ‘In my Gondola’ the original American cover shows a comic-like and anecdotal scene in a stereotypical Venice. In de Valerio’s modernistic version on the other hand the calm composition and the rhythm of the repetitive boats make a check of their mandatory curves and number of teeth irrelevant.
Photographs of ‘ferri di prova’ with four and five teeth. Ca 1900. Source: Wikipedia.
Besides, photographs from around 1900 show us gondolas with four or five teeth, so we can’t really blame de Valerio for not drawing the usual six.
‘Scheint der mond auf Venedig’by Max Geiger, published by Wiener Bohème – Verlag (Wien, 1930) and Illustrated by Otto Dely.
Venezia, Venise, Venedig, where the full moon ever watches courtship. Otto Dely, another colossus in illustration land, depicts this romantic idyll for ‘Scheint der Mond auf Venedig‘…, with an almost perfect bow!
Some illustrators though were wide of the mark when trying to render a Venetian gondola. Next follows our short compilation of these faux pas.
Olivier Castel rightly insisted on the distortion of the bows drawn by Leon Pousthomis. We found another example in our collection, where the stern of the gondola much resembles the Loch Ness Monster emerging from the Venetian laguna.
‘Sobre las olas‘ by Juventino Rosas, published by Galeries Parisiennes de Musique (Paris, s.d.). Cover illustration by Leon Pousthomis.
One should think Italians did know how to draw a gondola, or didn’t they? Oops, the fero on the prow is twisted inwards!
‘Notturnino Veneziano’ by G. Lagorio, published by Fratelli Franchi (Rome, 1927) and illustrated by Monni (illegible).
The unknown Spanish illustrator of ‘Morir de Amor‘ moved the ornamental fero from the bow to the stern of the boat, added a practical hole in it, and drew only two teeth. A fiasco, though good pointsfor colourfulness and romance.
‘Morir de Amor’ byCh. Schumann, published by Ch. Schumann (1920).
‘La Barcarolle‘ scores okay for the full moon, but stern and bow of the gondola are the same: zero points.
‘La Barcarolle’ by Emile Waldteufel, published by Hopwood & Crew (London, s.d.).
And if you can’t make head nor tail of the Venetian gondola, then simply drop the prova. No need for realism to draw a striking image, isn’t it Paul Telemann?
Left: ‘Gondolieren’ by Jose Armandola, published by Edition Accord (Berlin, 1922). Right: ‘Barbitonia’ by Max Rhode, published by Otto Wrede (Berlin,1920) both illustrated by Paul Telemann.
At last, a dishonourable mention goes to illustrator Capitan for his drawing of a pitiful gondola bow for Je connais ton pays. The full moon is not at the romantic rendezvous, but we imagine the ultimate Venetian stereotype of the boy passionately singing O sole mio, as it is often offered to tourists enjoying a gondola ride in Venice though it is a Neapolitan song. In the eighties tourist officials even ordered gondoliers to stop crooning O sole mio because it is not Venetian. Naples reacted by sending a group of strolling musicians to Venice to make sure tourists had their fair share of Neapolitan melodies.
‘Je connais ton pays‘, a barcarolle by Albert Petit, Villemer & Delormel, published by Nouveau Répertoire des Concerts de Paris (s.d.) and illustrated by O. Capitan.
