Ink & Ancestry

Let's take a look at a postcard from Chicago's past. On the back, elegant cursive text grounds the image in a specific moment of joy:  Mother & Warren Rudnick, Easter Sunday April 16, 1922, In Humboldt Park, Chicago.  The photo itself captures a  Midwestern spring scene. "Mother", 26-year-old Pauline Rudnick, is bundled up in a heavy wool coat. Yet, despite the chill, she wears her Easter bonnet, adorned with delicate flowers. It was the 1920s, an era when dressing in your "Easter finery" for a stroll through the public parks was a holiday tradition. ​Propped on a concrete ledge beside her is her 21-month-old toddler, Warren. Bundled up in a playsuit and tiny  leather shoes, he looks away from the camera, perhaps distracted by the holiday crowds. Behind the lens was almost certainly Arthur, Pauline’s husband and Warren’s father, capturing his young family on a holiday afternoon. ​In 1922, the Rudnick family lived just five blocks east of Hum...

There is a distinct magic in holding an original 19th century carte de visite . You look at a face captured over a hundred years ago, and you can’t help but wonder: Who were you? What kind of life did you live? ​Usually, these antique photographs leave us guessing. But every so often, a piece of the puzzle survives. Meet Laura Edith Chesley.  In the late 1870s or early 1880s, young Laura sat for a portrait at the prominent New York Gallery, located at 25 Third Street in downtown San Francisco. Dressed in a beautiful plaid dress and a fashionable hat, she looked every bit the daughter of a well-to-do family. ​Her father, Dr. Charles P. Chesley, was a respected physician who had migrated to the West Coast from New Hampshire, bringing his East Coast roots to the booming, post-Gold Rush metropolis of Northern California. Laura was born a true daughter of the Golden State, growing up amidst the energy of a rapidly evolving city. What makes Laura’s portrait truly extraordina...

​A simple postcard from 1909 features an image of a ten year old boy and girl. Scribbled on the back are three names: Hilda, Otto, and Tillie Novachek. Behind those names lies a story of a family caught between the rural heartland of Iowa and the untamed promise of the Pacific Northwest. ​The two children staring out from the photo are Hilda and Otto . If you look at the back of the card, the handwriting notes that both are exactly ten years old. They weren't just close in age, they were twins, born in July 1899 to Bohemian immigrants Frank and Katie Novachek. ​The postcard was likely kept by their older sister, Ottilie "Tillie" Novachek (later Pegorek), who was about 25 at the time. When this photo was snapped, the family was standing on the edge of a massive life change. For generations, the Novachek family had been firmly rooted in the farming communities of Jones County, Iowa . But by 1910, just a year after this portrait was taken, Frank and Katie packe...

Every so often, a vintage photo captures more than just faces, it preserves an entire family's moment in time. When we look at this family portrait from roughly 1919, we are looking at a snapshot of the Koestering family at a crossroad.  ​Tucked neatly on the reverse side of the original photo, the  cursive handwriting brings the image to life, spelling out the names of the subjects: "The Koesterings: Walter, Martha, Lydia, Ernie, Papa, Mom, Anita." At the center of the frame sits the head of the family: Rev. Emmanuel Friedrich Koestering ("Papa") and his wife, Katharina "Katie" Koestering ("Mom") . Emmanuel served faithfully as a Lutheran pastor, anchoring his community and his family with a steady presence. ​Surrounding them are their five children, representing a generational bridge between the late Victorian era and the modernizing 20th century: ​ The Older Siblings: Standing tall in their sharp suits and dresses are Wa...

​Recently, a late 19th century cabinet card made its way into the collection. It features a young woman dressed in an elegant gown. ​But it was the reverse side of the card that truly brought her world to life. Turn the card over, and there's a cursive script and a green studio backstamp. The handwritten inscription reads: ​ "Will El accept kindness of his old friend. May Koons." ​Below her signature is the mark of her hometown artist: Bumgardner, Photographer. New Lexington, Ohio. ​In the Victorian era, gifting a portrait was a deeply personal gesture. The phrase "accept kindness" was a common societal convention of the 1880s, a polite, warm way of asking a close friend to accept a token of remembrance. The recipient, affectionately nicknamed "El," was likely an "old friend" from her childhood neighborhood or school days. Someone who occupied a special place in her social circle. ​Thanks to that photographer's stamp a...

Recently, while examining a mid-1870s portrait, the back of the card had a clue about the young woman in this photo. Written in an ink script were the words: ​ Mary Ashbaugh C. C. Warner's Sister ​Below the handwriting, the typography of the photographer's stamp read: W. L. Edwards, Photographer, Main Street, Ashland, Ohio. Rooms over Foltz's Drug Store. ​With just those few clues, I attempted to pull Mary out of the shadows of the past. Here is how a single cabinet card and a bit of census sleuthing brought her story back to life. To understand Mary, we first have to understand the moment her picture was taken. Historical directories place the photographer, W. L. Edwards, at his studio above Foltz's Drug Store right around 1874 . ​Imagine a young woman in her mid twenties walking down Main Street in Ashland, climbing the stairs above the local pharmacy, and sitting perfectly still while Mr. Edwards adjusted his camera. She was capturing a moment of ...