This sublimely silly program has resided quietly in our ephemera files under the heading "Clubs: Masonic" for quite some years. I am so fond of it that I decided it was time to give it an airing, and in so doing could not help but ask myself some questions. Who were these dudes? What was the Kismet Temple they occupied? Why are they wearing this curious headgear? And what accounts for the sense of humor so unusual in items relating to fraternal orders?
In 1928 the Kismet Temple was located at 92 Herkimer Street in Bedford Stuyvesant, and the full name of its occupants was the "Ancient Arabic order of the Nobles of the Mystic Shrine." This particular program invites members to an initiation and wecome ceremony for the visiting head of the order, "Ill[ustrious] Clarence Martin Dunbar, Imperial "Potentate." The "Official Divan 1928" lists members and their functions which include Alchemists, Imperial Bench Warmers, Camel Milkers, Purveyors of Sneer Zem Zem, Keepers of the Seraglio and Feedologists. The Illustrious Potentate of Kismet Temple for 1928 was Thomas A. Davis, of 151 Columbia Heights.
But by 1928 the Order was already almost 60 years old. One of the founders of the Order, commonly known as the "Shriners", has a strong connection to Brooklyn--in fact, he is buried in Green-wood Cemetery. William Florence, a well-known actor and a Freemason, was attracted to the idea of a new Masonic fraternity that would stress fun and fellowship. Taking ideas for costumes and ritual from a musical entertainment with a Middle Eastern theme, Florence, along with Dr Walter Fleming, created the ritual and costumes, and in 1871 the first members were initiated.
A Brooklyn Daily Eagle article of 1887 reports that Noble Wayland Trask "has been given the authority to organize a shrine in Brooklyn, to be called the Kismet Temple." At first the group met at 38 Court Street, but soon meeetings were held at the Aurora Grata Cathedral (formerly the East Reformed Church) at Bedford and Madison Avenues. Over the following years the newspaper reports on a series of Arab-themed parties, dinners and excursions involving "hasheesh" "zem-zem water" ball games and all manner of entertainments.
It was in 1910 that the Brooklyn Shriners dedicated the new, custom-built Temple on Herkimer Street near Nostrand Avenue. The architecture was in the Moorish style, and its auditorium seated 2,326. It was equipped with a stage, dressing rooms and an organ, with a basement banquet room and kitchen, a ballroom and a smoking room. The temple was built by Clarke and Stowe and designed by architect R. Thomas Short, (himself a Noble of Kismet Temple,) at a cost of $125,000.
Among 502 candidates initiated into the Shrine in 1923 at the Kismet Temple were Theodore Roosevelt Jr, Assistant Secretary of the Navy and the Rev Dr Newell Dwight Hillis, pastor of Plymouth Church. Other prominent Shriners have included President Truman, General Douglas MacArthur and comedian Harold Lloyd, who was a past Imperial Potentate.
But as with any organization, there was controversy among the Shriners. In 1929 the U.S. Supreme Court overturned a decision of the Texas Supreme Court, in the question as to the right of African American Shriners to organize lodges and use emblems, regalia and constitutions similar to those employed by whites. The Eagle noted: "So the Texas Negroes may be Shriners, if they flock by themselves, and no dignity that costume and formalities can lend to them can be abridged. The decision is a just one."
By 1966 white flight from Brooklyn was in full flood. The nobles of Kismet Temple decided to sell their Brooklyn property to the Friendship Baptist Church and establish a temple further out on Long Island.
Behind the brass bands, the games, the costumes and the fun of the Shriners lay a serious purpose. The organization has created 22 children's hospitals in the United States, Mexico and Canada. There is never any charge for treatment at Shriner's hospitals, which treated 125,125 patients in 2007 according to the Shriner's web site.
The Brooklyn Navy Yard wasn't the only workplace taking in women during the war. Brooklyn's bar scene was also reliant upon the female workforce. In 1939, a group of female bartenders formed Bar Maids Local 101, an official union for women who had taken on the important duty of pouring drinks and lending an ear to war-torn Brooklyn.
To legitimize their work, members of Local 101 completed three months of job training before they were employed. They were also agreed not to work past midnight or give their last name to patrons. Local businesses praised these women for maintianing the industry and creating a comforting atmosphere during a time of stress. By the end of the 40s, the union included over 100 barmaids working in 75 Brooklyn bars.
When the original workforce returned, the bartender and barmaid unions seemed to coexist peaceably. But in January 1950 Assemblyman Alfred A. Lama of Brooklyn proposed an amendment "barring barmaids from bars" (as the Eagle so eloquently put it). The female response made the cover of the Eagle, calling Lama a "chaser" and an "old meanie." The head of Local 101 explained that the unions had been working together without any conflict. But within two days, the Bartenders Union was singing a different tune. With political backing, they took to the streets and protested against their female counterparts:
Barmaid Lorretta (below) argued, "A woman has to make a living, and what's wrong with bartending? During the war it was patriotic for us to work." Another union member, Lee (at top), stated that she had two children at home and found that tending bar was more lucrative than other jobs. The protesting bartenders claimed they were not starting a battle of the sexes - they just wanted their jobs back. The secretary-treasurer of the Union claimed that he was "100 percent behind this amendment," but when he was asked if a woman's place was in the home, he had no comment.
Not everyone was so shy about defining the roles of women and bar employees. In early February, the Eagle polled eight Brooklynites and asked for their perspectives. Charles Snyder of 470 Eastern Parkway stated, "When I'm out bending the elbow the last thing I want to see is a woman - unless she's Lana Tuner." Suzanne Pfeiffer offered an interesting compromise, "Maybe there should be handsome men bartenders to wait on women cutomers and pretty barmaids for the boys. Then everyone would be happy." Charles Roberts explained, "It's fascinating as the devil when women are behind the bar. They combine sympathy with charm and eye appeal. What more can a guy expect of any bar?" Other articles noted that it was inappropriate for women to work in bars, that women could not mix cocktails as well as men, that women working in bars would "encourage prohibitionists" and that men were better able to handle the occasional barroom brawl. Each of these arguments was countered by women (and men) who believed these views to be "old fashioned."
Eventually, the Brooklyn stories died down, suggesting that Lama's bill lost steam. But Brooklyn was not alone in this battle. That same spring, Manhattan bar workers entered a dispute when five barmaids were refused admittance to the Manhattan Bartenders Union (which already represented female waitresses). The union picketed the barmaids' bar at 711 Eighth Avenue and took the case to the New York Supreme Court. A lawyer for the Union argued that barmaids were "Un-American" and noted that many other cities, includuing Chicago, had already banned female bartenders. The court did not force the union to admit the women, but it upheld the idea that women had the right to work behind the bar. The decision didn't quite give barmaids equal rights, but it did allow them to continue serving.
The Brooklyn Collection holds several collections of little-known transit-related photographs and we've just installed a new photography exhibit in the cases in our reading room, called Riding the Rails. This display of post cards, ephemera and photographs highlights the construction of trolley and subway tracks and tunnels and the machines used to assist in building them. It also features passenger cars not seen in over 100 years as well as the people who rode them. Many of the photographs chosen are from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle and can be found in our photo database. The photographs presented are just a small sample from our larger collections: the Subway Construction collection, the Sea Beach Line Construction photograph collection, and the Surface Passenger and Service Car collection. So, find your favorite NYC subway line (ours happens to be the 2 and 3 train at Grand Army Plaza or at the Eastern Parkway stop) and visit the Brooklyn Collection at the Central Library at Grand Army Plaza!
The blog has fallen silent for a few days. Last Friday afternoon our colleague and friend, Collier Duncan left the library wishing us all a good weekend. Collier was not supposed to work on Fridays, but even so, he could usually be found at his desk down among the Brooklyn Daily Eagle files on a Friday afternoon. "I was coming to the library anyway, so I thought I'd swing by," he would say. It had been a week like any other. Our research assistant for the last five years, Collier had been busy, with an ever increasing load of requests for searches of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle newspaper "morgue" files, requests for microfilm searches, and a never-ending refoldering project. And then, there was the important job of keeping half of the library staff entertained.
On Saturday, we heard that Collier had suffered a heart attack and died.
Collier L. Duncan had a successful career with the City Planning Commission and in the beverage industry before coming to the Library in his retirement to help out in the Brooklyn Collection. A man of immense personal charm and warmth, Collier was the opposite of the stereotypical history buff. Although he loved digging around in old stuff, finding treasures among the photographs and making discoveries on behalf of our patrons, he was also outgoing, personable and funny. In any line of work there are people who work tirelessly behind the scenes, often without much recognition. That was Mr. Duncan here in the Brooklyn Collection. As "Captain" of the Eagle morgue, through dogged perseverance he was often able to put together the missing pieces of a family's history. He loved to help others explore their background, and was a moving force behind a planned Genealogy Group that will start meeting in the Brooklyn Collection as of February 2010.
Collier had a great way with children and relished opportunities to join our Librarians on school visits. When he did, if another trip was planned, the children's major question would always be "Is Mr. Duncan coming back?" Collier always had a story, and he always had a smile. And now he won't be coming back.
We'll miss you Collier.
I was born in the late 1970s and cannot remember a time when the nuclear threat kept me awake at night. I've been exposed to tornado drills, not air raid drills; calls for nuclear disarmament formed a background hum that was soft and loud by turns.
While I was digging through some of our Brooklyn Daily Eagle photographs, I found several images that represent Brooklyn life during the Cold War. They cover a wide range of subjects from atomic air raid drills and civil defense preparedness to exhibits on nuclear physics, at the same time providing a primer on 1950s fashions.
This poster was distributed by the Office of Civil Defense in Brooklyn. It was 9x14 inches and was suitable to hang in the kitchen or an office as a reminder of what to do in if Brooklyn was attacked by a nuclear weapon. Those of us working in the Library would have been well placed, as the local bomb shelter was in the Central Library's basement.
Here are children at Public School 125 in Brownsville going back to class after an atomic air raid drill. These kindergarteners were sheltered in a hallway.
The regional winners of the Eagle-sponsored Miss Brooklyn pageant participate in the Brooklyn Civil Defense Day recruiting rally. Brooklyn Daily Eagle, August 8, 1951.
I would love to know what the other facts are, but the two depicted in this photograph are definitely winners. Held aloft by Miss Brownsville East New York and Miss Bensonhurst: "Fact #12 Women can play as important a role as men, in the civil defense forces." Note the manly clipped fingernails above the perfect manicure holding the shovel. And our favorite presented by Miss Heights-Downtown and Miss Coney Island: "Fact #1 If an atom bomb drops we will not all be killed." Now that is a fact that I am sure is still relevant today. At the edge of the two-mile radius shown, only one little figure is lying flat while all the others--who appear to be wearing trousers, not skirts, by the way--are still standing! I for one am grateful to the publishers of the posters--the New York City Office of Civil Defense and the National Committee of Thirteen Against Superstition, Prejudice and Fear--for those immensely comforting words.
Update - we just had to resize this poster for everyone to see!
Atomic Age Halloween. Brooklyn Daily Eagle November 1, 1951.
Atoms for Peace exhibit, Brooklyn Public Library, 1957
Brooklyn Public Library played a role in promoting the peaceful uses of atomic energy in 1957 through an exhibit and lectures. "Atoms for Peace" was a traveling exhibit prepared by the United States Atomic Energy Commission. The exhibit opened with a one-of-a-kind ribbon cutting by City Council President Abe Stark. He used a set of mechanical hands that were on exhibit to show the public how to handle radioactive materials safely at a distance. The exhibit focused on industry, medicine, and the "advances" being made in agriculture and the food industry.
Brooklyn Public Library invites you to look into the atomic future with two outstanding nuclear physicists, April 1957
Dr. Lawrence V. Parsegian spoke on the wonder of the atom followed by the screening of the film "A" Is for Atom. Three weeks later, Dr. Lyle Borst discussed Atoms for Peace: In the Home, In the Factory, In the Classroom.
The Library's leading role in both education and defense is evident from these materials, which provide an uncannily immediate sense of what it must have felt like to live in Brooklyn during that time.
