Category: Artifact of the Month

Our January Artifact of the Month follows in the tobacco-tinged footsteps of last month’s Artifact, although this one is quite a bit older and, one might argue, a little easier on the eyes than the Joe Camel holiday lighter.

This tobacco pouch once held Seal of North Carolina Plug Cut tobacco, a product of the Marburg Brothers company. The pouch came to us via a collection of materials donated to the Southern Historical Collection from a descendant of Wylie Becton Fort (1841-1926), a landowner from Wayne County who attended UNC before enlisting in the Confederate Navy. The collection consists mostly of manuscript materials related to Mr. Fort and his family. The tobacco pouch will be housed in the NCC Gallery to ensure its preservation according to museum standards.

If you’ve never seen a tobacco pouch before, you’ve probably correctly surmised that it was simply a pouch for carrying tobacco. But you may not know that sewing the drawstrings into these pouches was once a popular way for people — often women — in the South to earn extra income. If you’re curious, you can see letters and photos related to tobacco bag stringing in this online exhibit.

Selling “cool”

The advertising strategy of Seal of North Carolina Plug Cut Tobacco focused on associating the brand with the state of North Carolina, a state known for its superior tobacco. A great example can be found via this cigarette card, shared by Flickr user Harvey&Marie, which boasts of “old North Carolina leaf”:

It’s worth noting that the phrase “smokes cool” appears in the advertising language used for this tobacco, prefiguring the “smooth” and “cool” themes that featured so heavily in the Joe Camel ad campaign. Of course, “cool” had a different shade of meaning back in Mrs. Cleveland’s day.

Mrs. Cleveland, of course, is Frances Folsom Cleveland, the 27th first lady of the United States, making this yet another reflection of how much has changed in our cultural perceptions of tobacco use. And, for that matter, our cultural perceptions of first ladies.

We’re grateful to the donor for sharing this tobacco pouch; a seemingly empty bag that holds a good bit of history.

We reached into our tobacco ephemera collection in search of something seasonal and found our December artifact of the month, a holiday-edition “Joe Camel” lighter. On the lighter, Mr. Camel is smoking, naturally. He’s also jamming on a keyboard, wearing sunglasses and a red bowtie. Just off to the side, a red cocktail with a holly garnish stands at the ready.

Joe, the Camel cigarette advertising mascot, gallantly wishes “a smooth holiday season to all.”

A brief history of Joe Camel, for those not smooth enough to remember: Joe was born in 1974, first used to advertise Camel cigarettes in a French poster. He didn’t appear in the U.S. until 1987, when his image was used by Greensboro-based Trone Advertising to celebrate the 75th anniversary of Camel. In 1991, R.J. Reynolds boasted that Joe Camel’s line of merchandise brought in $40 million a year in advertising revenue.

In 1991, the Journal of the American Medical Association published a study that Camel didn’t consider very cool: The study found that there was no difference between the number of 6-year-olds who could match Joe Camel with cigarettes and the number who could match the Disney Channel logo with Mickey Mouse. Other studies followed. Things got litigious, with complaints and lawsuits between the Federal Trade Commission and R.J. Reynolds.

Eventually, in 1997, R.J. Reynolds voluntarily ended the use of Joe Camel in its advertising.

Is this really an important artifact?

This particular Joe Camel lighter is disposable, made of cheap plastic, designed to be discarded after lighting its last Camel. So why, then, has this bit of “junk” found a home in the NCC Gallery, along with Civil War artifacts and Chang Bunker’s rifle?

Our collection of tobacco ephemera provides a three-dimensional record of the tobacco industry’s public face, particularly as it’s changed over the years. Cigarette marketing and advertising give us a singular glimpse into the appeal and perception of tobacco use by the American public, as well as industry efforts to shape those perceptions.

Joe Camel hasn’t been gone for long but the cultural moment that allowed him to exist already seems like ancient times. We’re glad to have the lighter as a relic of that bygone era.

There’s so much to love, and so much to say, about our September Artifact of the Month.

This head scarf from the mid-1950s features a brightly-colored pictorial map of North Carolina.

Elizabeth Stinson, who donated the scarf, describes acquiring it during a childhood moving around between Greenville, South Carolina and Cooleemee, Ridgecrest, Black Mountain, and Greensboro, North Carolina. She writes:

Our family, especially my father, liked to visit western NC. (Mother, coming from Charleston, preferred flatlands, though she gained the respect of my brother and me by passing a big truck on a winding mountain two-lane.) We would picnic at a concrete table set up on the roadside by a stream, investigate the water, and we always had to stop at a country store for apples and souvenirs. While at Greensboro, we traveled to Fontana Village. Sometime along the way between Cooleemee and Greensboro, I acquired the headscarf, probably earlier than later.

The images on the scarf speak volumes about North Carolina’s popular attractions in the post-World-War-II era, from “fine tulips” to Bridal Veil Falls (where “your car passes under.”)

Looking at this artifact is like traveling back to a more wholesome (and admittedly imaginary) time, when giant bears roamed freely through Hickory, and a person had nothing more urgent to do than while away the hours in Rockingham, cooking over an open fire.

The scarf is all the more charming for the things it doesn’t get quite right:

Orville and Wilbur Wright, sitting cheerfully side by side on their first flight…

… and the first state university in the country, known here as “N.C.U.”

But what’s most appealing about this scarf is knowing its history. Envisioning the childhood road trip to Fontana Village, and the excitement of picking up this colorful souvenir, makes this artifact come to life in a rare and rich way. Many thanks to Elizabeth Stinson for sharing both this scarf and her memories.

“Be just and fear not.” With these words, David Ward Simmons, UNC class of 1861, signed a classmate’s autograph book. Three years later, Simmons died at the age of 23 of wounds sustained on the battlefield near Petersburg, Virginia.

Our August Artifacts of the Month, donated by a relative of Simmons, include an ambrotype of Simmons posing with a musket and two of his personal belongings: a Dialectic Society medal and a small pin.

Simmons was born on March 31, 1841 in Onslow County. As a young man, he entered UNC-Chapel Hill, where he studied law and joined the Dialectic Society. The Di Society is the obvious origin of the medal, the inscription of which reads “DIALECTIC SOCIETY.”

What’s less clear is the meaning of the pin. (If you can offer any insights, please share them in the comments.)

Measuring just about an inch in diameter, the pin bears the inscription, “UBI CONSULUERIS MATURE FACTO OPUS EST.” (Translation: When you have made your plans, you must act quickly.) And, at the bottom, a “D.S.” (David Simmons? Dialectic Society?) Is the insignia in the middle (L.I.S.?) from a fraternity?

Is there a clue on his autograph page?

After graduating, Simmons served as a Lieutenant in Company B, 41st N.C. Regiment. The Siege of Petersburg began June 9, 1864, and lasted nine months. Simmons was wounded June 21, less than two weeks into the siege. He died four days later, on June 25, 1864.

It’s a rare and welcome occurrence that we receive artifacts related to a 19th-century UNC student; rarer still that they come to us with a beautiful photograph of the student himself. When viewed together, these three artifacts deliver a unique glimpse into a life that ended too soon. We’re honored to have them in the collection.

The accomplishments of North Carolina’s native son Kay Kyser have been well documented: UNC cheerleader, class president, and bandleader; host of the successful radio show Kay Kyser’s Kollege of Musical Knowledge from 1938 to 1949; big band leader with eleven number-one records to his name; star of seven feature films. Kyser’s rise to fame was swift, and he left an indelible mark on the Big Band era.

That’s all well and good, of course, but what did he wear to the beach?

The answer is our July Artifact of the Month.

When Kay Kyser headed to the shore, he used this red, white, green, and blue cap to shield his face from the sun. The cap’s exaggerated brim displays some of the characteristic whimsy for which Kyser was known throughout his show-biz career.

The hat also bears a U.S. Marine Corps insignia pin, but the only connection I could find between Kay Kyser and the military is his performance of a song called “Tell It to the Marines.” (If you know of something I’m missing, please chime in with a comment!)

Readers curious to learn more about the life of Kay Kyser can consult the papers of Kay and his wife, Georgia Carroll Kyser, which are in the Southern Historical Collection.

We’re thrilled to add this great piece of Kay Kyser memorabilia to the Gallery.

If you’re a regular follower of the Artifact of the Month, you’ll remember that last month’s post featured Chang Bunker’s silverware. (And if you’re not a regular follower of the Artifact of the Month, why aren’t you?)

This month we’re pleased to share another artifact that sheds some light on the everyday lives of Chang and Eng Bunker, the original Siamese twins.

Recently, Chang’s hunting rifle was generously donated by Dr. Vance Haynes, one of Chang’s descendants.

The .41 caliber rifle was made by Jacob Kuntz (Kunz) of Philadelphia and is over fifty-five inches long.

Accompanying the rifle are a bag-style copper powder flask, a single-cavity iron ball mold, and a copper funnel.

The rifle is impressive in its beauty and the quality of its craftsmanship. But what’s even more remarkable to the twenty-first century observer is its weight. This is a heavy weapon. To imagine lifting it — let alone shooting it — even without being a conjoined twin is a reminder of how much hardier our nineteenth-century forbears really were. That Chang fired it, as he did, attached at the sternum to his brother is yet another reminder of the Bunkers’ resilience.

The North Carolina Collection Gallery exhibit on Chang and Eng Bunker, the original “Siamese twins,” continues to fascinate and intrigue visitors. Among the items on display are artifacts from Chang and Eng’s many years on tour, a time when they were presented as walking curiosities to paying spectators in town after town. Figurines and advertisements in the Gallery’s exhibit provide a window into the twins’ travels, compelling us to wonder what it was like to live on display.

But for many visitors, what’s even more absorbing are the materials that illuminate the Bunkers’ lives at home in North Carolina, with their wives and dozens of children, away from the inquisitive eyes of the world. A picture of Eng’s home in Surry County. A letter opener. A photo of the twins with two of their sons. These items speak of extraordinary efforts made to lead ordinary lives, despite challenges that most of us can barely imagine.

Our May artifacts of the month fall into that second category. These pieces of silverware, recently donated by one of Chang’s descendants, bear on their handles the initials “CE,” for Chang and Eng. The silverware pattern was known as “Fiddle Thread” and was made by Tenney.

It is precisely the ordinariness of these artifacts that makes them worth contemplating. They offer one more reminder that daily life for Chang and Eng was not all that different from the lives of their neighbors.