Trademarks: Playing Possum?

It was one of the earliest trademarks registered in the United States - Number 247 - and the very first for a business in Lynn, Massachusetts. It's hard to imagine what inspired 22-year-old George B. Thurston to come up with the design. It was a distinctive symbol, to be sure, but what exactly was it and what was its message?

Maybe that was the whole point: to make the potential buyer be curious and wonder - capture the customer's attention.

Just 15 years old in 1864, George Thurston went down to New Bern, North Carolina, with his father to help sell food, medicine, tobacco, whiskey, and other goods to the Lynn soldiers of the 8th Massachusetts Infantry. During this time, the young teenager caught a young opossum and made him his pet. For the next year, the pet possum was probably a source of curiosity and amusement for the soldiers of the 8th, many of whom weren't much older than George. They needed something to take their mind off the war and help them pass the time.

When the war was over and the Thurstons came back to Lynn, George's pet possum came with them. In 1868, George loaned his "southern critter," as they called it, to Lynn's Post 5 GAR to have the 8th's mascot on exhibition at the veteran's fair, raising funds for the widows and orphans of departed comrades.

George's possum was a local celebrity. It was probably the critter featured on his first medicine trademark three years later.

Starting out in the patent medicine business at just 22 years old, George wanted something striking and memorable to represent the worm syrup he was selling, made from his mother's recipe. The cartoonish drawing could have been a bear cub dancing in a hoop, and I originally thought it was, but now I'm convinced it represented his pet possum. The skull shape is carefully drawn, rounded and sloping down to the nose, with whitish fur and a hint of pointed teeth, a characteristic feature in a possum's wide mouth. The fingers and toes are distinctively long and humanesque, again just like a possum, and grasping the hoop with prehensile ease. The rest of the animal's coat is darker, suggesting a light gray, a frequent contrast to the light-colored head of the North American Opossum. And, if you look really close, you will make out what may be its tail, wrapped along the front of the belly and up to the chest. Perhaps George had kept his pet in a cage designed for a large bird, like a parrot or cockatoo, with a large hoop suspended in the middle, and his possum frequently climbed into it, like in the trademark.

Was George inspired with cause to use his possum as the poster-pet for his worm medicine trademark? Very possibly. Possums do get infested with worms from the foods they scavenge. Maybe young George tried his mom's worm syrup on his pet, making it a sort of guinea-pig-possum. It's even possible that George and his father were selling his mother's worm syrup to the soldiers in camp who might have made some of the same bad food choices while foraging in the North Carolina wilderness that George's possum had made.

Possibly the worm syrup customer was just supposed to feel all warm and fuzzy about the cute, playful animal on the trademark (come on, Sandra Boynton fans, you know that feeling). Maybe the playful possum had been designed for customers to convince themselves that the critter was happy and dancing because it had been cured by the medicine, subliminally prompting them to buy a bottle for their sick and lethargic child back home who was suffering with worms. Or perhaps the unofficial regimental mascot was designed to be a locally patriotic symbol, encouraging all the returned veterans and their families to support their well-known townsmen, much like the Thurstons had been there for them during the war. Buy a bottle of Mrs. Thurston's Celebrated Worm Syrup and help out your friends, the Thurstons.

Whatever the trademark was supposed to convey, it helped the medicine survive for almost four decades, which in patent medicine years is a very, very long time, and in possum years, well, it's almost forever.

While George's possum helped the time pass, Mrs. Thurston's Worm Syrup helped everything else pass, or so George's trademark would lead us to believe.

For more on the career of George Thurston & Mrs. Thurston's Syrup, see:

PROMISING CURES, Vol.3, Chapter 7: Reconstructive Surgery

& Chapter 8: Heroine Addiction

Lynn Massachusetts history - History of medicine - 19th-Century Health Remedies - Vintage Medical Ephemera - 19th-century medicine

Epitaph for “The Metaphysical Cure”

Well, the beautiful box I featured a few posts ago has been sold – definitely not to me. It went for $1,850 which comes as no surprise – it’s a historical treasure for sure.

I’ve done more research on these metaphysical medicines and their maker and I thought that these tidbits about a little-known 19th century medicine may be of interest, at least to the new owners of that great box!

Borrowing from Ben

Mrs. Martha G. Brown started her medicine selling career in 1860 when she was living in Philadelphia, selling Poor Richard’s Eye Water for 25 cents a bottle. Early on, her ads were accompanied by the quaint, cartoonish image of a bespectacled logo-style image of fellow Philadelphian, Ben Franklin, author of Poor Richard’s Almanac and the obvious inspiration for her medicine. The image was dropped by 1862.

Oh no I didn’t!

Mrs. Brown toured across much of the country over the next two decades, consulting with customers and promoting her medicine. In December 1862 she was at the Penobscot Exchange and the Bangor House, both in Bangor, Maine. She included one of several testimonials from Maine customers that got her in hot water. It was that of John Holyoke of Brewer, who testified that he had been “quite deaf in one ear for the past seven years”; then he visited Mrs. Brown on the 5th and after just one treatment, he could hear sounds. “The next day I could hear words distinctly.” Sounded great – it just wasn’t true – according to John Holyoke:

Mr. Editor:

     I notice in your paper, something purporting to be a certificate that I have been a subject under the treatment of Mrs. M. G. Brown, for deafness. As I have never been troubled with deafness, and as I never saw the woman, and know nothing of her, except that she has imposed upon the public in the use of my name, (for there is no other person of the name in Brewer) will you please publish this, and expose the imposition and oblige the public.

Respectfully yours,

John Holyoke

Mrs. Brown responded quickly, just two days later, hoping to restore her reputation. On Christmas Eve, she explained:

The cure of deafness performed in Brewer by Mrs. M. G. Brown, was on John W. Holyoke, nephew to John Holyoke …

Nothing more was heard on the subject, but by doing some genealogical, research, I determined that while John did have a nephew named John W. Holyoke living in Brewer, he was only 14 years old when Mrs. Brown claimed he had gone to her for help with his deafness – a problem that he supposedly had since he was only 7 years old. So, it could have happened ... maybe.

Bumpy Genius

In 1864 some of her newspaper advertisements carried a large portion of the phrenological reading she received at the famous New York phrenological firm, Fowler & Wells. It revealed, in part,

You are capable of making great discoveries; you have the power of invention. … You are not inclined to adopt other peoples’ thoughts.

She explained that she shared her phrenological reading to prove (1) that she shouldn’t be “classed  with Quacks or Humbugs who have experimented on the suffering masses till the blood of those slain by Quackery, pouring Medicine down the throat …” and (2) “I wish to appear before the world in my true colors …” She was absolutely convinced of the validity of phrenology.

The Lynn Connection

In the 1866 directory for Essex County, the Colcord & Snow drug store of Lynn, Mass., advertised Mrs. Brown’s Poor Richard’s Eye Water alongside its tough competitor, Thompson’s Eye Water, and many other patent medicines, such as Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters and Romaine’s Crimean Bitters, Cocaine, and Hasheesh Candy. Mrs. Brown's eye medicine means that much more to me since my focus has always been remedies that were made and/or sold in Lynn. Sweet!

So are Vegans Cannibals?

Here's an interesting excerpt from Mrs. M. G. Brown’s Metaphysical Pamphlet, published in 1871; after rereading it a few times, it sort of grows on you:

The hair is a field of grass; the eyes and ears are plants; the sight and hearing are Metaphysical plants, messengers to the mind; the teeth are plants; the tongue, heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, etc., etc., are all plants growing in the body – the Earth. God … preserves the earth in its abnormal state, with Dew, Rain, Frost and Snow ….

Selling Forever and Ever

Mrs. Brown kept spreading the good word about her medicines until her death. In 1868 she visited Chicago at the Matteson House and the Briggs House; in 1879 the then 70-year-old medicine maker gave consultations at the Carrollton Hotel in Baltimore, Maryland. In May 1881 she was in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, but she was nearing the end of her tour of Earth; she died two months later, in July. The New Orleans Times Picayune irreverently teased that although she was deceased, her advertising might live on forever on her gravestone:

Among recent deaths is that of Mrs. M. G. Brown, inventor of “Poor Richard’s Eye Water” and the eye, ear and scalp remedy known as the “Metaphysical Discovery.” The lady was in her seventy-third year, and although a dealer in quack medicines, was from all accounts very religious. It is said that she regarded the testimonials sent her as a reward from Heaven to be enjoyed in secret, but such a statement arouses a lurking suspicion that her heirs might …  inscribe a metaphysical advertisement on her monument.

Your doctor said There’s a Sucker Born Every Minute

In the year of her death, a doctor shared his unfavorable view of Mrs. Brown in a medical publication. He discussed three patients who had taken Mrs. Brown’s medicines, each experiencing eye irritation and ear pain until they finally came to him for help. The doctor was frustrated that all three went to Mrs. Brown before they came to him:

The well-known expression, “The majority of people wish to be humbugged,” seems to be true. It ever was, and no doubt ever will be, the fact, as long as the world stands, and mysticism and superstition reign over scientific and educated ideas.

The Legacy

The federal census of 1870 listed [Mrs.] M. G. Brown as a Metaphysical Physician with a personal estate valued at $100,000. Also living at her house were her assistant in the medical business, another general assistant, and a domestic servant, plus Elizabeth Billsland, who was simply “keeping house”, but she had $80,000 in real and personal assets.

 

In the 1880 census, only M. G. Brown and Elizabeth Billsland were listed in the house together; Mrs. Brown was simply “keeping house” and Elizabeth had “no occupation”. But then Mrs. Brown died in the next year and Elizabeth took over the business and even assumed the “Mrs. M. G. Brown” name to make a seamless transition in the medicine business.

 

When Elizabeth Billsland died on 20 November 1903, she was 65; she was never married and had no children. She had created her will back in 1883 when the medicine business Mrs. Brown had left behind was apparently still going strong. The will stipulated that her sister would receive her house at 51 Bond Street in New York City, along with all the furniture, books, & personal effects which it contained. She further instructed that The Metaphysical Discovery and Poor Richards Eye Water each be sold for $500,000.

 

I don’t think her heirs were ever able to sell the medicines, let alone for a half million dollars, since they disappeared from the marketplace. ... But one empty box has just sold for $1,850 – I think Mrs. Brown and Elizabeth Billsland would both be proud.

Lynn Massachusetts history - History of medicine - 19th-Century Health Remedies - Vintage Medical Ephemera - 19th-century medicine

Their World Wasn't Sepia

We tend to get nostalgic when we look at old-time photographs. The world of our ancestors is almost always seen in sepia tones - faces, clothing, buildings, trees, pets - all in shades of brown and white; even old papers fade to varying degrees of tan. I probably even chose it as the predominant color of the background of my website because, subconsiously, it seemed to set the tone for all the old stuff I want to write about and show. The brown family defines the antique world for us because it seems so ubiquitous - but it wasn't to them.

I have read many accounts in old newspapers about new delivery wagons and trucks looking so fine in their green, purple, and other daring paint colors, with vivid trim and lettering boldy advertising the company's products or services. Victorian lives were full of color, just like ours; ladies eagerly anticipated each issue of Godey's Lady's Book to see the next color plate inserts of the newest fashions, and children pestered local merchants for colorful advertising trade cards to paste in their scrapbooks. So when my very talented son digitally colorized my antique real photo postcard (RPPC to collectors) of the Crompton's Zat-Zit mobile, I felt some of that same joy over the glimpse of Victorian color before me. I was blown away at how the addition of color changed my perceptions of the old scene so completely.

The first image is the original, sepia-tone postcard; following it are several colorized versions. I haven't found any description yet that indicates what the truck's colors were, but based on these versions, almost any colors would have been just amazing!

Charles Crompton and his son, Edward, stand proudly in front of their delivery truck in 1910. This photograph was taken when it was brand new, ready for use as a delivery truck at the high point of the company’s success; father and son resplendent in their new delivery uniforms, which included “ZAT-ZIT” stitched into their driving caps. Two months later the truck was hit by an automobile and Charles Crompton, foreground, had some injuries, but the medicine bottles in the truck were destroyed.

This RPPC is a treasure in my collection; a special jewel that, when held to digital light, lets the Crompton's new truck sparkle in the radiant beauty that made impressed bystanders take notice.

Don't make the mistake of seeing the past in shades of brown - make it come alive in your mind with color, just the way it really was.

For more on the career and medicines of Charles Crompton, see:

PROMISING CURES, Vol.4, Epilogue: City of the Dead, Land of the Living

Lynn Massachusetts history - History of medicine - 19th-Century Health Remedies - Vintage Medical Ephemera - 19th-century medicine