Thanksgiving with the Tindles and their Phonograph

On Thanksgiving Day in 1917, exactly one hundred years ago, the Tindle family of New York City gathered to celebrate the holiday.  There’s nothing unusual about that in itself, of course, but they chose to mark the occasion by making a record on their cylinder phonograph, allowing us to listen in on their gathering a century after the fact.  It wasn’t the first time they’d done such a thing, either: the Tindles had been recording themselves and their friends and neighbors for about ten years at that point and had even made a similar Thanksgiving record back in 1911.  In this post, I’ll share both Thanksgiving records, along with nine more of the Tindles’ home-recorded cylinders which I picked up on eBay eighteen years ago.

Let’s start with a little family history.  William Boyd Tindle had been born in Pennsylvania on February 28, 1876, the son of English immigrant Thomas Tindle, Jr. (1849-1877) and his American-born wife Rachel (née Mortimer, 1849-1928).  Shortly after his father’s death, his mother had married Edgar K. Rhoads (1857-1917) of Mahanoy City.  In 1884, we find her new husband identified as an “engraver in the employ of Ridley & Co.,” a New York firm that specialized in engraving steel and copper plates (see New York Times, Dec. 15, 1884).  Maybe that was how William had found his way into the printing business; the 1900 federal census shows him as a linotype operator living in Manhattan with his mother, his stepfather, and his brother John, who was a draftsman.  William had ended up settling in the Bronx, and John in Queens.  There was another brother, Thomas John Tindle, born in 1877, who was still living in 1900, but I’m not sure what became of him.

At some point, William had become associated as a printer with the New York World, and he was still on its staff in 1917.  On December 11, 1901, he had married Bertha Adelaide, daughter of Charles Maerz—a German-born cigar-maker of Reading, Pennsylvania—and his wife Mary.  Their daughter Rachel (“Rae”) Marie had been born on November 2, 1902.  And sometime during the five years that followed, the Tindle family had welcomed another addition into its midst besides: a cylinder phonograph, complete with recording attachment.

The earliest evidence I have of home-recording efforts by the Tindles is a cylinder box label for a record made in 1907 of Rae and her mother (most of the labels in the collection were written sometime in the 1920s or later, and some of the lids appear to have been switched around).  Rae, who would have been four or five years old at the time, apparently recited her ABC’s, played peek-a-boo, and recited “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”  Unfortunately, this box contained a commercial record (“Monastery Bells”) by the time I got it, and the recording that was originally in it is lost.

However, we do get to hear Rae talking on a different cylinder, labeled “Thanksgiving 1911,” when she would have been nine years old—although the scribbling on the lid betrays some uncertainty as to whether she was nine or seven.

Bertha A. Bush’s poem “Autumn Leaves” had been published in Primary Work: A Manual For Young Teachers (1906), and Rae had probably learned it in school.

Autumn Leaves

See the leaves come fluttering down;
Some are red and some are brown;
And some are yellow as sunshine fair,
Scattering brightness everywhere.

We walk in a sea of rustling gold,
Heaps of treasure our small hands hold,
And over our heads to the blue, blue sky,
Are walls of sunshine that we pass by.

Spring and summer have many joys,
Winter brings fun for girls and boys,
But the golden days of the early fall,
When the leaves come down, are the best of all.

Next, Grandma and Grandpa Rhoads—that is, William Tindle’s stepfather Edgar and his mother Rachel—twice sing the chorus of “Red Wing,” a smash hit of 1907.  The official lyrics are:

Now the moon shines bright on pretty Red Wing,
The breezes sighing, the night birds crying,
For afar ‘neath his star her brave is sleeping,
While Red Wing’s weeping her heart away.

But the words go a little differently here.  The second time around, they seem to run as follows:

Now the moon shines bright on pretty Red Wing,
The night birds crying, the [dark winds (?)] sighing,
Far away neath his star her brave is sleeping,
While Red Wing’s weeping her heart away.

The first time, however, Grandma and Grandpa Rhoads definitely sing something other than “star” and “while Red Wing’s,” and I can’t quite tell what.  Indeed, I’m not sure they’re both singing the same words, and it seems they weren’t quite in agreement about how the song went.  Then it’s Rae’s turn at the horn again, and she sings “A Morning Thanksgiving,” with words by Mary J. Garland and music by Clare S. Reed.  This song had appeared in Emilie Poulsson’s Holiday Songs and Every Day Songs and Games (1901), and the text had appeared with minor differences in Poulsson’s In The Child’s World (1893), likewise credited there to Garland, although I’ve also seen the it cited as from Ozora S. Davis’s At Mother’s Knee (1916).  One variant beginning “For flowers that bloom among our feet” often gets attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson, an association that dates back to at least 1901, but the attribution is spurious; the piece in question actually seems to combine the Garland poem with a separate poem, “We Thank Thee,” from a British school reader of 1883.  In any case, this is the most obviously Thanksgiving-themed selection to be found on any of the Tindle cylinders.

A Morning Thanksgiving

For this new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
We thank the Heavenly Father,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For ev’ry thing His goodness sends,
We thank the Heavenly Father.

The cylinder concludes with some parting words from Dad:

About all we have for this record
‘Cause [my brother(?)]’s washing in the dishpan.
Good night, turkey’s over, bye-bye.

I’m not sure about the “my brother” part, but if that’s what William Tindle says here, I imagine he’s referring to his brother John.

Another cylinder in the same group opens with a spoken announcement: “Annie Laurie, sung by the Top Floor Quartet.”  A mixed chorus then sings “Annie Laurie,” followed by “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean”:

Maxwellton’s braes are bonnie,
Where early fa’s the dew,
And it’s there that Annie Laurie
Gave me her promise true,
Gave me her promise true,
Which ne’er forgot will be,
And for Bonnie Annie Laurie
I’d lay me doon and dee.

My Bonnie lies over the ocean,
My Bonnie lies over the sea,
My Bonnie lies over the ocean,
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me.
Bring back, bring back,
Bring back my Bonnie to me, to me;
Bring back, bring back,
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me.

The group actually sounds like it’s larger than a quartet, and the label on the cylinder box appears to confirm this by identifying the performers as “McDonalds Baade & Tindles”—a minimum of five people.  So who were the “McDonalds” and “Baade”?  Figuring that out took a little detective work.

The 1910 federal census shows William, Bertha, and Rae Tindle living in an apartment building at 401 East 135th Street in the Mott Haven neighborhood of the South Bronx, on the northeast corner of the intersection with Willis Avenue, where a Mobil station stands today.  The next family group listed after them in the census—and the last one for the whole building—consisted of Civil Service Commission clerk Joseph Francis McDonald; his parents Alexander, formerly a fireman, and Isabella (née Mudsie) McDonald; his wife Luella Anna, daughter of plumbing contractor Jonas Rossman; their children Joseph A. (age 6), Alexander (age 3), and Isabella (six months); and a servant named Josephine Maurer.  I believe the census taker must have visited the building’s tenants in order while working his way upwards story by story, finishing with the Tindles and McDonalds on the top floor—hence “Top Floor Quartet.”  Seventy-two-year-old Alexander McDonald himself had been born in New York, but both of his parents had been natives of Scotland, so the choice of two traditional Scottish songs may have reflected the McDonald family’s national heritage.  The cylinder concludes with a male voice, probably William Tindle’s, stating that this “will be the last of the McDonald family for a few weeks!”  Judging from that remark, this cylinder must have been recorded at a bon voyage party.

The 1905 New York state census had listed the same apartment building as 664 East 135th Street, prior to a confusing change in the house numbering scheme throughout the Bronx.  The McDonalds weren’t yet living there then, but the Tindles were, and this time the family group immediately following theirs consisted of William Baade, laundryman; his wife Helen (née Hoffmann); his daughter, also Helen (age 5); and his mother-in-law and sister-in-law.  The Baade family had moved across town to 622-4 East 169th Street by the 1910 federal census, but there must have been some period of time between 1908 and early 1910 when the Tindles, McDonalds, and Baades all lived together on the top floor of the same building—and occasionally entertained themselves there by making phonograph records.

Here’s another musical effort by the Top Floor Quartet, identified here as “McDonald, Baade, Tindle Srs.”   They perform three songs all published in 1909: “I Love, I Love, I Love My Wife, But Oh You Kid,” “Beautiful Eyes,” and “I Wish I Had a Girl.”  “Srs.” may stand for “singers,” since it’s definitely not “sisters.”

I love, I love, I love my wife—but oh, you kid!
For my dear wife I’d give my life—but oh, you kid!
Now wifey dear is good to me, a wrong she never did
I love, I love, I love my wife—but oh, you kid!

My, he has such beautiful eyes,
He told such beautiful lies,
He had me hypnotized, mesmerized;
Beautiful eyes—I never seem to get wise.
He called me such pretty things,
Then he took all my rings,
But he had such beautiful eyes!

Gee, I wish that I had a girl
Like the other fellows had:
Someone to make a fuss over me,
To cheer me up when I feel sad.
On Wednesday night, I’m all alone
When I ought to be up at some sweetheart’s home,
And I’m lonesome, awful lonesome—
Gee, I wish I had a girl!

At the end, we seem to hear the participants arguing in the background about who should speak some concluding words into the phonograph: “Say something yourself!”  “Why don’t you say something?”  “No, you!”

The earliest dated cylinder among the Tindle records, from 1908, features two of the neighbor kids: Joe McDonald and Helen Baade.  First, Joe sings “All Aboard for Blanket Bay” and “You’ll Do the Same Thing Over Again,” in the latter case using the lyrics from an extra verse about baseball player Christy “Matty” Mathewson of the New York Giants, who was then in the prime of his career.

All aboard for Blanket Bay,
Won’t come back ’till the break of day,
Roll him ’round  in his little white sheet
‘Til you can’t see his little bare feet.
Then you tuck him up in his trundle bed:
Ship ahoy, little sleepy head.
Bless Mama, bless Papa, and sail away,
All aboard for Blanket Bay.

Out to the ball ground you take your best girl
To see a good game of ball.
Will Matty put them over?
This question, it worries them all,
Will he put them over like he used to do?
You would be happy if you only knew,
Baseball fans take this tip from me,
Matty’ll be there, wait and see.
But he’ll do the same thing over, over again, over again,
He’ll do the same thing over, over and over again,
When the bases are full and you’re worried,
He’ll tighten up quickly and then—
He’ll turn right about and he’ll strike them all out,
Over and over again.

Unfortunately, the selection by Helen Baade is pretty well obliterated by surface noise, and I haven’t been able to identify it—can you?  I think I hear a title something like “An Ode to a Merry-Go-Round,” but I’m sure that’s wrong.  At the end, a male voice chimes in, probably William Tindle’s: “Good night for this record; Mr. Wilburn’s (?) going to sing a song next.”  I don’t know who he was, or even whether I’ve got his name right, but apparently this was only one of multiple cylinders recorded on the same occasion.

A second cylinder from “about 1909” featuring Joe and Helen, and perhaps also Rae, ranks among the most remarkable in the whole Tindle collection.  Home recordings from this period consist overwhelmingly of material performed or spoken purposefully into the phonograph horn, which couldn’t generally pick up ambient sounds very well.  This record sounds like one of the rare exceptions: a case in which someone used a phonograph to capture candid domestic scenes as they naturally unfolded.  First, we hear what sounds like children noodling around with musical instruments—a string instrument (maybe William Tindle’s mandolin), a percussion instrument, and a wind instrument—while adults talk in the background; I think I can pick out “get away from that thing,” “I’ve got to clean up after this now, turn it off,” and “Oh you kiddo!”  Next, we transition into a game of “Charlie Over the Water,” described as follows in George Ellsworth Johnson, Education by Plays and Games (1907):

Charlie Over the Water.  The children form a circle, one child being in the center.  The children circle about, singing, “Charlie over the water, Charlie over the sea, Charlie catch a blackbird, can’t catch me.”  At the last word all stoop, but if one is tagged before stooping he must change places with Charlie.

It’s hard to tell for sure, but it sounds to me as though the children are actually playing the game here, and not merely reciting the rhyme for the benefit of the phonograph.  The final selection on the cylinder is a more typical phonographic performance by Joe McDonald of the song “Grandma,” with words by Alfred Bryan and music by Ted Snyder (1908):

Grandma, Grandma, you were a dear old Grandma!
I was your pride, I was your care!
You dressed me up and you combed my hair;
When daddy would chide,
Behind you we’d hide,
If he took down the strap from the shelf
And you’d say, with a tear,
“Don’t forget, daddy dear,
That you were a boy once yourself.”

The next cylinder on our playlist begins with a mandolin performance by William Tindle.  Next, a male voice recites: “It’s not the ‘eavy ‘auling as ‘urts the ‘orses’ ‘ooves, it’s the ‘ammer ‘ammer ‘ammer on the ‘ard ‘ighway,” a humorous catch-phrase in oral tradition that was also recorded, for example, by Jim Leary under the title “The Horse on the Highway.”  Grandma and Grandpa Rhoads then sing “Rock of Ages” with piano accompaniment:

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure;
Save from wrath and make me pure.

Finally we hear a nursery rhyme documented in 1842—

Says Aaron to Moses,
Let’s cut off our noses.
Says Moses to Aaron,
It’s the fashion to wear ’em.

—and a limerick found in print since 1905:

There was a young lady from Lynn
Who was so exceedingly thin
That when she essayed
To drink lemonade
She slipped through the straw and fell in.

The “poems” are credited on the box to Shepard “Shep” Barclay (1889-1955), who was well known as a writer, publisher, and general authority on the game of contract bridge.

That brings us to the record the Tindles made on Thanksgiving Day in 1917, exactly one hundred years ago at the time of this writing.  To put matters in historical context, it’s worth bearing in mind that any Thanksgiving meal the family ate that day would have taken place under the shadow of wartime rationing, given the entry of the United States into World War One earlier that year; it’s likely some of the recipes had to be specially adapted.  Ephemeral drawings from this same Thanksigiving were fortuitously preserved on chalkboards at Emerson High School in Oklahoma City, covered up by new construction, only to be rediscovered during renovations a couple years ago.

“Blackboard drawings are the fruit flies of art,” reported NPR of the discovery.  “They have short lifespans. That’s why the folks at Emerson High are scrambling. They want to preserve these snapshots from a century ago for future generations of Oklahoma students.”  The Tindle cylinder from Thanksigiving 1917 offers us a contemporaneous aural snapshot to complement these remarkable images in chalk.

The first two selections recorded on it are credited to Grandma and Grandpa Rhoads, beginning with “Give Me Jesus,” words by Fanny Crosby and music by John R. Sweney.  The standard lyrics run as follows:

Take the world, but give me Jesus,
All its joys are but a name;
But His love abideth ever,
Through eternal years the same.
Oh, the height and depth of mercy!
Oh, the length and breadth of love!
Oh, the fullness of redemption,
Pledge of endless life above!

As near as I can make out, however, the words sung on the cylinder are actually:

Take the world, but give me Jesus,
All this world is but a name;
For His love abideth ever
Through eternal years the same.
Oh the height and depth of mercy!
Oh the length and breadth of love!
Oh the fullness of salvation,
Hope of endless proof above!

Next comes “Lead Kindly Light”:

Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom, lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home; lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.

This was to be Grandma and Grandpa Rhoads’s last Thanksgiving together: Edgar Rhoads died at the age of sixty on December 3, 1917, just twelve days later.  The cylinder concludes with William, Bertha, and Rae Tindle singing “M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I” (1916):

That used to be so hard to spell
It used to make me cry,
But since I’ve studied spelling
It’s just like pumpkin pie:

The inscription on the box containing the next cylinder reads “Fulltertons Loch Lomond,” but that doesn’t match the contents of the record, so things must have got switched around at some point.  Instead, the record begins with an announcement: “Miss Jones will now favor us with a selection: ‘Memories.'”  I’m not sure who Miss Jones was, but the song is “Memories” with words by Gus Kahn, music by Egbert Van Alstyne (1915):

Memories, memories, dreams of love so true.
O’er the sea of memories I’m drifting back to you.
Childhood days, wildwood days among the birds and me,
You left me alone, but still you’re my own
In my beautiful memories.

Next up is “a selection by Miss Rae Tindle,” which turns out to be a reprise of “M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I.”  The announcer then sings a piece of his own, “Learning McFadden to Waltz” by M. F. Carey (1890), in stage Irish dialect:

One, two three, balance like me,
One to the right and one to the left,
Your right foot is crazy, your left  foot is lazy,
So don’t be uneasy, I’ll teach you to waltz.

The lyrics here are a little unusual, since the second line ordinarily goes something like “you’re quite a fairy/dandy/dancer, but you have your faults.”  Finally, we’re treated to a female duet of “There’s a Little Bit of Bad in Every Good Little Girl,” words by Grant Clark, music by Fred Fisher (1916):

There’s a little bit of bad in every good little girl—they’re not to blame.
Mother Eve was very, very good, but even she raised Cain.
I know a preacher’s daughter who never orders water.
There’s a little bit of bad in every good little girl, they’re all the same.

The announcer concludes with an emphatic “good night!”

The lid shown above seems to belong to some other cylinder, but the inscription on the box itself matches what we hear next: talking by Shep Barclay and company from 1919.  First, we have an extended comic monologue, probably spoken by Barclay himself, that centers on belittling Brooklyn:

Brooklyn, Brooklyn?  Oh, that’s the place that they built so they could have somewhere to hang the other end of the Brooklyn Bridge on.  You know Steve Brodie had to have some place to dive off of.  Brooklyn?  Oh, yes, that’s the place you pass through on the way to Coney Island.  You know, when people die over there, they don’t bury them, they just let them walk the streets.  I got a friend that spent a month over there last week.  By the way, a man fell off a high building here the other day.  Crowd came running up to pick up the pieces of him.  Wasn’t hurt at all.  Asked him how that happened.  He said, “Why, I’m from Brooklyn, I came down slowly.”  My wife was on the way to Brooklyn the other night, got mixed up in the subway station and asked the guard what to do.  She said, “I want to go to Brooklyn.”  He answered, “You mean, you have to go to Brooklyn.”  Brooklyn!  Brooklyn, Brooklyn.

The next rhyme—in a female voice—may seem a bit indelicate, but a variation on it had been recited by John Sharp Williams of Mississippi before Congress on April 3, 1908.

When I asked her to wed, “Go to father,” she said.
She knew that I knew her father was dead.
She knew that I knew the life he had led.
She knew that I knew what she meant when she said, “Go to father.”

Next comes a variant on the nursery rhyme, “There was a little boy and a little girl lived in an alley”:

There was a little boy and a little girl in an alley.
Said the little boy to the little girl, “Shall I?”
Said the little girl to the little boy, “What shall I do?”
Said the little boy to the little girl, “I’ll kiss you.”

A male voice then interjects a parody of Frederick L. Cozzens’s “Bunker Hill: An Old-Time Ballad”:

It was a starry night in June, the air was soft and still,
When the “minute-men” from Cambridge came, and gathered on the hill.
I am stuck.  So were the British.

The next selection was recorded about the same time a comparable slant rhyme was circulating in print (see here and here, p. 127): “A dog sat on the railroad track, a smile upon his visage. He didn’t see the train coming: Toot! Toot! Bologna sausage.”

A dog sat on the railroad track, it didn’t hear the whistle,
Bing, bang, got hit in the back, and now the dog is missing.

And finally:

The boy sat on the burning deck, eating peanuts by the peck.
He heard his father say, pass the […?].

I can’t quite make out how the parody ends, but it doesn’t appear to be “pass the peanuts o’er this way,” as cited here.

When William Tindle registered for the draft in September 1918, he was still living at 401 East 135th Street.  By the time of the 1920 federal census, however, the Tindles had moved to 414 East 144th Street and had been joined by William’s widowed mother.  The next pair of cylinders, both dated 1920, may have been recorded there.

The box inscription shown above matches the record inside—a male voice singing “Drink to Me Only With Thine Eyes” and “My Old Kentucky Home” with piano accompaniment—but the lid (inscribed “1916 or 1917”) seems to belong to some other record.  Reverend David R. Wylie was associated with Bethany Presbyterian Church, but he was also a naval chaplain during the First World War, and a portrait of him from that period appeared in Presbyterian Magazine, reproduced below.

…only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I’ll not ask for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of love’s nectar sip,
I would not change for thine.

The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home.
‘Tis summer, the darkies are gay,
The corn top’s ripe and the meadow’s in the bloom
While the birds make music all the day.
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy, and bright.
By ‘n by hard times comes a-knocking at the door,
Then my old Kentucky home, good night.
Weep no more my lady, oh! weep no more today!
We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home,
For the old Kentucky home far away.

Let’s end our program on a strong note with a cylinder recorded at a party on Decoration Day (now known as Memorial Day): May 30, 1920.  First, we have a rollicking performance of “Oh by Jingo” (1919) with piano accompaniment.  The official lyrics are reproduced below, although the group in its exuberance doesn’t necessarily follow them:

In the land of San Domingo,
Lived a girl called Oh! by Jingo,
Ja da Ja da da da da da, ump-a, ump-a, ump-a, ump-a,
From the fields and from the marshes,
Came the old and young by Goshes,
Ja da Ja da da da da da da, ump-a, ump-a, ump-a, ump-a,
They all spoke with a diff’rent lingo,
But they all loved Oh by Jingo,
And ev’ry night they sang in the pale moonlight:
Oh! by Gee! by Gosh, by Gum, by Jove,
Oh by Jingo, won’t you hear our love.
We will build for you a hut,
You will be our fav’rite nut;
We’ll have a lot of little Oh by Gollies,
Then we’ll put them in the Follies.
By Jingo said, By Gosh, By Gee,
By Jiminy, please don’t bother me.
So they all went away singing:
Oh by Gee, by Gosh by Gum, by Jove by Jingo,
By Gee, you’re the only girl for me.

Then a recitation which seems to anticipate the later camp round “Black Socks”:

My mother sells stockings for five cents a pair;
They never will rip, they never will tear;
The longer you wear them, the stronger they get;
Put them in water, they’ll never get wet.  (“There you go!”)

At the end, someone announces: “Introduced by the Decoration Day Quartet.”  There’s a long pause, and then as an afterthought we hear added: “1920.”  After all, who knew how many years in the future it might be when someone would listen to this record?

On June 1, 1921, when Rae Tindle married an accountant named Thomas Francis McClelland, many of the people in attendance had made records on the family phonograph: the service itself was conducted by Rev. David R. Wylie at the Bethany Presbyterian Church, Helen Baade was one of the bridesmaids, and Joe McDonald was an usher (see the New York Herald of May 28, 1921).  Grandma Rhoads died in 1928, and the 1930 and 1940 federal censuses both show William and Bertha living by themselves at 423 East 140th Street.  Bertha died on March 14, 1941, and William on September 5, 1946.


The transfers of the cylinders presented above were made by Dan Figurelli and Melissa Widzinski of the Media Digitization and Preservation Initiative at Indiana University using the Endpoint Audio Labs Cylinder Playback Machine produced by Nicholas Bergh, which they describe in an informative blog post here.  I had transferred the whole set myself back in 1999 using the Madi cylinder phongograph built by Rob Lomas and had published the results as tracks 4-14 on my CD I’m Making You a Record: Home and Amateur Recordings on Wax Cylinder, 1902-1920 (Phonozoic 001), now out of print.  The cylinder beginning with “I Love, I Love, I Love My Wife, But Oh You Kid” was also included among the audio selections accompanying the second edition of Mark Katz’s well-known book Capturing Sound: How Technology Has Changed Music.  But when MDPI was looking for some “practice” cylinders for Dan and Melissa to transfer while learning to operate the Endpoint machine before tackling the field recordings at the Archives of Traditional Music, I took advantage of the opportunity to obtain new, higher-quality transfers of the Tindle family records, as well as some other interesting cylinders in my collection which I may feature here in future posts.  Thanks to Dan and Melissa for their fine work!

One thought on “Thanksgiving with the Tindles and their Phonograph

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