By Joann M. Ringelstetter
In early October 2010, Ruth and I left my house around 5:30 a.m. and drove an hour west to begin our day in the small town of Muscoda, in Grant County, Wisconsin. As we crossed the Wisconsin River a little after dawn, we realized that we should have gotten there earlier.
The tree-covered banks and a small island were silhouetted against a beautiful dawn sky and mist was floating above the water. The bridge over the river is quite long and, of course, you can’t park on the bridge, so we drove to the other side of the river and found a small parking lot. I knew I had only a few minutes to capture this beautiful scene before the sun came up, so I grabbed my camera and tripod and ran to the center of the bridge.
The sky changed rapidly from peach to purple to orange within a matter of minutes and I worked quickly, moving to different locations on the bridge to change the viewpoint a bit.
As the time for sunrise approached, a large dark blue cloud moved in just above the horizon and I was surprised to see the amount of mist increasing. The mist added to the mystery of the river and I was grateful, as always, to capture the glorious light of dawn.
We had planned to use those precious pre-sunrise minutes to photograph some architecture in Muscoda, but I couldn’t pass up the beautiful river scene, so we hurried in to town as soon as I got back to the car. I’m always on the lookout for a good fall color scene, so the first thing I captured in town was a church steeple with a beautiful maple tree in the foreground.
Next we headed to the old Muscoda Theatre. As it is with many old theaters, especially in small towns, this theatre hadn’t shown a movie in quite some time.
On the other side of town, as we turned west to head for the backroads, we passed an old tin-clad building. It was fairly nondescript, so we….Wait a minute! There was something on the back side of it. Could it be a ghost sign? We had to turn around and find out.
Well, our eyes hadn’t deceived us because, sure enough, there was a faded sign on the building. Unfortunately, it was only part of the sign because at some point a long addition had been added to the back of the building, covering up the left side of the sign.
It’s rare that we see a ghost sign on a tin-clad building. In fact, usually, tin was installed on top of the wood to keep it from deteriorating. So, signs that had been painted on the wood ended up hidden by the tin siding.
At the top of the rusted tin siding were the letters “NS CO.” We’re assuming this was the last part of the name of the company that owned the building at one time. And below that were the familiar slogans, “Why Not Now?” and “Easy To Bake.” Although we couldn’t see the familiar oval of typical Gold Medal Flour signs, we recognized the slogans.
If you’d like to learn more about Gold Medal Flour and other ghost signs, read Ruth’s blog post of March 30, 2016 entitled “March is National Flour Month.”
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Shunpiking To Heaven Backroads Blog
Showing posts with label advertising. Show all posts
Showing posts with label advertising. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
March is National Flour Month
By Ruth A. Ringelstetter
When we were growing up, our mother baked a lot. She made muffins, homemade donuts, cream puffs and cakes from scratch. Every other Saturday we made bread or cookies. Joann made the white bread, and our brother David made the raisin bread. Kneading was a good way to take out any aggressions that were built up. On the other weekends, we made Pride of Wisconsin Cookies (known to us as “Daddy’s cookies” since those were his favorite), and peanut butter cookies for us kids.
March is National Flour Month, and I have to admit, I haven’t baked a thing. I do have some bananas that are past the stage that I want to eat them, so they may need to be turned into banana bread.
As Joann and I drive around on our photography outings, we are always looking at all the old brick buildings, seeing if we can spot an old advertisement. These today are called ghost signs, since they are often very faded. Many have been around for 100 years or so. Unless they have been repainted, they are often so faded it takes us a while to make out what the advertisement is for.
Often what we find are old signs for flour. They were often on the side of old store buildings. The store carried the brand of flour, and advertised with their store name, and the brand of flour on the side.
On a trip to Iowa in 2008, we found a very faded Ceresota flour sign on an old brick building. We haven’t been able to find anything but very faded ads for this brand, but I do have some restored ads marked for us to visit. So many ads, so little time.
Locally, there is a pretty famous advertising sign for King Midas Flour on the side of a historic grocery store in a historic neighborhood. The King Midas Brand began in the early 1900’s in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, at the Millbourne Mills. In 1912, they bought the Gardner Mill in Hastings, Minnesota, and renamed it the King Midas Mill. The brand exists today.
Gold Medal is one of the old flour ads that we find most often. The name of Gold Medal Flour was chosen after the Washburn Crosby Company entered their finest flours in the First Millers International Exhibition in Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1880 and won the Gold, Silver, and Bronze.
In Iowa in 2011, we found a Gold Medal Flour ghost sign that had been painted over with a new ad. It must have been an old store that later became a drugstore and a new ad for the drugstore products was painted over the Gold Medal ad. The new ad showed “Headache Tablets, Cold Tablets, Kidney Tablets.” The “Easy to Bake” from the Gold Medal flour advertising slogan had been repainted as Easy to Take. Now the Gold Medal is showing through, but the words below still show Easy to Take.
Then in the late spring of 2013, on a long day trip to eastern Wisconsin, we passed a small crossroads town that had a restored Gold Medal Flour sign painted on the end of a barn. We had to stop to get a few pictures. This sign had Easy to Bake painted at the bottom, but for some reason, the painter had spelled “easy” as “eazy.” The original ads on buildings and in magazines, used the correct spelling of Easy.
We had never heard of the brand Duluth Universal Flour until we found an advertisement on the side of an old brick building in northern Minnesota. Duluth used to be home to many very large flour mills right along Lake Superior. All of the mills are gone now, but we were lucky enough to find this advertisement.
On the way to Missouri last spring, we planned to detour a little out of the way to find an old general store with a restored Occident Flour sign painted on the side of the whole building. Because this flour was milled in what was then the extreme western area of wheat production, the word Occident, which means “out of the West”, was chosen as the brand name.
On that same trip, we found a full wall ad for a brand called “Aristos Flour”. The ad features a little girl feeding a red turkey. This image was chosen because Red Turkey Wheat was used for the flour. The wheat was originally brought from Russia to Kansas by the Mennonites in the 1880’s.
We actually stopped at the town twice on the trip. The first time, there was the dark shadow of a basketball hoop on the ad. We waited around for a while, but there were few clouds in the sky, and the shadow was too dark to make a good picture.
Late the next day as we were heading back east, I mentioned to Joann that we were passing the little town again. I mentioned it too late for us to pull in, but just down the road, we swung into a little parking lot and turned around. The sky had more clouds, so Joann thought maybe we could get a good picture without the basketball hoop shadow. It was good thinking since we didn’t have to wait too long for the clouds to cover the sun and obscure the shadow. Sometimes I don’t consciously know why we end up on the same road on our trips, but usually there ends up being a good reason.
One of the flour ads we found in Wisconsin that we hadn’t heard of before was for Big Jo Flour. Big Jo Flour was manufactured in Wabasha, Minnesota. The mill was established in 1877. I’m not sure when the mill was shut down, but the mill was demolished in 2001. Sadly, we didn’t know about the mill, so we have no photos to document the large flour mill and the Big Jo Flour advertising on the storage silos.
Another brand of flour that was new to us was Wingold Flour which we came across in La Crosse County. The first Wingold Flour was milled March 18, 1899 in Winona, Minnesota. Bay State’s Winona Mill is still operational, now offering other types of flour and some organic flours.
We’ve learned in our travels that you have to look closely at all sides of brick buildings, and you have to look up. Even close to home, we’ve passed a lot of buildings over and over again, and when we finally look up, we see something we’ve never seen before. We’ll share more of those in the future.
Until then, Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
When we were growing up, our mother baked a lot. She made muffins, homemade donuts, cream puffs and cakes from scratch. Every other Saturday we made bread or cookies. Joann made the white bread, and our brother David made the raisin bread. Kneading was a good way to take out any aggressions that were built up. On the other weekends, we made Pride of Wisconsin Cookies (known to us as “Daddy’s cookies” since those were his favorite), and peanut butter cookies for us kids.
March is National Flour Month, and I have to admit, I haven’t baked a thing. I do have some bananas that are past the stage that I want to eat them, so they may need to be turned into banana bread.
As Joann and I drive around on our photography outings, we are always looking at all the old brick buildings, seeing if we can spot an old advertisement. These today are called ghost signs, since they are often very faded. Many have been around for 100 years or so. Unless they have been repainted, they are often so faded it takes us a while to make out what the advertisement is for.
Often what we find are old signs for flour. They were often on the side of old store buildings. The store carried the brand of flour, and advertised with their store name, and the brand of flour on the side.
On a trip to Iowa in 2008, we found a very faded Ceresota flour sign on an old brick building. We haven’t been able to find anything but very faded ads for this brand, but I do have some restored ads marked for us to visit. So many ads, so little time.
Locally, there is a pretty famous advertising sign for King Midas Flour on the side of a historic grocery store in a historic neighborhood. The King Midas Brand began in the early 1900’s in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, at the Millbourne Mills. In 1912, they bought the Gardner Mill in Hastings, Minnesota, and renamed it the King Midas Mill. The brand exists today.
Gold Medal is one of the old flour ads that we find most often. The name of Gold Medal Flour was chosen after the Washburn Crosby Company entered their finest flours in the First Millers International Exhibition in Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1880 and won the Gold, Silver, and Bronze.
In Iowa in 2011, we found a Gold Medal Flour ghost sign that had been painted over with a new ad. It must have been an old store that later became a drugstore and a new ad for the drugstore products was painted over the Gold Medal ad. The new ad showed “Headache Tablets, Cold Tablets, Kidney Tablets.” The “Easy to Bake” from the Gold Medal flour advertising slogan had been repainted as Easy to Take. Now the Gold Medal is showing through, but the words below still show Easy to Take.
Then in the late spring of 2013, on a long day trip to eastern Wisconsin, we passed a small crossroads town that had a restored Gold Medal Flour sign painted on the end of a barn. We had to stop to get a few pictures. This sign had Easy to Bake painted at the bottom, but for some reason, the painter had spelled “easy” as “eazy.” The original ads on buildings and in magazines, used the correct spelling of Easy.
We had never heard of the brand Duluth Universal Flour until we found an advertisement on the side of an old brick building in northern Minnesota. Duluth used to be home to many very large flour mills right along Lake Superior. All of the mills are gone now, but we were lucky enough to find this advertisement.
On the way to Missouri last spring, we planned to detour a little out of the way to find an old general store with a restored Occident Flour sign painted on the side of the whole building. Because this flour was milled in what was then the extreme western area of wheat production, the word Occident, which means “out of the West”, was chosen as the brand name.
On that same trip, we found a full wall ad for a brand called “Aristos Flour”. The ad features a little girl feeding a red turkey. This image was chosen because Red Turkey Wheat was used for the flour. The wheat was originally brought from Russia to Kansas by the Mennonites in the 1880’s.
We actually stopped at the town twice on the trip. The first time, there was the dark shadow of a basketball hoop on the ad. We waited around for a while, but there were few clouds in the sky, and the shadow was too dark to make a good picture.
Late the next day as we were heading back east, I mentioned to Joann that we were passing the little town again. I mentioned it too late for us to pull in, but just down the road, we swung into a little parking lot and turned around. The sky had more clouds, so Joann thought maybe we could get a good picture without the basketball hoop shadow. It was good thinking since we didn’t have to wait too long for the clouds to cover the sun and obscure the shadow. Sometimes I don’t consciously know why we end up on the same road on our trips, but usually there ends up being a good reason.
One of the flour ads we found in Wisconsin that we hadn’t heard of before was for Big Jo Flour. Big Jo Flour was manufactured in Wabasha, Minnesota. The mill was established in 1877. I’m not sure when the mill was shut down, but the mill was demolished in 2001. Sadly, we didn’t know about the mill, so we have no photos to document the large flour mill and the Big Jo Flour advertising on the storage silos.
Another brand of flour that was new to us was Wingold Flour which we came across in La Crosse County. The first Wingold Flour was milled March 18, 1899 in Winona, Minnesota. Bay State’s Winona Mill is still operational, now offering other types of flour and some organic flours.
We’ve learned in our travels that you have to look closely at all sides of brick buildings, and you have to look up. Even close to home, we’ve passed a lot of buildings over and over again, and when we finally look up, we see something we’ve never seen before. We’ll share more of those in the future.
Until then, Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
Friday, March 18, 2016
A Boyfriend in Bonaparte
By Joann M. Ringelstetter
Last year, on our spring photography trip, Ruth and I visited the town of Bonaparte, Iowa, which has a large riverfront historic district along the Des Moines River. Because many of the buildings are on the National Register of Historic Places, I decided to just walk the district with my camera and tripod. I started in the center of the district, photographing the brick post office building, which was originally the Bonaparte State Bank and Masonic Lodge #73.
This building had something I always love to see on old brick buildings: a decorative star-shaped anchor plate. Anchor plates, also called wall washers, are connected to tie rods for the purpose of reinforcing the structure of masonry buildings.
I continued east on First Street, which runs parallel to the river. Most of the buildings on this street are on the National Register, such as this old-fashioned hardware store.
The Whiteley Opera House, built circa 1894, is also on the National Register. It was rebuilt after the original Haney Opera House was destroyed by fire. Seating capacity was 600.
At the end of that street, on the edge of town, was Bonaparte Pottery. This building is not only on the National Register, but it is also a National Historic Archaeological Site. It began as Parker & Hanback Pottery in 1866 and was later known as Hanback & Wilson. At its peak, the business produced over 125,000 gallons of pottery per year as well as drain pipe, flower pots, and fire-proof bricks.
There were many more historic buildings that I photographed and more I would like to have explored with my camera lens. However, it was getting late and Ruth was urging me to wrap things up so we could continue on our route. So we pulled over on a quiet street to get our logs updated with all the subjects I had captured on my walk through town.
I had the back door of the car open and I was scrolling through photos telling Ruth what to record when I was suddenly startled by a man who had come up behind me and started talking. He was wearing bib overalls, needed a shave, and was missing one of his front teeth. He said he had seen me taking photographs earlier and he asked where we were from. There was a tile blacksmith shop across the street, so I asked him if he was the blacksmith. He said he was and that he had grown up in Bonaparte in the 1950s. His name was Maurice Cummings.
He told me that his grandfather, Clarence Cummings, had moved the blacksmith shop from the neighboring town of Bentonsport in the 1920s by hauling it in pieces using horses and mules. Then he asked if I had taken a picture of their public library just down the street from where we were standing. He said his parents had owned the building and had donated it to the city. It was originally a residence for the Green family and was converted to the Aunty Green Hotel in 1855 to accommodate railroad personnel.
Maurice said that the hotel, which had a picturesque second-story porch, had quite a history. He hesitated for a minute and then asked, “Are you guys religious?” I said, “Are we religious? Well, we like to say we’re recovering Catholics.” He laughed and said, “Okay, then I’ll tell you the real history.”
“The Aunty Green Hotel used to be a whorehouse. I’ve got pictures of the whores hanging out on the porch. People don’t like to hear that, so I’m careful who I say that to.” I laughed and then he said, “I wish I could buy you two a drink, but the bar’s not open.” I said, “That’s okay, we have to get going anyway.” Then I shook his hand and said, “Nice meeting you, Maurice Cummings. Thanks for the ‘real’ history of the hotel.” He returned to his blacksmith shop and Ruth and I went back to updating our logs.
Before we could finish our updates, Maurice, who was standing in front of his blacksmith shop, started talking to me again. I told him I had to finish my log updates. He waited patiently while we finished and then struck up a conversation again. After several minutes of small talk, I told him that we really had to get going because we had a lot to photograph yet that day. I said goodbye and he lingered outside his shop until we drove away.
As we passed an old grocery store that had a ghost sign for “General Merchandise & Geyserite Soap,” and the blacksmith shop began to fade in the rearview mirror, Ruth smirked and said, “Joann’s got a boyfriend! Joann’s got a boyfriend in Bonaparte!”
And what could I do, but laugh!
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Last year, on our spring photography trip, Ruth and I visited the town of Bonaparte, Iowa, which has a large riverfront historic district along the Des Moines River. Because many of the buildings are on the National Register of Historic Places, I decided to just walk the district with my camera and tripod. I started in the center of the district, photographing the brick post office building, which was originally the Bonaparte State Bank and Masonic Lodge #73.
This building had something I always love to see on old brick buildings: a decorative star-shaped anchor plate. Anchor plates, also called wall washers, are connected to tie rods for the purpose of reinforcing the structure of masonry buildings.
I continued east on First Street, which runs parallel to the river. Most of the buildings on this street are on the National Register, such as this old-fashioned hardware store.
The Whiteley Opera House, built circa 1894, is also on the National Register. It was rebuilt after the original Haney Opera House was destroyed by fire. Seating capacity was 600.
At the end of that street, on the edge of town, was Bonaparte Pottery. This building is not only on the National Register, but it is also a National Historic Archaeological Site. It began as Parker & Hanback Pottery in 1866 and was later known as Hanback & Wilson. At its peak, the business produced over 125,000 gallons of pottery per year as well as drain pipe, flower pots, and fire-proof bricks.
There were many more historic buildings that I photographed and more I would like to have explored with my camera lens. However, it was getting late and Ruth was urging me to wrap things up so we could continue on our route. So we pulled over on a quiet street to get our logs updated with all the subjects I had captured on my walk through town.
I had the back door of the car open and I was scrolling through photos telling Ruth what to record when I was suddenly startled by a man who had come up behind me and started talking. He was wearing bib overalls, needed a shave, and was missing one of his front teeth. He said he had seen me taking photographs earlier and he asked where we were from. There was a tile blacksmith shop across the street, so I asked him if he was the blacksmith. He said he was and that he had grown up in Bonaparte in the 1950s. His name was Maurice Cummings.
He told me that his grandfather, Clarence Cummings, had moved the blacksmith shop from the neighboring town of Bentonsport in the 1920s by hauling it in pieces using horses and mules. Then he asked if I had taken a picture of their public library just down the street from where we were standing. He said his parents had owned the building and had donated it to the city. It was originally a residence for the Green family and was converted to the Aunty Green Hotel in 1855 to accommodate railroad personnel.
Maurice said that the hotel, which had a picturesque second-story porch, had quite a history. He hesitated for a minute and then asked, “Are you guys religious?” I said, “Are we religious? Well, we like to say we’re recovering Catholics.” He laughed and said, “Okay, then I’ll tell you the real history.”
“The Aunty Green Hotel used to be a whorehouse. I’ve got pictures of the whores hanging out on the porch. People don’t like to hear that, so I’m careful who I say that to.” I laughed and then he said, “I wish I could buy you two a drink, but the bar’s not open.” I said, “That’s okay, we have to get going anyway.” Then I shook his hand and said, “Nice meeting you, Maurice Cummings. Thanks for the ‘real’ history of the hotel.” He returned to his blacksmith shop and Ruth and I went back to updating our logs.
Before we could finish our updates, Maurice, who was standing in front of his blacksmith shop, started talking to me again. I told him I had to finish my log updates. He waited patiently while we finished and then struck up a conversation again. After several minutes of small talk, I told him that we really had to get going because we had a lot to photograph yet that day. I said goodbye and he lingered outside his shop until we drove away.
As we passed an old grocery store that had a ghost sign for “General Merchandise & Geyserite Soap,” and the blacksmith shop began to fade in the rearview mirror, Ruth smirked and said, “Joann’s got a boyfriend! Joann’s got a boyfriend in Bonaparte!”
And what could I do, but laugh!
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Sunday, March 6, 2016
Many Hands to Serve You
By Ruth A. Ringelstetter
On a Sunday morning in early August of 2012, Joann and I decided to photograph around Madison. We had seen several things disappear recently and thought we should capture things we took for granted, and had never stopped to photograph.
Our first stop at dawn was the Octopus Car Wash on University Avenue. For as long as we could remember, the blue-green “Ozzie” the Octopus had been visible whenever we drove down University Avenue. He was a Madison landmark.
We made our way around town photographing various signs and buildings on our list, but we made sure to capture each of the three Octopus statues in town.
Then came the news in December of 2015 that the iconic octopus sculptures were coming down. The three Madison locations, along with the two Rockford, Illinois locations had been sold, and the new owners were removing the old signage in preparation for their own.
Wow! We breathed a sigh of relief that we had actually taken the time to capture each of the octopus sculptures. We often take things for granted that have just “been there forever,” but we continue to learn that things disappear at an alarming rate and we need to pay attention and photograph them now rather than to wait. If we wait, it might become too late.
The Ozzie sculptures were 10 feet tall and 8 feet wide. The original Ozzie was created at a Wisconsin factory around 1965. There were approximately 25 statues created. Ozzie had a smiling face with big eyes. His many arms held cleaning instruments for the car wash: sponges, towels, sprays, buckets, squeegees, and for most locations, a vacuum cleaner.
Of the Madison locations, only the Park Street location was a little different. His front arm curled back rather than forward holding a vacuum.
If you live in Wisconsin and you need to see Ozzie again, you can travel to the north side of Milwaukee and visit the Octopus Car Wash location which is independent of the chain and was not part of the deal when the Madison and Rockford locations were sold.
We haven’t found and photographed that location yet, but he’s on our list. Knowing how these things go, we hope to capture another octopus before he, too, is gone.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
On a Sunday morning in early August of 2012, Joann and I decided to photograph around Madison. We had seen several things disappear recently and thought we should capture things we took for granted, and had never stopped to photograph.
Our first stop at dawn was the Octopus Car Wash on University Avenue. For as long as we could remember, the blue-green “Ozzie” the Octopus had been visible whenever we drove down University Avenue. He was a Madison landmark.
We made our way around town photographing various signs and buildings on our list, but we made sure to capture each of the three Octopus statues in town.
Then came the news in December of 2015 that the iconic octopus sculptures were coming down. The three Madison locations, along with the two Rockford, Illinois locations had been sold, and the new owners were removing the old signage in preparation for their own.
Wow! We breathed a sigh of relief that we had actually taken the time to capture each of the octopus sculptures. We often take things for granted that have just “been there forever,” but we continue to learn that things disappear at an alarming rate and we need to pay attention and photograph them now rather than to wait. If we wait, it might become too late.
The Ozzie sculptures were 10 feet tall and 8 feet wide. The original Ozzie was created at a Wisconsin factory around 1965. There were approximately 25 statues created. Ozzie had a smiling face with big eyes. His many arms held cleaning instruments for the car wash: sponges, towels, sprays, buckets, squeegees, and for most locations, a vacuum cleaner.
Of the Madison locations, only the Park Street location was a little different. His front arm curled back rather than forward holding a vacuum.
If you live in Wisconsin and you need to see Ozzie again, you can travel to the north side of Milwaukee and visit the Octopus Car Wash location which is independent of the chain and was not part of the deal when the Madison and Rockford locations were sold.
We haven’t found and photographed that location yet, but he’s on our list. Knowing how these things go, we hope to capture another octopus before he, too, is gone.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
Happy 75th Anniversary Dairy Queen
By Ruth A. Ringelstetter
The first Dairy Queen opened in Joliet, Illinois in 1940. The story really began 2 years earlier when an unnamed product was introduced with a 10-cent sale at a walk-in ice cream store in Kankakee, Illinois. Within 2 hours, 1600 servings of the new dessert had been sold. The soft serve ice cream product had been in testing by a father and son team in Green River, Illinois.
The older Dairy Queens were small walk-up buildings that were open seasonally. The original signs were horizontal neon featuring a neon cone. We haven’t visited many locations with this type of sign, but we hope to find more.
In the 1950’s the National Animated Sign Co. sold or donated a Curly the Clown sign to the Dairy Queen in Shelbyville, Indiana. They were making a pitch for Curly to become the national symbol of Dairy Queen. This never happened, and there are only a couple of clowns still in existence. We were lucky enough to find this sign on our way to Ohio in 2012.
In the late 1950’s, the red ellipse Dairy Queen sign was adopted. We can still find this on many locations.
In Illinois we found a Dairy Queen in a building shaped a lot like a barn with a different version of the ellipse sign. It included a cone and a blue and white striped section of the sign.
In 1957, the Brazier name was introduced. It often was on another ellipse sign like the one we found in Elwood Indiana in 2013. In 1993, the Brazier name was already being phased out.
In the 60’s, Little Miss Dairy Queen was introduced. She was on top of the building and she was dressed as a Little Dutch Girl. She first appeared in Pennsylvania. Joann and I were lucky enough to find one on a Dairy Queen in northern Wisconsin.
Dairy Queen has some unusual signs and some unusual building designs. Unlike some companies that require certain styles of buildings and old logos to be removed if the company redesigns their logo, Dairy Queen seems to allow individual stores to make that decision.
If you travel around your state or across the country, check out the local Dairy Queens and see what kind of old signs you can find.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
The first Dairy Queen opened in Joliet, Illinois in 1940. The story really began 2 years earlier when an unnamed product was introduced with a 10-cent sale at a walk-in ice cream store in Kankakee, Illinois. Within 2 hours, 1600 servings of the new dessert had been sold. The soft serve ice cream product had been in testing by a father and son team in Green River, Illinois.
The older Dairy Queens were small walk-up buildings that were open seasonally. The original signs were horizontal neon featuring a neon cone. We haven’t visited many locations with this type of sign, but we hope to find more.
In the 1950’s the National Animated Sign Co. sold or donated a Curly the Clown sign to the Dairy Queen in Shelbyville, Indiana. They were making a pitch for Curly to become the national symbol of Dairy Queen. This never happened, and there are only a couple of clowns still in existence. We were lucky enough to find this sign on our way to Ohio in 2012.
In the late 1950’s, the red ellipse Dairy Queen sign was adopted. We can still find this on many locations.
In Illinois we found a Dairy Queen in a building shaped a lot like a barn with a different version of the ellipse sign. It included a cone and a blue and white striped section of the sign.
In 1957, the Brazier name was introduced. It often was on another ellipse sign like the one we found in Elwood Indiana in 2013. In 1993, the Brazier name was already being phased out.
In the 60’s, Little Miss Dairy Queen was introduced. She was on top of the building and she was dressed as a Little Dutch Girl. She first appeared in Pennsylvania. Joann and I were lucky enough to find one on a Dairy Queen in northern Wisconsin.
Dairy Queen has some unusual signs and some unusual building designs. Unlike some companies that require certain styles of buildings and old logos to be removed if the company redesigns their logo, Dairy Queen seems to allow individual stores to make that decision.
If you travel around your state or across the country, check out the local Dairy Queens and see what kind of old signs you can find.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
Monday, September 28, 2015
Uncovered in Ackley
By Ruth A. Ringelstetter
When Joann and I were discussing what route to take on our long weekend in Iowa this summer, I mentioned to her that she had wanted to return to the town of Ackley. She told me she didn’t remember that and that she thought we had gotten everything we needed in that town.
Huh, I was stumped. I knew that after we got home last time, she had sent me an email showing something we had missed. But could I find her email? No. I knew there was an old window decal that we had missed last time, but I didn’t think that was it. Still, something was nagging at me that we should return.
Since I’m in charge of the route, I directed us to Ackley on the second day of our long weekend. We came into town from the south, and as we turned onto Main Street, we were both flabbergasted to see an advertising mural for Bull Durham that hadn’t been there the last time we were in town. It was not a new ad. It was an ad that had been uncovered when the building right next to it had been taken down. No one in the town had known it was there.
Joann got her equipment out and headed to the sign to take photos. I grabbed my phone to search the Internet. What I found was an article from the Ackley World Journal dated December 2, 2014 describing how the sign was uncovered when the garage next to Grumpy’s Bar was demolished.
I hadn’t consciously known about the sign, but the Universe must have been poking me about going to see it. An old flour sign had been uncovered in Madison, Wisconsin recently, and by the time we found out about it, construction had already covered over the sign. That process took less than a month, so we felt really blessed that this sign was still visible.
Bull Durham Tobacco was manufactured in Durham, North Carolina, from 1874 to 1957. By the turn of the century, it is believed that the Bull Durham Tobacco Company was the largest tobacco company in the world. During World War I, the U.S. government bought most, if not all, Bull Durham Tobacco to send to the war effort.
Bull Durham salesmen went around the country scouting places to place the advertisements. The advertising and marketing for Bull Durham Tobacco was second to none. The signs were found on the outfield fences of most major and minor league baseball stadiums.
We still find old faded Bull Durham advertising signs in many of the towns we travel through today. Often they are on a building that had other advertising signs painted over and around them.
After getting enough pictures of the sign, in case something happens to it before we return, we continued down Main Street to the old drugstore to get some pictures of the entrance and the old Kool decal on the door.
We made a circle through town, but didn’t see anything else that we had missed on our prior trip. I guess sometimes the Universe just knows, and gives you a kick in the pants. Next time we’ll have to trust this sort of “sign” and go with it.
If you get a feeling about something, go with it! You never know what great thing the Universe is trying to share with you.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
When Joann and I were discussing what route to take on our long weekend in Iowa this summer, I mentioned to her that she had wanted to return to the town of Ackley. She told me she didn’t remember that and that she thought we had gotten everything we needed in that town.
Huh, I was stumped. I knew that after we got home last time, she had sent me an email showing something we had missed. But could I find her email? No. I knew there was an old window decal that we had missed last time, but I didn’t think that was it. Still, something was nagging at me that we should return.
Since I’m in charge of the route, I directed us to Ackley on the second day of our long weekend. We came into town from the south, and as we turned onto Main Street, we were both flabbergasted to see an advertising mural for Bull Durham that hadn’t been there the last time we were in town. It was not a new ad. It was an ad that had been uncovered when the building right next to it had been taken down. No one in the town had known it was there.
Joann got her equipment out and headed to the sign to take photos. I grabbed my phone to search the Internet. What I found was an article from the Ackley World Journal dated December 2, 2014 describing how the sign was uncovered when the garage next to Grumpy’s Bar was demolished.
I hadn’t consciously known about the sign, but the Universe must have been poking me about going to see it. An old flour sign had been uncovered in Madison, Wisconsin recently, and by the time we found out about it, construction had already covered over the sign. That process took less than a month, so we felt really blessed that this sign was still visible.
Bull Durham Tobacco was manufactured in Durham, North Carolina, from 1874 to 1957. By the turn of the century, it is believed that the Bull Durham Tobacco Company was the largest tobacco company in the world. During World War I, the U.S. government bought most, if not all, Bull Durham Tobacco to send to the war effort.
Bull Durham salesmen went around the country scouting places to place the advertisements. The advertising and marketing for Bull Durham Tobacco was second to none. The signs were found on the outfield fences of most major and minor league baseball stadiums.
We still find old faded Bull Durham advertising signs in many of the towns we travel through today. Often they are on a building that had other advertising signs painted over and around them.
After getting enough pictures of the sign, in case something happens to it before we return, we continued down Main Street to the old drugstore to get some pictures of the entrance and the old Kool decal on the door.
We made a circle through town, but didn’t see anything else that we had missed on our prior trip. I guess sometimes the Universe just knows, and gives you a kick in the pants. Next time we’ll have to trust this sort of “sign” and go with it.
If you get a feeling about something, go with it! You never know what great thing the Universe is trying to share with you.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
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