A Death in Lily Springs: Turn of the 20th Century Funeral Practices

In today's America, funeral practices and mourning rituals have become a highly sanitized and commercialized process.  Funeral parlors and morticians provide a service that for most people in America is not only indispensable, but an economic powerhouse that generates over $20 billion annually.

That is not how it used to be, however.

In the 19th century and the early part of the 20th century, funeral rituals were much more personal and immediate.  Most funerals were held at home, for example.  The front rooms of middle class homes were called "death rooms," and were not used much for day-to day living but reserved for those times in life when one must mourn the dead.  The deceased would be laid out in these rooms, sometimes for days.  Flowers were used to help hide the odor as embalming was not something that most families could afford and was not something that was readily available in rural America until the 20th century when funeral parlors began to replace the in-home tradition of wakes and funerals.

The death of Abraham Lincoln and his subsequent embalming popularized the practice.  Funeral parlor acceptance grew slowly and began appearing mainly in urban areas.  By the turn of the century, most funerals in urban areas were held in funeral parlors.  As a result, Ladies Home Journal in 1910 made the suggestion that the front parlor should no longer be a "death room," but a "living room" instead.  As more and more people moved the process of mourning from the home to a local business, that is exactly what happened in American homes.  The front parlors were now opened up, made bright and airy and became "living" rooms instead.

In my novel, Lilac Wine, a death occurs in the small Iowan town of Lily Springs.  This, of course, necessitated some research into funeral practices of the early 20th century.  One thing that has made the writing of this novel truly enjoyable has been delving into the past and learning just how different things were 100 years ago.  A resident of the 21st century would no doubt be shocked as to what our forebearers did when it came to funerals.

The entire mourning process was guided by strict norms and etiquette.  Not only were wakes and funerals held in the home, photographs of the deceased were commonplace.  In fact, as photography was an expensive endeavor, most people reserved money for a formal photograph of their loved ones when they died.  Post mortem photographers would be called in and a photograph would be taken of the deceased, often with loved ones standing or sitting near the body.

Sometimes, the body was arranged in such a way to be made to "look alive" and, using stands and wires the deceased would be propped up on couches, chairs or even standing in an official looking portrait.

Photographers often went to elaborate lengths to give the appearance of life to the deceased.  Not only would they have the deceased standing in a pose, but eyes were sometimes painted on the closed eyelids to simulate life.

This practice was called Memento Mori (remember the dead) and was common from the invention of photography in the mid-1800s until the early 20th century.  In fact, photographs of the dead were more common than any other photograph from this period of time.

As infant mortality was much higher in the 19th century than today, a majority of photographs from the time period are of deceased children.

In Lilac Wine, there is a death in Lily Springs.  Although the novel takes place in 1917, much of rural America was still very much rooted in the practices of the previous century.  And Lily Springs was no different from most small towns, teetering on the edge of modernity but still clinging to tradition.  Robert was asked to stand next to the casket for a memento mori, which was being provided by the town photographer, John Hickman:

Robert respectfully declined John’s request to stand next to the casket and cast a mournful eye down upon its contents. He didn’t quite understand memento mori. Images of death haunted his dreams at night and he didn’t need such reminders during the day. When Robert was child, Abigail DeWitt, the young girl and occasional playmate who lived next door, died at the tender age of seven, the victim of typhoid fever. Robert watched from an outside window as the family made preparations for her funeral. A post mortem photographer was hired and Abigail’s little body was made to sit on her favorite wooden horse through the use of hidden stands and wires. Watching the man work on young Abigail’s remains reminded Robert of a puppeteer. After she was posed properly on her horse, pupils were painted on her closed eyelids giving her the appearance of life. Her parents then sat next to her in solemnity as the photographer took their picture. 

                                                 ---from Lilac Wine, Chapter 24 

The inspiration for that passage came from a single photograph that broke my heart when I first saw it:

Victorians on both sides of the Atlantic took mourning very seriously and the elaborate rituals surrounding death may seem somewhat macabre today.  However, we must remember that images of loved ones were not often made in life, as the process was so expensive for most families.  So a memory of that person, even taken in death, became a way to cherish the memory of a loved one.  And if that photograph could provide a reminder of how that person was in life, then the grieving process was made easier.  It is all too  easy for us to judge in the present as we are surrounded by imagery and take pictures of nearly everything.  The Victorians weren't so lucky.

By the turn of the century, photography was becoming more affordable and funeral practices soon moved from the home to the funeral parlor.  Memento mori became less of a necessity.  As more and more people bought their own cameras and could afford the development of photographs, the same thing that happened to change front parlors to living rooms happened with photography.  People began collecting photographs of the living and arranging them on walls and in photo albums.^*

The memento mori photographs of the 19th century may seem bizarre, but they stand as stark reminders of the fragility of life and the desperate need to cope with loss.  But they also highlight the need that we have as human beings--in any age--to cope with mortality and grief.

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Links:

Dan Meinwald,  "Memento Mori: Death and Photography in Nineteenth Century America." Terminals:  UCLA, 1999

The Thanatos Archive

"Memento Mori ~Victorian Era Postmortem Photography"

"19th Century Photography"   Paul Frecker London: Post Mortem Collection

Victorian Death and Mourning Photo Set on Flickr


^*This is not to say that such practices have completely been left in the Victorian Age.  Grief is a powerful thing in any epoch.  And photography can help people come to terms with losing a life in the digital age as well.

A local photographer and Facebook friend recently became involved in an organization that I, up until this point, had not been familiar.  Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep (NILMDTS) is an organization of photographers that volunteer time and resources for parents who are struggling with the inevitable loss of a terminally ill child.   NILMDTS was founded in 2005 by Sandy Puc and Cheryl Haggard.  Cheryl's newborn son, Maddux was born with myotubular myopathy.  He couldn't breathe, move or swallow and Cheryl and her husband were faced with the excruciating decision to remove him from life support.   Before doing so, they hired a photographer to document this young life.  And NILMDTS was born.

The services provided by NILMDTS help parents cope with the grief of losing a child that will never leave the hospital and make it home to the nursery that sits quiet and empty.

Recently, NILMDTS received a $50,000 grant to continue its work in this area.

Although we cannot compare the work that NILMDTS does with grieving families to the work of post-mortem photographers of the Victorian Age, the use of imagery to process grief is a common thread.  Some 12,000 professional photographers donate their time and resources to helping parents cope with this loss.

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Karen van Vuuren, "A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words: Memories of Sons and Daughters," Natural Transitions (Vol. 2, Issue 2, page 8-10).
(https://www.dropbox.com/sh/fia27rz1tte104z/t6WJr8cuH2/NTMagazineV2%232%20Children.pdf)

 

Jugging For Catfish

The glass jugs bobbed gently in the waters of the Mississippi as Billy threw another one out and tethered it to the shore. Beneath each jug dangled a line in the murky waters with a bit of dry, salted pork wrapped around a large hook. Billy called it “jugging” and told Robert that it was an old tradition on the Mississippi for catching catfish. Although that was true and he had been doing it for years, it was his attempt to hook Robert with more river Americana, actually. After all, Huck Finn and Jim caught a catfish in the Mississippi that was the size of a man---six feet two inches long, complete with a brass button in its stomach. 

                                                 ---from Lilac Wine, Chapter 23 

Jugging for catfish is a time-honored tradition on the Mississippi River and its tributaries. Easy to do, jugging just involves an airtight container, line, hook and bait. Plus, a lot of patience I imagine. 

I have never been jugging before, but a quick search of YouTube reveals that jugging is still a popular pastime on the Mississippi. However, instead of jugs many people today use foam noodles. 

Jugging is a technique that dates back hundreds of years and descriptions of the process can be found dating to the early 19th century. Some very large catfish have been landed with this method of fishing. According to an article in American Angler from 1885, a 13 foot catfish was caught on the Ohio river using the jugging method. 

A nice description of “jugging” appears In All the Western States and Territories by John W. Barber published in 1888: 

This picture of jugging can be found in What To Do and How To Do It: the American Boy's Handy Book By Daniel Carter Beard (1888): 

Writing a novel that takes place in 1917 involves a great deal of research. Whether its finding information about the War, jugging or funeral customs, I often have to stop writing and conduct research in order to get the facts straight and use the correct historical nomenclature. Google Books Archive has been invaluable in my research for Lilac Wine. Google has thousands of digitized books and newspapers. A couple of years ago, I took a trip to Dubuque to examine the microfilm for the DubuqueTelegraph-Herald for 1917. Now, I can view the needed issues online and never leave the house. 

It is in the vaults of Google where I discovered the joy of jugging.

Writing is an interesting process. When I outlined Lilac Wine many years ago, I never imagined including a chapter on jugging. Recently, however, my two boys have become interested in fishing, which reignited my own joy of the sport. In grad school, I went fishing with a buddy nearly everyday. Now, I am able to do it once again with my two sons. This is what probably drew me to this chapter. I needed a vehicle for getting the characters from point A to Point B. Fishing provided the means to move the story along. And honoring the time-tested Mississippi tradition of jugging proved to be the best way to do this. 

In Lilac Wine, Billy takes Robert “jugging,” consequently removing him from town so that a necessary plot point can occur without his knowledge: 

Billy .... didn’t realize that the jug nearest the fallen tree had disappeared under the water. It popped up again with a splash and began moving toward the rotten trunk. Billy leapt to his feet and grabbed the appropriate line. “I knew it,” he exclaimed, excited not just for the potential catch, but for the distraction from the conversation. He was beginning to think his life was not too unlike those jugs sitting in the water waiting for a fish. 

      The line was taut and Billy wrapped it around his palm a few times to get a better grip. “Give me a hand.” 

      Robert reached down and helped pull. Bubbles broke the surface. A forked tailfin slammed into the jug. “I told you we’d get one there. It’s a big one, too.” The fish struggled against the line, but Billy and Robert gave some slack and then pulled it again. They repeated this several times, tiring the fish out. Robert was amazed at just how strong it was. A slick body twisted at the surface near the shore, swirls of mud bubbled in the water as the catfish’s head broke the water, it’s metallic skin shimmering in the afternoon sun. 

      “Nice one,” exclaimed Billy. “It’s a blue. These fish get really big. That’s probably what they caught in that book of yours. They’re bigger the further downriver you go. Over 100 pounds is not uncommon.” 

      After a few more pulls, they got the fish up on the grass. The fish was a good two feet long. “Probably about 20 or 25 pounds,” said Billy. “You’ll be eatin’ good tonight, my friend."               

                         ---From Lilac Wine, Chapter 23 

I now have the “jugging” bug. I discussed this fishing technique with my boys and they were enthusiastic. Perhaps we’ll take a trip over the to Fox River and give it a try.

Ointments, Balms, Herbs (oh, my)

One of the wonderful things in writing a character like Abelia Brody is learning things that I never knew. Of course, in writing any historical novel one must do research into how people lived in the past--in this case, 1917.  I've learned how to start a car in 1917. The types of stoves that people had in their homes.  How they fed their pet dogs in the age before commercial dog food.  Phonograph record players ("talking machines," as they were known then). Popular Mississippi River excursions. Prohibition. Movies.  Charlie Chaplin. To name just a few.

But Abelia is a gardener. Her favorite place to be is in her garden, butterflies fluttering playfully around her head. She knows her plants and herbs and makes good use of them. Before starting on this journey, I knew nothing about plant grafting, for instance. Or the difference between lilac and lavender. But, in order to write Abelia's story, I needed to know these things and much more: like how to make a basic salve:

Abelia had learned much from Rima Reiniger, not just how to make gazpacho. From Rima, she learned about the healing nature of herbs and flowers. She learned which plants were poisonous and which poisonous plants could be made medicinal by merely adding another herb or flower. She learned how to set bones and deal with scrapes and abrasions. After all, Rima’s husband often boxed on the weekends and on many occasions had come home with swollen limbs, near-broken ribs, black eyes and cuts. In fact, Heinrich was a much better brewer than boxer. He was very popular in Over-the-Rhine, however. After bouts he would often accompany his fans, sometimes carried heroically on their shoulders, to the local pub to down pints of his own brew. Whether he won or not was immaterial: it was really about the celebratory beers.
     When Rima returned for Spain, she left Abelia the collection of old medicinal tomes that she often consulted for her knowledge. “These books,” Rima stated with her typical dramatic flair, “have been passed down from my great-grandmother’s mother. Take good care of them.”
     Abelia smiled when she cracked the books and noticed that they were written in English. Rima winked knowingly and patted the girl on the head. It was those books that Abelia had digested over the years, pouring over every page and hand-written note in the margins. As a result, she was able to distinguish comfrey from the poisonous foxglove, knew how to make a red clover tea to aid in conception and produced a very popular basil infused headache remedy that Ellie was worried would take away business from her husband’s pharmacy. Ellie had once even complained to Gerald about this but was forced to give up when boxes of the light green elixir failed to materialize from Abelia’s two-story farmhouse. Never during this time did she once ask Abelia if she could sell the elixir in the store; she just wanted to keep Abelia out of the pharmaceutical industry.
     Due to her success with plants it was unavoidable that Abelia was sometimes consulted for her knowledge when it came to those seeking basic remedies. People didn’t like to admit this, however, and were only willing to talk to her when they desperately wanted something. And then when she provided the necessary balm or ointment, she would be left alone until the next crisis, whether a colicky child or a downed postal carrier. Doc Foster often came to her but sometimes did so on the sly, as a handful of people in Lily Springs were still unsure whether or not Abelia processed some other-worldly powers of a dark nature. Plus, most people in Lily Springs would rather not face the wrath of Ellie, who, even after all of these years, still saw Abelia as competition.
     Black eyes were nothing new to Abelia, but she sure wasn’t expecting to see one when Robert came around the following afternoon delivering the mail and newspapers.  (Lilac Wine, Chapter 18)

So here it is: Abelia's recipe for a a basic salve for bruises:

Ingredients:

Several Marigold flowers
Several Arnica flowers
Olive oil
Beeswax (in honey)

1. Heat two tablespoons of olive oil on the stove. Be careful not to bring to a boil; don't make it too hot. Just hot enough to bring out the essence of the flowers.
2. Chop the marigold and arnica flowers as finely as possible. Add to the oil. Stir. Take off stove. Let it sit for about ten minutes.
3. Add a segment of beeswax. Let the honey drip off as much as possible before adding.
4. Stir. If necessary, add to the heat until the beeswax melts to smooth consistency.
5. Remove from the stove and place in a dish. Let cool.

Then, apply to bruised area as needed.

Marigolds have been used for centuries in healing, as they contain anti-bacterial and anti-fungal agents. The Greeks actually made a marigold tea to help relieve tension. Commonly, marigolds are used to to aid in the healing of bruises. But they are also used to treat varicose veins, sore nipples and diaper rash.

Arnica, from the sunflower family, is a flower that has anti-inflammatory properties. This flower should only be used externally, as it produces harmful effects on the kidneys and liver so should never be eaten or used on unbroken skin. This is important.

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Lilac Wine is a novel in progress.

Researching the Battle of Cantigny

On the morning of May 28, 1918, the Americans made their first offensive in the Great War by attacking the German-held village of Cantigny, located some 70 miles north of Paris.  Leading the attack was the 28th Infantry Regiment of the U.S. First Division--the "Big Red One," as they will come to be known.

From the beginning, I knew that Cantigny would be central to the novel, Lilac Wine.

Over the last year, I have done much reading about the battle.  But I needed to know more.  Today, I took a trip to the research library of the First Division Museum in Wheaton, Illinois.  The museum is located on the estate of Robert McCormick, the one-time publisher of the Chicago Tribune and a veteran of World War I.  He renamed his estate after that famous battle and, according to his will, had it dedicated as a public park after his death.  The research library, which is open to the public, houses artifacts, pictures, diaries and all things military.

There, I discovered some treasures that have helped me shape the narrative of Lilac Wine.

I was able to examine pictures I had never seen before related to the Battle of Cantigny, including aerial shots of the battle in progress:

Aerial view of the Battle of Cantigny.

Aerial view of the Battle of Cantigny. 

German soldier emerging from the ruins of Cantigny.

Wounded American soldier at Cantigny.

But the most notable find was a history of the 28th Regiment annotated by a soldier who had been there.  His annotations give a glimpse into the battle that texts cannot recreate.  The soldier's name was Floyd Henry Weeks.  He served in M Company of the 28th regiment.  The book dates from 1920 and the annotations are in pencil and ink.

Here is what he says about Martin O'Connor:  "The 1st man in M co. to give up his life.  3-28-18"

And Maniphe Stonecipher:  "I never saw a braver man in all my life--he died at Paris-Soissons Road 7/21/18 after attacts [sic] against machine guns that were holding up everything on the third day of the Ainse Marne offensive."

According to Weeks, Robert Purdy was "a prince.  Killed at Soissons."


2nd Lt. William Payne was "some guy.  A heartbreaker with the froulines.  Boy, I'll bet when he gets home he'll have some explainin."

He called Major Willis Tack  "West Point Willy."

Gerald Tyler was "a good scout and a fine officer.  Never gave you hell and always furnished an alibi for you."

It's one thing reading about a battle.  But reading the notes from a soldier scribbled in his own hand adds a different dimension to the story.  The people become more than just names on a fading page.  They become real.
 
Thank you, Floyd Henry Weeks.

During the assault on Cantigny, 199 doughboys were killed, including 13 officers.  652 men were wounded.  200 men were gassed and 16 men went missing and were never found.

Beating all expectations, the Americans held the town.

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Lilac Wine is a novel in progress.

The First Division Museum, located in Wheaton, Illinois, is a great place to visit.  It is one of the best museums in the area.  There, you can walk through the ruins of of Cantigny and visit a reconstructed World War I trench.  You can walk the beaches of Normandy and the jungles of Vietnam.  For more information, click here.

Anti-German Hysteria in the First World War

Anti-German sign outside of Edison Park, Chicago, 1917.

At the outbreak of the First World War, anti-German hysteria swept the United States.  Symphonies refused to play the works of Beethoven and Bach.  Saloons stopped serving pretzels.  Sauerkraut became “liberty cabbage.”  The teaching of the German language was removed from schools.  City streets with German names were changed in Chicago and other cities throughout the United States. 

And it gets worse. In April of 1918, German-born Robert Prager was seized by a mob in Collinsville, Illinois. He was stripped of his clothes, wrapped in the American flag and led to the center of town. Along the way, he was forced to kiss the flag several times. Then, he was hanged before a cheering crowd of several hundred. Newspapers applauded the lynching. At the trial, the men accused of his murder were acquitted. The jury wore red, white and blue ribbons to court and took only 25 minutes to find the perpetrators not guilty.

Shortly after war was declared on Germany, Robert Bishop was sitting in his favorite saloon, Conrad’s, in the South Loop in downtown Chicago. Although the proprietor, Conrad Mueller, had been in the United States for many years, his business was seeing a slump. And, like many German nationals at the time, he found himself the target of abuse:

Robert had never seen that man in Conrad’s before. He was a short, balding man with a well-trimmed mustache---no one out of the ordinary. He certainly didn’t raise suspicion like some people did when they walked into bars. Upon hearing the accent of the barkeep, however, he launched into a tirade against “huns” and “krauts.” It had been a relatively quiet evening up until that point. Robert sat by himself at the bar, warm with beer. Like others in Conrad’s, he had attempted to simply ignore the man. But when the loudmouth started blaming Conrad for the sinking of the Lusitania, he had had enough.
     “You’re a fucking baby-killer! Go back to your own country!” the man screamed.
     And with that, Robert lost it. He jumped from his seat and punched the man squarely in the face. The man was startled and when he lunged for Robert in return, Robert pummeled the man’s face with his fists. It wasn’t much of a contest. The man was drunk and disoriented. Some of the other patrons, who had sat not saying or doing anything when the incident began, started cheering and applauding. Robert got lost in the moment, caught up in the energy of the fight. He swung viciously and pushed. At one point, he had the man on the ground and was about to smash a bottle into his face when his arm was stopped. He flashed in anger at the person who had dared to stop him at this crescendo.
     Conrad, who held his arm, didn’t need to say anything. His eyes said it all. There was no anger in those eyes. No resentment. If those eyes could speak, they spoke gentle words, as if to say, “enough. No more. It is done.”
     And all of the anger rushed from Robert like air. His knees almost gave out. He felt exhausted. He staggered over to a barstool as the man on the floor coughed and rolled over in the sawdust. Conrad walked over to him.
     “My name is Conrad Mueller,” he said. The bar was silent. “I own this place. I may not be from here. But I am an American. I love this country more than you can possible imagine. This country has given me much to be thankful for.” He knelt down beside the man, who recoiled nervously, expecting another punch, no doubt.
      “When the Lusitania was sunk, you have no idea what that did to me. I gave up my homeland. Do you understand? Six months later I became American citizen. So, be careful who you tell to go back to his country. This is my country.”
     Conrad then turned, retied his apron and took his place behind the bar. Slowly the other patrons resumed their conversations, clinked their glasses together in cheers and began laughing once again. No one even saw the man get up and leave the bar.
     Conrad set a mug of Edelweiss in front of Robert.
     “There are ways to do things, my young friend,” he said. “And most of the time, you don’t need these.” He held up his fists. “Using these is too easy. And that is the problem with the world today, I am afraid.” He then set his hands gently once again on the top of the mahogany bar and, reaching for a white rag, began wiping it down.
     “But the things he said----“
     “Words is all. I have been around for a long time. And I have been called worse things. Trust me.”   (Lilac Wine, Chapter 17)

In terms of anti-German sentiment, Chicago was not quite as bad as other areas, probably due to the high concentration of German-Americans within the city.  In 1900, 1 out of every 4 Chicagoans were either born in Germany or had at least one parent from Germany.  Nonetheless, Germans living in Chicago also found themselves the object of scorn and suspicion.  The conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra was forced to step down due to his German nationality.   Beer gardens, a staple in German bars throughout the north side, closed.  And many German-Americans Americanized their names so as to alleviate any suspicion cast upon them. 

In periods of war and conflict, such reactions are not uncommon.  Many may look back on the situation facing German-Americans during World War I as an anomaly; a relic from the past.  Yet recent events regarding Muslim Americans prove otherwise.

In Lilac Wine, Robert Bishop, a young man with no enthusiasm for the war, finds himself on the wrong side of public opinion.  Outspoken and loyal to friends, Robert faces this sentiment head-on, with disastrous results.

Abelia's Talking Machine: Music on Vinyl in 1917

Abelia Brody had a love for music. One of the few people in Lily Springs to even own a phonograph, Abelia often sat on her back porch into the evening hours, melodies blossoming from the horn of her "talking machine" and carried beyond her yard by the breeze of a summer's night. People on the other side of town could sometimes hear the soft voice of Enrico Caruso through their open windows, the curtains moving in the light breeze as if dancing to the music. She had a ritual on summer nights: music on the porch, the morning's paper from Dubuque and a bottle of her home-made wine. Her elderly neighbor, Rose, also enjoyed the music, although she was loath to admit it.

Abelia lifted the tone arm from the disc and slid the brake, stopping the turntable in its rotation. Her talking machine was a Harvard model, purchased from the Sears catalog in 1906 for $15.90. It had a large external horn and a nice oak cabinet that was now scratched and faded. The player was well worn but still produced good sound---good enough, anyway, for quiet summer evenings on the porch. She thought about buying one of the newer models that no longer had the external horn, but most of those were heavier and harder to move. The Victrola, for example, was contained in a large, wooden cabinet. It sounded better, she was told, but she rather liked her old model in that it could be moved to the outdoors rather easily. It sounded good outside and even Rose commented that she sometimes liked to fall asleep to the sounds of Abelia’s machine on a summer’s night. Except when she played ragtime music, that is. So, once the sun went down, Abelia refrained from ragtime and played some of the music that Rose said she enjoyed. Although Enrico Caruso was Rose’s favorite, Abelia usually capped the evening with “Ave Maria,” by the famous castrato Alessandro Moreschi.

When I started to embark on this journey with Abelia and Robert, I had recently dusted off an old turntable and began going through my collection of records. I also began researching the history of phonographs and records. That's when I stumbled across Alessandro Morreschi. As a castrato, Morreschi had been castrated before puberty in order to retain his boyish voice. This was often done to boys since the middle ages and almost happened to famous classical composer, Haydn---that is, until his father stepped in and refused the request from the choral director in Vienna. Morreschi is the only known castrato to have made recordings. And, quite frankly, there is something amazing (and disconcerting) about his voice:

"Ave Maria" by Alessandro Morreschi

I love vinyl records. Unlike music today where everything is digital, listening to an album on a phonograph was a full sensory experience. Of course, you have the music. And unlike music today which is too perfect--too clean--music was always accompanied by hiss and crackle.  But in never seemed to matter.  You heard through the imperfections.  In addition to the music, there was also the tactile experience of gently holding the album and examining the record sleeve and album art. I often did that lounging in a bean bag chair with the record playing on the phonograph. And I imagined Abelia doing the same basic thing. Records at the turn of the century were, of course, played at 78 rpm. The records were a little smaller than the LP standardized during the 1950s and lacked album art. These records were thick--very thick. Luckily, one of my turntables is able to play 78's and I have several of them from my grandfather's collection. However, nothing as old as what Abelia would have listen to.

Abelia had quite a collection of music. I have scoured the internet trying to find some records that I thought would have pleased Abelia. One enormous collection of old records can be found at Archive.org. There, I discovered a tune that would become one of Abelia's favorites:

She had a box of records on the table and shuffled through them to find another one. She had been buying records since getting the Harvard and had acquired quite a collection over the last decade. Her love of music came from her mother, Colleen Brody. Her fondest memories were of her mother singing to her in bed or humming a tune in the garden.
     Near the back of the box she stumbled upon one of her favorite discs: “She is Far From the Land,” recorded by Irish tenor, John McCormack in 1911 on the Victor label. This was an old Irish tune that her mother sang to her when she was a child. Lifting it from the box, Abelia delicately placed the record on the turntable. After giving the arm a couple of cranks, she placed the needle onto the record and released the brake. Instantly, the melodic sound filled the porch. Abelia picked up her wine and turned down the lantern. Leaning against the porch post, she looked out over her garden, the light in the western sky fading into darkness. The first of the lightning bugs were out, glowing softly around the Evening Primrose.

She is far from the land

Where her young hero sleeps,

And lovers are round her, sighing;

But coldly she turns

From their gaze, and weeps,

For her heart in his grave is lying.

"She Belongs to the Land" by John McCormack:

Like Abelia, I can sit for hours just listening to music (Abelia and I have a lot in common, actually). After cutting the grass in the summer, for example, I like nothing better than to sit on a bench, soaking in the sun with music playing through the iPod.  My iPod has become much like Abelia's box of vinyl 78s.  Pretty much every type of music can be found there.

Everything, that is, except Alessandro Moreschi.

I think Abelia would love iPods.  I can picture her in her garden, walking among the fruit and butterflies, the white cords dangling from her ears.  Abelia would fit nicely in the 21st century.

Writing the chapters in Lilac Wine dealing with record players and music awakened in me a desire to listen to my music on their original vinyl.  I recently fixed two turntables and have been cleaning and playing old albums. And I have taken it one step further: in addition to this blog, I have recently started an internet radio station dedicated to the playing of music on original vinyl. The radio station is called The Vinyl Voyage. There you can hear several different genres of music, just like the box of records in Abelia's dining room.

Over the Rhine, My Muse

In Lilac Wine, Robert is tormented by nightmares and has been his entire life.   While on a trip to Chicago with Abelia in the Autumn of 1917, he has a particularly haunting vision---a vision that brings him to Abelia in the middle of the night: 

The knock came early in the morning, jarring Abelia from a sleep that had not come easy. Throwing on a housecoat, she stumbled in the dark toward the door.
     The knock came again, softer this time. Grasping the knob, she cracked open the door and peered into the hallway.
     Robert was there, disheveled and fraught. His cheeks glistened slightly in the low glow of the incandescent lights that lined the hallway.  “Robert?” she said, pulling the door open further, ignoring the immodesty of standing out in the open in a mere housecoat and nightgown. “What’s wrong?”
     Robert looked up from the floor, his eyes red. “Can I come in?”

I often write with music playing softly in the background or I listen to certain songs just prior to a writing session, in order to get my mind into a particular mood.  The crucial scene excerpted above was inspired in part by one of my all-time favorite songs: “Etcetera Whatever” by Over the Rhine.

Don't speak.

Words come out your eyes.

You're wet with this nightmare.

Like thorns you hold these secrets to your breast,

your slender fingers closing into fists.

(Words and Music: Linford Detweiler. Album:  Good Dog, Bad Dog 1996)

So much of Lilac Wine is connected in one way or another to the music of Over the Rhine.  It’s amazing that inspiration is so often wrapped up in the creative impulses of others. Music has that effect on me and Over the Rhine has been my muse.

I first became acquainted with Over the Rhine in 1993 when I heard “I Painted My Name” on a local radio station. I listened for the DJ to give out the name of the song and soon found myself in a local cd store purchasing the album Patience, their second studio album.  Little did I know then that a song from that album would provide the seed of inspiration for my first novel, Lilac Wine.

That song was “Flanders Fields,” a mournful reflection of a love lost.  With obvious connections to the First World War, I had used the song in class when discussing the war and as an introduction to the poetry from the war itself. It is a beautiful, yet mournful song.

In Flanders Fields far away

I lost my love one day.

(Lyrics:  Linford Detweiler.  Music: Ric Hordinski. Album: Patience,  1992)

One day about 15 years ago, I was driving home from work, the album playing on the cassette player in my car. “Flanders Fields” began.  And there it was, suddenly, as if it had been there in my mind the entire time: images of the Great War.  A young man swept up into the conflict. The eccentric, small town of Lily Springs on the upper Mississippi River coping awkwardly with the challenges of modernity. And a woman who had given up on love long ago, retreating into the comfort of her garden.  Lilac Wine had been born.

That was 15 years ago.  I wrote a few chapters and then shelved the story, unable to work out certain plot elements.  But the characters never left me, however.  The town of Lily Springs was always in the back of my mind, waiting patiently for me to pay a visit once again.

In the years since I first started Lilac Wine, Over the Rhine has become an indispensable facet of my musical library. There probably isn't a day that goes by without at least one song of theirs playing sometime during my day.  The core of the band is the husband and wife team of Linford Detweiler and Karin Bergquist. Their music speaks like an old friend, sitting at the kitchen table talking over a cup of coffee.  They have a magical ability to express everyday emotion in heartfelt, bittersweet tones.   Through their melodies and Karin's sultry, sometimes gut-wrenching vocals, the everyday is transcended in an almost cathartic expression of the real.  And that is what Over the Rhine does best: express the various emotions that we all, at one time or another, have felt and they do it in such a way that it feels like it was written just for us.  

Last year, I rediscovered Lily Springs once again.  I was driving home from work, a mix cd playing in the car.  And I began thinking again about Robert Bishop and Abelia Brody.  And all of the problems I had with the plot were suddenly resolved.  I often get my inspiration while driving in the car with music playing.  And one of the songs that helped break the writer's block was Over the Rhine's "I Want You to Be My Love."  It has somewhat become the theme for Abelia and Robert.

I want you to be my love

I want you to be my love

'Neath the moon and the stars above

I want you to be my love

I want you to know me now

I want you to know me now

Break a promise make a vow

I know you want me now

Like I want you

  (Music and Lyrics: Bergquist/Detweiler Album: The Drunkard's Prayer,  2005)

For me, music helps set the tone for what I want to write.  I have a particular playlist that I use when trying to get into a "Lilac Wine mood."  The playlist includes artists such as Jeff Buckley, Billie Holiday and Etta James.  Over the Rhine, however, dominates the list.  Although some songs might not have a tangible relationship to the narrative of Lilac Wine, the sentiment and the mood of particular songs provide a means to channel certain feelings into the text.  Songs like "Long Lost Brother,"  "Changes Come,"  "Suitcase," "Desperate for Love" and "Latter Days" have, in one way or another, been the soundtrack to my writing sessions, providing a necessary state of mind. There are other songs that may have helped shape some of the narrative as well.

For example, Robert and Abelia share a bottle of lilac wine early in their relationship.  Abelia has a penchant for concocting some amazing varietals using the fruits from her garden. They get drunk and do something neither of them had ever done at length before: talk.  They discuss dreams, fears and, of all things, Chinese food.

Pour me a glass of wine

Talk deep into the night

Who knows what we'll find? 

("Born" Music and Lyrics: Bergquist/Detweiler Album: The Drunkard's Prayer,  2005)

Over the Rhine is currently on tour.  And next month they will be playing two shows at the Old Town School of Folk Music on December 11.   My wife and I have tickets to the first show.  Plus, my sister and brother-in-law will be coming as well.  In the 17-plus years of listening to Over the Rhine, this will be my first concert.  Needless to say, I am excited.

In the meantime, I will continue writing and listening.  Robert and Abelia's journey will undoubtedly take some twists and turns unforeseen at the moment. And through it all, Over the Rhine will be along for the ride.  Thankfully.

*Note:  The above clips are hosted on Grooveshark.  This service claims to have an agreement with artists and note that artists are paid:  "Grooveshark has an artists/label program to ensure that any owner of content will be compensated fairly for each time their content is played via Grooveshark."  I hope this is true and if not, I will remove the links to the clips.


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Update 12/4/2012: For more information about Over the Rhine, please visit their website at OvertheRhine.com.   Check out their online record player.  Currently, you can download their Christmas album, Snow Angels for free or a donation at NoiseTrade.  Be sure to check out the latest album, The Long Surrender.