The little girl figurine was hiding down in the box beneath a large dirt-speckled doll in faded and dingy clothes, and two smaller dolls equally as dirty, one with eyes, the other with holes where its tin eyes should have been.
Someone also had managed to stuff a small cloth doll dressed in a Russian costume in the box lot on the table at the auction house. I barely noticed the little girl until I got the box home, eager to find out more about the dolls.
Then I saw her – an adorable little thing sitting on top of a mailbox with her tiny dog. Were those little bumps of tears beneath her eyes? And why was she sitting on a mailbox?
As I looked closer, I saw that it was not a mailbox but a piece of luggage, one of those early curved-top suitcases with straps that I recalled seeing in movies. The cute little girl was sitting on top of her travel bag, her cute little dog snug at her side, tears falling from her eyes.
She was obviously traveling to somewhere and didn’t want to go or leave her parents. What a story this little piece had to tell.
As I looked even closer, I saw that her suitcase was actually a coin bank. How neat!
Of all the things in the box lot, this was the most precious. I almost didn’t buy the lot because another auction-goer – a man who had already out-bidded me on an item and was grabbing up just about everything else – was bidding so vigorously that I figured he’d never stop on this one. But I stuck in there and won it. Besides, he didn’t look like a doll person anyway; I had seen him with his smartphone looking up unfamiliar items on the tables.
The little-girl coin bank was still in remarkably good condition, with aged dust in a few corners. It seemed to be made of chalkware, which chips very easily over time. There were only a few chips on it, and the colors and paint were beautifully intact.
The piece had been painted in the light colors of cream and aqua with specks of red, very soothing against the backdrop of a child who was obviously hurting. She held something in her mouth, supported by her hand and resting on her lap. It reminded me of one of those old paper party-favor horns you’d blow into and the bottom would unfurl.
Handling the coin bank, I searched for a maker’s name – that can add value to an item – and found its original silver foil label with the inscription “Bullock’s Wilshire,” a little marred and partially hiding a price tag with part of the name.
So I Googled. In its era, Bullock’s Wilshire was Los Angeles’ finest luxury department store, opening in September 1929 and attracting the rich and moneyed, including such Hollywood celebrities as John Wayne, Alfred Hitchcock, Mae West (who shopped from her car), Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich (who shopped there for the men’s pants she wore). And treated them well.
The store was designed for the new automobile, its large front windows displayed to attract drivers (and those in limos) who drove around to the back entrance where attendants waited to park their cars in the “motor court,” not parking lot.
Shoppers entered the Art Deco building under a porte-cochere into what was described as palatial with its travertine floors, murals, marble walls, rosewood cabinets, a room to test horse saddles and a doggery to dress up your pup. Women could have tea and watch fashion shows on the top floors, and men of especially good means could shop in private rooms. Along with garments, the store also sold minerals and gems, and Steuben glass.
By the 1970s, the store removed the apostrophe from its name and opened branches outside its original grand location. It went through a slow decline with the advent of suburbia and its malls, and after other high-end stores moved out of the area. It was sold to the owners of Macy’s, but they apparently could not save it. The owners stripped the store of its historical architectural elements and furnishings, but finally returned them.
Bullocks Wilshire closed in 1993, and the nearby Southwestern Law School bought it in 1994 and restored it. The building with its tan terra cotta body, green patina copper tower and its black granite base is considered one of the finest examples of Art Deco architecture in the United States. Here’s a YouTube video of the interior during the 1930s.
As I researched the store, I wondered where my little girl and her dog were sold in the store and when. It seemed to lack the swankiness that accompanied all else sold at Bullocks Wilshire in its early years.
The figure looked to be chalkware, which isn’t actually chalk but what the Kovels antique website described as “plaster of Paris decorated with watercolors.” Considered folk art, the most valuable pieces are the ones sold as decorations in the 19th century, according to the Kovels, while another site cited ones as far back as the 18th century. This story offered some pointers on how to identify and care for chalkware.
Who originated the medium appears to be a matter of discord. It was popularized by Italian immigrants who peddled them like door to door salesmen, according to one site. Another credited it to Pennsylvania Germans, while another said it was sold by Italians to the Pennsylvania Dutch/German farmers.
Chalkware apparently goes back to the 18th century and stayed with us right up to the Depression and beyond. Considered the “poor man’s porcelain,” it was sold primarily at carnivals. Plenty was sold from the 1930s to 1950 as carnival ware, and according to one site, some of the ethnic pieces were very offensive and stereotypical.
I’ve picked up several chalkware pieces of African Americans that had the usual look of its time but were not as harsh. One was a little boy painted black with a dog, along with a plaque/towel holder bearing the head of a black male chef and a woman with a kerchief. The little boy has pink lips, and the chef and woman have the usual red lips.
