Postmarked August 1964

What follows is a blog post that I wrote 19 years ago and for some reason never posted. It was inspired by my recent obsession of reading old letters—mine, my mother’s, my friends’—and remembering how wonderful correspondence used to be. The anticipation, the delighted surprise, the abject disappointment, all delivered for less than a quarter. Anyway, here is the letter and the story behind it.

Three years ago when we started working on plans for LATDA, I unearthed a letter I had received in 1964 in response to one I had written to the Museum of Science and Industry.

As a child I was not a habitual letter writer. I was moved to write the occasional fan letter, and collected a small handful of kind responses and autographed photos. I apparently wrote a letter to the Hollywood Bowl requesting to meet the Beatles backstage – I know this because I saved the polite refusal to that request. Of the few people I wrote to, I never received answers or acknowledgements from two; George Harrison and Shirley Temple. As an adult I continued to write the occasional fan letter, but mostly to writers that I admired. Actually, I can only remember two writers – John Nichols and Allen Say.  I received a response from Nichols, which I have lost track of, and my correspondence with Allen Say has continued for the past 10 years.

Back to the letter from the Museum. It was not unusual that I would have saved it, since it had been typed on such impressively official stationery and was two pages long. What was startling about its rediscovery was that it had been written 34 years ago to the day that I stood on the sidewalk outside of the St. Francis Hotel and blurted out to a friend that I wanted to start a toy museum.

 Starting a museum was not a childhood dream. It was an idea that would occasionally arise in conversation like my mother’s frequent, “let’s invent something and become rich!” It didn’t have much form or reality to it. It wasn’t until I started working at one (a bare nine years ago) that I began to learn about the inner workings of a museum. Being part of a museum de-mystified it for me and I began to think that any fool could start (or run) one. Planning a toy museum became my escape from a job that had ceased to be challenging. I would observe various departments and reshape them to an ideal. I would design exhibitions and think of educational components that would be engaging. I would think of donors and advisory council members who would be likely candidates to support the museum. I would imagine how the marketing department would design brochures. And most of all I would imagine what a wonderful museum store it would contain.

The subject matter, toys (as well as dolls and amusements) was an easy choice. This was one passion that did follow me from childhood. I was crazy about dolls as a child. I was an example of my 1950 gender. But the one influence that pushed me ahead of just being a little girl who liked dolls was the collection at the Museum of Science and Industry.

 I think it was Mom who introduced me to the collection. She had initiated me into the world of Shirley Temple, teaching me songs and telling me about her movies and life. On Sundays we went to Exposition Park where the museums were free and Mom and Dad could relieve themselves of the four of us kids for a couple of hours. We were allowed to roam the museums alone, while they sat outside and read the Sunday paper or argued, depending on their moods.

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In the museum, this doll was kept in a vertical glass case the size of a phone booth.

 I would spend my full time in the basement display of Shirley’s doll collection, standing in front of each case savoring the contents like a favorite meal. There were six or eight large cases with a gap halfway in between that was punctuated by a single case housing a life-size Japanese bride doll. She was frighteningly realistic and looked like a human trapped behind glass. I always felt sad for her in spite of my fear.

The dolls were grouped by type, and one of my favorite cases was the one that was full of different Shirley Temple dolls dressed in costumes from her various movies. I remember wondering how it would feel to be surrounded by dolls made in one’s own image. There were dolls of all sizes and in all conditions, the creepiest being the large ones who appeared to be suffering from serious cataracts. (I later learned that this was a condition called “crazing” that was caused by a defect in the manufacture of the eyes used in the dolls. A preventative remedy and first aid consisted of a dab of baby oil with a cotton swab applied to the eyeballs.)

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Lenci Dolls

There was also a case of dolls that appeared in Shirley’s various movies. I took pride in being able to pair each doll to the correct movie. Another favorite case contained a group of dolls made in Italy by a manufacturer called “Lenci”. These were made of felt that had been compressed to the firmness of wood through a ‘secret process’. It was this group that spurred me on to do “research”, and start a small library of doll collecting books.

Soon I began to notice other aspects of the displays such as fallen signage or an errant moth corpse in the corner. When it appeared that these small signs of neglect had been overlooked for a visit or two, I took it upon myself to write a letter of complaint to the museum. I also volunteered my services as an occasional caretaker. I was twelve at the time, but I had been a friend of the collection for over four years.

I don’t have a copy of my letter. It was written before copy machines and computers and probably not even typed. But I saved the response from Mr. Norman C. Bilderback, Director of Exhibitions. He gently reviewed my points one by one and explained things that only now really make sense to me. He said, “Not being a collecting museum in the true sense of the term, we do not have individual employees assigned to just one job, exclusive of all other work; everyone functions in many capacities in the Museum. Your age and experience would limit your abilities to handle other tasks.” He guided me to learn about textile preservation. His final recommendation, “I might also suggest, if you haven’t already seen them, to try and visit the doll collection at Immaculate Heart College. It is fabulous.”

 I had completely forgotten that last line. The fact that I ended up receiving my BA in Art from Immaculate Heart College was pure coincidence, since I only attended for one year to complete my degree started elsewhere. What I do remember is that the year that I attended IHC the college was in the process of divesting itself of its toy collection. My first and only viewing of it was at Sotheby’s when I attended the auction of part of the collection. At the time I remember half-seriously proposing to a friend that we raise money to buy the collection in its entirety and open a museum with it.

Norman C. Bilderback. I wondered if he was still working in the museum world. Reading the names of the Board of Directors on the bottom of the stationery I only recognized one – Franklin D. Murphy. His name was on the library at the JACCC, the first non-profit organization I ever worked for. The rest of the names sounded like a group of old white men. The world of museum governance hasn’t changed much, but it does seem to be in the process of change. There are more women in positions of power, and with the emergence of museums dedicated to the diversity of America’s history; there are more people of other ethnic backgrounds. But I wondered about Norman. He could be as young as 60 or dead.

Out of curiosity I did a search on his name on the internet. Nothing promising turned up until I did a simple phone directory search for Los Angeles and had one hit. I stared at the name and address for awhile, thinking that there was something familiar about it. It was explicitly Norman C. Bilderback even though I hadn’t specified a middle initial. Maybe it was the “1817” in his address – it was the same number as my husband’s family home, so not surprisingly familiar. As I read on, I realized that the address was in Eagle Rock, my very neighborhood – it was the street and the zip code that was plucking at my memory.

As always, I was conducting this sleuthing in the middle of the night, so there was no question of grabbing up the phone and calling Mr. Bilderback to ask him if he had worked at the Museum of Science and Industry in 1964. I eventually was able to fall asleep only to wake up a few hours later to continue waiting for a decent hour to call. When I did make the call, I had a fleeting image of myself as a breathless stalker. Or of an adopted child making her first call to an unsuspecting birth parent. The phone was answered by what sounded like an elderly but lucent man. He seemed slightly taken aback when asked if he had been the Director of Exhibits at the old museum. I tried to sound professional – citing my reasons for tracking him down, my current profession and interests, but I think I only managed to confuse and startle him. He asked for my number and said that he and his wife were in the middle of remodeling their house and he had to attend to some workmen. I closed with a suggestion that we meet sometime in one of the new neighborhood cafes, to which he made a disparaging reply that indicated that he wasn’t fond of the recent gentrification of Eagle Rock.

Actually speaking to Mr. Bilderback was anticlimactic. I did need confirmation that he was THE Norman C. Bilderback, but in retrospect it would have been more poetic to write to him and wait for a reply in the mail. But I am a hopeless slave to the advances of technology, not to mention the fact that I am feeling the pressure of age and impatience. I guess I am not so much a poet or artist, but more of an entrepreneur guided by poetic signs.

I will probably gather together a shortened version of this story and mail it to Mr. Bilderback along with a copy of his letter. More to reassure him that there is not a crazy stalker haunting his neighborhood. Whether we will actually connect over a cup of coffee will be something that I will leave to the mystical forces that seem to be hovering about me these days.

 ***Addendum—In 2015 I was reunited with Shirley Temple’s collection when it toured the U.S. prior to being broken up and sold. I even got to meet Shirley Temple’s children. I placed bids on a couple of items, but didn’t end up with any of the dolls, but I have a wonderful catalog of all my old friends.