Florida Artists ~ George Inness, Jr.

I confess I’d never heard of George Inness, Jr. (nor George Inness, Sr., also recognized as an important artist) before researching Florida artists.

And yet, this renowned landscape artist and philanthropist contributed so much to the one Florida town’s cultural development that it is often referred to as the City of Arts.

That town is Tarpon Springs, located on the west coast of Florida in the Tampa Bay area, and it’s also known for its Greek heritage, freshly caught fish, and sponge-diving. (I’ve been a tourist there ~ the fish and the baklava are great and you can buy all kinds and sizes of sponges!)

Mr. Inness (January 5, 1854 – July 27, 1926) was born in Paris, France and lived an intercontinental life. While living on the East Coast of the U.S., his father often took him to Europe. 

He began his artistic career as a magazine illustrator but eventually attended the Ecole des Beaux Arts. He later opened a studio and even became “an Officer in the Académie des Beaux Arts, a rare distinction for an American” (Hall of Fame).

Once he returned to the U.S. in 1900, Mr. Inness became a snowbird. He lived in Cragsmoor, New York, but wintered in Tarpon Springs. The latter is where he spent his most productive years as a landscape painter.

The Unitarian Universalist Church in that Florida city owns eleven of his works. A few of these are murals painted on the church sanctuary walls.

Museums that include his paintings in their collections include: 

• Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC
• Museum of Fine Arts, Boston
• New Jersey’s Montclair Art Museum, Montclair, NJ
• Cici and Hyatt Brown Museum of Art, Daytona Beach, FL 

“He is recognized as a great Florida artist for his depiction of the state’s unspoiled landscapes full of the flora and fauna of his time” (Hall of Fame)."

Here’s an interesting tidbit ~ Financial success seemed to be launched after Mr. Inness sold a large painting of New Hampshire’s Mount Washington to his father-in-law, the founder of a publishing company.

Mr. Inness’s 27-room Florida home, known as Inness Manor, became a famed artists’ colony. It boasted a large painting studio and artists’ cottages where other prominent painters often visited.

Chetolah, his New York home, has its own claim to fame ~ it was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1980.

Johnnie Alexander is a bestselling, award-winning novelist of more than thirty works of fiction in multiple genres. She is both traditionally and indie-published, serves as board secretary for the Mosaic Collection, LLC (an indie-author group) and faculty chair for the Mid-South Christian Writers Conference; co-hosts Writers Chat, a weekly online show; and contributes to the HHHistory.com blog. With a heart for making memories, Johnnie is a fan of classic movies, stacks of books, and road trips. Connect with her at JohnnieAlexander.com.

Photos

George Inness, Jr. Portrait By Internet Archive Book Images ~ https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=43632603; no restrictions

Sources

Hall of Fame ~ https://dos.fl.gov/cultural/programs/florida-artists-hall-of-fame/george-inness-jr/

Unitarian Universalist Church in Tarpon Springs ~ https://www.uutarpon.org/inness-paintings/

The Great Tan Line: How the Suntan Became Chic

Now that summer is here, many of us will spend time outdoors, perhaps at the beach or pool, gardening, or bicycling. With increased sun exposure, the question “To tan or not to tan?” often comes up.

During a recent TV documentary, I was intrigued by the assertion that “tanning drinks” became popular in the 1930s. However, I found no evidence of such a product (which shows you can’t believe everything you hear on television). The closest I could find were health tonics that promised to “brighten the skin” or “give a glow of vitality,” but the focus was on wellness, not on tanning the skin.

Still, the story of how tanned skin became fashionable proved interesting.

Until the 20th century, pale, fair skin was associated with wealth, leisure, and social status. The wealthy had little reason to spend extensive time outdoors, so tanned skin was linked to the working class and outdoor labor. (Even as late as the 1960s, having a “farmer’s tan” was not considered a compliment.) Wealthy women used parasols, gloves, hats, and long sleeves to protect themselves from the sun. Skin whitening powders and creams were employed to maintain a pale complexion.

In Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, published in 1813, Miss Bingley describes Elizabeth Bennet as looking “brown and coarse,” because of her summer travels. The implication is that a proper lady would strive to keep her skin pale and untanned.

To promote their suntan oil, in 1948 L’Oréal
introduced the figure of “Suzy,” a shapely,
tanned blonde-haired woman clad in what
was then a risqué two-piece swimsuit.
Reproduced as a life-sized cardboard cutout,
“Suzy” was frequently stolen from pharmacies
and seaside boutiques.

With the end of the Victorian era, attitudes toward outdoor activities began to change. Spending time swimming at beaches became more popular among all class levels by 1900. Bathing costumes evolved to allow more freedom for the swimmer, revealing more skin. As a result, tanned skin became a huge fad after World War I.

Many sources credit the French fashion designer Coco Chanel with popularizing the suntan when she returned from a Mediterranean vacation with a sun-kissed glow in the 1920s. Her bronzed skin was suddenly seen as fashionable and glamorous, especially among the upper classes.

Simultaneously, there was growing interest in sunlight for health purposes—so-called "heliotherapy"—to treat ailments like tuberculosis and rickets, which helped normalize sun exposure.

An article in Vogue magazine in July 1929 declared, “From a chic note, sunburn became a trend, then an established fashion, and now the entire feminine world is sunburn conscious!”

Vogue promoted rules to attain a higher-class tan as opposed to the common tan of an everyday woman. These rules included: avoiding tan lines (they indicated you did not have time to get a proper tan), not wearing pearls to the beach (the white marks on the chest looked cheap), and also maintaining a tan even in the wintertime (possibly by taking expensive vacations abroad).

Tanning lotions and creams were introduced as a way to get an "even tan." In 1935, L’Oréal founder Eugène Schueller launched a suntan oil called Ambre Solaire, which aimed to accelerate tanning while moisturizing the skin.

In contrast to the health benefits of sunshine, researchers as early as 1918 began to warn about the dangers of UV rays. However, medical professionals, the US government, and the media failed to transmit that message to the public until the 1930s. Even then, people continued to slather on baby oil or olive oil to attract maximum rays in order to attain he fashionable suntanned look.

During World War II, soldiers in the Pacific theater dealt with the harsh tropical sun by using a sticky red veterinary petrolatum, originally intended for animals, to protect their skin.

Little Miss Coppertone billboard, 1959

After returning home, airman and future pharmacist Benjamin Green mixed the substance with cocoa butter and coconut oil to create a moisturizing suntan cream. Eventually his home-cooked concoction became Coppertone sunblock. The product truly took off in the 1950s, thanks to the Little Miss Coppertone campaign featuring a black dog tugging on a little girl’s swimsuit.

The desire for suntanned skin led to the proliferation of indoor tanning beds beginning in 1979. Meanwhile, awareness of skin cancer caused by overexposure made some sun-lovers more cautious. Today, more than 1,000 sunscreen products are marketed, with widely varying levels of UV protection indicated by their SPF rating.

Despite the increased use of sunscreen and awareness of the dangers, surveys indicate that people continue to believe a tan is more attractive than light skin. As in many areas related to fashion, appearance tends to overrule practicality.

Sources:

Suntans, Cornflakes, Coco Chanel & Skin Cancer - EO Smith

The History of Tanning: From Ancient to Modern Techniques - ThoseGraces.com

From Sunlight to Sunless Tanners: the History of Our Obsession With Getting Tan - Fashionista

Multi-award-winning author Marie Wells Coutu finds beauty in surprising places, like undiscovered treasures, old houses, and gnarly trees. All three books in her Mended Vessels series, contemporary stories based on the lives of biblical women, have won awards in multiple contests. She is currently working on historical romances set in her native western Kentucky in the 1930s and ‘40s. An unpublished novel, Shifting Currents, placed second in the inspirational category of the nationally recognized Maggie Awards. Learn more at www.MarieWellsCoutu.com.

Her historical short story, “All That Glistens,” was included in the 2023 Saturday Evening Post Great American Fiction collection and is now available free when you sign up for Marie's newsletter here. In her newsletter, she shares about her writing, historical tidbits, recommended books, and sometimes recipes.

Hollywood Actors and Their Surprising Skills

By Kathy Kovach

Cary Grant, relaxing in Monte Carlo

When watching your favorite actor on the silver screen, do you think about who he was in his private life? Did Tarzan’s Johnny Weissmuller swing from vines in his backyard? Did John Wayne swagger when no one was looking? Did Fred Astaire tap dance in his local Five & Dime—in a tux?

Here’s the skinny.

Shall We Dance, 1937

Suave and sophisticated Fred Astaire, whose mother sent him to dance lessons with his sister to avoid having to pay a babysitter, picked up other hobbies along his illustrious career. Ironically, they all involved the feet.

We’ve seen him roller skate in Shall We Dance (1937) with Ginger Rogers. In The Belle of New York (1952), he ice skated his way into Vera-Ellen’s heart. By the time he was well into his 70s, he’d taken up skateboarding and had acquired a lifetime membership in the National Skateboarding Society of America for bringing recognition to the sport.

He’d become quite good at it until, unfortunately, his new hobby came to an abrupt halt when he fell off a young relative’s skateboard and broke his wrist. The man was 78! He was due to travel to Ireland to make a movie, and production had to pause until he healed. I would have loved to see him in a backwards ball cap, shades, and neon jams. Gnarly, dude!

Speaking of debonair dreamboats, Archibald Leach, who would eventually become Cary Grant, was born in Bristol, England to a working-class family in 1904. His mother had high hopes for him, dreaming that someday he’d become “a piano player and a gentleman”. However, Archie had other plans. He ran away from home—on a scooter—but was swiftly returned to his family. With Archie’s mother committed to a psychiatric hospital when he was young, his homelife was tumultuous.

In an apparent attempt to help the boy find direction, a teacher introduced him to the theater, which led to a moment that changed his life. “I suddenly found my inarticulate self in a dazzling land of smiling, jostling people wearing and not wearing all sorts of costumes and doing all sorts of clever things. And that’s when I knew! What other life could there be but that of an actor?”

Still trying to grasp the reins of his own destiny, he forged his father’s name on an application and conned his way into an acrobatic troupe. Young Archie’s father found him out, and he was returned home. Unfortunately, the boy’s heart belonged elsewhere, and he was expelled from school. With his father’s blessing, he returned to the troupe at the age of 14 and never looked back.

Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn, Holiday, 1938

The Pender acrobats played in vaudeville houses throughout Britain, and in 1920 made their way to the United States. Two years later, the tour ended, but Archie Leach stayed in New York. He walked on stilts on Coney Island and hawked ties on New York street corners, eventually joining the vaudeville bandwagon across America.

After landing in Hollywood, and finally lighting his star, he became the suit-wearing, sophisticated actor that we all grew to love. However, he continued his acrobatic skills. Remember the screwball comedies of the 1940s? That was really Grant flipping his way out of a chair in Holiday (1938). Here's an entertaining clip. Keep watching after the "spoiler alert", which is that he gets the girl. Duh! He's Cary Grant!

As self-assured as he seemed on the big screen, Grant once made this observation: ”I have spent the greater part of my life fluctuating between Archie Leach and Cary Grant; unsure of each, suspecting each.”

Naval cadet Humphrey Bogart, 1918

Moving on from beauty, (suave and sophisticated), to beast, (board game beast, that is), Humphrey Bogart had an affinity for the game of chess. His father, a noted Manhattan surgeon, had taught him to play when he was 13. Bogart continued with his passion throughout his teen years as he played in chess clubs in New York City.

After getting expelled from medical school, he enlisted in the U.S. Naval Reserve. This was in 1918 and WWI was nearly over. He was discharged in 1919 and returned to New York, continuing his chess playing, becoming Class A to expert strength, according to Chess.com. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds impressive.

The acting bug bit in 1920 and he went on to play minor roles on Broadway, but his chess board was always nearby in the wings. The 1929 stock market crash sent him to the local parks and Coney Island, hustling games of chess for dimes and quarters. A year later, he relocated to Hollywood, but could only land minor parts. While struggling to become an actor, he joined various California chess organizations.

Actor and Chess Master, Humphrey Bogart

Finally, he was cast in the 1936 production The Petrified Forest as a gangster. The role made the man, and his austere mug and tough New York accent became his brand. Chess, as a way to make a living, was no longer needed, but he continued to challenge the cast and crew on every set, every back lot, even every Hollywood party he attended. In a little movie. . .maybe you’ve heard of it. . .Casablanca, he suggested incorporating the game into the storyline.

After the immense success of Casablanca (1942), Bogart began playing chess through correspondence with soldiers overseas and with patients in VA hospitals. In 1943, the FBI got involved. They’d read all of the mail and came to the conclusion that Bogey was a spy sending secret codes to Europe. In actuality, he was simply moving his knight from 8b to 6c and trying to protect his king.

In 1945, Bogart and his fourth wife, actress Lauren Bacall, who also played chess, were featured with actor Charles Boyer on the cover of Chess Review magazine. This same year, Humphrey Bogart had achieved status as a tournament director for the California State Chess Association as well as the United States Chess Federation. He helped sponsor the August 1945 Pan American Chess Congress in Los Angeles and was selected as the Master of Ceremonies.

Apparently, actors are people, too. It’s fun to hear about their outside passions, be it acrobatics, skateboarding, or chess. That pedestal doesn’t seem so high when we learn more about our favorite stars.

Or, maybe they prefer we keep that under our hats.

Titanic: Legacy of Betrayal

A TIME-SLIP NOVEL

A secret. A key. Much was buried on the Titanic, but now it's time for resurrection.

Follow two intertwining stories a century apart. 1912 - Matriarch Olive Stanford protects a secret after boarding the Titanic that must go to her grave. 2012 - Portland real estate agent Ember Keaton-Jones receives the key that will unlock the mystery of her past... and her distrusting heart.

To buy: Amazon

Kathleen E. Kovach is a Christian romance author published traditionally through Barbour Publishing, Inc. as well as indie. Kathleen and her husband, Jim, raised two sons while living the nomadic lifestyle for over twenty years in the Air Force. Now planted in northeast Colorado, she's a grandmother and a great-grandmother—though much too young for either. Kathleen has been a longstanding member of American Christian Fiction Writers. An award-winning author, she presents spiritual truths with a giggle, proving herself as one of God's peculiar people.

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Colonial Log Cabins in the South

by Denise Weimer

The first structure a settler hastily constructed at a Colonial- or Federal-era homestead site in the Southeast was usually a log cabin. Georgia woods used for this purpose included hardwoods, poplar, pine and cyprus, with cyprus more common in South Georgia. Settlers from Georgia’s Piedmont up to the Appalachians mostly used pine. Sometimes a settler might use poplar, which was lighter and easier to square, for the main beams, and pine for the rest of the house.

Basic cabins were built quickly, usually with a dirt floor and a clay-over-log chimney. The outside of the logs might even be left rounded with the bark still on. Size of a cabin could range from 15x12 to 30x18. 16x20 was also common. Suitable trees longer than twenty feet were difficult to locate, transport, and handle.

Log houses featured a more permanent design. The logs were hewn square or "skelped" with a broad axe and adze and notched with a crosscut saw. The chimney would be brick or stone. Later, an addition, or second "pen," could be built on the end of the house opposite the chimney. The breezeway connecting the two sections was called a dogtrot. Lots of work and living went on in that covered but cooler section.

The Elijah Clarke house shows double pen design.

Since log houses and cabins were made of untreated, air-dried wood, the logs would shrink as the house settled. The spaces were chinked...packed with a mixture of straw and mud or clay, or clay, sand, and horse hair. In places where the gap between logs was too large, sticks could be wedged in prior to chinking. Raised foundation construction helped keep the wood dry and reduce rot and insect damage.

Carefully crafted notches were cut at the corner of each log, thus eliminating the need for nails. Nails were costly and heavy to transport to the construction site. When notching, a settler could choose between several styles: saddle, half dove tail, and full dove tail. The saddle notch was mostly used by Cherokee and Creek Indians, while European settlers favored the other styles because they locked the logs more firmly in place. Half dovetail notches were the most stable.

Cabin floors were often swept dirt or sand. If a constructed floor existed, it might be made of hewn and hand-split planks which were pegged to the floor joist. The earliest type of flooring that appeared in log construction was known as puncheon. Logs were split in half with flat side up. Puncheons were short, thick, split or hewn-log pieces of timber roughly finished on one or more surfaces and laid directly on the ground. As time went on, puncheons were replaced by 1¼”–thick boards, tongue-and-grooved and planed by hand.

Hand-cut shakes of oak or chestnut composed the roof. In cold weather, animal skins or wooden shutters on wooden or leather hinges covered the windows.

Log cabins abound in my Colonial- and Federal-era stories, The Witness Tree, Bent Tree Bride, and The Scouts of the Georgia Frontier Series.

Denise Weimer writes historical and contemporary romance from her home in North Georgia and also serves as a freelance editor and the Acquisitions & Editorial Liaison for Wild Heart Books. A mother of two young adult daughters, she always pauses for coffee, chocolate, and old houses.

Connect with Denise here:

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Shopping on the Ladies’ Mile

 By Suzanne Norquist

One hundred years before teens started hanging out at the mall, women took carriages and the elevated train to socialize and shop on the “Ladies’ Mile” in New York City.

The end of the 1800s was known as the Gilded Age—a time of great prosperity. The rich flaunted their wealth, and the middle class could afford more than ever before. With the Industrial Revolution in full swing, an abundance of mass-produced goods filled store shelves.

Massive department stores sprouted in major cities around the world. Each one could have been a modern mall in itself. Not only did they offer shopping, but their restaurants and tea rooms provided places for socializing.

New York’s high society moved uptown, creating a shopping district on Fifth Avenue. In 1860, when the Prince of Wales stayed at a Fifth Avenue hotel, everyone knew the area was fit for royalty.

In 1862, A.T. Steward relocated his department store to the area and built a massive six-story structure known as the Iron Palace. With a cast-iron construction, massive windows filled with displays lined the street. The use of cast iron instead of bricks made such large window openings possible.

This building served as a tourist attraction and anchored the “Ladies’ Mile” located between Fourteenth and Twenty-Third Streets along Sixth Avenue and Broadway.

Entertainment venues also moved to the area. In 1866, Steinway constructed a concert hall nearby. The building also housed a piano sales floor.

In 1869, Arnold Constable and Company entered the market with high-end fashions. Their building, referred to as “The Palace of Trade” by the newspapers, was the second-largest dry-goods store in the city at the time.

That same year, Tiffany & Company constructed a building with 16-foot cast-iron arches. Known as the “Palace of Jewels,” it was the largest jewelry store in the world.

With such a concentration of businesses and their associated security staff, the area was considered safe for ladies without male escorts. A woman could spend the day with her friends shopping, eating, and socializing—much like teens at a shopping mall.

The district grew with the arrival of Lord and Taylor in 1870. This massive iron building also sported large glass display windows. In fact, Lord and Taylor pioneered Christmas window displays for marketing—a New York tradition.

The “Ladies Mile” shopping district drew in most customers by carriage, but in 1878, the elevated train (the El) arrived, making it easier for middle-class ladies to access the experience.

Other businesses got into the action. Best and Co., specializing in children’s clothing, went in. They were the first to have separate departments for boys and girls, as well as for different accessories.

The prestigious furniture and home décor store W & J Sloan located there in 1882. And the Gorham Silver Company, which sold jewelry, tableware, and other silver items, added an opulent Queen Anne-style building in 1884.

The result was “block after block of glittering ladies’ stores” as described in the book Time and Again, by Jack Finney. The district became a cultural icon.

After World War I, the wealthy of New York society moved farther away from the masses, and the businesses followed. The Guided Age ended, and society changed.

Today’s teenagers think they invented the mall culture. However, over a hundred years ago, women clustered, no doubt creating their own fond memories of days spent on the “Ladies' Mile”.

***

 

”Mending Sarah’s Heart” in the Thimbles and Threads Collection

Four historical romances celebrating the arts of sewing and quilting.

Mending Sarah’s Heart by Suzanne Norquist

Rockledge, Colorado, 1884

Sarah seeks a quiet life as a seamstress. She doesn’t need anyone, especially her dead husband’s partner. If only the Emporium of Fashion would stop stealing her customers, and the local hoodlums would leave her sons alone. When she rejects her husband’s share of the mine, his partner Jack seeks to serve her through other means. But will his efforts only push her further away?

 

Suzanne Norquist is the author of two novellas, “A Song for Rose” in A Bouquet of Brides Collection and “Mending Sarah’s Heart” in the Thimbles and Threads Collection. Everything fascinates her. She has worked as a chemist, professor, financial analyst, and even earned a doctorate in economics. Research feeds her curiosity, and she shares the adventure with her readers. She lives in New Mexico with her mining engineer husband and has two grown children. When not writing, she explores the mountains, hikes, and attends kickboxing class.

 

Gault & Galt: A Family Legacy

 By Tiffany Amber Stockton

Only 1 more month until the festivities surrounding the 100th annual Pony Penning Day celebrations, but I'll cover that in July. :) Actually, the famous fair is having a special allowance this year and will be open every weekend during both June and July. I recently shared some family history with my daughter, and that set me to thinking about family legacy.

If you missed last month's post about the Beebe family legacy on Chincoteague, you can view it here.

When History Gets Personal

When I was a little girl, my mom read me the beloved classic Misty of Chincoteague. I was completely captivated—wild ponies, island adventures, brave kids. But the best part? My mom didn’t stop at the story. She followed it up with tales of her own childhood and how her dad actually knew Grandpa Beebe, Paul, and Maureen. Then she pulled out a photo—a real picture—of her standing next to Misty. The Misty.

To little me, it was like finding out my mom and grandfather were local celebrities. In my eyes, they kind of were.

But let’s rewind a bit. Way back to 1919, when my grandfather—Pop-pop, as I called him—was born on Chincoteague Island. His parents, Daniel W. Gault, Sr. and Carrie Jester Gault, each brought a child from previous marriages, and together they had seven more. Pop-pop was the first of those seven. A big, bustling family.

In 1925, when Pop-pop was just six years old, the very first official Pony Penning Day took place. I love imagining him as a little boy, heart racing as he ran toward the beach, waiting for the moment when the saltwater cowboys would herd the wild ponies across the channel from Assateague to Chincoteague for the big auction. That tradition still lives on today, but for him—it was just part of growing up.

The Great Depression hit everyone hard, and my family was no exception. My mom used to tell me how Pop-pop’s father, my great-grandfather, would get creative just to keep the family going. He’d cut up old car tires to use the rubber for resoling shoes. Can you imagine? That kind of grit always stuck with me. By age 13, Pop-pop was already cutting hair in his dad’s barbershop to help make ends meet.

He graduated from high school in 1937, and not long after, the family sold the island barbershop and moved to Washington, D.C. That’s where he met my grandmother, Esther Mae Seiple. They got married after he returned from serving in the Army for five years stationed in the Panama Canal during WWII. After the war, he joined his father once again, this time at the “Father & Son Barber Shop” on Pennsylvania Avenue, just steps from Capitol Hill.

And let me tell you, their client list was impressive. Senators, congressmen, and D.C.’s elite sat in their chairs. It ran in the family, apparently. Another branch of our family, the Galts (spelled without the “u”), owned Galt & Bro., Inc. Jewelers. That shop served U.S. presidents and opened in 1802, right near the White House. The stories that came out of that business—like fixing Abraham Lincoln’s watch during the first shots at Fort Sumpter, or Edith Galt marrying President Woodrow Wilson—could fill an entire book. Maybe that can be my next project.

 

But back to Pop-pop.

Around 1952, not long after Congress opened a barbershop in the Capitol basement, my great-grandfather retired and moved back to Chincoteague. That left Pop-pop running the D.C. shop on his own. He kept it going until 1966 when Safeway bought out the block for a new loading dock. That’s when he, my grandmother, and my mom (who was born in 1950) packed up and moved to Suitland, Maryland.

He rented a chair in a barbershop in Fairfax Village, and that’s where my older brother had his very first haircut. Pop-pop stayed there, cutting hair and telling stories, until 1979 when he returned to his roots on Chincoteague Island. He took over a barbershop there and moved into a little apartment across the street.

That apartment became special to me. I can still picture myself sitting on his knee, spinning wild tales about my brother and me being in some sort of danger, and Pop-pop swooping in to save the day. What can I say? I’ve always been a storyteller...even at age four. :)

Sadly, our time together didn’t last as long as I wish it had. Pop-pop passed away from a heart attack in 1983. I was only seven. But the stories, the history, and the legacy we shared have stayed with me ever since.

And now, through this blog and the books I’m currently writing, his story lives on.

NOW IT'S YOUR TURN:

* Do you have a family story that connects you to a famous place, person, or moment in history? Share how your family’s past has shaped your perspective or inspired you.

* What childhood memory or family tradition still sticks with you today, and why? Whether it’s a holiday ritual, a special person, or a place you visited, we’d love to hear about it.

* Have you ever felt a personal connection to a book or story that tied into your real life? Maybe like me with Misty of Chincoteague, a fictional tale suddenly felt real. What is it?

Leave answers to these questions or any comments on the post below.

** This note is for our email readers. Please do not reply via email with any comments. View the blog online and scroll down to the comments section.

Come back on the 9th of each month for my next foray into historical tidbits to share.

---

BIO

Tiffany Amber Stockton has embellished stories since childhood, thanks to a very active imagination and notations of talking entirely too much. Honing those skills led her to careers as an award-winning and best-selling author and speaker, while also working as a professional copywriter/copyeditor. She loves to share life-changing products and ideas with others to help them get rooted and live a life of purpose.

Currently, she lives with her husband and fellow author, Stuart Vaughn Stockton, along with their two children, three dogs, and three cats in southeastern Kentucky. In her 20+ years as a professional writer, she has sold twenty-six (26) books so far and has agent representation with Tamela Murray of the Steve Laube Agency. You can find her on Facebook and GoodReads.

Old West Love Stories: Ansel Easton and Adeline Mills

by Martha Hutchens

image by Wirestock, deposit photos

Ansel Easton moved to California in 1850 and quickly amassed a fortune selling supplies to steamship lines. By 1857, he owned a 1,500-acre estate where he raised thoroughbred horses. Adeline Mills came from a prominent family known for their leadership in finance. They were married that same year and chose an East Coast honeymoon—a decision they would come to regret.

Their journey to Panama was uneventful, as was the rail crossing to the Atlantic coast. They carried baskets and hampers of food and drink with them, many of them wedding gifts. Then they boarded the SS Central America.

Captain William Herndon, a seasoned naval officer, entertained his passengers with tales of leading the first scientific expedition down the Amazon River. Ansel and Adeline were invited to dine at his table, and Adeline noted her favorable impression of him in her journal.

image by pierluigi1956, deposit photos

The next morning, a storm set in. Most aboard believed it would pass within twenty-four hours. But after two days, the ship was far off course, and the storm showed no signs of letting up. By the third day, the ship’s pumps failed, and all male passengers and crew were ordered to help bail water. Ansel joined the effort. Adeline wanted to help as well, but Ansel asked her not to. During one of his short breaks, he came to see her.

“Ansel,” she said, “if you hadn’t married me, you wouldn’t be in all this trouble.”

His answer? “If I knew it all beforehand, I should do the same again.” Then he returned to bailing.

Another day passed. There was little left to eat on the ship because it had been cut off from its normal supply stops. Adeline remembered the hampers she brought on board and, with great difficulty, made her way to her cabin. Then throughout the night she made periodic rounds, bringing the little food she had.

Later that night, the sea suddenly calmed. But this was only the eye of the hurricane—and the winds surrounding the eye wall are the most powerful. After four days of hurricane-force winds, the Central America could not survive the passage through the far side of the storm. The ship was sinking.

Captain Herndon spotted another vessel, the Marine, also struggling in the storm. He ordered a signal shot fired and a distress flag raised. The Marine’s captain signaled his intent to assist.

image by marzolino, deposit photos

Herndon ordered the lifeboats lowered for the women and children. Adeline didn’t want to leave Ansel, but he convinced her to go, promising he would follow. It took two and a half hours to maneuver the lifeboats through the raging sea to the Marine. The Marine’s captain urged the rescued passengers below deck, but Adeline refused. She waited on deck to meet the lifeboats on their second trip.

When the lifeboats returned with more passengers from the sinking ship, Adeline examined each face. Ansel wasn’t among them. As darkness fell, the sailors refused to return to the Central America.

In her journal, Adeline wrote, “I put my face down in my hands, too wretched to speak, reproaching myself that I had not stayed with him, regretting that I had not defied the captain and all when they ordered us to leave.”

She watched the Central America sink lower in the waves, and finally saw rockets fired downward, the customary signal of a ship going down. “A rocket shot out obliquely,” she wrote. “The lights disappeared beneath the waves and all the world grew dark for me.”

Six days later, the Marine arrived in Norfolk, Virginia. Adeline could scarcely think what to do next.

A harbor pilot brought news. Forty-nine other survivors had been rescued by another ship, the Empire City. He did not know their names, but the Empire City would soon arrive in the bay. Survivors from both vessels lined the rails to watch for familiar faces, though fading evening light made it difficult.

As soon as the Empire City anchored, her captain sought out Adeline to tell her that Ansel had survived. The passengers around her hugged her and shook her hand.

The National Hotel became the gathering point for survivors. Adeline made her way there to reunite with Ansel—but he wasn’t there.

Soon another rescued man explained. Ansel had grown too impatient to wait and had set off to meet her along the road from the harbor. In the darkness, they must have passed one another. Adeline waited in the hotel, and Ansel soon returned to find his bride of four weeks sitting by the fire. They rejoiced to find each other safe.

image by liligraphie, deposit photos

Ansel and Adeline continued on to New York City, then returned to California. They had two children, a son and a daughter. Eleven years after the sinking of the SS Central America, Ansel Easton died. Adeline never remarried. When her daughter died in childbirth, Adeline raised her grandchildren and lived to the age of 86.

Martha Hutchens writes faith-filled Historical Romance with heart, hope, and a touch of small-town charm. A Golden Heart® Award winner and retired homeschool mom, she draws on her love of history and storytelling to craft rich, inspiring tales set on the American frontier and during World War II. She lives in the Ozarks with her husband and a bossy miniature poodle.

Martha's first book, A Steadfast Heart, released in June of 2025.

When his family legacy is on the line, rancher Drew McGraw becomes desperate for someone to tame and tutor his three children. Desperate enough to seek a mail-order bride. But when the wrong woman arrives on his doorstep, Drew balks.

Heiress Kaitlyn Montgomery runs straight from the scandal chasing her toward a fresh start on a secluded ranch. She strikes a bargain with Drew—a marriage convenient for both of them.

But the more Kaitlyn adapts to ranch life and forms a bond with Drew’s children and their enigmatic father, she realizes that this ranch is where she is meant to be. And then her past catches up with her…