This is a blog about music, photography, history, and culture.
These are photographs from my collection that tell a story about lost time and forgotten music.

Mike Brubaker
{ Click on the image to expand the photo }

Have a Seat, Ladies.

26 September 2026

 
"If you please, Miss, you may sit
here at the chaise longue
for your photograph."

"Thank you, I do feel a bit weak at the knees."






"Now if the young lady
will arrange herself at this chair,
I will adjust the camera."

"How's this?"






"Many of our young patrons
find this a very handsome chair
to sit for their portrait."

"Well, it is quite pretty,
but I'd really like my instrument
to get the attention." 






"Our studio offers several choices in chairs, Fräulein.
Which would you prefer?"


"I think this one will do nicely.
There's something about its shape I like."





Skilled photographers know that the key
to a fine portrait is getting their subject
comfortably settled and relaxed
to capture the best of their personality. 
For a musician though,
including their instrument in the picture
requires extra attention
to balance lighting and focus.
When it's done right
the effect can be magical.

Today I present
four elegant cabinet portraits of young women
posed with their musical instrument.

Each one an example of beauty
and camera artistry.


 







My first musician is a clarinetist posed at one end of an fine upholstered chair or settee. She leans over it with her instrument while dreamily gazing upwards to her left. She wears a white formal gown with puffy shoulders and short sleeves. 

Her cabinet photograph was taken by the Putnam Studio of 462 Broadway in Chelsea, Massachusetts, north across the Mystic River from Boston. Putnam was noted for producing many portraits for Boston's society people. On the back is a wonderful dedication from the young woman. 



With best wishes
L Lillian Lutz
Jan 30, 1899
42 Cunard St.
Roxbury  Mass.

Lillian's address on Cunard St in Roxbury is on the south side of Boston, not far from Boston's Museum of Fine Arts and Northeastern University. Her name appears in the 1880 U.S. Census for Charlestown, Massachusetts with her father, Philip Lutz, and mother, Ellen E. Lutz, showing she was born Lena Lillian Lusk on 1 November 1876. That would make her age 22 in this photo. 

Unfortunately, like many Americans born in this era, Lillian's life spans the terrible 20 year gap between the 1880 and 1900 census records caused by a terrible fire in January 1921 at the U.S. Department of Commerce building in Washington, DC. Consequently there are few records from those decades of Lillian's family. The only thing I could find from the 1890s was her mother, Ellen Lutz, listed as "widow of Philip" in the 1899 Charlestown city directory.


Boston, MA Globe
21 January 1899

Her father Philip Lutz worked as a "baker", though not necessarily operating his own bakery. Sadly I found his death notice in the Boston Globe reporting that he died at home on 19 January 1899, just a week before Lillian signed her portrait. This may explain her choice of pose and wistful expression.    

A few years later Lena Lillian Lutz found her way to California, possibly as a member of a Boston Ladies' Orchestra on tour in San Francisco. In January 1904 she married Gerald Groesbeck of New York in Oakland, California with who she had four children. She died in Connecticut in 1973 at age 96.  



* * *




My second musician is another female clarinetist who chose to perch on the arm of an elegant renaissance chair. She wears a formal white dress, too, but in a more demure style without inflated shoulders. She also wear rimless glasses which, while not uncommon in this era, presented the photographer with a lighting challenge to avoid unwanted reflections. 

That photographer was Purdy Studio of 146 Tremont Street in Boston, Massachusetts at "The Richmond" block, which is opposite the historic Boston Commons park. It was a favorite studio for Boston's elite to have a fine portrait taken as well as a production shop that supplied entertainers, politicians, and celebrities with multiple photo prints for promotional and commercial use. On the back this young woman signed and dated her photo.



Oct. 15, 1903
"Feathers"
Clara Akeroyd
 

Clara Beatrice Akeroyd was born in Boston in 1880, the daughter of Evans and Mary Akeroyd. In the 1880 census Evans, age 22, was a professional musician and he and his family were living with his older brother Vincent Akeroyd, age 31, who was also a professional musician. Both were immigrants from England who found lots of musical work playing in bands and orchestras in Boston's thriving theater district. 

However finding Clara's name in the 1880 census at age 5/12 uncovered an unexpected genealogy puzzle. Her uncle Vincent Akeroyd and his wife, Mary E., also had a daughter, age 2, named Clarinda Beatrice Akeroyd. So which Clara was my clarinetist? 

Using clues from newspapers reports and family trees on Ancestry.com I found that in December 1905, a Clara B. Akeroyd  married Joseph H. Saltsman, an attorney, and that they settled in Cleveland, Ohio. But that wasn't a full confirmation. Her cousin, Clarinda B. Akeroyd, seems to have never married, worked as a nurse in WW1 and made it a career serving in the British Red Cross. She lived a long life reaching age 81 on her death in January 1961. But for all I know, Clarinda once played a clarinet, too. 

  

Cleveland, OH Plain Dealer
24 March 1909

Clara B. Saltsman died in March 1909 and Boston newspapers ran notices that her memorial service would be held at the home of her father, Evans Akeroyd. She was survived by her husband and a son. But it was not enough to confirm which Clara is in my photo. Then I found a very small notice of her death in a Cleveland newspaper.

Wife of Lawyer Dies.
    Mrs. Clara B. Saltsman, wife of J. H. Saltsman, attorney, with offices in the Beckman building, died at her home, 3193 W. 25th st., shortly after 7 o'clock last night, after a brief illness. Mrs. Saltsman was formerly a member of the Boston symphony orchestra. 

Evans Akeroyd was a talented clarinet player whose name appears in many reports of band and orchestra concerts in the Boston area from 1880 to his death in 1920. His brother Vincent played violin, viola (even naming one daughter Viola Akeroyd), and altohorn, and also taught music at his home. But Evans seemed to concentrate only on clarinet, and may have played in the Boston Symphony Orchestra, too, perhaps as a sub or extra.

However, I think this simple addition to Clara's report refers to her work in one of Boston's women's orchestras, of which there were several professional groups that played in the Boston area and toured the country. They were not so large as full symphony orchestra but they did perform regularly as professionals.  


[On a side note, Clara Akeroyd's clarinet is unusually long. The common versions of clarinets are the short E-flat, the standard length B-flat, and the slightly longer A clarinet used in orchestras. Clara's is about 2 inches longer, possibly in the unusual key of G. I checked with my clarinet colleagues in my orchestra who confirmed it is too long and not an instrument design that is familiar to them. It might be a basset clarinet, an instrument for which Mozart composed his Clarinet Quintet in A major, K.581 and Clarinet Concerto in A Major, K.622. In any case, I think it is the kind of rare instrument that only a professional clarinetist like Evans Akeroyd might own. And one he would give to his favorite student to play.]




* * *







My third musician is a cornet player casually seated on the corner of a rattan chair. She too wears a white gown with larger puffy shoulders and short elbow-length sleaves. Her face also has that faraway gaze with a hint of a shy smile.    

She left her name and, curiously, her family relationship on the front. 

Your Daughter    Anna

Her full name was Anna K. Burroughs and she was from Marysville, Kansas where she was born in 1870. I have found Anna in a photo of a Boston ladies' orchestras that toured the Midwest in 1898. The photo included a roster of its members so that is how I learned her surname. Anna had previously played as cornet soloist of a celebrated Kansas ladies' military band in Kansas, starting in 1889 at age 19. 

Her cabinet photo was taken by Burkholder & Owens studio of Ashland, Ohio. Though she did not leave a date I believe it was taken in 1898-99 while on tour with this ensemble. I believe Anna Burroughs has a connection to several other portraits of female musicians in my collection, all with a connection to Boston, too, so I will reserve her full story for when I tell about this Boston women's orchestra. 




* * *





My last musician is a young violinist who sits relaxed in fine decorative rattan chair. Wearing a white shirtwaist with a high collar and a dark skirt she looks directly at us with a calm, confident air. Unfortunately she did not sign this photo so her name in unknown, as is the date of her sitting. My best guess is 1898-1900.

Her cabinet photo was taken at Rudolph's Studio at 957 Milwaukee Ave, in Chicago, Illinois. The owner of the studio was Louis Rudolph, and according to a reference I found online he operated his shop on Milwaukee Avenue from 1892 to 1900. Evidently he was rather proud of it as the back of this cabinet photo has a wonderful illustration of the building.




It looks rather narrow, perhaps situated between other larger buildings on the block. Just above the ornate top cornice is a curved nameplate with RUDOLPH and above the ground floor windows is Louis - Rudolph. Lettering on the upper widows advertiser his price for photos—12 cabinets and a life size crayon $4.75; Cabinets $2.00 per dozen; Children's pictures a specialty. At the entrance is an octagonal kiosk showing examples of his photo work. Sadly the building and address are no long visible in Chicago. But the quality photography that Mr. Rudolph created was preserved and gives us an appreciation for Chicago's musical culture.









This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday
where summer days can last as long as you like.



 

The Flagship

20 September 2026

 
It's a curiously simple collage picture,
a watercolor painting of a naval warship
steaming through a blue-green sea
next to a vignette of a handsome bearded man
who wears a flashy regal uniform and is framed
in a laurel wreath above two billowing flags.

In the lower corner is the artist's signature:
Willy Stöwer 

I recognized the name as I have collected
many of this German illustrator's nautical artworks on postcards,
but this uncomplicated picture intrigued me for two reasons.
The postmark date is 1898, placing it
at the beginning of the postcard age
as one of 
Stöwer's earliest postcards.
And that man was not the portrait I expected
to find on a 1898 German postcard.

Who was he? 

 Finding the answer uncovered a history of a failed empire.


SMS Deutschland in 1898 at  
Source: Wikimedia

The ship was called S.M.S. Deutschland for Seiner Majestät Schiff (His Majesty's Ship) in the Kaiserliche Marine (Imperial Navy), the navy of the German Empire which existed between 1871 and 1919. In 1898 when the photo above was taken, the S.M.S. Deutschland was the flagship of the German navy's East Asia Squadron. Here it is anchored in the harbor of Port Arthur, now known as Dalian, in Liaoning province, People's Republic of China. The position of the ship and its surroundings are very like the illustration on this postcard, but the dates do not align, which I'll explain later. 

The S.M.S. Deutschland was the second and final ship of the Kaiser-class of ironclad warships built for Germany by the Samuda Brothers shipyard in London, England. These Kaiser-class ships were ordered just after the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-71 which was won by the North German Confederation states which soon became the German Empire under the King of Prussia, Wilhelm I. These modern ironclad warships were considered military insurance against any future French mischief. The keel was laid down in 1872, it was launched in September 1874, and she was commissioned on 20 July 1875. It would be the last capital ship built by a foreign ship-builder for the German Navy. For the next 43 years all its warships would be built in Germany, with many more to come.   



The full postcard shows the picture of the ship centered with lots of empty space along the borders for a message. A caption explains the scene:
Flaggschiff "Deutschland" verlässt Kiel
~
Flagship "Deutschland" leaves Kiel

The sender's message is in German and dated 9 III 98. The writer had so much to say that they risked annoying the Imperial German Postal Service by continuing onto the back, which in 1898 was strictly verboten!  The card was sent from Altona, a district of the port city of Hamburg on 9 March 1898 and arrived the next day in Steinhorst, a town in Schleswig-Holstein about 30 miles east of Hamburg. The sender had a florid style and the last name is partly covered by the postmarks but I think it is addressed to Frau(?) Aug. Bruchmüller(?) of Steinhorst. 



The S.M.S. Deutschland was 293 ft (89 m) long and had a beam of 62 ft 8 in (19.1 m). It burned coal to fire eight boilers providing power to one 2-cylinder single-expansion steam engine that turned one screw propeller. On full throttle it could make 14.6 knots (27.0 km/h; 16.8 mph) and with less steam travel 3,200 nmi (5,900 km; 3,700 mi) before needing to re-coal. It was armed with one 21 cm (8.3 in) gun and eight 26 cm (10.2 in) guns, and carried a complement of 32 officers and 568 sailors.

In the 1870s steam-powered ships were still thought undependable had not yet become the dominant maritime vessel so the Deutschland was equipped with three masts rigged for sails. It's first service was in squadrons sent to the Mediterranean as Germany, a new empire, was eager to compete with other nations to be a major world power. In the summer of 1889, the Deutschland joined the German fleet which traveled to Great Britain to celebrate the coronation of Kaiser Wilhelm II. This fleet now had many ships larger and faster than the Deutschland so it was relegated to the training squadron based in the North Sea. 


SMS Deutschland before 1896
Source: Wikimedia

As more navies around the world began expanding their fleets, Kaiser Wilhelm II pushed Germany's shipbuilders harder. During maneuvers in the fall of 1894, the German navy simulated a two-front war against France and Russia. The Deutschland's squadron acted as the Russian fleet during the exercises.

Following this, the Deutschland was rebuilt at the Imperial Dockyard in Wilhelmshaven and converted into an armored cruiser. Work was finished in January 1897 when it rejoined the fleet. It now had thicker, heavier armor; a secondary battery of eight 15 cm guns; four auto-cannon for defense against torpedo boats; and five torpedo tubes mounted in the ship's hull below the waterline. The center mizenmast was replaced with a lighter pole used just for signaling. This was the ship that Willy Stöwer painted for this postcard. 


Willy Stöwer (1864–1931) in his studio, 1903.
Source: Wikipedia

Willy Stöwer, born in 1864 in Wolgast, a town on the Baltic coast, was the son of a sea captain and as a young man trained as a metalworker and engineering technician in German shipyards. He was a self-taught artist whose first work came from commissions to illustrate nautical scenes of commercial steamships and naval warships. He proved to be a very prolific artist, and over a career from 1892 to d 1929 created over 900 black-and-white and 335 color illustrations for 57 books, as well as countless  posters, postcards, trading-cards, labels, brochures and calendars. Stöwer's artwork was praised by Kaiser Wilhem II and he became the Emperor's favorite naval painter, sometimes accompanying him on several sea junkets around Europe.  As we can see in this photo of him in his studio, Stöwer painted on really big canvases which was probably part of his artwork's appeal to the people who lived in very big houses.  

The man whose portrait Stöwer painted on my postcard of the Flaggschiff Deutschland confused me because this was not Kaiser Wilhelm, whose imperial visage was instantly recognizable for his Prussian mustache with upturned points. This man's trimmed beard more resembled George, Duke of York, the future King George V, or his first cousin, Tsar Nicolas II. 



George, Duke of York and Tsar Nicholas II, circa 1890s
Source: the Internets

As it happens the man on my postcard was actually related to all three. He was Prince Heinrich of Prussia (1862–1929), the younger brother of Kaiser Wilhelm II. Their mother was Victoria, Princess Royal (1840–1901) who was Queen Victoria's eldest child, which made Heinrich, like Wilhelm, a first cousin of King George V (1865–1936). 

The German royal family was also related to the Russian Tsar Nicholas II (1868–1918) , so that Heinrich and Wilhelm were Nicolas's second cousins once removed through descent from King Frederick William III of Prussia, and third cousins as great-great-grandsons of Tsar Paul I of Russia. One can see Victorian genetic connection in the photo above, George on the left and Nicholas on the right. It was taken in the 1890s but I've been unable to find a source for the original image. Of the three cousins, Heinrich, born in 1862 is the oldest, and Nicholas, born in 1868 was the youngest.



Prince Heinrich of Prussia (1862–1929)
pastel by Max Krusemark, 1902
Source: Wikimedia

This portrait of Prince Heinrich of Prussia was made in 1902 by German artist Max Krusemark. The features and uniform resemble Stöwer's smaller portrait, but I think that is a coincidence since most royalty learned at an early age to model their uniforms in their most favored photogenic style. 

Since Heinrich's older brother was destined to become the German Emperor, Heinrich followed a different path. When he was 15 years old he entered the Imperial Navy cadet program which began with a two-year voyage around the world (1878–1880). He passed his first naval officer examination in October 1880 and began attending the German naval academy (1884–1886). In 1887, he was given command of a torpedo boat and then simultaneously the First Torpedo Boat Division. The next year he was made commander of the Imperial Yacht S.M.Y. Hohenzollern. 

When the S.M.S. Deutschland was refitted in 1897 for a return to service, Prince Heinrich was already an experienced seaman with the rank of Konteradmiral. In December 1897 as commander of the East Asia Squadron Heinrich left Kiel onboard his flagship Deutschland along with a second warship. They arrived in Hong Kong in March 1898. Since this date is the same as when my postcard was sent, it seems impossible that the photo of the Deutschland at Port Arthur harbor was used for Stöwer's painting of it. 

It was a chaotic time for a warship to be in Asian waters. In April 1898 the Spanish–American War (April 21 – August 13, 1898) began with the sinking of the USS Maine in Havana Harbor in Cuba. Soon the United States Navy was steaming towards Manila Bay in the Philippines where on May 1, Commodore Dewey, commanding the Asiatic Squadron aboard USS Olympia, defeated a Spanish squadron. In a matter of weeks the United States acquired the Spanish foreign possessions and become a major colonial world power. 

The Asian region was still recovering from the First Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895) when a modernized Japanese army sought to acquire the Korean peninsula from China. It was followed by the 1895 Japanese invasion of Taiwan which Japan occupied for the next 50 years.    

The S.M.S. Deutschland remained in China until 1900 before returning to Germany, though I don't know if Prince Heinrich stayed for the duration. In any case the ship and its crew were there during the turbulent Boxer Rebellion (1899-1901), an uprising of North Chinese peasants who feared the expansion of foreign spheres of influence. Militant groups of these peasants, called Boxers because they practiced Chinese martial arts, which in this era was called "Chinese boxing", attacked foreigners, destroyed property and railroads, and murdered Chinese Christians and missionaries. 

This conflict is remembered for the Siege of the International Legations in Beijing (June 20 – August 14, 1900), The 55 day siege was lifted by a military force of the Eight-Nation Alliance—comprising American, Austro-Hungarian, British, French, German, Italian, Japanese, and Russian troops—that invaded China to relieve the besieged legations. They did not march there. They came by ship.

I've greatly compressed this history yet hope it can still explain how this era of colonial expansion by European powers and the new colonial might of the United State was a time of tremendous stress for the world. There were countless conflicts everywhere that involved people fighting against colonial grievances, class injustice, and religious and ethnic oppression, many of which remain complex problems in the 21st century. 

At the turn of the beginning of the 20th century battleships were a way of measuring world power. The S.M.S. Deutschland was just one small ship that served a specific function but it became almost obsolete when it was first commissioned in 1875. When it returned to Germany in late 1900 it was relegated as a harbor ship and renamed Jupiter as a new battleship class would take over the name Deutschland. In 1906 it was removed from the naval register and in 1907 converted into a target ship by adding more watertight bulkheads and ballast. Beginning in June 1908 the ship was deployed in several exercises where multiple battleships and cruisers shelled it. Though it sustained around 140 hits from calibers ranging from 24 cm (9.4 in) down to 10.5 cm (4.1 in), it was not significantly damaged by shell hits above the waterline. However she was sunk twice by shells that struck the water and penetrated the hull below the side armor. 

The results of this target practice on an armored cruiser demonstrated that warships were difficult to sink by shellfire alone, but they were vulnerable to the until-then unknown phenomenon of diving shells. The Jupiter/Deutschland was raised both times after she sank, but after the last raising she was sold for scrap in 1908. 


Prinz Heinrich Cigaretten, circa 1910
Source: Wikimedia

Like royalty around the world, Prince Heinrich took advantage of his celebrity status and licensed his likeness for commercial use. This photo shows his portrait on a tin box for cigarettes. Printed inside the box was a company claim: 

"Prinz Heinrich cigarettes, made from the finest turkish tobacco, are proof that German-made cigarettes far succeed Egyptian brands. Sole manufacturer / Adler Compagnie Cigarettenfabrik Aktien -Gesellschaft Dresden"

The tragic irony here is that Prince Heinrich died of throat cancer on 20 April 1929 at his estate on the Baltic coast.


S.M.S. „Prinz Heinrich“ takes coal in the port of Kiel, circa 1902
painting by Willy Stöwer
Source: Wikimedia

By the time S.M.S. Deutschland was being broken up for scrap, Prince Heinrich had reached the rank of Großadmiral and made Inspector General of the Imperial Navy. At the start of World War One he was commander-in-chief of the Baltic Fleet. In 1902 he was honored by getting his name on his own armored cruiser, the S.M.S. Prinz Heinrich. And of course, Willy Stöwer painted a picture of it. 

The Prinz Heinrich was longer than the Deutschland, at 415 ft (126.5 m) but about as wide. It bristled with armament, including two 24 cm (9.4 in) guns, ten 15 cm (5.9 in), ten 8.8 cm (3.5 in), and four torpedo tubes. It was capable of reaching 20 knots powered by three triple-expansion steam engines, each with it own screw propeller. Surprisingly the ship's complement was a little less than the Deutschland with 35 officers and 532 sailors. During the war the Prinz Henrich served mainly in the Baltic participating in mine-laying and clashes with the Russian navy. In 1916 it was in need of repairs and deemed unsuitable for combat. Her main battery guns were removed and converted into heavy railway guns for use on land. The ship was taken off the navy register and moved to the imperial shipyard in Kiel where for the remaining years of the war the Prinz Henrich served as a floating headquarters for Prince Heinrich, the commander in chief of naval forces in the Baltic. 
 
Prince Heinrich seems to have genuinely earned the many medals and awards he wore on his uniforms. During his life he was an avid automobile driver who promoted the first auto races in Germany. He also was one of the first royalty to travel in Graf Zeppelin's airships. And when the Wright brothers brought their airplane to Germany, Prince Heinrich earned one of the first pilot licenses. Though I expect he followed his elder brother's political policies, I have to wonder what he thought about the terrible war that began in that fateful summer of 1914. Unlike Wilhelm, Heinrich had a broad military experience and surely understood the powerful and horrific havoc which was released upon the world. 

Prince Heinrich of Prussia (1862–1929)
photograph by Emil Bieber, 1913
Source: Wikimedia

This last photo appeared in a book entitled "Men around the Kaiser; the makers of modern Germany"  by Frederic William Wile, a prominent American journalist who worked as a Berlin correspondent for the London Daily Mail and the New York Times. About Prince Heinrich he wrote:

    It was under the personal supervision of the Kaiser's brother that the German Navy rose to the emergency with promptitude and thoroughness and made itself ready, as if overnight, to hold its own in the new conditions of sea warfare.  That is why the Admiral Royal, whose pictures so often make him look like a twin of King George or the Czar, holds a place in the affections of his Fatherland almost second to none.  Germans have had few national idols since Bismarck. Prince Henry is one of them.
    
    Thoroughly imbued with the democracy of the sea, with an active career of more than thirty years to his credit, Prince Henry is a sailor-man through and through—an admiral first and a Prince after- wards.  He has had little time, and less inclination for the luxurious pastimes of his royal estate.  The fashions and frivolities of Court life have never appealed to him.  His hobby is the sea, and he is happiest when cultivating it.  Naval cadet at sixteen, when the fleet was little more than a flotilla of nondescript frigates; battleship-captain at thirty, and rear-admiral four years later, 1906 found Prince Henry commander-in-chief of the homogeneous squadrons which the German Admiralty keeps assembled in home waters as one great sledge-hammer entity, steam up and eager to deliver the decisive blow at the psychological moment. An apostle of the "Ready, aye ready!" policy of perpetual preparedness for war, he was fitted both by temperament and training for the leadership of the Empire's battle forces afloat.

    Only the most urgent diversions, such as important foreign missions on behalf of the Kaiser, enticed
him from his flagship at Kiel, where, too, he has long had his home.  A stickler for discipline, his indomitable energy and devotion to duty were at once the marvel and inspiration of the entire Fleet.  German naval officers are notoriously the hardest working—and hardest-worked—in the world. They
had a constant example in Prince Henry.  He took a deep interest in the men behind the guns and the unseen heroes of the hold.  Regardless of personal comfort he participated regularly in the long
practice cruises of the High Seas Fleet in and out of season, and he is to-day given chief credit for the strategic and tactical skill which the Kaiser's battle squadrons have attained.  After Prince Henry hoisted his farewell signal as Commander-in-Chief of the Fleet three years ago, he was rowed ashore from his flagship by a crew of lieutenants, a pretty and affectionate tribute to the esteem in which the Navy cherishes him. 


Prince Heinrich of Prussia (1862–1929)
Photograph by Ernest Flagg, 1914
Source: Wikipedia

This story turned out to be a biography, naval history, and art review all-in-one. I had not expected to discover such a prominent, but now largely forgotten, historic figure as Prince Heinrich of Prussia hidden in a postcard. The S.M.S. Deutschland was not an important ship and did not participate in any great sea battles. Instead it represents a little cog in a gigantic military-industrial complex which led the nations of the world to war in 1914. Untold millions of marks, dollars, and pounds were spent on naval warships, each larger and more weaponized than those before. The race between nations to build the largest navy of dreadnaught-size battleships is considered one of the causes of the Great War. Tragically these monstrous and expensive battleships were not a decisive factor during the war. Instead it was new destructive inventions of machine guns, barbed wire, submarines, and airplanes that changed how a war is waged.

Looking backwards at the history of the Great War allows us to see how international political relations broke down; how military decisions were forced upon entire populations; and how futile it was to spend incalculable public money on a conflict that could never be won. In 1898 the outcome could not have been predicted or even imagined, but the wheels and cogs of the military-industrial complex kept turning relentlessly and mindlessly. That is how empires fail. I worry that in 2026 we are facing the same kind of unimaginable dreadful future. 



Prinz-Heinrich-Mütze
Prince Henry yachting hat
Source: Wikimedia



I can't resist adding one more historic note on Prince Heinrich. He was clearly a sailor who loved all kinds of ships and boats. Outside of the navy he enjoyed participating in yachting, basically a recreation on big sailboats. His naval uniforms were inappropriate for what was essentially an activity for civilians, albeit wealthy ones. So he popularized a wool cap that was the headgear of the Imperial Yacht Club. It is known today as a Prinz-Heinrich-Mütze or Prince Henry cap. It is usually made of corduroy in dark blue, black, or gray. It is similar to a mariner's cap, also called a Greek fisherman's hat, which I have in my wardrobe and wear in the cooler fall and winter months.  


However there is another hat in my home that looks pretty close to being a Prince Henry cap, too. It is on a bust of my father-in-law, Isador Caplan, who many years ago was honored for his generous contributions to a British arts organization by having his likeness preserved in bronze. The artist did such an amazingly accurate sculpture that Isador's glasses and his hat fit perfectly. Isador passed away many years ago but his bust is a treasure my wife and I are proud to display and tell stories about his life. I think he would be very pleased at his cap's connection to Prince Heinrich of Prussia.










This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday
where most folks are tied up securely to the dock.


The R. S. C. Orchestra of Rogersville, Tennessee

12 September 2026

 
This is Cecile Justa Bidez
with her father Dr. Leon Aloys Bidez.
Cecile, age 17, played cello
(her bow is in motion)
and Dr. Bidez, age 50, played violin.
Both were college music teachers.






This is Eva Elsa Bidez
Dr. Bidez's eldest daughter.
She plays violin and
in this photo is age 24.
She was also a music teacher.






This is Hope Amy Bidez
Dr. Bidez's youngest daughter.
She is 15 years old
and plays cornet
.






Between them are the rest of their college orchestra,
1st Row (L — R) 
        Hattie McArthur,
                                                   Albert Price,
                                                                                        Miss L. Franklin,    
                                                                                                                                        Georgia Smith

 






2nd Row
        Jennie Mather,
                                        Mary Logan Caldwell,
                                                                            Helen Brown,
                                                                                                        Nell Divine,
                                                                                                                                 Mary Haverly
3rd Row
                Miss Loonet,
                                                "Bob" Caldwell,   alias, Auntie Dinah's darlint'.
                                                                                                Lulu Hale
                                                                                                                                Lida Merriman
4th Row
            Maude Haltenbeck
                                                                    Ruth Powell
                                                                                                            Will Graybill


They were all members
of the Rogersville Synodical College. 
And sometime around 1898 they posed outside
at the entrance of one of their college buildings.



This large format photograph shows a group of 19 musicians, all young women except for two young men, with their music director, Dr. Bidez. There are five violinists including Dr. Bidez; three mandolinists; three guitarists; four pianists, each holding a symbolic roll of music; two percussionists on snare drum and tambourine; a cellist; and one cornetist.  

I can confidently provide all their names because they were all neatly identified on the back of the photo.  




However figuring out the location was a challenge
because there is no imprint of a photographer
and the ensemble's name was just an abbreviation
written above the photo on the card mount.

R. S. C.  Orchestra


The name of the director was written as just "Dr. Bidez" but the surname proved to be unusual enough to be distinctive in archive searches, as did the names of his three daughters: Eva, Cecile, and Hope Bidez. I found all of them, except for Hope, in the 1900 U. S. Census for Rogersville, Tennessee. Listed on a single census page, with 50 lines for each individual, is the entire school population for that year—principals, teachers, and students for the Rogersville Synodical College.  

Leo A. Bidez, "Teacher of Music", was 52, born in August 1847 in Belgium to Belgian parents. He immigrated to the United States in 1876. His daughter Eve E. Bidez, also a "Teacher of Music", age 26, was born in April 1874 in Belgium. She immigrated a year later in 1877. Her younger sister Cecile J. Bidez, age 19, was born in March 1874 in North Carolina. Her occupation was also "Teacher of Music". Hope Bidez was not listed but I discovered her life facts later.

There were 30 students, all young women ranging from ages 13 to 22, averaging to 17½ years. Most were from Tennessee or Kentucky, with a few from Virginia, South Carolina, Georgia, Ohio, and even one young lady from Nebraska. 

Besides the three Bidez music teachers, there were two teachers of Latin, and one each for Art, Elocution, and Primary, all single women. There were two principals, Nannie McVeigh, the "Lady Principal" and William M. Graybill, "Head principal". Only Graybill and Dr. Bidez were married but it seems Mrs. Bidez was not then a resident. Principal Graybill's youngest son, William M, Graybill, Jr., who is the guitarist seated right on the bottom row, is age 18 in the census. But I think in this photo he looks younger, more like age 16, so that is how I calculated the ages of the Bidez family members.     

Rogersville is located in the northeast corner of Tennessee in the rugged ridge and valley region west of the Appalachian Mountains. It's actually just 90 miles northwest of my home in Asheville, North Carolina. Rogersville has always been a small town despite being the county seat of Hawkins County, and it current population in 2020 is 4,671 residents. In 1900 it was much smaller with only 1,386 residents. But that was still large enough to have a school of higher learning.  

According to a 1893 report in Higher Education in Tennessee by Lucius Salisbury Merriam, Construction of the school began in 1849 after the Independent Order of Odd Fellows (IOOF) purchased a 66 acre parcel in Rogersville. In September of the following year it opened with 116 pupils as the Odd Fellows Female Seminary, which seems a strange oxymoron as the Odd Fellows were a non-sectarian and non-political fraternal men's society. In any case, the society was soon unable to afford the expense of operating a school and the property was sold to a joint stock company made up of members of Rogersville's Presbyterian churches. 

The school prospered before the Civil War but had difficulties afterward. In around 1880 it came under direction of the Presbyterian Synod of Nashville, Tennessee, which advanced its mission to become a female college in 1892. For the 1890-91 school year the college claimed 170 students and 13 teachers. It seems likely that the 1900 census record listed only those students living on campus and there were many more who lived in the town of Rogersville. 

In 1897 the Rogersville Synodical College engaged Dr. Brez and his two eldest daughters to teach music there. That summer Dr. Brez's name was included in newspaper advertisements for the college.


Chattanooga Daily Times
30 July 1897

    ROGERSVILLE SYNODICAL COLLEGE — The strong faculty, increased advantages, healthful location, beautiful college home and moderate rates continue to attract a large attendance of excellent young ladies to this old and honored institution.  The patrons of the school are pleased with the mental, social and moral culture of their daughters, and realize that they have at Rogersville the best advantages and kindest attention at very low rates.  Conservatory course of music with four teachers.  Director,  L. A. Bidez, LL. D., graduate of University of Brussels and Royal Conservatory, Germany.  Forty-eighth session begins Sept. 8, 1897.  For catalogue, address. 
                                                                                W. M. GRAYBILL, President, Rogersville, Tenn. 


I found Dr. Bidez in a family tree on Ancestry.com. His full name was Leon Aloys Henri Bidez which allowed for more name and initial combinations in search through newspaper reports on him. After his arrival in America he used Aloys Bidez fro several years. Then in the 1890s it was just L. A. Bidez, sometimes with the honorific Dr. or Prof.   
  
Compared to many music teachers of this era, Dr. Bidez earned an advanced  degree and studied with notable teachers in Belgium. According to a 1934 newspaper report on the Bidez family, Leon's father was fortunate to win a lottery exempting him from military service. Instead he got an education, entered the Belgian civil service, and eventually earned a promotion to a high office in the Belgian treasury. For this he was given a splendid jeweled sword from King Leopold II (which was the reason for this report.)   

When Leon was a young man he also won the same lottery exemption and used his freedom to study law and music. Evidently his musical talent won his heart as he became proficient on piano, organ, violin, and clarinet. In 1876 he came to America to take a position in one of New York's orchestra. Unfortunately an Atlantic storm lengthened his voyage and when he arrived the position had been filled. 

Charlotte, NC Observer
12 July 1878

After staying in New York for a short time, he arranged for his wife and two children to join him and moved to the Cleveland, Ohio area. In 1878 he was engaged as a music teacher by the Charlotte Institute for Young Ladies in North Carolina. Advertisements for the school promoted him as "a distinguished teacher of Vocal and Instrumental music, of Harmony, Through-base (sic) and Orchestration. and himself an author of a Text-book on Piano-Forte teaching." 

By 1881 the school had renamed itself as the Charlotte Female Institute and described its music department under Dr. Bidez as "unrivalled in the South for the thoroughness and high grades in culture."  The institute also took pride in its several "instructresses" of modern languages, mathematics and natural sciences, history, literature, and art. Today the institute is known as Queens University of Charlotte.

Savannah, GA Morning News
3 September 1887

Some time around 1885 Dr. Bidez and family moved to Rome, Georgia where he became a music teacher at a women's college there. This school was founded in 1873 as the Cherokee Baptist Female College by the pastor of Rome's Baptist Church. A few years later it became the Shorter Female College to acknowledge the financial contributions of Alfred and Martha Shorter. In the 1880s it adjusted its name to Shorter College, possibly to placate parents who considered their daughter's height to be average or even tall. This private Baptist school is now know as Shorter University. 

The Bidez family lived in Rome for only a few years when they left in 1889 for Lexington, Kentucky where Dr. Bidez was engaged as a music teacher at Hamilton College, another school for young women. It was established by a banker, James M. Hocker, in 1869 as the Hocker Female College. In 1878, like Shorter College, it changed its name to Hamilton College in honor of a generous benefactor. It was at this point Leon Aloys Bidez began using the initials Dr. L. A. Bidez in reports of his conducting concerts, playing church organ, and giving violin recitals with his daughters. This school closed in 1932, during the Great Depression, when the number of students declined.

Lexington, KY Herald Leader
23 July 1891

This job did not last very long at all and by the summer of 1891 the Bidez family uprooted themselves to be replanted in the great prairieland of Emporia, Kansas. A Lexington newspaper notice showed that they auctioned off a lot of fine household items before the move. In Emporia, Prof. L. A. Bidez taught music at the State Normal School. Newspaper reports cited his educational background and the talent of his two daughters on violin, mandolin, and piano. A Normal School was a common type of college for training teachers, primarily for women but also men. Evidently Bidez schedule was relatively light as he found time in 1892 to travel back to Brussels, Belgium to visit his parents. He sent a letter to the Emporia newspaper describing city life in Belgium in contrast to American cities. He considered America better.    

In the summer of 1897 Bidez returned to the east where he and his daughter's Eva and Cecile were hired by the Rogersville Synodical College. Later that fall he received the sad news of his father's death. He seems to have stayed in Rogersville through the winter as he conducted or performed several concerts. But I suspect he returned to Belgium sometime in the next year or two as his name came up several times in Tennessee newspapers until disappearing in 1900. The school must have been suffering financial difficulties as it canceled its 1903-04 school year. In 1916 the Synodical College closed though the school continued to provide grammar and high school classes. Over the next decade the college buildings were demolished and the property was bought by the city of Rogersville which turned it into a public school for preK to 8th grade. In 2023 it celebrated its 100th anniversary.   

In 1901 Dr. Bidez was in Maryland playing piano at the commencement exercises at Mount Saint Mary's College and Seminary, a Catholic college for men and now a co-ed university. Whether he was engaged as a music teacher there or at its companion school, Saint Joseph's Academy, a Catholic school for girls is unknown.

All I can tell from newspaper reports is that from 1902 the Bidez were now living in Emmitsburg, Maryland, just south of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, where these two schools are considered the foundation for the Catholic parochial school system in the United States. One report on a June 1902 commencement at St. Joseph's Academy for Girls listed the names of Hope Bidez and Alix Bidez, the youngest sister, as playing violin and mandolin at the event. So perhaps this move was for advancing his daughter's education. As Emmitsburg is relatively close to Harrisburg, Washington, D. C., Baltimore, and Philadelphia this may have provided other cultural advantages for a musician like Dr. Bidez. 




However I suspect Dr. Bidez was developing health problems as sometime around 1905 he and his wife moved to Columbia, Tennessee, southwest of Nashville, to be close to one of his daughters who was now married. On 1 June 1909 Leon Aloys Henri Bidez died there after a lengthy illness. He was 61. He was survived by his wife, two sons, and four daughters. 



* * *

This story of Dr. Leon Aloys Bidez is not the one I expected to write about. After I properly identified him and his three daughters, placed them on the steps of a now forgotten school building in a tiny rural town, and figured out their narrow time frame of three years at the end of the 19th century, I might have ended it there. But I was intrigued by how a man from Belgium ended up in East Tennessee. He arrived in America in 1876 on the centennial year of our nation's founding. The Statue of Liberty would not grace New York's harbor for another decade. He clearly brought with him a special talent for music along with the skills to teach it. His background in what we now call classical music was not a sub-genre then. It was all the traditions of French, German, Italian operas, symphonies, and chamber music of Europe. He likely thought of it as the contemporary music of his time.

As a genuine professor, Dr. Bidez was in contrast to thousands of American musicians of the day who assumed that honorific, "Prof." just through their talent on an instrument, usually cornet, and their ambition to lead a band or orchestra. They had no educational credentials or degrees like Bidez. His knowledge of harmony, orchestration, and instrumental technique was the result of long study at a European conservatory, a type of music institution that was limited to only a few places in America.       
 
Bidez was also an example of a great cultural exchange in 19th century America when countless European musicians immigrated here to play in professional orchestras and bands. Perhaps he aspired to do exactly that, but circumstances in his life put him onto a different path as a music teacher. It helped that he had three talented daughters to inspire him.

When I began uncovering his career path I was surprised at the type of small academic institutions he found work. The development of small colleges in America, especially as railroad lines began linking town after town in the late 19th century was one of the important developments in the history of American public education. But we forget that in this era many schools of higher learning were restricted to men only. Yet Dr. Bidez found employment in schools for women, at a time when women were subject to many more civil restrictions and societal obstacles than they have in our 21st century. 

As I've outlined in this story, Dr. Bidez taught music at six different female institutions, possibly more. These schools promoted for young women a standard academic curriculum of Latin, elocution, literature, math, etc., but classes in music and art showcased a school's commitment to refined culture. I doubt that any mother and father expected to see their daughter become a successful concert pianist or opera singer. But they very likely believed such an arts education would provide their girl with better prospects in marriage.   

I came across the Rogersville Synodical College in an article found in a 1912 education journal entitled: The School Review, vol. 20, p. 458. Though the article was written over a decade after Dr. Bidez and his daughters taught there, the author was still describing the same college educational opportunities available to women in this era. Here is an excerpt from the beginning of the article: 


by Elizabeth Avery Colton 
Meredith College, Raleigh, North Carolina 

    There are in the South one hundred and forty-two colleges for women distributed as follows: in Maryland, seven; in Virginia, thirteen; in West Virginia, Florida, and Oklahoma, one each; in North Carolina, eighteen; in South Carolina, ten; in Georgia and Alabama, nine each; in Mississippi and Texas, fourteen each; in Louisiana, five; in Arkansas, two; in Missouri, eleven; in Kentucky, fifteen; and in Tennessee, twelve. North Carolina appears ignominiously to head the list; but an equally close-range searchlight might prove several other states guilty of an equally absurd number of nominal colleges. For three institutions in Kentucky and an additional twelve in Tennessee failed to respond to requests for catalogues. In fact, I am not absolutely sure that the above numbers are complete for any state except North Carolina. But as hardly a fifth of the institutions enumerated are giving any standard college courses, it is safe to assume that no institution doing any college work has been omitted.

    Only four of all the colleges for women in the South have been recognized by the Association of Colleges of the Southern States; and only six others are included by the Specialist in Higher Education in either his third or his fourth class. The remaining hundred and thirty-one southern colleges for women have never been classified according to any national or sectional standard. I have, therefore, attempted to formulate a basis of classification which might indicate, however inadequately, some distinction between institutions which are merely inferior secondary schools and those which are really doing more or less college work. With this object in view, I have during the past year compiled statistics showing the specific admission requirements announced in the catalogues of southern colleges for women; and with these statistics as a basis I have grouped all these institutions under the following heads:

    1. Institutions belonging to the Association of Colleges of the Southern States.

    2. Institutions offering from three to four years above standard collegeentrance requirements, but not conforming to the regulations of the Association of Colleges of the Southern States.

    3. Institutions counting two or more years of preparatory work toward a baccalaureate degree.

    4. Institutions counting from three to four years of preparatory work toward a baccalaureate degree.


Using these rules the author goes into detail, assigning only four colleges to the first group; thirty-four in the second group; forty-nine in the third; and fifty-five in the fourth group. Rogersville Synodical College and Hamilton College in Lexington were placed in this last group as examples of so-called "colleges" which actually only offered a secondary level education and did not deserve to be called a college. The author's main critique was that most Southern colleges for women did not follow accepted collegiate curriculums and failed to engage enough fully credentialed faculty. They also accepted younger girls who had not finished high school. Essentially what her research showed was that most of these institutions were really only preparatory or "finishing" schools that failed to deliver proper degrees in higher education.    

This next excerpt from this review of Southern colleges for women caught my attention because it directly comments on the use of music in these schools. 


    The tendency on the part of the southern girl to specialize before she has acquired even a good high-school education causes one of the leading distinctions between eastern and southern colleges for women. Of the 1,030 students now at Vassar, for example, only 100 are taking lessons in piano, voice, organ, and violin, combined; at Greensboro Female College, on the other hand, there were last year out of a total registration of 215 exactly 151 studying music. This proportion of music students-one-tenth at Vassar and nearly three-fourths at Greensboro-is, I find, typical of women's colleges in the East and in the South; and perhaps I should add that even the few who study music in eastern colleges are working primarily for an academic degree. This is not true of the majority of music students in southern colleges. Eastern colleges do not try to compete with conservatories, and they no more think of advertising their music departments than their departments of mathematics. A department of music is, of course, indispensable in a woman's college; but if an institution wishes to be recognized as a college, it is safer for it not to try to be "the leading conservatory of music in the South!"



We have to wonder if Dr. Bidez thought he was making a difference for the young women he taught in these colleges. Did he envision a world where women gained the right to vote, found careers in law, business, science, and even music? Did he dream that his daughters' talents might earn them a life on the concert stage or a position teaching at a conservatory? I suspect that like every good teacher he hoped his lessons would motivate a young person to become the very best they could be.










This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday
where it's ladies day all weekend.




nolitbx

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