I know I’m supposed to be working my way through the journalist’s questions and discussing the who, what, when, where, why, and how of collecting, but this time I thought I’d take a break and travel down memory lane.

Have you ever noticed how some of the briefest childhood interests or quietest traits end up following us into adulthood? That’s certainly the case with me—as the story of my first Depression Glass show reveals.

Any other teenager would have preferred to stay home on a Sunday afternoon, but I was eager to accompany my mother on her quest. We’d be leaving our suburban neighborhood for Jacksonville Beach and the Depression Glass show and sale that was being held at a hotel there. I wasn’t particularly interested in going to a glass show, but I, usually an introverted homebody, was surprisingly up for the adventure.

Mom had received two incomplete sets of glassware from her own mother and wanted to learn more about them. In the early 1980s, most people had no idea how to discover anything about the antiques they owned, other than through Ralph and Terry Kovel’s newspaper column or an occasional magazine article.

Identification and price guides were being published then, but you had to know they existed in the first place to be able to look for them in libraries or bookstores. We hadn’t discovered them yet, so when Mom read about the upcoming show, she was determined to go.

Mom had been a child in 1929 when the stock market infamously crashed, so she lived through the Depression and knew of the gold-rimmed green glassware and the pink swirl pitcher from her mother’s kitchen.

Later, we learned that both kinds of Grandma’s glass are considered Elegant Glassware (which is better than a lot of the glass of the era), but my grandmother already knew that. Mom grew up with the glassware unused except for special occasions, and by the time I arrived, Grandma was keeping both sets safe in an ornate china cabinet that she had received as a gift from her brother, who had worked in a furniture store.

The grass-green set included six tall, footed sherbets and saucers, all rimmed in gold. I’ve forgotten if any of the dealers were able to identify the pattern, which I’ve since learned is called Circle and was made by the Hocking Glass Company during the 1930s.

Circle itself is an “everyday” Depression Glass pattern of average quality, but the unusual addition of gold banding makes these pieces much nicer than the typical Circle glassware. (I know: I’ve since picked up a dozen more plain green pieces including short sherbets, cups and saucers, and tumblers, and I’ve only once come across any other sherbets with gold detailing.)

Grandma’s other set included a short, stocky pitcher and six lovely tumblers in a translucent salmony shade of pink. Again, I’ve forgotten if Mom learned anything about the set, but since then I’ve been told that it’s one of the popular Swirl patterns. Even so, the only similar piece I’ve noticed is the taller pitcher, which was scarred inside from years of stirring with something metal, so, alas, I left it behind.

From the time I was in seventh grade, and my widowed grandmother moved in with us, I looked upon the same glassware kept safe in our dining room. Every once in a while, to heighten a special occasion as her mother did, my mom used the tall green sherbets to serve fruit salad or ice cream.

Once, in an impromptu party for my friends and me, Mom brought out the gorgeous green glassware with its shining rims and served something like gelatin or pudding in them. I’ve long forgotten exactly what we ate, but I’ve always remembered how the special glassware helped to make an ordinary afternoon extraordinary.

By the time I was college age, Grandma was facing some serious health issues, so perhaps that’s why my mother wanted to learn more about the glassware that had been a part of our family for so long. Perhaps she wanted to complete the sets; I don’t remember anymore.

What I do remember is being stunned by the extent of the glass show. Tables and tables filled the huge ballroom of the beachfront hotel where the show was being held, and through the windows, the Atlantic Ocean looked small compared to the sea of glass before me.

Crystal clear glass gleamed and sparkled under the lights. Glassware in lovely shades of pastel pink, blue, and yellow looked simply ethereal, while the glass in striking hues of cobalt blue, forest green, and ruby red added drama to the setting.

I’ve forgotten whatever individual pieces I noticed that day. What remains clear in my mind is the impression of all that stunning glassware. The view was simply breath-taking.

My mother was a practical woman, so she didn’t buy anything that day. Presumably, she didn’t come across any pieces to add to either set. I, on the other hand, was excitable and delighted easily among all the treasures, so I found one I couldn’t live without.

Among thousands and thousands of pieces of glorious glass, I spotted a demitasse cup, sans saucer—a china demitasse cup, that is, decorated with the logo of a French restaurant. The cup itself was darling. Better yet, both the logo and the backstamp were written en Français, which was the language I had chosen to study in high school and college, so it was meant to be.

How perfect! A darling little cup with a French name on it. Parfait! I just had to have it. I went to a Depression Glass show, yet I bought one of the few non-glass items for sale there that weekend. Go figure.

Although I adored that little cup, I lost track of it for several years after it had been packed away during one move or another. In fact, I had completely forgotten about it. By the time I found it again, I recognized what it was, and I was amazed.

In the years that had passed, I had graduated from college, found a job, and begun collecting seriously. At the time, I was actively pursuing two collections: restaurantware and logo glasses—and a look at the little cup with more experienced eyes revealed a lot: I saw that it was made of the heavy china that hotels and restaurants use.

How fitting. Even before I “discovered” restaurantware (which is a story for another day), I was attracted to it. Even before I started collecting glasses with product logos on them, I bought a piece that advertised where it was used.

I guess the collecting gods smiled knowingly when I eventually started collecting restaurantware and logo glasses. I’ve apparently been attracted to them from the start.

Both Mom and Grandma are gone now. Of course, I still have their green and pink glassware, but I gave up my logo glasses about ten years ago, and I’ve had to store away my beloved restaurantware for lack of display space at home.

Even so, those budding interests and youthful traits remain: I still check out pieces with iconic logos, and I’m always drawn to decorated restaurantware of any kind.

More important, I still feel the same way about collecting: I’m a natural hunter and gatherer. I’m always excited for the thrill of the chase, and I’m even delighted by the smallest of finds, like a demitasse set.

In fact, I have a few dozen adorable little demitasse cups and saucers in my collection now—and I don’t really like coffee.

Patti
The Committed Collector

If you’ve ever gone to one kind of show and sale and bought something else entirely, please leave a comment and let us know how that happened.

 

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