Friday, May 26, 2017

"Woodward's Patent"

(Note: this is the second installment in a series of articles, the first of which begins at

Once I had pieced together the history of Woodwards & Hale, later Woodward & Brothers in hand, something nagged at me a little bit.  Here’s David Nishimura’s picture of the examples in his collection:

After the first installment of this article ran, David added this comment:

Some further notes on the Woodwards in the photo, from top to bottom:
1. WOODWARDS & HALE imprint, gold brocade "FORGET ME NOT" barrel, GF crown, pale yellow faceted stone
2. WOODWARDS PATENT imprint, center section turns to extend nozzle, pale violet faceted stone
3. WOODWARDS & HALE imprint, silver brocade "FORGET ME NOT" barrel, dark purple faceted stone
4. WOODWARDS imprint, perpetual calendar, simple silver seal end
5. WOODWARDS & HALE imprint, perpetual calendar missing top ring, silver waffle seal end
6. WOODWARDS & HALE imprint, perpetual calendar, onion finial
7. WOODWARDS & HALE imprint, perpetual calendar, simple silver seal end

David’s description as to that second one from the top is particularly illuminating, because it makes sense of Thomas Woodward’s patent number 1,625 issued on June 10, 1840:

David doesn’t have an example of Woodward’s second patent, number 1,823 issued on October 14, 1840 – but that was more or less just a tab to keep parts from unscrewing themselves and from the looks of things, it might not have worked very well, anyway.  Still, one would be nice to find!

Now we get to the part that nags at me.  Both of Woodward’s patents were issued in 1840, after the dissolution of Woodwards & Hale in 1839 . . . but Woodwards & Hale was making pencils as early as 1833 (and, if the composition date of the ad is correct, as early as June, 1832):

So whose pencil was Woodwards & Hale making in the early 1830s?

The convention of identifying products as patented in those early days was different than in later decades, when an actual patent date or number would be stamped on an item.  Before the 1850s, an innovation would be marked, as is the case with David’s example, with “Woodward’s Patent.”  We’ve seen that with other earlier pieces as well, such as those marked “Lownd’s Patent” and “Addison’s Patent.”

If you were licensing someone else’s patent, however, you wouldn’t particularly want their name stamped on your product.  For example, if Woodward & Brothers were making pencils using Thomas Addison’s design, stamping “Addison’s Patent” on the side would only advertise for a competitior!

But Addison’s patent wasn’t issued until 1838; six years earlier, Woodwards & Hale was making pencils like the other ones shown in David’s picture, as well as my example:

Whose design was this?  The list of likely suspects is a very short one.  In American Writing Instrument Patents 1799-1910 (shameless plug), I include a section in which all known patents are organized by date, and only 27 patents for any type of writing instrument were issued in the United States prior to 1840: of those, only 8 were for pencils:

Joseph Saxton’s patent of April 11, 1829;
William Jackson’s patent of July 27, 1829;
John Hague’s patent of August 16, 1833;
James Bogardus’ patent of September 17, 1833;
Elwood Meeds’ patent of June 26, 1835;
Jacob Lownds’ patent number 32 of September 22, 1836;
Thomas Addison’s patent number 736 of May 10, 1838;
John Hague’s patent number 1,291 of August 16, 1839; and
George Simon’s patent number 1,364 of October 12, 1839 (assigned to Stockton).

Of these eight, we can rule out the last four - I’ve written about the Lownds patent and this isn’t it (, and the same goes for Hague’s patent of 1839 (Joe Nemecek’s example was featured in  The Addison patent is for a screw drive advance, not a slider, so that isn’t right either, and Joe Nemecek has an example of the Simon (Stockton) patent, which was a little different and was issued too late in the game to represent the pencil Woodwards & Hale made nearly a decade earlier.

The last five patents are tougher to compare, since the patent office fire of December 15, 1836 destroyed all record of four of them.  The only one that survived was the Bogardus patent, and even though it is specifically titled “Pencil Slide & Case,” it shows a mechanism advanced by a worm drive, not a simple slider:

That leaves Saxton, Jackson, Hague and Meeds.  Three of the four of these – all but Hague – were issued in Philadelphia.  In the early Nineteenth Century, would a Philadelphia patented pencil be manufactured in New York?  Maybe, but I think it unlikely, since the industry was much more localized at the time.

So let’s take a closer look at Hague’s 1833 patent.  I’ve never seen an example, and the only evidence I’ve found that they were ever made was a “hard times” token bearing a date of 1837:

On the reverse are the words "S. Maycock & Co. / 35 City Hall Place N.Y. / Everpointed Pencil Case Manufacturers Saml. Maycock John Hague."  This is to my knowledge the only evidence of a Hague pencil possibly being made pursuant to Hague’s earlier 1833 patent – maybe they were unmarked sliders (which would defy convention, since you’d expect them to be marked “Hague’s Patent”); maybe Maycock was making something different or unpatented, with Hague riding along as a partner.  However, what these tokens suggest is that while Hague was an inventor, he was not a man with the manufacturing capability to turn out the product: for production, he was dependent upon others.

Samuel Maycock shows up in Longworth’s 1836-37 New York City directory, as a “pencilm.” at the address shown on the advertising tokens: 35 City Hall Place:

So where was Maycock in 1832 and 1833, when Woodwards & Hale were making pencils such as those David and I have found?

He isn’t listed.  His first appearance in Longworth’s is in the 1834-1835 directory.

And where was John Hague in 1832-1833?  He was a general silversmith, located at 177 Greenwich:

The Longworth’s directory for 1833-1834 is interesting.  John Hague remains listed as a silversmith, but he’s moved to 662 Water Street:

Meanwhile, there’s a listing for a “Thomas & Hague,” pencil case makers, at that same address:

If it was Hague’s pencil, why wasn’t it “Hague & Thomas?”  Perhaps for the same reason suggested by Hague and Maycock – that Hague was dependent on partners to see his pencil into production?

Hague’s association with Augustus Thomas was brief.  Notice of the dissolution of their association appeared in the New York Evening Post on May 24, 1834:

The 1834-1835 directory continues to list John Hague as a silversmith at 662 Water Street, but Augustus Thomas had moved: he’s listed as a “silverpencil mak.”  at an unspecified location on Cherry Street, with his home address listed as “Attorney”:

It isn’t until the 1835 directory that we find John Hague identifying himself as being a pencil maker, at the 35 City Hall Park address shared with Samuel Maycock:

In the 1838-1839 directory, S. Maycock & Co. remains listed as a pencil manufacturer, but the firm’s location had moved to 221 Pearl Street:

Hague, however, remained at 35 City Hall Park:

By 1842, Hague had relocated to 12 Dutch:

It was at this location that history records another event suggesting that John Hague’s business sense was not as refined as one would expect after more than a decade in the business.  On January 15, 1844, the New York Evening Post reported that two men conspired to persuade Hague to accept a promissory note for pencils Hague sold in the amount of $150.00, from a signer who turned out to be a “man of straw.”

The two men were later convicted, with one receiving a lighter jail term due to his advanced age.

It is perhaps unfair to make assumptions about a person based on a fragmentary record of events transpiring more than a century and a half earlier.  However, the picture of John Hague that emerges from this little evidence suggests that Hague was a general silversmith without either the manufacturing capability or the business sense to make pencils on his own; twice he was involved in short-lived partnerships to manufacture pencils, and in neither of them was he the headliner, even though it was he who patented a pencil design.  Even after more than a decade in the trade, he was duped by a simple confidence scam.

It’s possible that simple slider mechanisms such as my example and most of David’s were never patented by anyone in the United States, but were merely American copies of Mordan and Riddle’s 1822 patent in England.   However, if Woodwards & Hale get their start making pencils which were patented here, John Hague’s 1833 patent is the strongest possibility.  Hague was likely to be persuaded to license his design; Hague apparently lacked the ability in 1832 to manufacture his pencils in quantity; and Woodwards & Hale would have been unlikely to stamp Hague’s name on their pencils - particularly after Hague became involved with Thomas & Hague, S. Maycock & Co. and then identified himself as an independent pencil maker.

It’s conjecture, but a lot of the conjecture I throw out there eventually pans out.  Whether evidence which surfaces later confirms or refutes my theory, that the simple slider pencil was patented in the U.S. by John Hague in 1833, it’s a win either way since the truth always seems to work its way to the surface.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

The Brothers Woodward

At the Chicago Pen Show this year, a friend asked an odd question of a pencil collector: would I be interested in a large collection of Victorian dip pens?   I told him I didn’t know enough about them to formulate an intelligent offer, but he said he was selling the bunch for a friend and he asked if I would just look through them while he browsed around the show.

What the heck, I thought.  I was in a room full of people that could offer me a bit of guidance, and maybe I’ll learn something.

I did.

One of the brains I picked was that of David Nishimura – who lent me his advice and also some comfort.  When my friend swung by again, I made the offer David suggested, negotiations were swift and the next time David came by, I offered him the pick of the litter in case there was something in the bunch he couldn’t live without.

You can usually spot David at shows by the turquoise piece of headgear he wears, with built-in magnifiers, and you know when he’s serious because he swings it into place and you’re looking at the top of his head for a while.  Down the lens swiveled as he started pulling things out of bags one by one, meticulously examining every detail.  At one point he handed one of the few pencils in the group to me.  “You’ll want to keep this,” he said without looking up:

I’d noticed this one in the lot, but I didn’t think much of a “Woodwards & Hale” since I still try to limit myself to American pencils.

“It’s British, isn’t it?”  I asked.

“No,” the top of David’s head said without missing a beat as he continued to browse through the next items in that bag.  “It’s American.  And it’s early.”

It is and it is, of course.  In fact, now that I’ve researched it, I’ve found that it’s probably the earliest piece in my collection.  I’d never seen one, but David obviously has: he sent me a picture of his other examples by the maker to share with you.  Some of these are marked “Woodwards & Hale,” like mine, and others marked simply “Woodward’s Patent”:

What little history there is concerning Woodwards & Hale might have been lost were it not for the fact that one of the Woodwards, Thomas Jr., had a son who became moderately famous.  John Woodward earned his reputation during the Civil War as a Colonel at Gettysburg, later rising to the rank of General and becoming Inspector General for the State of New York.  In 1897, Elijah R. Kennedy wrote John B. Woodward: A Biographical Memoir -- “for private distribution,” suggesting that the work was more of a vanity project commissioned by the family than the result of Woodward’s rock star status.  While the work is largely a compilation of John Woodward’s letters, it does contain, on pages 5 and 6, passing mention of the Inspector General’s family history.

According to this account, Thomas Woodward, Sr., John’s grandfather, was an established metalworker in England who become increasingly dissatisfied with life (and particularly taxation) in England.  After he emigrated to the United States, he wrote home to the mother country: “Worried, my old neighbors, as you are, by tax-gatherers of all descriptions, from the County Collector, who rides in his coach and four, down to the petty Window Peeper, the little miserable spy who is contstantly on the lookout for you, as if you were thieves; surrounded as you are by this vermin, big and little, you will with difficulty form an idea of the state of America in this respect.  It is a state of such blessings, when compared with the state of things in England, that I despair of being able to make you fully understand what it is.”

Thomas Sr. sent his son Thomas Jr. (John’s father) to the United States in 1818 to see whether life in the former colonies would be more appealing, and in 1819 the entire Woodward family, including all three of his sons, Thomas Jr., Charles and George, arrived in New York.  According to Kennedy’s account, Thomas Jr. became a silversmith “directly after they were settled here,” and formed a partnership with his brothers and “a Mr. Hale” soon afterwards.  

Although the dates provided by Kennedy are not specific, a letter to The London Guardian published on December 6, 1823 refers to “George and Thomas Woodward (two worthy Englishmen currently residing in New York)” who the writer encountered on October 27, 1819 – corroborating the Woodwards’ arrival in the former colonies sometime during that year.

Samson Mordan did not receive his patent for the first mechanical pencil until 1822 in England, so if Woodwards & Hale had anything to do with writing instruments early in their partnership, they would have crafted silver holders for cedar pencils.   The earliest reference I have found to the partnership making mechanical pencils was this advertisement, which appeared in The Long-Island Star on January 2, 1833; in the lower right hand corner, note that the advertisement appears to have been composed on June 6, 1832:

Woodwards & Hale was dissolved by agreement in January, 1839, and published notices of the dissolution, and the continuation of the business by Thomas, Charles and George as Woodward & Brothers at the same location, 146 Jay Street, appeared in the New York Evening Post:

The account contained in Kennedy’s book says that the dissolution was the result of Hale’s retirement, which appears to be corroborated by a notice in The Long-Island Star on June 8, 1840, directing creditors of a deceased William H. Hale to present their claims to his Executor, Peter G. Taylor:

After Hale’s retirement, Thomas Woodward applied for and was granted two of the earliest patents for mechanical pencils, number 1,625, issued on June 10, 1840:

and number 1,823 issued on October 14, for a “Security Ever-Pointed Pencil Case” which included a doohickey supposedly making the parts less likely to become unscrewed from the pencil and lost:

The firm also diversified its operations.  According to Kennedy, its most profitable products in addition to Ever-pointed pencils were a “Diamond Pointed Gold Pen” (that’s nearly eighty years before the Diamond Point we know today) as well as a “Shielded Safety Pin.”  I did find several advertisements running in 1848 for the firm’s gold pens:

Brooklyn city directories are not as readily available as those for the city of New York, but both the 1843-1844 and 1848-1849 directories list Woodward & Brothers at the 146 Jay Street address:

Kennedy says that the Woodwards were in business “for nearly forty years,” but the evidence I’ve found doesn’t support that.  In 1852, Thomas Woodward was elected to the board of directors for the Brooklyn Institute; while the 1853-1854 Brooklyn City Directory still lists Woodward and Brothers and Thomas as a pencilcase manufacturer, there’s no mention of Charles, and George is listed as a “machinist.”

On March 27, 1854, The Brooklyn Daily Eagle contained an auction notice for the property at 144 and 146 Jay Street, “well known as the gold pen and pencil manufactory of Woodward Brothers”:

By 1855, Trow’s New York City Directory included the hinterlands of Brooklyn.  John Cann and David Dunn took out a prominent advertisement in the directory that year for their new silversmith shop located at 144/146 Jay Street – but writing instruments were not among their wares:

George and Thomas appear in the 1855 directory, but no longer in the business of making pencils: they are listed as importers under the name of Woodward & Brother (singular) located at 10 Ferry:

Although I never found a death notice for Charles, I believe he passed away sometime in the early 1850s: on March 12, 1867, The Brooklyn Daily Eagle reported the death of Maria Woodward in Brooklyn, who was described as “widow of Charles Woodward, late of Birmingham, England,” and there’s a Mary A. Woodward listed as a “widow” in the 1855 directory.  George died on June 6, 1875 at the age of 84; notice of his passing was published in the Daily Eagle on June 8.

As for Thomas, who the evidence indicates was the Woodward in Woodward & Brothers, the Daily Eagle reported on January 15, 1873 that he had passed away on January 14 at the age of eighty.  A couple weeks later, on February 3, the Brooklyn Institute published a tribute to their former board member and friend:

Note:  there's more to the story.  The next installment is published at

Saturday, March 25, 2017

Connected . . . in an unexpected way

I’ve got an update for you regarding these aluminum spiral pencils:

When I first wrote about these nearly five years ago, it was about the top example in this picture, marked “J.E. Mergott Co.  Newark N.J.”:

That article ( explored whether this pencil was one of the “few metal specialties” made by Mergott, a company better known, both at the time as well as today, for making metal frames for ladies’ handbags.  But then along came other examples, marked with a patent date of May 21, 1912, either on the end of the stubby barrel or on the top of the cap:

Two of these I’ve written about, too (first at, then at – both are marked “Dixon” on the nose cone:

The patent date refers to design patent 42,533, issued to Frederick W. Tolfree and assigned to the Joseph Dixon Crucible Company:

Between the design patent and sizing up whether Dixon or Mergott were more likely to have made pencils, I concluded that Dixon was the likely culprit.

Now, though, I’m not so sure.

The other two pencils in this grouping are (what I thought were) advertising pieces, along the lines of Joe Nemecek’s example marked “H.W. Baker Hotel Linens” from that last article:

The longer one of my new examples is marked “Be wise / Aetna-ize,” a slogan used by the Aetna Life Insurance Company beginning around 1914:

The other is marked “Favor Ruhl & Co.”:

Both of these I’ve had for a couple years.  Since neither of them changed my opinions about who made the pencils, I didn’t think them important enough to write about - although that Aetna one narrowly missed the cut because the imprint is so cool.

But then along came this one in this week’s mail:

I bid on it in an online auction solely because I’ve never seen one in the box like this, marked “Lawson Lustro All Aluminum Spiral Pencil” and “Lawson Lustro Varnishes - Valentine & Company.”  The pencil is imprinted “Lawson Lustro Varnishes Valentine Quality”:

I initially assumed, like those last two,  that it was another Dixon-made advertising piece.  But when it arrived, I noticed one curious detail:

In addition to the four perfectly preserved, pre-sharpened leads in the chamber, note that there’s no patent date on the cap.  Since the only other one of these I’ve seen without a patent date was the original Mergott example, I decided to dig around a bit and see what I could find.

As a result, I’ve gone from thinking J.E. Mergott made these, to Dixon, and back to Mergott.

First, a bit about Valentine & Company and their line of “Lawson Lustro Varnishes.”  Samuel Tuck formed a “Paint and Color” firm in Boston in 1806, which was later acquired by Augustine Stimson.  Lawson Valentine founded Valentine and Company, also in Boston, in 1832, and within a few years the two firms merged:

In 1866, after Stinson retired, the name was changed back to Valentine & Company, and the company at some point moved to New York.   “Lawson Lustro” was Valentine & Company’s  house varnish which was advertised, with that distinctive logo, around the same time the spiral pencil’s design was patented: here’s an advertisement from December, 1911:

Valentine & Company also developed paints and varnishes for use on carriages and, later, carriages of the horseless kind.  Here’s an advertisement for the companies automotive varnishes, from the June 15, 1916 issue of The Horseless Age:

Where Valentine & Company really made its mark, however, was in the production of varnishes specially formulated for the marine industry.  In harsh marine conditions, varnishes needed to be especially impervious to water and also flexible enough not to crack and peel on the wooden parts of ships.  Nowhere was this more critical than on a boat’s spar – the wood pole securing the bottom of a sail – which would bend and flex dramatically with the wind.  Valentine & Company came up with a special and uniquely successful spar varnish between 1905 and 1906, and the company marketed the new product under a catchy tradename: Valspar.  Here’s an advertisement from the April, 1910 edition of Power Boating:

That’s right, folks – Valspar paints, ubiquitous in home improvement centers, are named after Valentine & Company’s line of spar varnishes.   In 1932, Valspar Corporation was formally incorporated, with Valentine & Company remaining as a lesser-known subsidiary for a time.

But that’s not all.

When I started researching whether there was a connection between Valentine & Company and the Joseph Dixon Crucible Company, I found one, but not where I expected.  Dixon appears side-by-side with Valentine & Co. in many of the same trade publications, such as The Horseless Age and Power Boating – but not for its pencil business:

Graphite, in addition to being the stuff that makes pencil leads write black, is a natural lubricant, which Dixon processed and sold as an engine lubricant for both automotive and marine applications.  In fact, Dixon and Valentine may have been even more closely related than just their affiliations as advertisers in automotive and marine circles:  Dixon also marketed a line of graphite paints, made with flakes of graphite (rather than lead or zinc):

Wait a minute.  Maybe I’ve got this all wrong.  What if these spiral pencils marked “Dixon” aren’t made by Dixon, but are advertising pencils, made by someone else on behalf of Dixon, to advertise the company’s lubricants or graphite paints?

I went back to do some checking on Frederick W. Tolfree, the man who took out the design patent for the spiral pencil and assigned it to Dixon.  I could only find one reference to him, in Dixon’s in-house magazine, Graphite, published between 1907 and 1910.  He appears on the masthead of the June, 1907 edition, as the “Superintendent of Brass and Rubber Works”:

But I could find no indication, in Graphite or anywhere else, that Dixon dabbled in machining aluminum.

I next checked on the other advertising pencils that have turned up.  Joe’s example with Baker’s Hotel Linens and my “Be Wise Aetna-ize” pencil are what they are . . . nothing interesting to report.  However, my example marked “Favor Ruhl & Co.” raises some interesting questions: Favor Ruhl & Co. was an artist’s supply house, located at 73 Barclay Street in New York.  The company also had a Chicago Branch, located at 425 South Wabash Company, and their 1910 catalog is available online at (See,d.eWE).

The catalog reveals that Favor Ruhl & Co. offered both house brand items as well as name brands from other companies.  Although there’s no aluminum spiral pencils in this one, there are L.&C. Hardtmuth leads, Venus pencils by American Lead Pencil Co., Faber erasers, and Eagle Pencil Company compasses.  My Favor Ruhl & Co. pencil has the 1912 patent date stamped on the end, so a later catalog might list them – but I thought it telling that there were no Dixon products listed in Favor Ruhl’s catalog.

Valentine & Company, however, provided the most insight.  In addition to aluminum spiral pencils, there are Valentine Varnish tokens . . .

. . . made of aluminum . . .

. . . and these interesting puzzles . . .

. . . also made of aluminum.  Even if we assume Dixon got into the business of making advertising pencils for other companies – including an artist’s supply house that would have offered quality Dixon pencils under the Dixon name – it’s extremely unlikely that the company delved into making other advertising trinkets out of aluminum.

On the other hand, it seems far more likely, if a company such as Valentine were purchasing aluminum advertising pencils from someone, that the company would have purchased other aluminum advertising novelties from that same source.

Hmm, I thought.  Maybe it’s time to take another look at J.E. Mergott, the company whose name was stamped on that first, unpatented spiral pencil which started this whole business.  We know the company best remembered for making metal handbag frames made “other metal specialties,” but is there evidence that the company made advertising trinkets, too?

There is:

The September 17, 1914 edition of Printer’s Ink reported that 33 new members were accepted into the National Association of Advertising Specialty Manufacturers, including . . . the J. E. Mergott Company.

Dixon, on the other hand, was interested primarily in graphite and its applications, including wood pencils.  Until these spiral pencils came along, I never entertained the notion that Dixon manufactured any mechanical pencils until the company’s acquisition of Rite-Rite in the 1940s.

In my first article on these pencils, I’d concluded these aluminum spiral pencils were probably made by Mergott.  In later installments, I’d changed my mind to believe they were made by the Joseph Dixon Crucible Company, based solely on the design patent assignment and the fact that two were found marked “Dixon.”

Now, I think the evidence pointing to Dixon as the manufacturer isn’t as strong as I previously thought.  When I string all the clues in this story together, it looks like there’s two likely scenarios: the first is that Mergott was the true designer and original manufacturer of these pencils, which the company made both on its own account and for other companies such as Valentine & Company; Dixon’s trade show ties with Valentine through the automotive and marine industries would naturally have led Dixon representatives to see these pencils and conclude, naturally, that if anyone running in Dixon’s circles were offering advertising pencils, it should be Dixon.  We’ve seen other instances where people took out design patents on things clearly made by others, most notably George T. Byers’ attempted appropriation of the Pearce snake clip in 1914 (see, and Dixon may have muscled its way into the scene, licensing someone else’s design back to them.

That’s the more colorful scenario, but I think that’s the less likely of the two.  A more plausible explanation is that Dixon’s Frederick Tolfree was in fact the designer of these pencils, which Dixon intended to offer both on its own account as a pencil maker as well as advertising for the company’s graphite paints and lubricants.  However, since making things such as this was a bit outside Dixon’s normal operations, the company had the pencils made by J.E. Mergott, which also made them under license for other advertisers as well as a small number on its own account, along with other go-withs, such as aluminum tokens and puzzles.