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SOAP OPERA S
By DonaldBrian Johnson
ome folks collect teacups. Or thimbles. Maybe even swizzle sticks. Tiny keepsakes that are compact, easy to display, and even easier to store. Other folks collect washing machines. And dryers. And washer-dryers. These are definitely not tiny. Displaying (or even storing) them requires a generously-sized (and otherwise empty) basement or garage. But these jumbo collectibles and their colorful accouterments, from clothespin bags to dealer signs, vintage soap boxes to wicker laundry baskets, are cleaning up among today’s collectors. The reasons? For baby boomers, the answer may just be a fond rekindling of childhood memories. For fans of “mid-century modern,” the streamlined design of these machines is a tangible representation of the spaceage technology that fueled the 1950s and 1960s. For the rest of us, they’re just fun to look at. “Wash on Monday. . . Iron on Tuesday” Before the advent of the automatic washing machine, a housewife’s lot was not a happy one. Washing and ironing were just the first two of her assigned daily chores. On the list for the rest of the week: sewing, churning, cleaning, and baking. By Saturday night, the weary pioneer woman was more than ready for her final weekly duty: “Rest on Sunday.” When we watch an episode of “Little House on the Prairie,” “laundry day” seems wonderfully nostalgic, but way back when, “doing the wash” was actually a backbreaking, all-day affair. Prior to the introduction of indoor plumbing, water was hauled from the pump or well and heated over a roaring fire before it was ready for the wash tub. To cut down on pump visits, (about 10 per day, according to an 1886 survey), the hot soapy water was used until it simply could not be used any more. This meant that baby’s delicates had to be washed first; Dad’s grubby coveralls were saved until the end. After the soapy scrub, rinsing was
required in a tub of clean water. Each sopping item was then rolled and hand-twisted, forcing out excess liquid. Line-drying, (hopefully on a warm day with a steady breeze), meant the laundry would be ready, bright and early, for Tuesday’s task (ironing, in case you’ve forgotten.) Primitive? Well actually, this was a step up. In ancient times, just like in all those swords-andsandals movie epics, clothes were washed
VOL. 44, NO. 37 FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 13, 2013
T h e W o r l d O f : Washday Collectibles
The first washer and dryer with “all push button” controls, from Maytag, 1960. $1,000-1,200.
involved in the budding business of providing industrial products for the home soon saw the light. Ads for the earliest “electric washer” date as far back as 1904, although Alva J. Fisher’s 1910 patent credits him as the originator of the first one, 1908’s “Thor.” (Earlier uncredited patents, discovered in recent years, have placed Fisher’s claim in dispute). By the late 1920s, over 900,000 homes in the United States had
Washday memories: an array of detergents from different eras. Where it all began: with the washboard! 1930s version, $50-75.
in a stream and beaten against rocks to remove dirt. Seafarers had their own variation: dirty laundry was stuffed in a cloth bag, the bag tied to a rope and thrown overboard. Dragged behind the ship and agitated by the ocean waves, the clothing emerged after its dunking somewhat cleaner (if saltier). Coming Clean on “Washing Machines” Eventually something had to give (other than the back and patience of the average housewife). As far back as 1691, a patent was issued in England for a “Washing and Wringing Machine,” although few details exist. The earliest welldocumented laundry day timesaver, the washboard, made its debut in 1797. No more scraping clothes over river rocks or scouring with sand! In the United States, Nathaniel Briggs was granted a 1797 patent for a “Clothes Washing” device, although no records remain of his invention. The first documented “Clothes Washer With Ringer Rolls” was patented by John F. Turnbull of Canada, in 1843. Tubs with crank-operated paddles meant that laundry could be more easily swirled through soapy water. The first commercially available machine of this type arrived in 1874, courtesy of William Blackstone of Indiana. Legend has it that Blackstone, (evidently a true romantic), came up with the invention as a birthday gift for his wife.
Before the automatics: the Maytag wringer washer, which remained in production until 1983, accompanied by advertising standee. $300-400.
That lonely guy, the Maytag repairman, oversees an array of mid-20thcentury machine miniatures. Some were used as sales displays, others sold as toys for the washer-minder youngster. $75-100 each.
Blackstone’s wooden “washing machines” retailed for $2.50. Later adaptations utilized metal, rather than wooden tubs, so that a fire could be kept burning below, ensuring continually warm water. Today, automatic washer tubs spin to remove water from clothing, but early housewives made do with the mangle. As each piece of laundry was fed between two handcranked rollers, the water was squeezed out (hopefully, without also squeezing a less-than-nimble finger). Free-standing “extractors,” rudimentary predecessors of today’s spinning washer tubs, followed the invention of the electric motor, but they proved cumbersome and unstable. With the dawn of the electric age in the early 1900s, those
electric washers. During the 1930s in the depths of the Depression, however, that number plummeted to less than 600,000. But as the economy picked up, so did life in the laundry room. All the Dirt on Automatic Washers The “automatic washer” combines the two major functions of water-based laundry cleaning: washing the grime from clothing, then extracting the water. Much appreciated extra bonuses: filling the machine, heating the water to a desired level, and draining it after use. In 1937, Bendix introduced its first “automatic washing machine,” much like today’s front-loaders in appearance and function. However, with no drum suspension, floor anchors were required; otherwise, the machine “walked” when in use. Sixty percent of American homes with electricity had electric washers by 1940, but further innovations stalled with the onset of World War II. Research continued, however, and after the war, the automatic entered its days of sudsy glory. The first top-loading automatics came courtesy of Whirlpool and General Electric in 1947. And, while many homemakers still preferred clotheslines in the fresh open air, the electric dryer also made
great strides during the late 1940s. Although on the market since 1915, electric dryers had been costly and inefficient. New and improved versions not only added an exhaust to remove moisture, but also included a cool-down cycle and front-mounted timer/temperature controls. This was a far cry from the “clothes dryer” of the 1800s: a laundry-filled vented metal drum, handcranked like a barbecue spit over an open fire. By the 1950s, no up-to-the-minute American home was complete without a modern washer and dryer. Even the intervention of the Korean War failed to slow appliance progress: in 1953, automatics finally outsold traditional wringer machines, becoming the biggest users of energy in the average household. Once simply utilitarian, washers and dryers were now important decorative components of the thoroughly modern h o m e . Homemaking magazines capitalized on this change of focus. Drudgery days were done! The smiling housewife in appliance ads was exquisitely dressed and carefully coiffed, her washday worries eliminated at the push of a button. That new arrival, television, provided visuals of additional must-haves. Consumers wanted their very own Westinghouse “Laundromat,” just like the one extolled by Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz of “I Love Lucy” fame. And, when Ozzie and Harriet featured a Hotpoint washer/dryer pair as perfectly matched as the show’s stars, appliance stores were flooded with customers. There was always something new on the washday horizon. Futuristic machine control panels adopted the same silvery, space-age stylings popular in autos of the era. The similarities weren’t surprising: some of the best-known appliance (Continued on page 2)