Detroit: Turn of the Century Artifacts, 1999-2002

Mario's Restaurant. You want old school? This is the place. I love it!  4222 Second Ave. "We Feed the Whole Mob." A theatrical and memorable production every time. Open since 1948. 

Detroit Tigers vs. Kansas City Royals at Tiger Stadium (active from 1912 to 1999), September 25, 1999.  The Tigers won, 11-3. The very last game ever played at Tiger Stadium came two days later, when the Tigers again beat the Royals, 8-2. 

In the year 2000, the Tigers were moved to Comerica Park, and in 2009, Tiger Stadium was demolished.

Lords of Acid: their pulsing music can be heard on many a soundtrack, despite lyrics that are often risqué, ribald or raunchy -- and not necessarily in that order. 

On February 11, 2000, they put on a very lively, entertaining show at the State Theatre, a 2,200 person venue at 2115 Woodward Avenue --almost exactly the same capacity as the Town and Country Club in London -- built in 1925.  The State Theatre was rechristened the Fillmore Detroit in 2007.

Sweet Georgia Brown's at 1045 Brush Street was a hip place - I loved it. Unfortunately, due to a falling out among owners and associates, it only ran from 2002 until 2009, with another period of being closed in between. I saw Al Jarreau (1940-2017) hanging out there; the waiters tended to have side hussles, too, which was always entertaining and interesting.

Panaderia La Gloria. Tamales Fresh Daily. Lots of dessert treats. Rubén González y Familia. 3348 Bagley Avenue, Mexicantown, Detroit. It's been here as long as I can remember. The area has been a Mexican enclave since the 1920s. Fantastico!

Long Live Detroit!  

Artifacts of Manhattan, 2005-2006

Most of these items are from the summer of 2006, but I was also exploring the city before Christmas 2005. Above is a closeup of a map included in the courtesy booklet from the Hotel Chelsea. 

Daioh Sushi at 300 West 23rd Street (Between 8th & 9th Avenues). Closed circa 2011. Superceded by Asuka Sushi Japanese Fusion and Lounge, website link here.

Tout Va Bien French Restaurant, 311 West 51st Street, opened in 1948. Link to website here. 

Tout Va Bien matches.

S.P. Gift at 11 Carmine Street, West Village. This place had excellent stationary and cards. 

The Slaughtered Lamb Pub (think England, werewolves and such). 182 West 4th Street (between 6th & 7th Avenues). "English Country Ales - Wines & Spirits - Delicious Pub Food." Link to website here.

Eros Cafe. Greek, 190 Seventh Avenue (Between 21st and 22nd Street). Closed in 2010 due to rent increases. As with many places in the area, breakfast was relatively inexpensive. 

Artifacts of New York City: The IFC Center and Tavern on the Green, 2005-2006

Friends, internationalists and all fellow travelers: the IFC Center is a heaven, a Mecca, like gold at the end of the rainbow. Greenwich Village. 323 Avenue of the Americas / Sixth Avenue & West 3rd Street. Some of the architectural bits date back to before the American Civil War. 

Opened in 2005 and flourishing in 2018. On August 18, 2006, I saw Factotum, with Matt Dillon playing Hank Bukowski (hilarious -- especially if you're a Bukoswki reader). 

It's only about a block and a half from Washington Square Park. Walk along "positively 4th Street" (Bob Dylan way) and you can reach the historic Stonewall Inn on Christopher Street in about five minutes. Our Lady of Pompeii Shrine Church at 25 Carmine Street is a two minute walk away. You can check out the Village Vanguard (178 Seventh Avenue South, opened in 1935 and competes with Baker's Keyboard Lounge in Detroit for jazz history honors) with a less than ten minute walk. 

Hepcats, can you dig? 

IFC Center has a website. Here's a link. The Stonewall Inn's link is here. The Village Vanguard's link is here. Our Lady of Pompeii Shrine Church's link is here. 

Tavern on the Green at 67th Street and Central Park West has a storied history, starting with the architectural core that dates back to its service as a sheepfold in the 1880s. It's primary run as a restaurant lasted from 1934 until the end of 2009. Good news is, it's since been renovated and re-opened under new management beginning in 2014. 

The current president of the USA stuck his greedy paw into the Green zone around 2011, but apparently this came to nothing. 

Website for Tavern on the Green can be reached via this link.

Artifacts of New York City: 23rd Street/Chelsea, 2005-2006

I stayed at the ridiculously famous (and infamous) Hotel Chelsea (at 222 West 23rd Street) on two occasions: in 2005 and 2006. Since 2011 or thereabouts, it's been undergoing renovations, but is supposed to re-open "soon."  So many of the nearby places then advertised in its little welcome booklet are gone or transformed that now seems as good a time as any to post scans in honor of them all -- in a sort of spectral afterglow salute. The New Venus Restaurant shut down in or after 2013, and has been superseded by the Fork Bar & Grill diner.

At 226 West 23rd Street, El Quijote ("Exquisite Cuisine From the Best of Spain") opened its doors in 1930. As of early April, 2018, it, like the Hotel Chelsea to which it's attached, has been closed for renovations. Hopefully it will re-open soon, later this year (2018).

Matches from El Quijote. Art-ifacts that keep on giving.

Patsy's Pizzeria at this location (318 West 23rd Street between 8th and 9th Avenues) is now shut. It opened in 1933, so it lasted more than seventy years -- a good run. The New Aristocrat Deli Gourmet at 208 West 23rd Street is still open, so far as I can tell. 

Malibu Diner at 163 West 23rd Street between Sixth & Seventh Avenues is still open as of this post. Here's a link to their website. It's now open 24 hours a day and still delivers. 

Ephrata Cloister

Scans made from film negatives of Ephrata ("effretta") Cloister in Pennsylvania. The original negatives date to the summer of 1992. The Sisters House centered here dates back to 1743. 

Meeting House (or Meetinghouse, if you prefer) dating to 1741. The tiny windows, steep roof and length all stand out -- quite medieval in appearance. (Through a "Zeke" filter). 

Stairway to Heaven, Ephrata-style.

The remarkable utopian religious community of Ephrata was created by Germans who arrived via Philadelphia. The Sisters and Brothers lived relatively ascetic lives; the Householders surrounding the core area, on the other hand, could marry and have children, ensuring communal survival. The last cloister member died in 2008. It's an amazing place, very peaceful and serene.  

Letter to an English Landscape Architect, November 12, 1991. Part II

I truly enjoyed listening to your ideas this summer, [English Landscape Architect]. I think a number of them are very good ones that may work. You should consider writing them down, if you haven't already. The key thing in making change work, is translating ideas into practical steps that can be achieved, or at least tried, in little, manageable steps. 

Revolutionary ideas, like ones dealing with new ways of living with the world, & with nature, & with each other, always meet with stiff resistance. Some resistance is valid. People's counterarguments should be well-considered, & not brushed aside as rubbish without a fair hearing. People don't like to be preached at, nor told what they're doing is all wrong.

I believe that change can only be effected on a small scale, working from the community level, but also simultaneously working to change the attitude and practices of government, and people within national boundaries, and beyond them. 

There is only so much one person can do alone, but in conjunction with others, grander goals can be reached for. There is so much that needs to be changed, that there is plenty for anyone who wants to, to work for those changes, or for even some of them. 

Some people may prefer to live in model communities, to serve as examples of how things could work throughout the world. Others may work better within the existing structure & system, in professional or political spheres. 

But I'm convinced of one thing: it's far easier to talk about change than to actually work for it & sustain a momentum for it.

I've tried to live half in and half out of the existing framework of American society. But it is frustrating to do so, & I've decided to work within the educational system, to work toward long-term attitudinal changes, beyond nationalism and beyond the present tendency to live wastefully and even wantonly. 

I think it's important for people to try to work in harmony with others of a similar outlook; or at least to stay in touch, to keep up and learn from others where possible. . .

I also hope that this letter finds you well, and that your family is fine. Please send my best wishes to them. I will get around to sending your grandparents the info. they wanted about ICOMOS, as soon as ICOMOS gets around to sending it to me.

Take care, [English Landscape Architect].

                                                       Yours truly [&c.] 

Mary Louisa Michel Journal, June 4-7, 1849

Closeup, Map of Frederick County, Maryland (1858), Library of Congress*

[Mary Louisa Michel Journal, June 4- June 7, 1849, near Weverton, Maryland. Age: eleven. Additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing scans of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]                   

                                                                   27

As mother was lying down, Sue and I laid down by her side and were soon asleep; I do not know how long I slept, but when I awoke, I found that mother had gotten up; and as Sue was very hot and pestered by the flies, I laid there a good while fanning her; after a while, I got up and swept up the dining room and set the table, as mother wanted early supper. It being then very cool and pleasant, mother, Sue, and I (Willie having gone down to Weverton) set off to meet father; we expected that we would meet him soon, but we kept going on, without seeing him, and had turned back and got nearly home, when he overtook us: as soon as we got home, we had supper, and after chatting a while, we went to bed.

June 5. This morning, directly after breakfast, father went up to the ferry, and I was to have accompanied him, but mother said that as we had nothing to carry with us to

                                                                                     29

eat, that I had better wait and make some cakes and pies, and go the next day. After cleaning up the house I sat down at the window upstairs and darned and fixed my muslin apron, for Lucy to wash it: as soon as I was done, I helped Willie to catch his hen; soon after, mother called me, she was up on the hill, and wanted me to come and see a sweet=brier bush that she had found; we children went up there and thought that it would be a good place to build a playhouse, so we went to work, and laid some old plank down for a floor, and fixed a little arbor; we were then called to dinner, directly after which I made some sweet=cakes and while baking them, cracked a loaf of sugar. Soon after, mother went down to Knoxville with Willie; and did not return untill [until] father (who had returned) had

                                                                                               30

nearly done his supper; after which we went to bed: I forgot to tell you that I made Sue a pair of gloves while mother was gone.

June 6. This morning early, Father, Willie and myself started for the Ferry; the weather was cool and pleasant, and we trudged merrily along, Willie carrying a basket containing our dinner, and I a pencil and a little roll of drawing paper: we went straight to Mr. W.['s] shop it is three stories high; the lower one is to work iron in, the second for wood work, and the third is Mrs. W.['s] own.

After a while, father, kind father, took us to the cotton factory, which amused us very much. The rest of the morning was spent in drawing a pretty piece of machinery, scratching father’s head and scanning[?] the newspaper.

About dinner time, father took us to see the iron foundry, as we had never seen one; after looking at every thing we went back to the shop and ate our dinner, after which Willie and I amused ourselves on the canal, about three o’clock father and we started home and went by Mrs. Coons['] and got some little thing for mother; we

                                                                                                 31

also stopped at Mrs. Carrel[‘]s Hotel and got a glass of water: Father stopped at the Post Office and found two letters: and, glad news: one was for me: it was from Ellen Patrick, and gave me all the news from Charleston.

When we got to Mrs. Wever[']s, we stopped and rested and got a cool drink; Mr, and Mrs. Wever were just going out to a party: when we got about half way up the hill we sat down and rested, and read newspapers for half an hour: when we got home it was still early, but we soon had supper, after which I went up to Mrs. Norris’s and got some beautiful roses: soon after we went to bed.

June 7. This morning, much to our disappointment it was raining, much to our disappointment I saw, for we were invited to Mr. Wever’s to eat strawberries, this very evening, and loving strawberries very much, we anticipated much happiness, and still thought this morning that it would dry off before evening: after cleaning up, I soon got my lessons and said them, and at the usual tie had dinner: soon after I sat down to write to uncle Edward; mother set Willie down to Mrs. Wever[']s to make

                                                                                                   32

an apology, as the weather was still bad, and she had a bad cold; Willie soon came back, saying that Mrs. Wever said that we must come anyhow, but that was impossible, so we had to stay at home at last. Late in the evening, while father, and mother were taking a little exercise, I swept up and set the table and soon had supper, after which I read the “Vicar of Wakefield” for the twentieth time, and at last went to bed. N.B. I was awakened in the night twice by the noise of the rain and hail.

[Mary Louisa Michel (1838-1930).
Mother = Jane Mary Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Father = Harvey Mitchell/Michel (1799-1866).
Willie = William Manning Mitchel/Michel (1839-1908).
Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel (1845-1940).
Lucy = enslaved servant. 
Mr. and Mrs. Wever = either Caspar Willis Wever (1786-1861) and his wife, Jane Catherine Dunlop Wever (?-1859), or closely related family members. 
Weverton and Knoxville were located on the Baltimore & Ohio rail and Chespaeake & Ohio canal lines, just north of the Potomac River and the Virginia boundary line. 
*Link to entire map of Frederick County, Maryland here.]

Mary Louisa Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899): Part V

Surrey*

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899), Part V. Additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.

 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing scans of the original documents, and in turn many thanks to Peter Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

Bedroom candles were lighted, goodnights said, & all scattered to . . . rooms that had, to be sure, only rag carpet rugs on bare floors, but the beds were plump and piled high with blankets, and a glorious fire sparkled & roared up the chimney.

A darkey girl who had been curled up asleep in the chimney corner for hours, would wake with a yawn or grin to serve you. If the water in the ewer was nearly ice, she would produce from some nook the black kettle and trivet, shovel on to a corner of the hearth a glowing mass of coals, and soon a warm footbath would be ready, and she more than ready to give it.

Probably another peice [piece] of ebony would roll herself out from her pallet under the bed and beg "Law Miss Lou -- lem'me com yer har." If several girls were together in one room, they generally made a raid on the pantry on the way up stairs, and curled together on the hearth rug, would spin out the endless gossip of girlhood to the accompaniment of haircombing, pickles and poundcake.

No one ever troubled about hygiene or microbobes and the balls and parties to be talked over were few and far between, but as far as I can remember they had no ore indigestion than the microbe-haunted youth of this 20th century, and seemed to get as much pleasure out of their mild "milk and water" amusements as this same youth does from his mad rush after pleasure.

My first remembrances of Abingdon as I have said, but they are few, and not very clear. Behind the cottage was a large green yard divided fro the front by palings. past kitchen, smokehouse, and servant's houses a lane led back to a pasture where Blackie, the carriage horse, spent most of his time. 

Father's animals were always petted, and Blackie was the most responsive. To get into the yard was his treat, where a piece of bread and caresses were always on hand for him (sugar was much too dear for even Blackie) and it was while galloping down that lane one afternoon in high spirits that he saw baby Willie come toddling to meet him, & then stop still right in the narrow gate. There was no room to pass -- he could'nt [couldn't] stop himself, so the poor beast just gathered his feet up in one wild jump over the child's head, and as soon as he could stop turned to see if harm was done. Mother saw it, and said the horse trembled with the shock and fear.

He was a large, well bred animal, quite powerful enough to take us all down to Alabama one fall for father's health. The carriage was what we now call a surrey, only more heavily built, as all vehicles had to be in anti-railroad days when travelling was done by stage, horseback, or private carriage, and the roads were poor, to put it mildly. 

It was considered fortunate if your destination could be reached by public highway, as such roads were kept in some order, and on their windings were regular stopping places where man and beast could find shelter at night. I hardly think the road we travelled could have been a public one, for I dimly remember having to stay at night in rough cabins, and it must have been a long wearisome way, even to such good travellers as my parents were.

Willie was not old enough to  understand much, but as we rolled along, day after day through "forests primeval," many a story must have been told me of nature and her wondrous ways, her plants and small beasts, for the trip has always been a delicious, if hazy, memory. 

Especially I remember like a dream the passing through a broad belt of the long-leafed pine which then lay on the edge of northern Alabama. Even a child's mind can take in the wierd [weird] charm of a pine forest. A green twilight [as] far as the eye reaches -- crowded with tall tapering tree stems -- no undergrowth breaks the sender lines soaring up into a distant spread of plumy tops that shut out the blue sky. 

A faint breath of resinous perfume is in the still air. Sunlight filters through now and then in shining drops. A brown carpet of pine needles lies so thick and soft there is not sound of wheel or hoof as you dreamily roll along, no sound but that exquisite, strange musical sighing note that murmurs forever through the swaying, far up, branches. A land of dreams -- shut in -- no outer world -- utter solitude -- and no sound but that mysterious swaying hint of elusive music.

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
Mother = Jane Mary Wood Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Father = Harvey Mitchell/Michel (1799-1866).
Willie = William Manning Mitchell/Michel (October 1, 1839-1908).
The described trip to Alabama probably occurred between 1842 and 1844.
*Link here.]

Mary Louisa Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899): Part IV

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899), Part IV. Additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.

 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing scans of the original documents, and in turn many thanks to Peter Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

There was not a spring bed in the state. The old ponderous enormities called bedsteads had a network of rope stretched around wooden pegs that were in the bedrail at regular intervals. These cords were stretched as tight as black hands could pull, & firmly tied. On that gridiron of cord was put a tick bed filled with hay or straw (constantly renewed) and on top of that the inevitable bag of down, that monstrosity -- a feather bed.  

No wonder some of those vast bedstead structures required steps to mount up to their puffy heights, and what a glorious plunge it was into the yielding depths of down. Charming this was to a child, and I was  never behind-hand in any fun, but long before I was grown father, who was far ahead of his times, banished (as unhealthy) every feather bed, and we were some of the first to use mattresses. You can hardly find a feather bed now in Virginia.

A close house was then unknown. Drafty windows were covered by thick curtains. The polished floors that in summer showed glassy and cool, in winter had rag carpets or home made rugs.

Great fires on open hearths toasted your face, while every time a door was opened, there was at least the possibility of an inrushing cold blast from the outside door which was usually left open by some careless darkey. Mother used to say that by the time she taught them ti shut doors, Spring came, and then they had to be taught to open them for summer. 

Add to these conditions the fact that the kitchen was always detached & some little distance from the house, & rubber shoes undreamed of, and you can see there were many discomforts that to this generation would be unbearable. But I remember no grumbling over those things. Conditions were accepted as inevitable.

The shallow snows of that climate were slopped through patiently by the elders, and joyously waded through by the small fry, who afterwards was [were] content to take the consequences in chillblains [chilblains], nursed in silence before the great fire in mother's room. That room was the house centre. There the family gathered for the long winter evenings.  

It was usually the largest room in the house -- always on the ground floor and easy of access. Curtained & closed and warm, a most cosy [cozy], sociable place. 

On one side towered the great bedstead with slender carved posts, & white canopy of dimity, with white-ball fringe -- the white counterpane was bulged up by the puff of feather bed, & great white pillows looked restful. The bedstead was so high from the floor that the low bed for the very small children rolled under it, and stayed all day. Pulled out at night into its snug corner, it became a real "hot-bed" of frolic for the two or three frolicking little chaps who were deposited there before the elders came in from their late supper.

This trundle-bed institution of Southern plantations grew out of the fact that tho' excellent nurses by day, the negroes were too sleepy-headed to be depended upon by night, and careful mothers kept small children under their own supervision by the trundle-bed plan.

Children were strictly dealt with but trundle-beds saw lot of fun slyly carried on -- plottings of mischief for the morning -- whispered fairy tales, jokes and giggles which often brought down upon the stern "children, be quiet."

Always enough of their own affairs on hand that the gay chatter and laughter of the "grown ups" in the room made no more impression on their minds than the sound of the storm in the old oaks outside. 

While the "grown ups" sewed or read by candlelight, or kept up talk in the hearth corners, the planter, tired from a day on horseback superintending work was taking his rest on the broad couch before the fire, joining in the chat, or dozing peacefully. 

If guests were in the house, the parlor was lighted & heated and host & hostess passed the first hours of the evening with the others, but generally drifted back into mother's room later taking the elder guests with them, while the young folks had the parlor to themselves -- sung [sang] the old sentimental songs -- played old time music, cards sometimes (never for stakes); a servant brought in some fruit or cake, & the simple evening closed.   

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
Mother = Jane Mary Wood Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Father = Harvey Mitchell/Michel (1799-1866).]

Mary Louisa Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899): Part III

Martha Washington Inn, formerly College, formerly Preston House, in Abingdon, Virginia, 2006 (Wiki Commons)

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899), Part III. Additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.

 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing scans of the original documents, and in turn many thanks to Peter Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

The old Preston place (now Martha Washington College) was a fine old mansion, and Amy often took me there to see cousin Preston, a most dignified and stately woman, then long a widow with many grown children. Among them were Mrs. Carrington, Mrs. John B. Floyd, and Eliza who married my uncle Charles, & was cousin Eliza Hughes mother. 

Also Wm. C. Preston the brilliant orator & public man who lived many years in South Carolina. He was devoted to my parents. Mother, as a young girl, spent her winters with him in Columbia, S.C.  

Grandfather took mother from Abingdon in a carriage & 4 horses thro' North Carolina down to Columbia every fall. It took weeks to go. Cousin William had no children, and he and his wife urged my parents to give me to them for adoption. They refused, and some years afterwards Cousin W. adopted one of Mrs. Carrington's sons (the Carringtons had always tried to keep him from adopting me) and the son, strangely enough was a lover of mine when I was seventeen and he twenty. He died at twenty-two -- a dear, lovely boy.

The old Preston house when she lived was a stately home, whose great shade trees, green lawns and flowerbeds were fit setting for a house of simple elegance, where life trod with cultured steps, where old-fashioned formality was tempered by genial hospitality while good-breeding and scholarship was the rule, not the exception.

Life was simple, excitements few. Amusements rather prim but the self-control which was the ruling principle among the gentry, kept up a serene atmosphere morally, while physical existence was made quietly comfortable by such trained servants as the world will never know again. "Perfect serving" is said to be "the soul of living." If that is so, our ancestors ought to have had more than their share of soul. 

I have tried hard to think of that time without the usual inclination to glorify the past which one of my age is liable to do. But it us hard to look back when one is so weary, and not wish for what seems to have been so restful. Such a state of affairs could not naturally last, and yet if the war had not come, I am sure the South would have kept its tranquil ways intact for many years.

In the North, a hard climate, greater population and lack of servants combined to urge human beings on to invention, competition & progress. Whether the world is more comfortable in consequence, is an open question. One that the young cannot answer because they know nothing of anything else but this rush of the moderns.

The middle aged are too breathlessly busy to consider such things, and the old are too predjudiced [prejudiced]. My firm belief in equilibrium makes me hope that even my children may live to see some quietness come over the spirit of this tormented earth. 

Cousin Preston's house was then the handsomest in Abingdon, but there were many other substantial homes of brick and stone which still stand. But they were simply built -- no modern conveniences, and so lacking in  most of the comforts now universal, that I doubt if even I would enjoy going back to them. When my little red morocco shoes carried me down those old streets, there was not a bathroom in the country, not a bit of the necessity we call plumbing, no gas, no furnaces or stoves. 

Candles were the only light, and how eyes held out to do all that fine stitchery, I cannot imagine. The candles were of three qualities. Imported wax was the best and very expensive -- home-made wax and tallow was next, but most universal was common tallow made by each family for its own use. I used to long wildly to be allowed to hold one end of the candle mold as the hot grease was poured in, and never lost the thrill of interest over the transformation, when after a cold night, the mold was brought in, and long white candles came out where that sizzling stuff went in.    

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
First memories are of "Lilliput" See 1841 letter from Jane (Mother), link here.  This part refers entirely to the Preston residence.
Mother = Jane Mary Wood Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Amy = enslaved servant. There are two Amys listed in the estate (dated 1832) of Peter Johnston, Jr. (1753-1831), and we may suppose that this Amy is one of them. Link here.
Preston = Sarah "Sally" Buchanan Campbell Preston (1778-1846), widow of Francis Smith Preston (1765-1836).
Mrs. Carrington = Elizabeth "Eliza" Henry Preston Carrington (1796-1877), married to Edward Codrington Carrington (1790-1855).
Mrs. John B. Floyd = Sarah "Sally" Buchanan Preston Floyd (1802-1879), wife of John Buchanan Floyd (1806-1863).
Eliza Madison Preston (circa 1803-1828) was actually the older Sally's niece, not daughter. Her parents were John Preston (1764-1827) and Mary Winston Radford Preston (1781-1810). 
Charles = Charles Clement Johnston (1795-1832).
Eliza = Eliza Mary Johnston Hughes (1825-1909), who married Robert William Hughes (1821-1901) in 1850.
W. C. Preston and wife = William Campbell Preston (1794-1860) and Louisa Penelope Davis Preston (1805-1853). 
Grandfather = Peter Johnston, Jr. (1763-1831). 
The son = probably William Campbell Preston Carrington (1836-1863), who was killed at the Battle of Champion Hill, Mississippi at age 27. His romance with Mary Louisa would have been in or around 1855 or 1856.] 

Mary Louisa Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899): Part II

Mont Calm (aka Montcalm), Virginia Department of Historic Resources*

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley Memoir, 1906 (and 1899), Part II. Additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading.

 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing scans of the original documents, and in turn many thanks to Peter Johnston Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

When a young girl Mother was invited there to a tea-party. There was in those days much ceremony in all social matters. Everything had a right way, and every man woman and child had a holy horror of doing it the wrong way.

At Mrs. Campbell's infrequent entertainments a more than usual strictness prevailed, so you can imagine all these outwardly prim young folks seated around the great square parlor trying to curb their high spirits into due decorum and keep up convention during the stiff hour before tea was brought in.

It was always a relief when the servants began a noiseless distribution around the room of certain small polished tables (they came in sets of four, fitting in to each other), and there was a gentle stir and rustle as the company settled into groups around the slender-legged bits of rosewood while young men maneuvered and young girls managed to make room for a favorite.

A moment of pleasant suspense, and the door was thrown open to the black waiters, (solemn with a profound sense of the occasion) who brought in the great silver salvers laden with the priceless china and delicious confections of that by-gone-day. 

The ceremonious serving, the subdued mirth, and the rather stately wit and manners was all of a piece with the mahogany furniture, fine and solid.

At Mrs. C.'s that night, conversation had dragged even more heavily than usual. The usual constraint was added to it by the wonderful new thing on the floor -- a velvet carpet -- so precious to its owner that it was rumored she never let a broom touch it, but overlooked a servant, on his knees, sweep it with a bunch of turkey feathers. So the guests hardly dared put a foot to the floor, & nothing was genial but the great open fire of hickory logs.

When, at last, the door was thrown open, a sigh of relief breathed thro' the room. But -- instead of the table-laden darkey appeared a tall waiter in white gloves & apron bearing aloft a huge silver salver heaped high with something white. To the horror of the guests he walked to the hearth and threw the contents into the glowing fire! Mrs. C. had had her hickory chips scoured! And it required the softening influences of the delicious supper when it did come to calm the nerves of the hungry after such a shock. 

In Abingdon circles the story was told of Mrs. C. that she had just completed arrangements for one of her semi-annual entertainments when news came of a near relative. Immediately recalling all invitations, she had the cake carefully put away, & one year from that day had her party, using the cake. Of course it was not popular, and one venerable frosted sponge did duty for months afterwards as the cake handed with wine to callers. It was so well known no one would cut it -- a glass of wine would be accepted, but no one cared for (that) cake. 

At last a party of young folks on their way to call, resolved to end the days of that hoary patriarch. When asked to have refreshments, to Mrs. C.'s horror they accepted cake; it was your uncle Bev who stuck the knife in, & the cake flew into a thousand pieces.

Years after the day she made me eat my peach over the railing, I was in Abingdon for the summer, and her property was being divided among distant kin. She had lived to extreme old age, miserly and unloved. When the place was sold for division, in the garret were found boxes and trunks by the dozen filled with the clothes she had been buying for sixty years. Rather than give, she had hoarded, & there, moth eaten and yellowed, was a collection unique and enormous -- but entirely without value to heirs who were accustomed to relics -- and so all were scattered. 

Negroes helped themselves, & many an old silk that had rustled down the church aisle fifty years before was altered by awkward black fingers into a "Sunday meetin'" gown. Driving out one afternoon we met a little darkey trotting leisurely along the shaded road stride an old mule on his way to mill. Dressed in the usual scant tow-linen shirt & trousers, his woolley head was crowned by a great fine Dunstable straw bonnet of the early 20s [1820s]  -- this shape [small sketch inserted] which in its prime, must have cost $30.00  [worth perhaps $250 in 2018].

[Mary Louisa/Louise Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
First memories are of "Lilliput" See 1841 letter from Jane (Mother), link here.  This part refers entirely to Mont Calm / Montcalm, the Campbell residence.
Mother = Jane Mary Wood Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Campbells = David Campbell (1779-1859) and Mary Hamilton Campbell (1783-1859). Virginia Campbell, a niece, and David H.R. Campbell, a nephew, also lived there for a time.
Bev = Beverly Randolph Johnston (1803-1873).
*Photographic link here.]