Etched Bottles and Boxes Sell Easily

 Etched Bottles and Boxes Sell Easily 

   WHEN Harry Brown finished college, he decided to see if he couldn’t make some money with an idea he had been mulling over for some time. In his chemistry course in college he had learned how to etch glass by coating it with beeswax, lettering words with a steel point, and then exposing the surface of the glass to the fumes of hydrofluoric acid. With a little practice Harry found that he could produce some rather neat looking bottles suitable for the medicine cabinet. He purchased a carton of standard-sized bottles of good clear glass and etched them with the names of the usual medicine cabinet remedies such as boric acid, witch hazel, hand lotion, glycerin, etc. He made up several sets of four bottles each and sold them to friends and relatives. Later he sold them from house to house. On every call he tried to sell a complete set of bottles. However, when it was plainly evident that the housewife did not need the entire set, he would suggest her taking a pair of bottles. Sometimes he could get her to suggest other labels for two more which he would etch for no additional charge. He also took orders for special sets of bottles for the invalid in the family or for the baby’s medicines. Harry made it a point to deliver the orders in the evening. Generally, the “man of the house” would be home and there would be no delay in getting the money for his work. Furthermore, he frequently found that father would be interested in securing for his “private supply,” a uniform set of bottles with names such as Rye, Bourbon, Scotch, etc. Another idea that sold well was a little mirrored-top match box. He bought these by the dozen and etched numbers from one to eight on the mirrored tops. Women bridge fans were delighted with them as they could use them for bridge prizes. When these went over so big, he purchased some larger mirrored cigarette boxes and etched the names of the popular cigarette brands on the tops. Women bought these novelties for bridge prizes also as well as for their own homes. Before long, Harry found himself so busy that he not only had to secure assistance in handling the work of etching the bottles, but also had to hire someone to follow up inquiries.

 The Vogue for Wrought Iron House Numbers 

   WHEN the depression took away his office job, Leander Hvale of Deerfield, Illinois, turned to his hobby, the making of hand-wrought knickknacks for homes. Word-of-mouth advertising along the fashionable North Shore section has brought Mr. Hvale many orders for handmade iron home-markers (swinging signs at the gate or on posts near the entrance), wall plaques, weather vanes and other handicraft. His son, a Chicago Art Institute graduate, makes the designs. One home-marker, which he worked out for a dog shelter (an enterprise of one of Chicago’s society leaders), shows a little dog up on his hind legs, begging. Two other little dogs are sympathetically listening. Another design was a lovely madonna for the wall of an outdoor living-room of a North Shore estate. The home-marker had its origin in the Middle Ages before the invention of house numbers. In order to identify one’s home it was customary to use some sort of distinctive sign. Thus people came to speak of Mr. So-and-So who lived at the sign of the “Green Rooster” or the “Yellow Lantern.” Among the nobility the crests from the family coat-of-arms were used as home-markers. Fighting cocks, spread eagles and unicorns were popular. The modern vogue of naming homes has brought with it the demand for markers to symbolize hospitality and good-fellowship. Mr. Hvale realized that he would have to let people know what he could do with wrought iron if he were to have any kind of success. So, although he had no money to spare, he planned to have an exhibit at the Garden Club flower show held at Chicago’s Navy Pier. The money for the display space was earned by doing odd chores and shoveling peat for a month for the club. The display did bring his work to the attention of those who appreciate the beauty of wrought iron and created no little business. There are any number of things to be made of wrought iron and those who have a hankering for this type of work will find innumerable designs in books on the subject. The wrought iron gates and balconies of New Orleans, made in the colonial days, are known all over the world for their beauty. For years these examples of art and skill have endured. The intricate, lacy designs are really the work of artists and are not easy to equal. However, there are many simpler designs which can be made by the average craftsman. Home markers, colonial lanterns for entrance lights, railings, small balconies beneath windows, fireplace equipment, grills, hinges, door knockers—all are in vogue today due to the revival of interest in colonial architecture and furnishings. Prices charged for wrought iron things should, of course, be high enough to put a proper value on original design and expert craftsmanship of this sort.

 James Mack’s Sandwich Bar 

FOUR years ago, James Mack, in search of a better climate for his health, drove to Florida and stopped for a while in Miami. Now James Mack was a connoisseur of good coffee. He was fussy about the kind of coffee he drank, and well he might be for he made a good cup of coffee himself. According to Mack, there was no good coffee in Miami. He tried all the restaurants, the hotels, and even the refreshment stands. The coffee was terrible! Well, if he couldn’t get a good cup of coffee in Miami, he would make it himself and show these Florida cooks how the people from up north liked their coffee! No sooner said than done—James Mack opened up a sandwich bar. The menu included only two types of sandwiches—fish and hamburger —and the best coffee you could buy at any price. Yet he charged only a nickel a cup for it. Milk was added to the menu as a concession to those who couldn’t drink coffee. The fish used in the sandwiches was always whatever was in the market that morning in quantities sufficient to be purchased at a good price. The hamburger was always strictly fresh and prepared so that it really was good enough to accompany the best cup of coffee in town. No pie, no cake, no cookies, no ham and eggs—nothing but the sandwiches and coffee and milk were served. People were skeptical at first, but the few who tried his coffee were back soon with other customers. It became the habit to brag to newcomers, “I’ll take you over to Mack’s where you will get the best cup of coffee you ever tasted.” There were seats for only twelve at Mack’s place and he refused to enlarge. “I don’t want a great big place with lots of overhead,” he remarked to a visitor who asked him why he didn’t enlarge the place. “The customers really like it this way—it’s cozy and different from the average restaurant or hotel dining room. If I enlarged and had to have waitresses and tables, the place would look like every other food ‘emporium.’” People did like it as it was—they stood four deep in line to get their coffee, and thought it fun. They ate their dinners at the hotels and came over to Mack’s for their coffee. It became a fad and he was wise enough to know it and to keep it so. Once he had made his reputation for having the best coffee in town, he did nothing to change it. That coffee had to be good! He bought the berries himself, blended them, and ground the coffee fresh each time it was prepared. The few things he served were all fresh and good quality. The place was immaculate and so was Mack and his assistant in their white coats. There was no noisy clatter of dishes and silverware—the service was quiet, the place cool and shaded from the sun by awnings. Mack was proud of his coffee and sandwiches—he expected you to enjoy them, and you did. Mack’s emphasis on quality succeeded. He has turned in his old car on a new one, paid his doctor bills back up north, improved his place, paid for all his equipment, and has money in the bank