It’s not too early to mark your calendars for October 5 through 7 for Oak Knoll Fest XVII. Covering various aspects of the fine book in the 21st century, the fest will consist of fine press printer exhibitions, a special symposium, and educational talks by Jerry Kelly and Carol Grossman. It’s sure to be a great time, so we hope you are able to join us!
Registration will open soon. Continue to stay tuned for more information.
Some of you have probably seen my recent interview with Nate Pedersen on the Fine Books & Collections blog. I just wanted to add that I am now an official Associate Member of the Antiquarian Booksellers’ Association of America! It is truly an honor to belong to a society that has affected me throughout my entire life. I would like to thank the members of the ABAA, as well as Tom Congalton for writing an excellent letter of recommendation. Most of all, I’d like to thank my father. Without him, I wouldn’t have been introduced into the bookselling career.
An article recently posted in the Criss Chronicles of the University of Nebraska at Omaha.
“Who are Helmut, Deborah and Hope? – An Ephemeramystery” by Oliver B. Pollak
A Saturday in October 2011 found me in the library selecting books for the Spring semester. I took a break and sat on the black leather chairs opposite circulation, next to the new book display. The distinctive binding and paper of Women Bookbinders 1880-1920 by Marianne Tidcombe (Oak Knoll Books and British Library, 1996) reached out to me.
I surmised that Marvel Maring, an inspired bookbinder, ordered it. In the book lay a 4 by 6 inch note dated June 19, 2001, from Helmut to Deborah, mentioning Hope, lamenting the sale of his “library.”
Who were Helmut, Debora and Hope? Book sleuth juices flowed. Within less than a second google disclosed that the letterhead address, 173 Riverside Drive, belonged to Helmut Nathan Friedlaender (1913-2008). Five obituaries in the New York Times and Independent (London) described a financially and culturally accomplished life.
Helmut, son of a Berlin lawyer, fled Nazi Germany in 1933 and arrived in New York via the Netherlands, Italy, and Switzerland where he earned a doctorate in administrative law at Lausanne University. He commanded English, French, German, Greek, Hebrew and Latin. He learned international arbitrage in London.
Helmut, financial adviser to philanthropist William Rosenwald, the second son of the Sears and Roebuck chairman, served as a director of Ametek, a manufacturer of precision instruments and small electric motors for over 50 years. Other corporate positions included the American Securities Corporation, Western Union International, and the first easterner on the Union Stockyards of Omaha board.
He served and contributed to the Council of Fellows of the Morgan Library, the Grolier Club, President’s Council of the New York Public Library, President’s Council of the Center for International Studies at NYU Law School, Friend of the Parker Library in Cambridge, England, Oxford’s Bodleian, who awarded him the Bodley Medal in 2005 for supporting the publication of a six volume, 3,000 page, catalog of Bodliean incunables.
Marvel ordered the book and Danielle Simpson in purchasing identified the seller as Yankee Peddler Books. I talked with YPB customer service representative Karla Meyette, a 31 year employee. The invoice dated September 15, 2011 indicates a cost of about $60. She speculated that it could have been a publisher return resold to YPB. YPB inspects the books its sells for any defects, this passed through. How does a new book contain a personal letter?
The Harvard Library Newsletter, no. 1032, June 2001, announced the hiring of Hope Mayo who had worked for Christie’s, and as Helmut’s part time librarian from 1992 to 2001. Her 1974 Harvard doctorate in medieval history clearly qualified her to curate Latin manuscripts and incunables.
Friedlaender started collecting in 1970, at the age of 57. A visit to London’s famed antiquarian book dealer Bernard Quaritch spurred his passion for medieval illuminated manuscripts and incunables, moveable type books published before 1500 –“cradle books”- were his babies, and he had the money and acumen to pursue them.
The lavishly illustrated, two volume, hardbound Christie’s catalog listed 559 lots, some containing as many as 258 volumes. I requested the catalogue through Interlibrary Loan and then purchased it for $19 including shipping through abebooks.
The sale occurred on April 23-24, 2001. On the first day 172 out of 185 lots sold, ranging from $666,000 for Ciceronis Officia et Paradoxa (1465), to $3,525, for Speculum Exemplorum (1487), for a total of $8,433,500. Fortunate purchasers acquired ten medieval illuminated manuscripts and 117 incunables. Later books were in English, French, German, Greek, Hebrew, and Russian.
The second day 255 lots netted $914,291, 118 went unsold. The four volume Golden Cockerel Press Canterbury Tales sold for $41,125, and the 11th edition 32 volume Encyclopedia [sic] Britannica went for $212.
Literary icons included a 15th century Boccaccio manuscript, estimated to bring $10,000 to $15,000, fetched $47,000. The next day a 1934 printing of Decameron went under the hammer, and Milton’s Paradise Lost brought $47,000.
Enlightenment works included the 35 volume Diderot Encylopédie which brought $138,000, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon ($76,375), and legal works by William Blackstone ($17,625). Economists David Ricardo and John Maynard Keynes brought $14,100 and $1,998 respectively. Keynes’ 1936 General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money sold the second day.
American classics included Benjamin Franklin ($22,325) and Henry David Thoreau ($4,700). Charles Babbage ($18,800) the designer of the difference machine, an early mechanical computer and Frederick Winslow Taylor’s, The Principles of Scientific Management (1911) represented emerging technology.
Judaica and Hebraica included Spinoza, several Passover Haggadahs and works by Zionist Theodor Herzl. Helmut’s interests in print included the fine presses Aldine, Ashendene, Doves, Golden Cockerel, Grabhorn, Roxburghe Club and Yolla Bolly. An almost complete set of Bird & Bull works, about 120 items, went unsold as did 258 volumes of The Book Collector. Five hundred-forty Grolier Club publications garnered $28,200.
Helmut enjoyed seeing his collection in a two volume printed catalog. A Dutch and Swedish bidder fell on hard times and Helmut repurchased part of his old collection at a discount.
The sale of his collection introduced a new bibliophilia chapter. He started a collection of Baedekers, early travel guides, originating in 19th century Germany. He would enter a book store asking “Have you any Baedekers?” Following his death 67 volumes “chiefly” from his estate were auctioned by Swann’s Galleries on April 21, 2009.
Hope Mayo’s publications include the Introduction to Morgan Library Ghost Stories (1990) with wood engravings by John De Pol, “Olomouc, not Herzogenburg – A group of Gothic Blind-tooled bookbindings reattributed,” in the Gutenberg Jahrbuch (1994), One Hundred Books Famous in Medicine (Grolier Club, 1995), and an Introduction to Marbled and Paste Papers, Rosamond Loring’s Recipe Book (2007).
Bob Fleck at Oak Knoll Books identified Deborah. My Thursday, November 3, 2011 email to Bob went unanswered. I called him on Tuesday, November 8 at 11:30 CST, he was at lunch. I reached him at 12:15. Four or five months earlier Bob purchased about 1,000 books from Deborah Evetts, the Pierpont Morgan Library Head of Rare Book Conservation, who moved into smaller Manhattan quarters. Her pristine Women Bookbinders, went back into stock. Yankee Peddler contacted Oak Knoll Books, a publisher and used book dealer. Oak Knoll sold an ostensibly new book, actually previously owned, to Yankee Peddler who sent it to UNO.
In 2000 a conference celebrated the opening of the Bernard C. Middleton Collection of Books on the History and practice of Bookbinding. The proceedings, Bookbinding 2000 (Rochester Institute of Technology, 2002) included “Coptic Bookbindings at the Pierpont Morgan Library: Their History and Preservation” by Deborah Evetts, and “Women Bookbinders in Britain Before the First World War,” by Marianne Tidcombe.
As to the 80-word note, Helmut scribbled letters for his secretary to type.
 Marvel Maring, Danielle Simpson, Les Valentine, Karl Johnson II, Bob Nash, Hope Mayo, Deborah Evetts, Bob Fleck, Karla Meyette, abebooks, WorldCat, and Mark Walters at Interlibrary Loan, assisted in this project.
 Your author managed UCLA library bindery repairs in the late 1960s.
 My cousin, Inge Halpert, left Vienna in 1941, earned her doctorate at Columbia University where she was a Professor of German, lived at 445 Riverside Drive.
 As a teenager Rockwell Kent’s illustrated edition introduced me to erotica. I have five English editions.
 Keynes a member of the British delegation at the 1919 Versaille Peace Conference demonstrated his dissent in his prophetic Economic Consequence of the Peace (1919), of which I have a copy.
 I have a 1938 Grabhorn Press leaf book with a page from Caxton’s 1482 Polychronichon.
 I traveled in Scotland in 1995 using a late 19th century Baedeker.
 Your author acquired a collection of John De Pol’s work from Neil Shaver.
 In 2010 I attended a Newberry Library exhibit, “Norma Rubovits: The Art of Marbled Papers and Fine Bindings.”
 I reviewed Robert D. Fleck’s Books about Books: A History and Bibliography of Oak Knoll Press (2008), NCB News (Spring 2009).
Reprinted with permission of Criss Chronicles, University of Nebraska at Omaha, where it appeared in January 2012.
An interview of Rob Fleck was recently posted on the Fine Books & Collections column titled “Bright Young Things” by Nate Pedersen. In this section, Pedersen interviews young booksellers about their adventures in the exciting and sometimes challenging life of
bookselling. Rob reveals his collecting interests, what he likes most about the trade, and more.
For me the one thing that I love more about the book trade more than anything else is simple: the people. Going to book fairs is one of my favorite tasks to do for Oak Knoll. Many members of the ABAA/ILAB are extremely caring, nice, interesting individuals that all share the same interests. Very few of them don’t go out of their way to help you if you have a problem. Not to mention the countless amazing stories about bookselling and book collecting that are told around a shared bottle of wine.
Click here to read more of Rob’s interview.
My fiancé (Lauren) and I just got back from lovely Pasadena and the 45th California International Antiquarian Book Fair. Oak Knoll hasn’t done a book fair in southern California for many years, but with a few new exciting collections that we received the past year, we thought that we should give it a try. In comparison to Century City, where it was held in previous years, the Pasadena convention center offered us booksellers a lovely new venue that had easy access to Colorado Ave (the main drag) and surrounding museums, restaurants, and shops. Winslow & Associates, in connection with the Huntington Library, did an excellent job at promoting the fair as Saturday morning felt like everyone in Los Angeles was there. All in all, it was very exciting for us!
Interpretive Wood-Engraving: The Story of the Society of American Wood-Engravers by William H. Brandt reveals a wonderful history of the lost art of interpretive wood-engraving. It provides a history of the Society of American Wood-Engravers and profiles many leading personalities of American wood-engraving. Take a look at this excerpt from the book that reveals the skill and craftsmanship required of wood-engraving.
Members of the Society of American Wood-Engravers made many of the first-rate wood-engravings that appeared in Harper’s and The Century magazines. In his text for the Society’s 1887 portfolio, New York Sun publisher and art connoisseur William Laffan claimed that American wood-engravings had become so fine and delicate, and displayed such subtle tints, that Europeans could not print them. Nevertheless, Harper’s and The Century printed them regularly and printed them well.
American pressmen, led by New York printer Theodore DeVinne, overcame the difficulties of printing these beautiful and delicate illustrations by a remarkable combination of judgment, ingenuity, and diligence. They invented many improvements in presses, paper, and ink.
The difficulties of printing first-rate wood-engravings arose from several causes. First, it was necessary to apply greatly different amounts of pressure to different parts of the engravings. Second, edition sizes of these popular magazines had increased to more than a hundred thousand per monthly issue. And, finally adequate presses, paper, and ink did not exist.
Everything about the printing had to be brought up to higher standards. Fortunately, the main ingredients necessary—determination and skill—were present in good measure. Further, Americans did not feel limited by traditions and customs. The following pages discuss how advances in technology and procedures allowed American pressmen to successfully print the excellent American wood-engravings for Harper’s and The Century magazines.
Several preliminary steps were necessary: proofing, electrotyping, overlaying, and making ready. Then, using the improvements invented by Americans in presses, paper, and ink, American pressmen made high-quality impressions in quantity.
As the engraver worked, he would—from time to time—put ink on a part or all of a block, lay paper over it, and rub it with a burnisher, spoon, or finger to see what his work might look like when printed. This procedure helped the engraver visualize the product of his patient labors, which would be printed in reverse. Adding to the difficulty, he worked on a wood block, which was cut with white lines rather than black lines as were etchings or metal engravings, and thus lacked contract with which to see the engraved design.
When they were satisfied with a block, many prominent engravers would have the final proofs made by John (J.C.) Bauer of New York City. Bauer ran a professional proofing shop and made proofs with hand presses on tissue-thin Japanese paper. “Japan,” as the engravers called it, became available after about 1870 and was much admired by wood-engravers because on this substrate even their most delicate tints showed up clearly. It was thin but strong, and so light in weight that a breath would life it. Japan tissue was often mounted on stiffer paper, usually by tacking the corners with a tiny bit of adhesive, such as bum Arabic.
Bauer made as many such proofs as the engraver ordered. These proofs, many of them signed in pencil, might go to collectors or museums or to other engravers. Kingsley complained that so many of these proofs were picked up by fellow engravers that sometimes there were hardly any proofs left for the engraver himself.
These Japan proofs cost the wood-engraver one dollar per proof for printing and were used to present a finished illustration to the art director of the intended magazine. The wood-engravings were then electrotyped, after which the magazine’s own printing department would make proofs. These new proofs were compared to the engraver’s proofs on Japan and were used in preparing overlays for production printing.
Although wood-engraved illustrations were called “wood engravings,” for much of the second half of the nineteenth century they were—except for the proofs—generally printed from electrotyped plates. Illustrations in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine and Harper’s Weekly newspaper were printed from electrotypes during the Civil War. The Century and Scribner’s used electrotypes from the 1870s on. The high-quality illustrations in The Aldine were also from electrotypes.
After proofing showed a wood-engraved block to be satisfactory—and the art director had accepted and paid for the illustration—the block would be locked into an iron frame called a “chase,” along with the appropriate type.
The electrotypist poured melted beeswax into a shallow pan and, before it fully solidified, would add a uniform layer of graphite (known as black lead). He also put graphite onto the surface of the block and the type. The chase would then be pressed with great force against the graphite-coated beeswax so as to leave a precise impression on the wax. The graphite, acting as a lubricant, facilitated separation of the block and type from the wax, yet its more important role was to provide an electrically conductive surface, and sometimes more graphite would be added to the surface of the wax after it had been removed from the chase.
The electrotypist then put the wax impression into a bath of copper sulfate in acid, and attached appropriate electrodes, one to the graphite-coated wax and the other to a plate of copper. An electrical current deposited copper atoms from the copper plate onto the graphite-coated wax replica, and after a few hours, the result was a think copper shell that was a precise atom-by-atom replica of the type and the wood-engraving.
Steam or hot water was used to remove the wax from the thin copper shell, which would then be reinforced with type metal—usually an alloy of lead, antimony, and tin—so as to make it strong enough for printing. Because the type alloy would not bond to the copper, a layer of tinfoil was melted onto the copper shell; the melted type metal was then bonded to the tin.
The copper replica of the wood-engraving thus reinforced could withstand the pressures exerted by the printing press. DeVinne said that such an electrotype could produce as many as one hundred thousand impressions. In an 1887 article, “Great American Industries: A Printed Book,” Richard R. Bowker estimated that five hundred thousand could be printed without diminishing the quality of the image.
Overlays and Making Ready
The printing of type was a relatively straightforward process. Pieces of type were of a uniform height, and an even overall pressure would produce a high-quality impression. But printing the wood-engraved illustrations was not so straightforward. Different areas of an image might need to receive quite different amounts of pressure to be well printed. This is how Theodore DeVinne explained it:
“Suppose A B C D to be separate hand stamps engraved on wood. If the surface of the stamped marked D were inked, the moderate pressure of ten pounds would transfer these thin lines to paper. C, having more lines, and offering more resistance, would call for a pressure of twenty pounds or more to insure a good print. B is still blacker, and resists much more, requiring say fifty pounds to force it fairly. A, which is entirely black, could not be smoothly printed with a pressure of less than one hundred pounds—perhaps more.”
During printing, the steel cylinder of a press was covered by a sheet of very smooth, tough, flexible material called a cylinder sheet. Thin pieces of paper could be pasted to the cylinder sheet in order to increase the pressure exerted on the paper as it passed between the cylinder and the inked electrotype. These pieces of paper had to be cut to size and affixed in exactly the right place in order to achieve the desired effect. The blacker an image area was, the more thicknesses of paper were required, with six begin the functional maximum; more delicate areas of an image would require fewer or none at all.
In DeVinne’s example above, each of the squares would require a different level of pressure in order to print correctly—one thickness of paper above block D, two thicknesses above block C, three above block B, and four above block A. If they were being printed as a single illustration, the press operator would cut a rectangle of paper that would fit across all four squares; then a smaller rectangle to fit across squares A, B, and C; a yet smaller rectangle for just squares A and B; and a square of paper for square A. He would paste these layers of paper together and then affix them to the cylinder sheet so that, when the cylinder rotated, the added layers of paper would align precisely above their respective blocks.
Both the individual pieces of paper and the combined assembly of all the pieces of paper needed to achieve differential pressures over an entire image were called “overlays.” To construct an overlay, the pressman would first run off several flat prints of the illustration. Then he would carefully make cut-outs and paste them together on top of one another, creating a shallow relief in paper, which, when properly attached to the cylinder sheet, produced greater pressure on darker areas and lesser pressure on lighter areas.
Making an overlay for a complex image required a painstaking and tedious procedure, first to construct the overlay and then to place it in exactly the right position on the cylinder sheet of the press. After the overlay was attached to the cylinder sheet, the electrotype would be inked and a proof pulled; the proof would indicate to the pressman whether the overlay was satisfactory or whether it needed more or fewer layers of appear in any given area. This process of proofing, creating the overlay, attaching it to the cylinder sheet, and proofing again—and then repeating the entire process until the pressures were precisely adjusted—was called “making ready.” It typically required an experienced pressman and his assistant thirty to fifty hours to make ready for printing a sheet of electrotyped wood-engravings, but there was no way to shortcut this painstaking procedure.
Can you imagine going through that process more than once? Click here to view more on Interpretive Wood-Engraving.
Check out some recent reviews of publications from Oak Knoll!
A massive, near definitive resource that goes places I have never traveled with any other bibliography. Grissom’s scholarship is breathtaking. Oak Knoll Press has touted it as ‘sure to be the definitive resource for Hemingway collectors, scholars and libraries for years to come,’ and I see no reason why it won’t.”– Craig Stark, BookThink
He has been scrupulous in identifying previous omissions and he has corrected the errors of earlier bibliographers. This exemplary study now stands as a solid foundation for future Hemingway scholarship. That it will soon be superseded is difficult to imagine. One last observation: while this title’s price may appear daunting, it has been my experience that making use of reference volume just once often justifies its purchase. I have my copy. Get yours.” –Ralph Sipper, ABAA
A remarkable collection that successfully combines scholarly articles, an exhibition catalogue, and a photographic essay within its covers. The images in the book reinforce the value of using material culture to understand the historical past, and they give life to the subjects discussed in the essays. Overall, this book is a “must have” for those interested in the educational, social, and cultural history of early America.”–Keith Pacholl, Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography
Fitzgerald’s descriptions for each entry are extraordinarily detailed. The entries are models of technique for twentieth century books. The eight pages of color plates are especially welcome and help to capture some of the charm of the books themselves, many of which were attractively designed and printed. In short, Series Americana, exhaustively researched and painstakingly written, is an essential tool for all research libraries and will provide ample rewards for the librarian, the collector, and the student of American publishing history.”–Russell L. Martin III, SHARP News
It will, I am sure, become a collector’s item in its own right for it is a handsome volume, well printed in a pleasing font on cream-coloured paper with each entry well set out. The bibliographic content of each entry is meticulous and will be of great service to everyone whose research involves cookbooks. At the back are lists of bibliographical reference works, libraries, and background literature. Four indices, arranged under names, chronology, and geography, cover all the ways one might want to use the book.”–Malcolm Thick, Petits Propos Culinaires
This volume is unquestionably a valuable resource. The book is extremely well typeset and the use of a grey rule admirably breaks up descriptions. There are also thirteen full-page colour and two full-page black and white illustrations and a magnificent dust-jacket.” –Philip W. Errington, Book Collector
Bob thought he was going into his son Rob’s office to look at some books, but little did he know he would be greeted with some taco take-out, a whole bunch of cupcakes, and his entire Oak Knoll staff singing happy birthday!
In celebration of Bob’s birthday this Saturday, we decided to throw a small birthday party right here at the office. We put up our special birthday banner, ate too much food, and of course enjoyed some light-hearted conversation.
Happy Birthday to the man who has continued to write the story of Oak Knoll since its founding in 1976 (not to reveal too much of his age!). Here’s to another year of health, happiness, and good books!