F.H. Knapp

[“Stafford Ink window display at F.H. Knapp.” 146 Hamilton Place, New York City, June 3, 1914. Photograph by William Dabis Hassler. From the New-York Historical Society. Click for a larger view.]

This photograph must be the largest image I’ve ever posted. So click, I say. Click for a much larger view. It’s an extraordinary window.

The automaton therein couldn’t be appearing at a better time: Elaine and I are reading through Steven Millhauser’s fiction, all of it, and just finished “August Eschenburg,” a long short story about a maker of increasingly fabulous automatons.

F.H. Knapp sold his business in 1920. As Reich & Schrift, the store, still a stationery store, was still in business c. 1939–1941. Here’s the tax photo to prove it. Hamilton Place is still there in Upper Manhattan. There is no no. 146 today.

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January 22: On June 3, 1914, a crowd gathered (at the photographer’s invitation?) to watch the automaton at work:

[“Crowds admiring the Stafford Ink window display at F.H. Knapp.” 146 Hamilton Place, New York City, June 3, 1914. Photograph by William Dabis Hassler. From the New-York Historical Society. Click for a larger view.]

Here’s a little more about F.H. Knapp. From The Bookseller, Newsdealer and Stationer, February 8, 1908:



The Century Co. was the publisher of the celebrated Century Dictionary.

In its September 1921 issue, Typewriter Trade Journal and the Office System reported that Mr. Knapp was thinking of reentering the stationery business. He was then living at 500 W. 144th Street, right next to his former store. The September 25, 1921 issue of The Modern Stationer and Book-Seller has an advertisement that he placed:

My few thousand dollars, experience and business reputation in book and stationery business would make a genuine asset in starting business. A grand chance for some one in a similar position to double up with me and establish a first-class, profitable business. I want to connect with party familiar with commercial stationery, printing, engraving, die stamping and kindred articles; kodaks, artists' supples, books, greeting cards, etc. if you have an equipment — good! Or capital and experience, that will do. A trade following and capital would be interesting. F. H. Knapp, 500 West 144th street, New York City.

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[Photographs of F.H. Knapp’s and info on his 1921 plans shared by a generous reader. Thanks, reader.]

Footnoting Zippy

Today’s Zippy, “Hearing Things,” looks at and listens to roadside attractions.

The Big Duck — “Quack!” — is in Flanders, New York.

Our great nation houses many giant chickens and roosters. The bird in today’s Zippy — “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” — looks as if it might be this one, which once stood in Byron Center, Michigan. The page with the photo says chicken, but the photograph’s URL says rooster.

There’s only one Haines Shoe House. It’s in York, Pennsylvania. I’ve passed it dozens of times driving on I-70. Elaine has pointed out that the shoe house is nowhere near I-70. But I know I‘ve seen it. How? When? Dunno. If I see it again, will slow down, roll down the window, and listen carefully — “Florsheim!”

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Finding Your Roots

With Henry Louis Ga Gary Larson.

More ChatGPT fails

Excerpts from text generated by the prompt “Write a 500-word analysis of.”

John Ashbery, “What Is Poetry”:

Ashbery writes that “poetry is a language that speaks to the soul,” suggesting that poetry is a way of expressing emotions and ideas that cannot be conveyed through more conventional forms of communication. He also writes that “poetry is the voice of the ages,” suggesting that poetry is a way of connecting with the past and with the collective human experience.

Elizabeth Bishop, “One Art”:

The theme of loss is further developed in the third stanza, where the speaker describes different types of losses such as “a you, or a night, or a home” which are all things that can be lost, but not necessarily things that can’t be replaced. The fourth stanza describes the loss of a “shifting, floating city” which is a metaphor for something that is not tangible and can’t be replaced. These examples are intended to show that the speaker understands that there are different types of losses, and that some are more difficult to accept than others.

Emily Dickinson, 764 [My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun]:

In the fourth stanza, the speaker describes how their power is “the engine of my heart” and how they are “the tongue of my power.” The use of the metaphor of the engine and the tongue suggests that the speaker’s power is something that drives them and gives them voice. This stanza also implies that the speaker’s power is something that is a part of their very being, and that it is something that they cannot separate from themselves.

Philip Larkin, “Annus Mirabilis”:

The third stanza of the poem is where Larkin’s cynicism becomes most apparent. He states that “the stairs are where the girls are,” suggesting that the sexual revolution was primarily focused on the physical act of intercourse rather than genuine emotional connection. He also notes that “the trash / Our young men collected / To build their heaven which exists / And cowers in them to this day.” This line suggests that the societal changes of the 1960s were superficial and that the individuals who were involved in the sexual revolution were ultimately unfulfilled.

William Butler Yeats, “The Wild Swans at Coole”:

Yeats writes that “Nineteen hundred years have come and gone / And I, a passer-by.” This line suggests that Yeats is aware that his own life is fleeting, and that he is just a temporary presence in the world. He also writes that “The years upon my back like some great beast” which symbolizes the weight of time on him.

In each case, ChatGPT produces phrases and lines nowhere to be found in the poem. My best efforts to find sources return nothing, though “Nineteen hundred years have come and gone / And I, a passer-by” sounds like a great start for an Ashbery poem, titled, perhaps, “A You, or a Night, or a Home.”

Yesterday I found ChatGPT producing a 500-word analysis of Ted Berrigan’s poem “Red Shift” that bore no relation to the poem and, again, contained phrases that don’t appear in the poem. I can’t imagine what it would be like to speak to a student who turned in this sort of stuff as genuine writing.

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Time is money

I saw an eminent typographer’s tweet about the Onigiri Menu Bar Timer for Mac. It is indeed a beautiful timer — and free, with in-app purchases. Okay.

But when one looks more closely: “free” means ten uses. After that, it’s $79.99 for a license for use on five desktops. If reviews at the App Store can be believed, the price used to be $199.99.

Time, indeed, is money. I’m sticking with the free app Pomotroid, available for macOS, Windows, and Linux.

For a kitchen timer, I like the Ozeri Kitchen and Event Timer, small, loud, nicely designed. For $79.99, you could buy Ozeri timers to equip the Brady family — and Alice.

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No pictures Further developments in the story of an art-history instructor fired after showing a class a fourteenth-century image of Muhammad.

ChatGPT fail

Ted Berrigan’s “Red Shift” is one my favorite poems. You can read “Red Shift” and hear the poet read it courtesy of PennSound. Last night I asked ChatGPT to write a 500-word analysis:

“Red Shift” is a poem by Ted Berrigan, a prominent American poet and member of the New York School of poetry. The poem is a short and fragmented, but packs a powerful punch through its imagery and use of language.

The poem begins with the image of a “red shift,” which is a phenomenon in astronomy where light from distant objects appears to be red-shifted, indicating that the object is moving away from the observer. This image sets the tone for the rest of the poem, which explores themes of distance and separation.

The poem’s first stanza describes the red shift as a “faint, red light,” suggesting that the phenomenon is distant and hard to see. This imagery is symbolic of the distance and separation that the speaker is experiencing. The second stanza describes the red shift as “a signal of loss,” further emphasizing the theme of separation.

The third stanza describes the red shift as a “siren song,” evoking the image of a distant, haunting sound that is both alluring and dangerous. This imagery is symbolic of the speaker’s longing for something that is out of reach, and the danger of getting too close. The fourth stanza describes the red shift as a “final light,” suggesting that the phenomenon is the last thing the speaker sees before the separation is complete.

The fifth stanza describes the red shift as a “memory,” suggesting that the phenomenon is something that the speaker remembers, but can no longer see. This imagery is symbolic of the speaker’s longing for something that is now in the past. The final stanza describes the red shift as a “dream,” suggesting that the phenomenon is something that the speaker wishes for, but may never happen.

Throughout the poem, Berrigan uses vivid imagery to create a sense of distance and separation. The imagery of the red shift is symbolic of the speaker’s longing for something that is out of reach, and the danger of getting too close. The poem’s fragmented structure is also effective in conveying the sense of separation and longing, as the speaker jumps from image to image without any clear narrative.

Overall, “Red Shift” is a powerful and evocative poem that explores themes of distance and separation through vivid imagery and a fragmented structure. Berrigan’s use of the red shift as a symbol for the speaker’s longing for something that is out of reach is particularly effective, as it evokes a sense of longing and distance that is both alluring and dangerous.

ChatGPT came up short, in more ways than one. The text it generated is only 417 words, but no matter, because the words aren’t about the poem. I thought that the bot might have latched onto a song lyric, but searching for red shift, faint red light, signal of loss, and so on turns up nothing.

“There are certain trifles I do not forgive”: what would John Shade say about this effort?

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“Yeats is always sincere”

John Shade opines. Like James Boswell before him, Charles Kinbote records.

Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire (1962).

Also from Pale Fire
Aunt Maud’s clippings : Chthonic, grimpen, sempiternal : Index cards : “Insert before a professional” : “What emperor?”

Phish identification

From the Apple-centric TidBITS: Adam Engst’s “An Annotated Field Guide to Identifying Phish.” Worth reading carefully — just as with sketchy e-mails.

Spot the bot

The New York Times has a challenge: read ten short pieces of writing and figure out which ones were generated by a chatbot and which ones were written by children.

I got nine of ten right. (I was tricked by one small feature in one passage.)

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