Sniffing the Sauce with Nipper Clones II

                
Forward:  On February 18, 2012, I devoted a post to the many satires that the image shown above have spawned.  Known as “His Master’s Voice” the picture of a dog called Nipper listening to a gramophone became a decades long symbol of RCA Corp. and generated dozens of “send ups.”  In doing that piece I became aware that among them were representations of dogs sniffing at a liquor container and recognizing “his master’s breath.”  As a result I did a follow-up post on that subject May 9, 2014, called “Sniffing the Sauce with Nipper’s Clones.”  During the ensuing years and months I have collected an additional number of examples and believe the time has come to reveal them.

     
The first object is a ceramic ashtray that features a spotted dog, likely a terrier, similar to Nipper sniffing at a jug, helpfully labeled “whiskey.”  The bowl of the ashtray carries the punch line.  Why the tray is in the form of a horseshoe is not explained.  The second object below, this one in metal, apparently had utility as a penholder.  It is unclear, however whether the jug served as a reservoir for ink.  I like the enthusiasm being shown by the dog, one of uncertain breed.

The photo of a dog looking at a decanter labelled “whiskey,” capped by a syphon is a riffle on the theme.  Here “vice” has been substituted for “breath,” sending a strong anti-alcohol message.  Although the next example, a post card, returns to the usual nomenclature, the artist has given us only the siphon to be sniffed by Fido.  Perhaps the master had just been filling his gas tank and the dog is smelling the fumes.

The following two flasks are from the Schafer & Vader ceramics factory in Thurlinga, Germany, founded in 1890.  Among the wares flowing from their pottery were a wide variety of figural bottles, each containing several swallows of liquor and meant as giveaways by saloons and other drinking establishments. Initially these items were produced and sold primarily in Germany and Austria, but about 1910 the U.S. department store giant, Sears Roebuck & Co., began to import and distribute nationwide Schafer & Vader pottery, with English titles and American themes.


With the success of Schafer & Vader, several U.S. ceramics firms began to compete for its market.  Hip flasks became a popular item, particularly during National Prohibition (1920-1934).  The two additional flask shown below may be American “knock-offs.”  Often the origin can be determined by close examination. The copy-cats often lack the heft and fine design of the German products.

The half pint jug shown here is something of an enigma.  Once part of my perspnal collection, the ceramic is very common and comes up for auction frequently at inflated prices.  For years I attempted unsuccessfully to pinpoint the source of the item since it bears no pottery mark nor label.  The jug likely held some form of alcohol initially but remains a mystery.
The final two objects are shot glasses.  The one at left likely was designed as a gag gift for a whiskey drinker.  The depiction of the dog is bizarre at best, looking more like a Norway rat than a canine.  It seems to have grasped in its claw-like paws a jug of “pure rye” from which fumes are being emitted.  At right is a glass advertising “Old Tucker Whiskey.” a leading label of the Brown-Foreman Company in the pre-Prohibition era.  This Louisville, Kentucky, outfit was formed by George Brown and George Foreman in 1891 and has survived to the present day.  It chose this “Nipper clone” image to merchandise the Old Tucker brand, including on giveaway items it provided to favored customers, including celluloid  pocket mirrors.

With this post, I believe that the subject of Nipper clones, both alcoholic and otherwise has been virtually exhausted.  From a broader perspective the items demonstrate how over the years an iconic image like the RCA logo can be made a subject of humor and satire in so many formats and materials.  If a picture can be said to be worth a thousand words, a dog and a gramophone has been worth about that number of imitations.

Note:  My post on Schafer & Vader can be found at December 3, 2016.

 

Playing “I Spy” with Apartheid

                           

The regional entities of U.S. labor unions for years operated U.S.-funded programs to strengthen the free labor movements in dozens of countries around the world.   Unlike most USAID grantees, the AFL-CIO had gained the right to approve individuals sent to evaluate the effectiveness of their programs.   My credentials as a former member of the American Newspaper Guild proved useful for obtaining consultant contracts to provide labor-based evaluations and related services.

In January 1990 I found myself in South Africa at the head of a team of three to evaluate the African Free Labor Institute (AFLI) program there.   This was still the “bad old” days.  Apartheid was in full force.  AFLI officials were barred from visiting South Africa and did business from nearby Lesotho.  USAID maintained a mission in Pretoria, however, and we were given visas.  Shown here is a photo of our group:  from right, Dr. Jerry Barrett, a labor specialist;  Ann Mullins, a local woman with ties to the black labor movement, and me.

The evaluation took us to several major cities where we interviewed dozens of trade union officials, some of them white or of mixed race.   A number were well known for their opposition to the de Klerk government.  On occasion we met with union officials late at night at locations down dark alleys. Among them was Cyril Ramaphosa, the current President of South Africa, shown here.

It took several days to realize that our team was being followed by de Klerk government agents everywhere we went.   The first glimmer occurred in Durban.  We hailed a cab outside our hotel and kept it with us much of the day.   The next day, the same driver -- a tall mixed race man about 45 -- was waiting at the door of the hotel to drive us again.  “Did any of you ask him to come back this morning?”  I asked other team members.  No one could remember doing so, nonetheless we made use of his services for the second day.

Our next stop was Capetown, a hotbed of dissent against the discriminatory labor laws of South Africa.  We took a cab, apparently at random from the taxi stand in front of our hotel, shown here,  out to the University of Capetown.  I told the driver -- a white Afrikaner -- not to wait and that we would call for another taxi as we were leaving.   A university official called the cab company for us -- and the same driver showed up. That seemed a little unusual, but we took him anyway.

On the way back downtown we stopped for lunch at a well-known outdoor restaurant.   The Afrikaner,  a stocky laconic sort,  said he would wait in the parking lot located on a hillside above the eatery.   After ordering my meal, I rounded the restaurant to find a restroom and noticed our driver standing at the edge of the parking lot.  He was looking down at our table intently -- with binoculars.

Cautioning my colleagues against making any ill-advised remarks in the cab, we went back to town.   The next day our driver, again apparently one we picked at random, was a young man of mixed race in a cab with a broken door handle.  Like the others, he stayed most of the day with us.  The next day the driver was different but the cab and the door handle were the same.   No doubt a vehicle with a recording device.  

When the time came to fly back to Johannesburg, Jerry Barrett went ahead to the airport.  He later called my room:  “I suspect you will be getting an Indian driver who will ask a lot of provocative questions about your attitude toward the South African Government.  He pestered me all the way out here.”

True to form,  when I emerged from the hotel later that day with my luggage,  the first cab in the queue was being driven by an Indian.  I got in.  He immediately began to bombarded me with questions about apartheid, the government, and race relations.  To all his inquiries I replied that we were in the country to learn, not to make political statements.  I tried to speak directly into the dashboard. 

After landing at Jan Smuts Airport,  Jerry and I went our separate ways.  He to Johannesburg to give a talk and I to Pretoria to have dinner at the home of the U.S. Mission Director, an old friend, Dennis Barrett (no relation to Jerry), shown here.  While waiting for a bus to town I noticed a burly, very bald, white man looking intently at me from a single automobile standing in a clearly marked “no parking” zone.   I stared hard at him for several minutes.  He bolted out of the car and into a nearby building where he continued to watch me through a window.  The bus arrived and I waved a jaunty goodbye.  At dinner that night Dennis, shown above, confirmed that he too was shadowed wherever he went and that he had gotten to know several of his “tails” by sight.

The following day as our team boarded an aircraft to take us to London, a large white van pulled up on the tarmac next to the plane.   The driver was looking at me intently.  It was the same bald man.  As I walked up the stairs to the door of the aircraft, I turned and waved at him again.  Once again he failed to wave back.  The entire experience seemed like something from a John LeCarre novel.

Things changed dramatically after Nelson Mandela was released from prison and subsequently was elected President of South Africa.  In 1995 I returned for another evaluation and found that several labor leaders we had met five years earlier now were cabinet ministers.  Jay Naidoo, whom we had interviewed, now was Labor Minister and had crafted a new labor law.  He made me a guest at the formal rollout of the new law, one that eliminated the discriminatory processes of the old regime and opened a new era in South African labor affairs.  Being invited was a singular honor.  This time I was not followed.