When I was a boy, throughout fourth though (maybe) seventh grade, I would go hiking in the Pennsylvania hills. I would walk the tracks, and climb the hills. I would explore old abandoned buildings, and I would explore old garbage dumps… often finding many interesting bottles.

The whittle marked bottles were a prize.

Whittle marks are a very descriptive term for a bottle body feature that generally has nothing whatsoever to do with its name.  The term "whittled" or "whittle marked" is a reference to a hammered or wavy surface to the glass that one could imagine was caused by the "whittle" marks of the mold maker on the inside surface of a wooden mold.  Early 19th century glass makers called this effect "ruffled glass" while later it was referred to as a "hammered look" (Toulouse 1966, 1969a).  See picture to the left.

Appealing though this notion is, the large majority of molds used to produce bottles during the era covered by this webpage (1800 through the 1950s) were made of various metals, or in the earlier years, fired clay (Van den Bossche 2001).  Although wooden molds were extensively used in the very early days of bottle making (pre-1800 up until the 1850s) and continued to be used for some applications until the early 20th century, including for the  block in free-blowing, wood had too short of a life span to be of much use for most industrial bottle making where the temperature of molten glass was 2000°F and wood burns at about 1/4th that temperature (Whitall Tatum 1880; Toulouse 1966; Lohmann 1972; Boow 1991).  It is believed impossible to visually determine that a bottle was blown in a wooden mold since these type of molds had to be kept very wet in order to avoid premature burn-out or even ignition when the hot glass hit the wood.  Due to the water, steam was formed in the mold creating a cushion that the bottle "rode" on between the glass and the mold surface (Scholes 1952).  This would not leave any trace of the mold surface texture and would likely preclude embossing on the bottle.  When used, wooden molds were often lined with clay, coal, pitch, and other materials to try to extend the life.  All were poor substitutes for metal molds (Atwater 1893; Toulouse 1966; Kendrick 1968; Lohmann 1972; Munsey 1970; Deiss pers. comm. 2005).

 Whittle marks were actually caused by a reaction of the hot glass hitting the surface of a colder mold; cold relative to the temperature of the molten glass.  Thus, the alternative name for this feature - "cold mold" although it was sometimes the glass itself that was too "cold" relatively speaking (Ceramic Industry 1949).  Molds needed to be red hot" to properly produce a bottle without the wrinkles or ripple-marks that are known as whittle marks (Scholes 1952).   This hammered look of mouth-blown bottles was also believed to sometimes be caused by the rolling the hot parison on the usually colder marver (Toulouse 1966).  In a sense, whittle marks are bottle "goose bumps."  As glassblowers were paid for the number of intact bottles blown, not by the surface quality of the items, there was little incentive to pay much attention to things like whittle marks or for that matter, bubbles in the glass or other largely non-impairing flaws (Toulouse 1966; Munsey 1970).   The August 1890 edition of the National Bottlers Gazette (a carbonated beverage industry publication) noted the following - "The hammered look that some bottles present is not a sign of weakness except so far as the appearance of the bottle is concerned.  The cause of this 'Hammered' appearance is that the glass has been put into a mould which has not been sufficiently hot, and the steam from the surface has imprinted itself upon the bottle."  The steam was from the water that metal molds were either sprayed with or dipped into periodically to cool them (Toulouse 1966).

Kendrick (1968) suggested that the term whittle marks, though inaccurate, should be retained because of its ubiquitous use and because "although the  (term) may be misleading as to the true cause of the deformity, it represents a true picture in the mind's eye of how the marks appear."   This is not to say there have not been periodic debates over whether some whittle marked bottles actually do exhibit the signs of the wooden mold makers knife.  The most notable argument for this was put forth by the pioneering May Jones in Volumes 7 & 8 of her "The Bottle Trail" publications during the 1960s (Jones 1967).  However, as noted above, the steam caused by the hot glass vaporizing the moisture in a wooden mold would almost certainly preclude any subtle mold surface irregularities from expressing themselves on the bottle surface (Deiss pers. comm. 2005).  It is now believed that the vast majority - if not all - of the bottles exhibiting whittle marks are the result of the noted glass to metal mold reaction.

 The bottle pictured to the above left exhibits an extreme level of whittle marks.  This is an   Old Dr. Townsend's Sarsaparilla (New York, NY) that dates from the 1850s (Shimko 1969; Odell 2000).  This bottle was probably blown early in the day before the mold had warmed up much or after extensive cooling with water.  Though having whittle marks way more distinct than normal, this bottle makes a good illustrative item for showing this feature.  Most bottles having whittle marks exhibit them in less density and less distinctly than the pictured item.  As an example of more subdued whittle marks, click on the picture to the right.  This is a ca. 1865-1875 medicinal tonic bottle (C. G. PENDLETON'S / TONIC - the embossing is turned away in the picture) thought to be from Memphis, TN.  (Incidentally, whittle marks can be evident on any color of bottle; dark ones were used here since the dark glass surface photographs better.)

In the 20th century, much more attention was paid to all aspects of a bottles conformation and quality.  Whittle marks were, as Kendrick noted above, a deformity of the glass and something that 20th century bottle makers worked to eliminate.  They referred to whittle marks as "washboards", "brush marks", "wavy," "wavy surface", "ripple-marks", "wrinkles", "cold mold," and probably other terms (Anonymous 1949; Scholes 1952; Tooley 1953).  Some automatic machines pre-heated the molds (called a "hot mold" - molds are also cooled if too hot) though whittle marks are observed occasionally in machine-made bottles also.  These defects are less likely in fully automatic machines because they would run 24 hours a day rarely cooling off; the mold heat being supplied by the glass itself.  In addition, the cycling time from one bottle to the next was very short since machines in the mid-20th century were producing soda bottles at the rate of 30-125 (or more) per minute with one operator - hardly time to cool of much.  As a comparison earlier hand production operations produced about 1 bottle per minute with several people involved (Tooley 1953; Kendrick 1968; Jones & Sullivan 1989).

(Note: A similar bottle surface irregularity that is seen now then on mouth-blown bottles is what is termed an "orange-peel" effect or surface.  It is quite descriptive as it is a pebbly surface to the glass that very closely resembles the texture of orange peel.  This effect is probably caused similarly to whittle marks, though it is possible that at it is caused at times by the rough surface texture of a more crudely made or worn iron mold.)

As were “Bitters” bottles. Though I never found an intact bitters bottle.

In 1803, the Farmer’s Cabinet, an agriculture periodical published in Philadelphia, first mentioned the word “cocktail” to refer to a drink—and not a horse with a shortened tail. Another early description of a cocktail, from 1806, calls for four ingredients: “a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water, and bitters.”

Bitters occupy a curious niche in the history of food and drinks, especially given their early history as patent medicines with rather dubious reputations. Take one of the oldest, Angostura. Originally, the company’s greenish-tinted bottles contained an herbal concoction made from roots, bark, and spices. The “Aromatic Bitters” took their name from the Venezuelan city where they were first created (Angostura was subsequently rechristened Cuidad Bolivar in 1846). Interestingly, early botanists also gave the name Angostura to three different species of trees, including Galipea officinalis. Because the bitters’ recipe is a tightly guarded secret, locked in a vault and known by only five employees, whether the trademarked concoction once contained the bark from any of these Angosturas remains something of a mystery. Either way, the recipe’s since to be reformulated—in much the same way that Coca-Cola removes the potent alkaloids in coca leaves—and now Angostura neither contains Angostura, nor is it produced in Angostura.

I was curious about how bitters went from being drugs to an intrinsic part of today’s cocktail renaissance. I spoke with Brad T. Parsons, the author of Bitters: A Spirited History of a Classic Cure-All, with Cocktails, Recipes, and Formulas from his home in New York.

How did bitters evolve from a substance kept behind the apothecary to a staple in the modern cocktail? 

The English used bitters in this drink called Canary wine. They were putting medicinal herb-based dashes and drops in these drinks, but bitters really exploded in American Colonial times, up through Prohibition. The word “bitters” is in the definition of the first printed usage of the word “cocktail.” It was any drink consisting of spirits, water, sugar, and bitters… There is some murkiness about when it went from being something someone sipped on its own as a medicinal to when it went into a cocktail, but people were taking these high-proof root-, botanical-, fruit-, or seed-based infusions for medicinal value.

Around 1824, Johann Siegert, who was a doctor in Venezuela, began making Angostura as a stimulant for the troops to help them with malaria and keep them on their feet. As we get to the golden age of the cocktail, the late 1800s, bitters became more synonymous with cocktails no matter what bar you went to.

Even during the Temperance movement, people who were teetotalers were still drinking bitters even though it was a high-proof infusion. During that time, people were putting these bitters into a poorer quality spirit, which was a way for it to taste better, or people were applying alcohol to their bitters to help their medicine go down, so to speak. I was never really able to pinpoint the year we went from these corked, apothecary bottles that people would nip to when they started putting them into their drinks and it became more of a concentrated drop versus a splash or a nip.

Then we get up to 2004, when Gary Regan put his bitters back on the market and now you can get a dozen different bitters. There is a little bit of “everything old is new again” charm to it, but also it was a lot of people seeking out old copies and the internet leveling the playing field by finding old, rare books, you didn’t have to physically travel around and buy them at auctions, you could buy them online.

I found tons of Lydia E. Pinkham bottles which was a “remedy” for women. I think that it was sort of a cross between cough syrup and whiskey. LOL.

Lydia Pinkham was born in 1819 to well-to-do farmers William and Rachel Estes in Lynn, Massachusetts. Pinkham joined the Lynn Female Anti-Slavery Society when she was sixteen years old, and worked as a schoolteacher until she married Isaac Pinkham in 1843. Pinkham’s foray into the world of medicine began with her penchant for collecting recipes and brewing home remedies, then giving them to her neighbours. When her family fell on difficult financial times in the 1870s, the decision was made to turn her well-liked remedy into a business.

It was marketed to women, and many women would write directly to Lydia Pinkham for health-related advice. She answered all their letters– even after her death in 1883! It was later revealed that her daughter-in-law Jennie Pinkham was the one answering the later letters.

Today, many remember Lydia Pinkham as a champion of women’s health and provider of important information to thousands of women. The formula of her Vegetable Compound changed over the years, and survives today in different, modern forms.

Ball mason jars were in abundance, and they were so common, that I gave up collecting them.

But, I’ll tell you that a fine cobalt blue telephone or telegraph insulator was a real prize. Oh, sure, we found brown ceramic insulators often enough, but the frosty pale blue ones were a real treasure.

When I went to anniversary, all my collections… from bottles to models, to books were all rummaged though by my siblings. My brother would trade them or sell them for things that he wanted, and my sisters just told my mother to throw them out. And so she did.

Very few bottles remained. Which is a shame as some (noticeablely the ink bottles with stoppers) were just beautiful.

Sigh.

And life moves on. Today…

Singapore’s Minister of Defense expressed concern in recent news about the global system potentially reaching a breaking point, emphasizing that Asian countries cannot treat this issue like “boiling a frog in lukewarm water.” What do you think?