Smith Family Dolls Artistic,
But Not Commercially Successful

Only a few collectors are lucky enough to have examples of the beautiful infant dolls created by the Smith family of Santa Cruz, California. The Smiths were Putnam David and Mabel Smith, portrait artists, and their young daughter, Margaret.

When the flow of dolls from Europe was stopped by World War I, there appeared to be an opportunity for artists in the field of doll-making. Mabel Smith had always loved babies and dolls, and had been dissatisfied with dolls she had seen, feeling they were lacking in life-likeness. She and her husband decided to make dolls that would have this reality.

They embarked on their doll-making enterprise in 1916 with almost no capital and even less experience. Mrs. Smith's artistic work had been entirely in painting; she had never handled either clay or plaster-of-paris. Nevertheless, from the first, her doll heads were exceedingly interesting and life-like. Later, Margaret shared with her mother in the modeling of heads and was equally skillful, even though she was a young teenager.

The material used, an original composition, was not unbreakable, although the Smiths tried for many months to produce a material that had that quality. The bodies were cloth; the legs and arms were of the same composition as the head.

Artistically, the Smith dolls were a success; they looked like real, healthy babies and had charming dimples. Unfortunately, the financial side of the enterprise was just the opposite of successful. Hand-made dolls priced at five to eight dollars were too expensive for playthings, yet even at those prices the Smiths could not make a profit.

After a few months, they decided it might be more profitable to make larger dolls for stores to use as display figures. Margaret designed some lovely life-size babies and children for Los Angeles department stores, but the Smiths didn't charge enough to even cover their expenses.

They were next forced to let a mannequin company take over the making of their dolls and display figures, under their supervision, on a royalty basis. Once again, their lack of business experience led them astray. They could not protect their own interests and the products of the factory were much inferior to the originals.

After World War I, foreign toys, made with cheaper labor, once again hit the market. Then the molds of the original dolls were stolen from storage and their patents infringed on by makers of cheap plaster work, who flooded the market with cheap reproductions.

Mr. Smith died soon after this, and mother and daughter turned to other work. It is a loss to doll collectors that the Smiths did not make better contacts for manufacturing and marketing their dolls.

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Snake Not A Good Name

Issaquah, Washington, east of Seattle a few miles on Interstate 90, had its beginnings as a coal-mining and hops-growing town. According to Robert Hitchman, in Place Names of Washington, it has gone through a series of name changes as pioneers came and left again.

The first name was Squak, an attempt to pronounce the Indian word Is-qu-ah, meaning snake.

In 1867, a man named Ingebright Wold settled in the community. He didn't like a town named Snake and had it renamed Engelwood, a takeoff on his own name.

In 1892, the post office was established. Daniel Gilman, a promoter of the Seattle, Lake Shore & Eastern Railroad, had the town incorporated as Gilman. His name remains in Gilman Boulevard and, for collectors, the Gilman Antique Gallery.

Later in the 1890s, the present name came into general use and was officially adopted. Issaquah is a derivation of that original Indian name.

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Pacific Ocean Eliminates Possible
Competition For Atlantic City!

“The Atlantic City of the West Coast” was the title bestowed on Bayocean Park, a resort on the Oregon Coast heralded as “A Mecca for Tourists of the World.”

It opened in 1912 on a 4-mile sandspit separating Tillamook Bay from the Pacific Ocean. After a spectacular and well-publicized beginning, and a brief period of glowing prosperity and boom, this “Queen of Oregon’s Resorts” finally lost a 40-year struggle for survival and was dealt a death blow by the ocean itself.

Bayocean Park was the dream of a Kansas City real estate developer. He, along with an associate from Portland, purchased the entire sandspit, which up to that time had been a favorite spot for picnickers, and began building the resort in 1906.

By the 1912 grand opening, Bayocean had a prospering business district, including a post office, general store, real estate office, bakery, café and rooming house. There was even a bowling alley and tennis courts. About 40 furnished cabins were completed and for rent, next to a tent city for vacationers. The Bayocean Hotel was a 3-story structure with 40 rooms and a fine dining room.

The crowning glory of the resort was the large natatorium with its heated 50- by 100-foot salt water pool, complete with a waterfall and artificial ocean waves. It held 1,000 spectators, did double duty as a movie theater and concert hall, and had its own café and shops.

In Bayocean Park, adjacent to the resort, 1,648 lots were sold and many houses built. There were paved streets, a power plant and a phone system, and on the bay side of the spit, a port that could accommodate sea-going vessels.

Then financial difficulties hit. The developer disappeared. No confirmed reports were ever received about his whereabouts. World War I also created financial difficulties.

The final blows, the ones that destroyed Bayocean, came from the Pacific Ocean. After the construction of the 5,400-foot North Jetty of Tillamook Bay the beaches in front of the resort started eroding. Tides came higher. In 1932, swirling waves surrounded the natatorium. Within six years, the waves had destroyed it completely and left a heap of rubble.

The tide breached the peninsula in 1939, washing out the roadway and destroying the water system. In the next 10 years, more than 20 houses were washed away, along with the hotel which was high on a hill. Another breach of the peninsula followed in 1948.

The final demise came in 1952, when the few remaining residents were removed by boat after a huge wave inundated the entire south end of the area, separating it from the mainland with a half-mile wide channel of water.

Today, a few pieces of broken concrete on the beach and an occasional piece of rusty pipe are all that remain of Bayocean Park.

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