Can you see anything? Yes, wonderful things!

Sometimes, opening a box of donated books is almost as exciting as opening King Tut's Tomb

The mysterious box.

by John B. Green III

On November 26, 1922, Howard Carter, British archaeologist and Egyptologist, and George Herbert, 5th Earl of Carnarvon, Carter's financial backer, engaged in the breathless conversation that provides the title to this post.  Carter had just chipped a small opening into the sealed door of the previously unexplored tomb of King Tutankhamun in the Egyptian Valley of the Kings. Carter was peering into the opening with a candle and trying to process what he was seeing. In one of the most famous exchanges in the history of archaeology, the anxious Carnarvon asked him "Can you see anything?", to which Carter replied, "Yes, wonderful things!"

The object that was in the mysterious box.

Our opening of book boxes doesn't ever produce anything to rival the contents of a king's tomb, but we do occasionally find curious objects among the old books that the usually anonymous donors may or may not have intended to include: nails, screws and other hardware; defunct electronic devices; clothing; money (small change which goes into the donation box, although a bank envelope containing cash resulted in your blogger bounding out the back door and across the parking lot to return the cash to the owner); family photos (which we hold for a time in the hope that the owner may return - they never do); personal items (some extremely personal); and general trash and bug-ridden debris (I kid you not).

Once in a while, though, we find the good stuff: books, pamphlets, photographs, or memorabilia which make valuable additions to the Kellenberger Room's collections. Then there are the objects which are so interesting or remarkable that we can't bear to pitch them out, even though we may have no real reason to keep them.  What follows is the description of the finding of one of these "wonderful things."

A little over a year ago, your blogger was at the library's back door examining some donated boxes.  The boxes were visibly old and long-sealed.  Upon opening, a collection of 80-year old engineering and drafting text books was revealed.  In the bottom of one of the boxes was the small box shown in our first illustration.  The box was heavy and my first thought, given the nature of the books, was that it might contain drafting or engineering instruments. Carefully sliding the box open revealed the object in the second illustration.  Finding and pressing the hidden latch allowed the object to open accordion-like and to reveal its true nature. Before me sat a Kodak Model 1A Autograph camera, c. 1920, in pristine condition and lacking only the long-unavailable specialized film to make it fully functional.

The object revealed - a Kodak Model 1A Autograph Camera.

The Kodak Autograph was called that because of a special feature. On the back of the camera is a hinged aperture which, when opened, reveals a small section of the specialized backing of the negative.  After taking a photo the user would turn the camera over, open the door, and using the stylus provided, scratch a notation or caption onto the negative.  Once developed, the finished print bore the caption in white lettering across one end of the photograph. 

The autograph feature.

A collection of just such photographs from my Grandfather Green's photo album is included below to demonstrate the uses and abuses to which the Kodak 1A Autograph could be put. As for our Kodak 1A Autograph, that "wonderful thing", carefully closed and returned to its storage case, rests in honored glory in the Kellenberger Room.  We kinda like it.

The End (of the box)