Mrs. Stella Thomas: A Memory

My travels have taken me all over the world; my educational travels are no different. At one point in the early 80s, I landed in Iowa City to study. At the time, we didn’t have Goodwill at home. We had it in California, where my family lived, and it was a huge treat to go there at Christmas to look for dolls. I liked to prowl around the IC store and then stop at the Amelia Earhart deli for coffee or breakfast. We had everyone in IC, and there were times you were not sure if the person you were seeing was a or a woman, or if your movie theater companion would emerge wearing a Mohawk when the lights came on—and it didn’t really matter. We all managed to get along, to class, and stay friendly. The trouble was Goodwill downtown didn’t have many dolls. I would find maybe one in the whole store. Finally, I got the courage to ask where the dolls were, and was given a flier for a doll show, that very weekend, right before graduation! It was a Doll Show and Sale at the home of Mrs. Stella Thomas. She lived on College, which was part of the downtown, but too far to walk, especially if one had shopping bags full of doll treasures. I called a cab, universally $2.00, and started off. In Mrs. Thomas garage, not too far from the park we liked, and our favorite Haunted Book Shop, home of National Velvet paper dolls, were dozens and dozens of dolls. Most were restored, some dressed in original clothes, the oldest dating from the fifties up to the contemporary early 80s dolls, now vintage themselves. There were undressed dolls I later learned would be given away to those interested in dressing them, and there were boxes and boxes of doll parts. I went to work. I found Miss Revlon types, full dressed with the high heels so hard to find. I brought home a Bam Bam for free; he needed an arm and counted as free “parts.” I found hard plastic dolls, and Baby Secret, a doll I had wanted in the sixties. I took home an undressed Crissy to dress. All told, I had four white garbage bags filled with dolls, and these I sneaked by my 84-year-old landlady, not that she would have minded. The dolls went home to the cases at my parents’ home. After that, I went to the dolls show every year I lived in IC, and took my mom with me. After that, we would call Mrs. Thomas, and visit. She and I looked forward to talking to each other. The antiques dealers tended to leave her alone; comp and bisque dolls were the rage. A few would show up at her garage, but they were modern bisques, and a few compo babies in need of serious repair. One dealer we knew was her friend; Theo would help her by pricing some dolls, and donating some of her own stock to sell. Theo was a nice lady, and she, too, would encourage those interested in all types of dolls to visit. I don’t know if the UFDC would have applauded her efforts. She told me that a couple of times, someone would criticize who the dolls were dressed. Mrs. Thomas and her friends used donated material to dress the dolls, and often made ties and ribbons from pieces of yarn. Undaunted, she replied to these nay Sayers, “If you’re old enough to comment and criticize how the dolls are dressed; you’re too old to be playing with them!” That should be a battle cry! There were also stories with the dolls; Mrs. Thomas told me one cloth bodied baby doll had returned to her at least twice, redonated so that she could have a new cloth body cover twice made for her. That dolls resides at The Museum now, never to be redonated again. Mrs. Thomas was a simple person; her home was a modest fifties ranch. Her son, a science teacher, lived with her. When she found out my mom was a teacher, she talked about him proudly and often to us. She wore her salt and pepper hair page boy length, and wore old fashioned horn rimmed glasses. She had a simple rain coat for cool weather, dark in color, and favored flowered house dresses, like my grandma wore in the sixties and seventies. She and her friends made the doll show a party, and would have lunch during the show, usually bologna sandwiches and apple pie and cookies. Theo told me she died about ten years ago or so at 91. Theo, to, is no longer with us, and another era in doll collecting history, at least mine, has ended. I recently took a trip to IC, and couldn’t help but think of her as I drove through the familiar streets. I like to think She, Theo, Mary Hiller, our friend Violet, and Mom are all together somewhere now, talking dolls, maybe dressing a few, reminiscing, and waiting for me. Happy New Year 2013.