By Maggie Fellows
MHM Volunteer
From the beginning of my time with the Monrovia Historical Museum, I have found myself continuously pulled back to the dusty rolling racks of the museum’s clothing closet. There is a certain wonder, a bit of nostalgia for unknown memories, as you brush your fingers against the fabric of a jacket, its owner now long gone. There are stories that were lived between those panels of fabric, hand-stitched hemlines, pen-inked name tags.
Some stories are joyful, like a little girl’s silk dress owned by Polly Packard, whose father was a prominent civil rights lawyer in Chicago, and whose mother was an active organizer in the Suffragette movement in the early 1900s. The dress is sky blue with green and pink ribbons down the side. Surely they twilled when she spun, and surely the silk shone when she walked in the spring sun.
MHM Volunteer
From the beginning of my time with the Monrovia Historical Museum, I have found myself continuously pulled back to the dusty rolling racks of the museum’s clothing closet. There is a certain wonder, a bit of nostalgia for unknown memories, as you brush your fingers against the fabric of a jacket, its owner now long gone. There are stories that were lived between those panels of fabric, hand-stitched hemlines, pen-inked name tags.
Some stories are joyful, like a little girl’s silk dress owned by Polly Packard, whose father was a prominent civil rights lawyer in Chicago, and whose mother was an active organizer in the Suffragette movement in the early 1900s. The dress is sky blue with green and pink ribbons down the side. Surely they twilled when she spun, and surely the silk shone when she walked in the spring sun.
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