The Mysterious Mr. Morris:
I Paid the Fare and Ran!

Each of us, at one time or another, has played the parlor game “What Book?” The question is asked, of course, in relation to being stranded on a deserted island, or in the face of a devastating flood or fire. So, then, what single book would you take or save? Such was also the question I put to myself in chapter four of my book, On Collecting William Morris: A Memoir, recently published by The Printery. But I cheated. Given that my library of William Morris totals over 1,000 items of all kinds (Kelmscott Press titles, pamphlets, first editions, works about Morris, and even objects relating to his life and work), I cheated and listed ten treasures I would save.

Many of those treasures are truly unique, such as the handwritten poem “ Birdling, Whither Away” (perhaps written out by Morris himself); the Jessie M. King illustrated edition of Morris’ The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, wonderfully inscribed to a “Mrs. Mavor” by Jessie King ; or the copy of Hermann Zapf’s William Morris Sein Leben und Werk, which he has inscribed to me using large, blue initials “J” and “W” along with the Morris quote: “The letters should be designed by an artist, and not an engineer.”

There were also, among the 990 or so items I could not “save,” treasures large and small that I had to leave behind. There is, for example, the large framed original piece of calligraphy by Lloyd J. Reynolds. Reynolds was a professor at Reed College in Portland, Oregon, where he taught art for some fifty years. Internationally he was known as a pioneer in the Italic handwriting revival, and his book Italic Calligraphy & Handwriting is used the world over as a teaching tool. The Morris quote he executed for me in 1977 reads: “A true source of human happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life and elevating them by art.” Another art treasure that did not make my saved list was the portrait of William Morris, done in 1974 by Barry Moser. It was this etching of Morris, limited to 50 copies on Arches paper, that first brought the name and work of Barry Moser to my attention, and eventually led to a small book we worked on jointly called Men of Printing, published in 1976 by the Pennyroyal Press. These are just some of the Morris treasures that tempt me still, the also-rans, that almost made my top ten list. But there is one single item that remains at the top of my “This could be great” list, a William Morris item that, to all visitors, is introduced as “The Mysterious Mr. Morris! ”

Some background first. In the spring of 1999 I attended a library conference at the University of Oklahoma in Norman. At the end of the conference I was approached by a librarian friend, a fellow book collector, and we agreed to use our free time, prior to our flights home, to book hunt. Our morning was spent in a rather futile attempt at trying to find a good used bookshop. Someone finally suggested we try a place in Oklahoma City called the Antique Co-Op.

This location offered what are sometimes called antiques, or even collectibles. While searching one of the booths, what should my eyes spy but a rather small plaque, about 5 3/4 by 7 1/4 inches, framed in hand rubbed walnut, with a plaster relief of William Morris, facing left in profile, with a signature “William Morris” carved at the bottom. I found the price rather daunting, all $2.50, plus 21 cents in tax, but not being one to argue or dicker, I paid the fare and ran!

So what did I get for my grand sum of $2.71? It is, of course, “The Mysterious Mr. Morris!” Every visitor to my home library, every Morris collector, each Morris scholar is asked the same question: “Take a look at the mysterious Mr. Morris. Have you ever seen this before? Have you ever seen a reference to it? Have you ever seen it in a book? A dealer’s catalogue? ” No, No, No, and more no’s are my only replies. What I do know is that the plaque is based on a photograph of Morris taken by Frederick Hollyer in 1887 that is now located in the William Morris Gallery, Walthamstow. I also know that the frame is expertly made, routed at various points to allow for the depth of the plaster work, which at certain points is up to one-half inch thick. I also know, from very close examination of both the front and verso, that there is absolutely no makers mark of any kind.

So there you have it, perhaps my greatest Morris treasure – or is it?

Jack Walsdorf
jackjuno@teleport.com