photograph by vance lauderdale
Dear Vance: Why is a children’s playhouse located in the shadow of the Woodruff-Fontaine House? It was never part of that family’s property, was it? — H.R., Memphis.
Dear H.R.: The Handwerker Gingerbread Playhouse — to use its full name — was moved to Victorian Village in 1972, because the Lauderdale family turned it down. We deemed the tiny structure — just three rooms totaling less than 300 square feet — completely unsuitable for the Lauderdale Lanes bowling alley we hoped to add to the mansion grounds.
It’s certainly a charming addition to the Woodruff-Fontaine property, but relocating that tiny house required more effort than you could imagine. I’m not just talking about the physical logistics of hefting a fragile wooden structure off its brick foundation on North Thomas Street, lashing it to a flatbed truck, and hauling it to its new location at 680 Adams. The entire project required a team effort involving the U.S. Department of the Interior, National Park Service, Historic American Buildings Survey (HABS), Tennessee Historical Commission, West Tennessee Historical Society, Association for the Preservation of Tennessee Antiquities (APTA), and Memphis Board of Realtors. That’s in addition to architects, historians, researchers, and photographers from the University of Illinois, University of Arizona, University of Cincinnati, University of Tennessee, and Memphis State University.
photograph courtesy find-a-grave
Dr. John Valentine Handwerker
So I’ll begin this saga by talking about the remarkable family that built this thing in the first place. The story begins in the 1840s in Germany when Boniface Handwerker met (and married) Kunigunda Steurwalt (better known as “Kate”) and began a new life in America, first settling in Rochester, New York.
In 1849, Boniface and Kate moved here, where — according to sources that may, or may not be, 100 percent reliable, he served as the first organist for St. Peter’s Catholic Church and later became a music teacher for St. Agnes Academy, which opened in 1851. In 1861, one of his sons, George, following in his father’s footsteps, became the first musical director of the Memphis Theater Orchestra (other historians claim he headed the Memphis Symphonetta — see what I mean about my snarky comment about "unreliable sources"?).
But regarding the playhouse, our story must focus on another son: John Valentine Handwerker (shown here). Born in Rochester in 1844, he came south with his family when he was only 5. When the Civil War began, he joined the Confederate Army at age 17 but never took up arms; instead, he served as a musician with the Second Tennessee Infantry’s regimental band. Records are sketchy, but I presume he attended college after the war, because in the 1870s he set up practice downtown at Washington and Main as a doctor and pharmacist. In those days, the two professions were often one and the same.
The dreadful yellow fever epidemics of the 1870s sent thousands to their graves, and thousands more fled the city. Handwerker stayed behind. Years later, looking back on his long career, The Commercial Appeal observed: “His work during the yellow fever days stamped him as a hero. Dr. Handwerker thought not of himself, but of others. He risked his life in giving succor to the people of this city at a time when we needed him most. He lived up to the finest traditions of his profession.”
Handwerker and his wife, Annie (née Wise or Weiss), had married and raised a family, which would eventually include a daughter and four sons. His growing medical practice must have been lucrative, because he developed property in the present-day area of Thomas, Jackson, and Chelsea. At one point, he was part-owner of the baseball field that became Russwood Park. Sometime in the late 1800s, he built a fine home at 861 North Thomas.
photograph courtesy HABS
The little playhouse, looking a bit ragged, as it appeared in 1972 at its new location behind the Woodruff-Fontaine House.
Now, if you’re still paying attention, we come to the heart of our story. The HABS researchers determined that around 1891, Handwerker erected a playhouse for his children next door to the main house. This was a tiny building, only 9 by 7 feet. In 1904 he enlarged it, then adding a third room in 1928. At first, it had no electricity or plumbing of any kind, but these came later.
The little playhouse, erected on brick piers, was built entirely of wood, with two doors and six windows. The HABS team noted, “The playhouse’s most important architectural feature is its exterior — a hexagonal turret with a pyramidal roof, decorative fretwork, and pattern wall and roof shingles.” The tiny building “was modeled after the stables which stood on the property.” This begs the question: If the stables were this fancy, then what did the main house look like?
For some reason, the HABS didn’t include those structures. It’s possible that by the time they documented the playhouse — not until 1972 — the other buildings on the property had been demolished. But it’s curious that even though local newspapers made occasional mention of the cute playhouse over the years, they said nothing about the main property. I presume it was quite a showplace.
After an extensive restoration, inside and out, and a very colorful paint job, the Handwerker Gingerbread Playhouse opened in 1975 with an exhibition of vintage dolls.
In the early 1900s, Handwerker developed health problems; one ailment required the amputation of his right foot. This made it difficult to travel to his office downtown, so in 1910, city directories show he moved his medical/pharmacy practice into the playhouse. “Such physicians as Dr. Handwerker win not only the confidence, but the hearts, of their patients,” according to a Commercial Appeal article. “Their very presence in the sick room carries cheer with it.”
Handwerker continued to see patients until two days before his death on March 13, 1928, at age 84. His obituary noted that he was the oldest practicing physician in our city. “His death brought to a close a business and professional career in Memphis of more than 50 years,” said The Commercial Appeal. “Young men and women whom he treated in the early days of his practice sent their children and their children’s children to him for treatment.”
Dr. John Valentine Handwerker was laid to rest in Elmwood Cemetery. His wife had preceded him in death, in 1925, so his daughter, Agnes, moved into the main house, where she would live the rest of her life. For a few years, the little playhouse stood empty, but city directories show that she began to rent it out. Tenants included an instructor for the Memphis Vocational School, a worker for a plate-glass company, a restaurant cook, and a mechanic for the U.S. Army depot. Although the HABS researchers noted that “she added a bathroom and rented it to two girls as an apartment,” city directories don’t provide their names or the dates these women lived there.
plans courtesy HABS
Some of the detailed architectural plans for the playhouse, complied by the Historical American Buildings Survey.
That stretch of North Thomas Street, once lined with grand residences, began to turn commercial. By the late 1950s, the block between Chelsea and Vollintine became home to Easy-Way Grocers, Daina Shoe Repair, Dodson’s Barber Shop, S&S Liquors, Bass Tourist Court, Thomas Street Sundry, Billions Gas Station, and other businesses. The little playhouse, now looking a bit out of place, joined that crowd. In August 1955, Ray’s Beauty Shop opened at 865 North Thomas, “now offering regular $15 permanents for $10 — complete.” Other services included “special haircuts” for $1.50 and hair tinting for $4.50. Ray’s stayed open until 1960, when Marbry Beauty Shop moved in.
Agnes Handwerker, still living next door in the main house all these years, died June 8, 1968, at age 81. After her death, I presume the old family home was pulled down (city directories stopped listing the 861 address), and it seemed the little playhouse was doomed.
Perhaps this is why the HABS team thought they’d document the playhouse for posterity, describing it in their 1972 report as “deserted and isolated” (another clue that the main house was gone) and the condition as “deteriorated but salvageable.” Their interest seemed to spur an effort to save it from the bulldozers. Agnes’ younger brother, John V. Handwerker Jr., a physician like his father, donated the building to the community. The APTA offered a location, and the Memphis Board of Realtors paid the costs of trundling the playhouse across town to its new address on Adams. The move took place on September 8, 1972.
After an extensive restoration, inside and out, and a very colorful paint job, the Handwerker Gingerbread Playhouse opened in 1975 with an exhibition of vintage dolls. To boost interest in their new addition, the Woodruff-Fontaine House staff organized a group of “Gingerbread Girls,” who dressed in Victorian-style gowns and gave tours of the property.
“When we moved it here, it was painted in various colors, but during a 2006 renovation, descendants of the Handwerkers asked us to restore it to its original white color,” says Georgia Cooper, Woodruff-Fontaine’s museum operations manager. “For a few years, it held our gift shop. Now, it’s part of a visitor’s total experience here. They can go inside, or rent it for special events, like we do with our carriage house. We think it’s just as cute as a button.”
That little button is a jewel in the treasure chest that is Victorian Village. It took a lot of trouble, but I’m glad they saved it.
Got a question for Vance?
Email: askvance@memphismagazine.com
Mail: Vance Lauderdale, Memphis Magazine, P.O. Box 1738, Memphis, TN 38101
Or visit him on Facebook.
