Dear Vance: I have a pair of vintage fans for Putnam Dyes and Tints, and I noticed on the back they say “Courtesy of Doyle’s Pharmacy -- Memphis.” Where was this establishment, and what happened to it? — M.H., Memphis.
Dear M.H.: These are works of art, beautifully colored cardboard fans to promote a national company that produced “fadeless” dyes, tints, soaps, and other products. I’d say they date from the 1920s, and since the only air-conditioned spaces in Memphis at that time were the Downtown movie theaters and department stores, they surely came in very handy here during our summers.
Putnam products could be found in almost every home in America in the early 1900s. The company itself wasn’t called by that name, however; it was the Monroe Drug Company, based in Unionville, Missouri. Look closely at the fan with the man and child, which identifies the gentleman as company founder E.N. Monroe, who took a job in a Unionville drug store in 1870 and within six years had started his own pharmacy.
The Putnam company used hand-held cardboard fans to show customers the wide range of colors available from their products.
In those days, pharmacists compounded their own medicines, and Monroe hired an assistant named Hugh Elson, who not only helped produce pharmaceuticals, but came up with a new process for creating tints and dyes. Monroe and Elson named their new line of products Putnam, after the Missouri county where their company was located. What started as a local business quickly became a national firm, thanks to an aggressive newspaper and magazine advertising campaign, along with direct-mail products such as brightly colored fans, wall calendars, color charts, paper bags, and sample packets.
The company’s slogan — “Dyeing Saves Buying” — proved attractive to families trying to stretch their household dollars, since they could make old clothes look new again. And if anyone wanted an entirely different look, they could buy Putnam’s “No-Kolor Bleach,” which allowed customers to “remove any color, and then re-dye in any color.”
They didn’t limit their dyes to clothing and fabric. Disturbed when you noticed that first grey hair in the mirror? Well, just write to the Monroe Company and ask for their exclusive “Mary T. Goldman Grey Hair Color Restorer,” described as “that clear, colorless liquid that you simply comb through your hair. The grey goes and the shade you want is restored.”
And while you’re at it, why stop at your hair? Putnam’s Bath-Bloom lets you “bathe your way to beauty.” A single tablespoon in the bath water “will give a whole tubful of silken, cloudlike foam, ready to cleanse and refresh your entire body, leaving the skin wholesome and fresh once more.” In short, “it will be the most refreshing bath you ever had.”
The company’s slogan — “Dyeing Saves Buying” — proved attractive to families trying to stretch their household dollars, since they could make old clothes look new again.
My goodness, Putnam could do almost anything. What surprises me is that I haven’t come across their products before. Your fans, M.H., are the first Putnam items I’ve seen used by a Memphis store to lure customers. And since you asked about that establishment, I suppose I should tell you what I know about Doyle’s Pharmacy, which was located at 835 Poplar Avenue.
Let’s start with the building itself. Constructed sometime around 1900, it has a rather complicated history, so please pay attention. It was first home to a pharmacy run by Orville C. Cole. The ground floor housed the business, and the upper floor was the owner’s residence. In 1915 two pharmacists — William Pryor and Allen Battle — took over, and this is when John Doyle (the fellow we are mainly interested in) began working there. By 1923, he had purchased the firm and added a partner, Harry Mayer, and the new company became Doyle-Mayer Drug Company.
This colorful fan features a rare image of Putnam company founder E.N. Monroe.
When Mayer left in 1930, Doyle became the sole proprietor, and the business name was either Doyle Drug Company or Doyle’s Pharmacy, depending on where you read it. I presume there is some medical/legal distinction between a pharmacy and a drugstore, but I don’t know what it is. I’ll save that for a future column.
So who was Doyle? Born in Memphis in 1890, he was the only son of Captain Phillip J. Doyle with the Memphis Fire Department. While living with his parents on North Manassas, he attended Christian Brothers College and graduated from the University of Tennessee School of Pharmacy.
After he became owner of the drugstore on Poplar, he lived with his wife, Barbara, above the store, where they also raised two daughters, Mary and Jean. Both girls attended Sacred Heart School, which I’ve written about before.
She instantly recognized the bottle and was able to tell the doctors that it had contained ammoniated mercury, a quick-acting poison. With this knowledge, doctors at St. Joseph Hospital were able to administer the proper antidote and save the child’s life.
I’m sorry to say that Doyle died a relatively young man, suffering a fatal “stroke of paralysis” on December 13, 1938, at the age of 48. His obituary noted that he was “an ardent sportsman, and liked nothing better than a fishing expedition to Reelfoot Lake, where he was a familiar figure on weekends, before his health failed.” He was also active with St. Peter’s Catholic Church and the Knights of Columbus, and one year he represented his company in the annual Christmas parade.
Doyle was laid to rest in Calvary Cemetery. His wife took over the business, and seemed to be quite active in our city’s social life. Newspaper reports of breakfasts and bridge parties around town in the 1940s often mentioned her name, and every year she made a point to run a small ad in The Commercial Appeal saying, “Doyle’s Pharmacy extends Season’s Greetings to all.”
In 1955, Barbara Doyle played a small but crucial role in saving the life of a young boy. On the afternoon of November 21st, an older brother carried a 2-year-old into their home on North Seventh, not too far from the pharmacy. Clutching an empty green bottle he’d found outside, he was barely conscious, and his parents realized that he had probably eaten whatever had been in that bottle. In a panic, they called police, who then summoned Doyle.
She instantly recognized the bottle and was able to tell the doctors that it had contained ammoniated mercury, a quick-acting poison. With this knowledge, doctors at St. Joseph Hospital were able to administer the proper antidote and save the child’s life. Newspaper reports credited Doyle with “unraveling the mystery of the green bottle.”
Just one year later after this heroic deed, however, she sold the business, publishing a legal notice in The Commercial Appeal: “Having sold Doyle’s Pharmacy, I will not be responsible for any debts incurred after January 27th. Mrs. John P. Doyle, 835 Poplar.” I assume she retired and stayed active with her bridge parties, until she passed away in 1968, at the age of 77.
I was never able to find a photo of the pharmacy — or the Doyle family, for that matter — to share with you, so you’ll just have to be satisfied with the pretty fans they gave away to customers. Based on city directories, the old building fell to the bulldozers soon after Barbara Doyle closed it. The location at Poplar and Dunlap is still serving the medical needs of our city, though. Le Bonheur Children’s Hospital now stands on that corner.
Oh, and if you want to dye your clothes or your hair, you won’t be able to do that with any Putnam products. The company, which also went through many owners in its last years, closed in 1971. That’s a shame. These days, I could really use their Bath-Bloom and “bathe my way to beauty.”
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Email: askvance@memphismagazine.com
Mail: Vance Lauderdale, Memphis magazine, P.O. Box 1738, Memphis, TN 38101
