"A curious crowd milled about in front of the shop.'Take that filthy picture out of your window!' Comstock roared at the dealer."
I had one clue, on the back of the painting it reads, "Illustrated for Argosy Magazine, 1958 by Richard Hook", and "Please return to" (an arrow pointing at a studio address). I searched for the address, but didn't turn up any information. I searched for Argosy magazine archives and again found very little. But one day when I was on Ebay I decided to do a search for Richard Hook. I had some success this time!
There was a gentleman selling a couple of magazines, and one of them happened to be an Argosy issue dated March 1958. The listing stated that the magazine contained an illustration by American illustrator, Richard Hook. I immediately emailed the seller requesting a description of the illustration. He wrote back with the answer that it was an image of a "group of people standing outside a gallery window". That's it! I purchased the magazine and anxiously awaited it's arrival. When it was delivered, I quickly located the two-page spread of Richard Hook's illustration, and it was indeed published from the painting in my possession! The markings on my painting, were definitely evident in the magazine's image!
Now all of the pieces started coming together! I could finally understand what this illustration was about! The story that accompanied it was very intriguing, but was it a true story? And if indeed it was, could it impact the potential value of the painting?
Here is the story as published in the March 1958 issue of Argosy Magazine:
The caption under the illustration in the magazine reads, "A curious crowd milled about in front of the shop. 'Take that filthy picture out of your window!' Comstock roared at the dealer." "Illustration by Richard Hook"
The Man Who Could Sell Anything. They didn't come any slicker than Harry Reichenbach, the prince of ballyhoo, who hoaxed his way to fame and fortune - and laughed at the suckers who paid his fair. by Donovan Fitzpatrick
A few months ago, Manhattan's Metropolitan Museum announced it had acquired the famous "September Morn," a painting of a nude French model posing coyly in a pool of ankle-deep water. Visitors by the thousands came to ogle the picture that had been a pre-World War I sensation, and it inspired a rash of nostalgic articles in the papers and news magazines. But no mention was made of the man whose brilliant strategy had lifted the painting out of obscurity and made it the most controversial work of art of its day, denounced from press and pulpit, barred from the mails, and reproduced on millions of calendars, post cards and candy boxes.
In May, 1913, Harry Reichenbach, the greatest press agent this country has ever seen, was walking down Fourth Avenue in New York when he spied a lithograph of "September Morn" in the window of a little art shop. Beneath the picture was a sign: "Overstocked - Will Sacrifice".
Reichenbach, whose gamblings and high living kept him chronically broke, smelled a chance to turn a fast buck. He introduced himself to the proprietor.
"Why can't you unload the picture?" he asked.
"Too tame, I guess," the dealer said disgustedly. A brewery had ordered 2,000 copies to use on calendars, then decided it didn't have enough zip. "I can't give them away at a dime apiece."
Reichenbach took another gander at the painting. Although the girl's pose concealed her essential terrain, she was, after all, naked - pretty hot stuff for 1913. "Tell you what," Reichenbach said cockily. "I'll get rid of them all, for fifty-percent of the profit."
The dealer looked at Reichenbach doubtfully. The press agent was a wiry, thin-faced fellow of about thirty, with a luxurious mop of prematurely white hair. Dressed to the nines in a tight, pin-striped suit, starched high collar and a gaudy tie, he looked like a Broadway sharpie - which he was.
"Okay," the dealer said. "What's the angle?"
"Let me use your phone," Reichenbach said airily.
He called up Anthony Comstock, the vice crusader and self-appointed guardian of American morals. "Mr. Comstock," Reichenbach said unctuously, "I'm a minister of the gospel, and I'm calling to protest about a picture of a naked woman in a store window. It's absolutely disgraceful. Even small children are looking at it."
"What's the address?" Comstock snapped. He reacted to nudity like a bloodhound to a scent.
Reichenbach hurried out of the shop, and rounded up a dozen teen-age urchins and gave them fifty cents each to stand in front f the window and snicker suggestively.
When Comstock arrives, a small crowd of adults had joined the youngsters. The vice crusader stared at the misty charms of the nude model, snorted and dashed to the door of the shop. "There's too little morn and too much maid!" he roared. "Take that filthy picture our of your window!"
"Not a chance," the dealer said.
"I'll prosecute!" Comstock fumed, his whiskers bristling in indignation.
The dealer shrugged. "Go ahead."
Comstock applied to the courts and the case broke in the papers. "September Morn" became famous almost overnight, and art lovers cleaned out the dealer's supply within twenty-four hours.
Comstock's lawyers advised him that the courts probably wouldn't find the print obscene and he dropped the case. But the Puritans had been alerted, as Reichenbach had expected. Although the New York Times described the painting as "delicate and innocent as it is beautiful," reform groups and purity leagues screamed in holy horror, the clergy condemned it in stentorian tones and the post office clamped down on post-card reproductions - all of which whetted the public's newly-discovered love of art. Before the storm died down, 7, 000, 000 copies of the lithograph had been run off and sold at a buck a copy and additional millions were reproduced on calendars, cigar boxes and even suspenders. Jokes were made and songs written about "September Morn," and it became the most famous - or infamous - piece of art in America. But Harry Reichenbach got his commission on only the original 2,000 copies - a hundred bucks.
"The earth's axis is greased with banana oil," Reichenbach used to declaim, "and the land is covered with apple sauce;" and he proved that there is almost nothing the guillible public won't believe if it's handled right. Basically a con man, Reichenbach was the highest-paid press agent of his day, getting $1,000 a week from the movie companies, and worth every cent. He could think up more gags and grab more newspaper space in a week than most drum-beaters could in a year. Although his colorful stunts were conceived merely to get publicity, they often had a delightful quality of hoax - so intriguing that they became legitimate news, and editors played along even when they suspected he was behind all the hullabaloo.
The above excerpt was taken from Argosy Magazine March 1958 "The Man Who Could Sell Anything" by Donovan Fitzpatrick (William Donavan Fitzpatrick)
Other articles of interest include:
NY Times May 13, 1913
NY Times May 17, 1914 - Chabas Plans Visit Here
NY Times August 10, 1913 - US Bans September Morn
NY Times May 13, 1915 - Letter to the Editor (scroll down)
NY Times Archives search 'September Morn'
NY Times Article About Mr. Comstock
NY Times Archives Search Harry Reichenbach
A little bit about the artist Richard Hook
About the Artist:
Richard Hook (1914-1975) was a well-established illustrator for such magazines as The Saturday Evening Post and Colliers before Lillian Brune, the first art director of CPH, "discovered" him while working with his wife, Francis, also a talented artist in her own right. He created major religious works for many publishers over the years, including Concordia Publishing House. His most famous piece is “The Head of Christ”.
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