My grandmother Davis didn’t have any board games at her house, but that didn’t mean that her grandchildren didn’t have anything to do when they were together. We were taught parlor games that had been played for generations. One was a simple guessing game that just required a button. My grandmother was an incredibly gifted seamstress, and finding a button to use was not difficult.
There are many variations to this game, but this one I’ve adapted from www.holidaycook.com/party-games is similar to how we played it: All those playing gather in a line, either seated or standing, except for the one who is “it.” That child stands in front of the line. A button is handed to the player at one end of the line. S/he holds it in hands that are cupped and closed. S/he holds her hands over the hands of the next player in line whose hands are cupped in a similar fashion. S/he may drop the button into the next player's hands or s/he may not. Now the next player goes through the same procedure all the way down the line to the last player. If the button does not get passed on, then the remaining players merely pretend to pass the button. Throughout this procedure the child who is “it” closely watches the passing. Since the hands are cupped and held together, it is difficult to discern where the button actually stops. When the procedure reaches the end of the line, the last player in line asks the child who is “It,” "Button, button, who has the button?" The child then guesses. If s/he guesses incorrectly, s/he sits at the end of the line and the player at the head of the line becomes “It.” If s/he guesses correctly, s/he remains “It.” We never kept score--we were just playing, whiling away time with our cousins. As youth, our days were endless, and we lived in the moment.
This memory flitted through my head today as I opened an old shoe box and an old candy tin, recipients of my grandmother’s and mother’s stash of buttons, to find a suitable button for my pink sweater. I think the manufactures have been slashing their costs by using cheap and unattractive buttons on their clothes, and the gold button on my sweater meets both of those descriptors.
I don’t often rifle through these buttons and was surprised to find some of the buttons were still sewn or wired to cards. When I saw the printed prices of 5 or 10 cents and the old-fashioned pictures, I was curious about their origin. I found that a German immigrant opened the world’s first freshwater pearl button plant in 1891 in Muscatine, Iowa. Other entrepreneurs with an interest in mussel fishing and button cutting soon followed. With an annual production of 1.5 billion pearl buttons (37% of the world’s buttons) in 1905, Muscatine became the “Pearl Button Capital of the World.” The evolution of this industry mirrors that of its times--the development of new automatic machinery, union organizing, conflict with management, employment of child labor, unequal pay for women, and so on. Successful for over seventy years, the American pearl button business finally succumbed to the pressure of foreign competition, changing fashion, decreased availability of shell, and the development of the plastic button.
I don’t often add to the button stash. I keep a zip-lock bag in my dresser drawer to store the replacement buttons often attached to new clothing. If buttons were better sewn on in the first place, the manufacturers wouldn’t have to include these extra buttons or could improve the quality of the buttons they use. But I digress with that editorial comment. Back to the button stash. I rarely wear out my clothes. I’m blessed with enough, more than needed, so that the fashion or the size of my hips changes before the fabric has worn through. These become Goodwill donations. During my grandmother’s day, when a piece of clothing was no longer wearable, she would cut off the buttons and string them together for future use. I saw my mother do this occasionally too, but I think it was more from “depression mentality.”
Button, button, who has the button? I love running my hands through the old buttons and listening to the tinkling sound they make as they fall through my fingers. I like looking at the variety and guessing what each was used for. I enjoy remembering Saturday afternoons playing with my cousins. But most of all, I am thankful for being related to these fine women who came before, who I carry in my heart, and whose love I can call upon, all because of some saved buttons.
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You may visit the Pearl Button Museum in Muscatine, Iowa.
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