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A Manual of Egyptian Pottery

Volume 1: Fayum A–Lower Egyptian Culture
Revised First Edition
AERA Field Manual Series 1
by Anna Wodzińska
Ancient Egypt Research Associates, Inc.
Institute of Archaeology, University of Warsaw, Poland
Ancient Egypt Research Associates, Inc.

www.aeraweb.org
Published by Ancient Egypt Research Associates, Inc.

26 Lincoln Street, Suite 5, Boston, MA 02135 USA
Ancient Egypt Research Associates (AERA) is a 501(c) (3), tax-exempt,

non-profit organization dedicated to research on Ancient Egypt at the
Giza Plateau.
© 2010 by Ancient Egypt Research Associates

Revised First Edition.
First published in 2009.
Printed in Hollis, New Hampshire, at Puritan Press.

Layout and design by Alexandra Witsell.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise
without the prior consent of the publisher.
Original:
ISBN: 0-9779370-2-X (softcover binding)
ISBN: 0-9779370-4-6 (spiral binding)
Revised First Edition:

ISBN: 978-0-9825544-4-9 (softcover binding)
ISBN: 978-0-9825544-6-3 (spiral binding)
SERIES EDITORS
Wilma Wetterstrom
and
Alexandra Witsell
www.aeraweb.org
Contents
List of Abbreviations Used in this Volume v
Preface and Acknowledgments vii
Map of Egyptian Find Sites for Pottery Illustrated in this Volume x
1. Pottery Production and Processing in the Field 1
2. Post-Excavation Studies 11
3. Ceramic Glossary 13
4. Further Reading: a General Selection on Ceramics 18
5. Clay and Fabric Descriptions Used in Volume 1 24
6. Egyptian Pottery
Fayum A 29
Merimde 41
Omari 67
Badari 79
Naqada I 103
Naqada II 119
Lower Egyptian Culture (Buto-Maadi) 151
7. Further Reading: a Selection for Volume 1 201
8. Color Plates
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iv
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List of Abbreviations Used in this Volume

ÄA Ägyptologische Abhandlungen
AHL Archaeology & History in Lebanon
ARCE American Research Center in Egypt
ASAE Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte
AV Archäologische Veröffentlichungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abt. Kairo
BAR British Archaeological Reports, International Series
BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research
BCE Bulletin de liaison du groupe international d’étude de la céramique égyptienne
Bd’E Bibliotèque d’Étude, Institut français d’archéologie orientale
BES Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar
BIFAO Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale
BSAE British School of Archaeology in Egypt (and Egyptian Research Account)
BSAK Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur, Beihefte
CCE Cahiers de la céramique égyptienne
CNRS Centre national de la recherche scientifique
EVO Egitto e Vicino Oriente
FIFAO Fouilles de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale
GM Göttinger Miszellen
IFAO Institut français d’archéologie orientale
JARCE Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt
JAS Journal of Archaeological Science
JEA Journal of Egyptian Archaeology
JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies, University of Chicago
JSSEA Journal of the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities
LÄ Lexikon der Ägyptologie, Vols. I–VI (Wiesbaden)
MÄS Münchner Ägyptologische Studien
MDAIK Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abt. Kairo
OLA Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta
PAM Polish Archaeology in the Mediterranean
SAGA Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens
SAK Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur
SDAIK Sonderschriften des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts
SIMA Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology
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SSEA Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities

WES Warsaw Egyptological Studies
ZÄS Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde
vi
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Preface
C eramics are usually the most abundant artifacts present at Egyptian archaeological sites. They are
often found in large quantities and their analysis requires great patience and due attention. Such
analysis is generally time-consuming and sometimes simply boring. The final result of ceramic study,
however, can be very rewarding. Ceramics can offer a great deal of useful information. For example,
they can date a site or its phases, and provide evidence for different activities and purposes of a site or its
smaller units. Ceramics sometimes indicate different routes of product exchange between various sites
or regions. For these reasons, all excavated pottery should be kept and stored for documentation and
further analysis before the final publication of a site.
Given the importance of ceramics, the subject was chosen to be part of the basic curriculum of the
first Ancient Egypt Research Associates (AERA) Field School in spring 2005, organized in conjunction
with the American Research Center in Egypt (ARCE). The main aim of the Field School, supervised
by Mohsen Kamel and Ana Tavares, was to train the official inspectors of the Supreme Council of
Antiquities (SCA) in the excavation techniques of field archaeology, as well as in specialist studies of ma-
terial culture and environmental analysis, such as ceramics, objects, fauna, flora, and human osteology.
In response to the success of the first Field School, Mark Lehner, director of AERA, along with the Field
School teachers and the AERA team, decided to organize an Advanced Field School in 2006 specializing
in particular areas, such as excavation, illustration, and ceramics. As AERA ceramicist, I taught pottery
analysis to these returning students. While I was preparing the course, Dr. Lehner suggested that I write
an AERA Field School Pottery Manual. At first the manual was to be a concise catalogue of ceramics
from different periods of Egyptian archaeology. Over time, however, the manual expanded to include
additional information related to material, manufacturing techniques, surface treatment, and context.
Eventually, I compiled a large corpus of Egyptian ceramics from all periods of Egyptian history, from
Neolithic to Modern times. I also added brief discussions of certain imported vessels to remind archae-
ologists that pottery from Egyptian sites often includes pieces brought in from other regions, and is,
therefore, not always homogenous.
The final product, this Manual of Egyptian Pottery, is divided into four volumes:
Volume 1 Egyptian Neolithic Fayum A, Merimde, Omari, Badari, Naqada I, Naqada II, and the
Lower Egyptian Culture
Volume 2 Naqada III, Archaic Period, Old Kingdom, First Intermediate Period, and Middle
Kingdom
Volume 3 Second Intermediate Period, New Kingdom, Third Intermediate Period, and Late
Period
Volume 4 Ptolemaic Period, Early and Late Roman Periods, Medieval, and Modern times
Each of the volumes consists of eight sections (the first five of which repeat in each volume):
Section 1 General information on pottery production in Egypt and methods of pottery
recording in the field
Section 2 Post-excavation procedures leading to the publication of the material
NOTE: After the 2009 publication of Volumes 1 and 2, the introductory texts in Volumes 3 and 4 of the
Manual were modified following the very kind suggestions of Hans-Åke Nordström, Pamela Rose, and Alison
Gascoigne. This revised edition of Volume 1 includes these same modifications.
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Section 3 A list of terms and abbreviations related to ceramics

Section 4 A selected bibliography concerning technological aspects of Egyptian pottery
Section 5 Descriptions of the clays mentioned in the text
Section 6 The pottery from all Egyptian periods, organized chronologically:
Each subsection, treating each of the periods, consists of two parts: 1) an introduction to the
pottery, describing its general trends, and 2) a catalogue of the main ceramic types, organized
not according to a detailed chronological order, but, rather, by shape (restricted followed by
unrestricted vessels).
Each ceramic type is illustrated with a drawing, accompanied by a short description with
the general name of the find site (e.g., Giza, Abydos). More specific information about the
provenience is provided by the reference cited for each drawing. The shape, material
(according to the original publication and in relation to the Vienna System if possible),
surface treatment, publication, and other information pertinent to dating are provided.
Additional remarks and bibliography are sometimes included. The vessel description is based
only on the text from the original publications. If information was not presented in the
original text, it is labeled as “not stated.”
Section 7 A selection of references related to the particular ceramics described in the volume.
Section 8 Color plates, including a selection of photographs of ceramics from different
periods. For Volume 4, in addition to the color photos of the Medieval pottery, there are also
color drawings. The Medieval glazed ceramics are usually very colorful. As it is very difficult to
illustrate their precise hues, the colors are approximate.
This AERA manual was originally meant to be a quick field guide for the Egyptian SCA inspectors as
they recovered pottery in the course of their own excavations, especially because many may not have
regular access to libraries. It is essentially an illustrated list of ceramic types from different periods,
meant to show only the most general trends in Egyptian ceramics. Drawings and photographs of pot-
tery for the manual were selected to show those general types most characteristic of the different peri-
ods. For this purpose a kind of typology of Egyptian ceramics was created based on the ceramic forms
themselves, rather than the typologies presented in the publications on specific sites. However, the de-
scriptions here come from the original publications from which I drew my types. Most of the language is
that of the reference cited. As the task of describing a ceramic vessel is highly subjective, each researcher
may describe pots in somewhat different ways. Hence the terminology, such as for vessel shape (plate,
bowl, ewer, dish, bottle, etc.), is not entirely uniform or consistent throughout this volume. Nor are all
vessels described in the same detail. In addition, the user may not find in the manual every single vessel
from each period. Further editions of the book may expand to include more comprehensive typologies.
It was not my intention to document shape changes of any given type over time, nor to indicate regional
variations within periods, although such spatial differences are observed in the archaeological material.
Indeed, the division of ceramic material into historical periods is rather artificial, since many types
were in use longer than a single period. I am fully aware that my pottery manual does not address every
question related to Egyptian pottery but I hope it will be a useful resource for archaeologists working in
Egypt. As a specialist in Old Kingdom pottery myself, I am grateful for any comments and suggestions
concerning ceramics from other periods.
viii
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Acknowledgments
O ur excavations at Giza are part of the work of Ancient Egypt Research Associates (AERA), directed
by Dr. Mark Lehner. I would like to thank a number of foundations and individuals for their
financial support of the AERA excavations and analysis. Some of these are the Ann and Robert H. Lurie
Foundation, the David H. Koch Foundation, the Charles Simonyi Fund for Arts and Sciences, Ted Waitt
Family Foundation, Peter Norton Family Foundation, Glen Dash Foundation, Marjorie Fisher, Ed and
Kathy Fries, J. Michael and Marybeth Johnston, Jason G. Jones and Emily E. Trenkner-Jones, Bruce and
Carolyn Ludwig, David Marguiles, and Ann Thompson. I would also like to thank Dr. Zahi Hawass and
Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities, along with all of my Egyptian colleagues. This work would not
have been possible without the tireless efforts of Dr. Lehner to create and finance an exemplary research
and education program at Giza, Egypt.
The present manual is a result of cooperation between numerous individuals and institutions. First
I would like to again thank Dr. Lehner for his idea of creating the manual and publishing it as an AERA
publication.
My deepest appreciation goes to Wilma Wetterstrom and Cindy Sebrell who are responsible for the
present shape of the book. I would like to express my special gratitude to Alexandra Witsell who pre-
pared the book layout. It required a lot of skill, perseverance, and patience, especially in the case of my
multiple changes and rewritings during the course of the work. Thank you, Ali.
Mary Anne Murray, Richard Redding, Janine Bourriau, and Teodozja I. Rzeuska were also always
ready to give me very useful advice.
I would like to express my particular indebtedness to Dina Faltings for her kind and insightful re-
view of Volumes 1 and 2 of the manual.
Drawings used in the manual were prepared by Edyta Klimaszewska-Drabot, Mariola Orzechowska,
and myself. The collection of color photos was compiled from photographs provided by the following
individuals and projects:
Krzysztof Ciałowicz, Mariusz Jucha: photographs of the pottery from Tell el Farkha;
Harco Willems, Marleen De Meyer, and Stefanie Vereecken in particular: photographs from the
Dayr al-Barsha Project;
Tonny de Wit, Willeke Wendrich: photographs from the Fayum;
Włodzimierz Godlewski: Late Roman and Medieval pottery photographs from Naqlun monastery
in Fayum;
Yukinori Kawae: photographs of the ceramics from Giza and el Nazla village;
Mariola Orzechowska: New Kingdom pottery photos from Giza;
Teodozja I. Rzeuska, Dietrich Raue: photographs from Elephantine.
I also would like to thank Sławomir Rzepka for the permission to use the ceramic photos taken by
myself at Tell el Retaba. The majority of photographs came from the Petrie Museum thanks to Stephen
Quirke and Richard Langley. I am deeply grateful for their help.
And last but not least I would like to express my gratitude to employees of the Institute of Egyptology
in Prague, especially Jaromír Krejčí, for the opportunity to use their Egyptological library. My research
in Prague was financed by the Department of Egyptian and Nubian Archaeology of the Institute of
Archaeology (the University of Warsaw, Poland), thanks to its head, Prof. Włodzimierz Godlewski. I
am very grateful for his trust in my work.
ix
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Map illustrating location of Egyptian sites mentioned in Volume 1.
x
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Pottery Production and Processing in the Field

Please see Ceramic Glossary, pages 13–16, for definitions of terms.
P ottery retrieved from archaeological excavations can be processed in many ways (e.g., Orton, Tyers,
and Vince 1993, Rice 1987). Over several years, I have developed a system that works well for the
specific case of the ceramics from the AERA excavations at the Heit el-Ghurab site at Giza (also known
as the Lost City of the Pyramids). The same system, slightly modified, can be used at other sites.
The bags of pottery collected from the excavation are sent to the lab for processing. All pottery frag-
ments from the site are first sorted into two groups: 1) diagnostic: those from which the original form of
the whole vessel can be deduced (i.e., complete pots, complete profiles, parts of rims, parts of bases), as
well as sherds with decoration and fragments with potmarks; and 2) non-diagnostic fragments.
Diagnostic fragments are classified according to the AERA Typology and then recorded on AERA
Pottery Forms. For an example of an AERA Pottery Form, which consists of several descriptive cat-
egories, see Table 1 (page 8). The non-diagnostics are sorted according to two types: pieces that belong
to bread-molds, and other non-diagnostic types that are not parts of bread-molds. These are weighed
separately, their weights are recorded on the AERA Pottery Form, and the sherds are discarded.
Pots slated for drawing (rendered at a scale of 1:1) are segregated and stored separately (for pottery
drawing techniques, see Becker 1987, Joyce and Dillon 1987). In addition to drawings, pots are docu-
mented with two sets of photos. One captures complete vessels, significant shapes, pots with decoration,
and potmarks. The second shows the clay in the breaks of the pottery wall. The tools used for pottery
processing, drawing, and photography are listed in Table 2 (page 9).
All information about pottery from the site is stored in a digital database. This greatly facilitates the
data analyses, especially in the case of a very large assemblage. The more data we collect, the more rela-
tions between data we create in the database, and the more relations we have, the better the material is
described. All the ceramics data from AERA excavations are stored in the AERA Pottery Database in the
format presented in Table 3 (page 10).
Clay and Fabric (Aston 1998: 35–39, Bourriau and Nordström 1993)
All ceramics are made of clay. Natural Egyptian clays that formed under different conditions are
characterized by different compositions. Clays originating from limestone characterized by calcium
carbonate are called marls. Nile clays, also called Nile alluvium or Nile silt, are composed of particles
carried by Nile waters and usually consist of large amounts of silica. Kaolin clays are formed of kaolinite,
a mineral associated with granite rocks located in the Aswan area. Pliocene clays formed during the
Pliocene period and can be found in the oases, especially in Kharga Oasis. Naturally occurring clays can
be mixed by the potter seeking a particular combination of clay properties.
The most common Egyptian clays are Nile alluvium and marl. Nile alluvium contains greater amounts
of silica and can be fired at lower temperatures, around 700 to 800°C. The surface after firing is usually
dark red or brown. The break of a pottery wall shows different color layers: red/brown with a black core.
Nile clay used in pottery production often contains organic inclusions (small fragments of grass, chaff,
dung, ash, etc.), or material introduced to the raw clay by the potter as temper. Marls are fired at higher
temperatures, between 800 and 1000°C. The clay shown in the break is very homogenous and dense. The
color of surfaces is generally beige, pink, or very light yellow. Marl clay is very hard after firing. Marl pots
usually do not contain any organic material.
Nile and marl clay can be further divided into subgroups according to inclusions, hardness, and
density. The Vienna System (Bourriau and Nordström 1993: 168–186) classifies the fabrics of Ancient
AERA Field Manual Series 1 1

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Egyptian pottery. The term “fabric” refers to the physical composition and properties of the clay and its
inclusions, both naturally occurring and/or added by a potter.
Clay for manufacturing pots has to be properly prepared. The raw material contains inclusions that
can damage the pot wall during shaping or later firing, and thus must be removed prior to working. The
clay is prepared by levigating it. The raw clay is mixed with water and allowed to rest in special pools,
where the coarser particles sink to the bottom. The clay is then kneaded until the mass is smooth. This
process can take days or sometimes months before the clay is ready for shaping into a vessel.
Clay – Fabric Designation and Classification (Aston 1998: 35–39, Bourriau and Nordström 1993,
Rice 1987)
Pots are made of materials that can be characterized by various properties: the origin of the clay, the
presence or absence of inclusions, porosity, hardness, color, and firing temperature.
Inclusions are particles present in the clay. They may be present in the natural material when taken
from the source or may be added by the potter. In the latter case, these inclusions are called temper.
Inclusions can also vary in shape, size, and frequency, and are classified as organic or non-organic.
Examples of organic particles are straw, chaff, dung, and ash. These often burn away during the firing
process, but leave voids in the clay that show characteristic impressions. Examples of non-organic inclu-
sions are fragments of rock, such as sand, limestone, basalt, and granite.
Color is another important component of the clay and fabric description. It can help to identify the
clay and to determine the conditions under which the clay was fired. Color is often described using the
terminology of established color charts. One of most popular is the Munsell soil color chart.
Clay can also be described in terms of its porosity. Porosity is determined by measuring the density
of pores. These are the empty spaces in the fabric that are formed during the firing process.
The hardness of clays is very often measured using the Mohs scale. The scale, with values ranging
from 1 (the softest) to 10 (the hardest), is based on the relative hardness of standard minerals: 1 – talc,
2 – gypsum, 3 – calcite, 4 – fluorite 5 – apatite, 6 – orthoclase, 7 – quartz, 8 – topaz, 9 – sapphire, and
10 – diamond. Hardness is determined with successive scratch tests. If a mineral leaves a mark on a
ceramic, the ceramic is softer. If both can scratch each other, they are of equal hardness. The Mohs scale
can also be supplemented with other materials of known hardness: 2.5 – if the ceramic can be scratched
by a fingernail, 3 – copper wire, 4.5 – window glass, 5.5 – the blade of a pocket knife.
Taking into consideration different criteria for clay description, we prepare a clay fabric classifica-
tion. One of the best known fabric classification systems is the Vienna System (see above). It does not en-
compass all fabrics used in producing Egyptian pottery, but it can be a good reference and standard for
ceramics from any one particular site. For example, although the AERA settlement (the Heit el-Ghurab
site) has its own clay classification system, it includes clay equivalencies in the wider Vienna System in
order to make it more familiar to the larger ceramic audience (Wodzińska 2007: 287–289, Table 11.3).
Shaping Methods (Arnold and Bourriau 1993, Hope 1987)

There are a number of methods for shaping pots: hand-shaping, hand-shaping and finishing with a
turning device, or shaping on a wheel. Hand-shaping methods include: 1) forming a single piece of clay
by the use of freehand shaping, 2) shaping with a paddle and anvil, or a paddle and the ground, 3) shap-
ing on a core or over a hump, 4) shaping with a mold, and 5) building with a slab/coil.
The simplest shaping method is to form a vessel freehand from a single piece of clay without using
any tools. Pots made this way are usually open with walls of irregular thickness. The paddle and anvil
method employs a paddle, usually a flat piece of wood, to shape clay against an anvil, usually a hemi-
spherical hole in the ground. Vessels made with the paddle-and-anvil have spherical or hemispherical
2 Manual of Egyptian Pottery, Volume 1, Revised First Edition

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bodies. Another simple method is to shape the vessel on a core or over a hump. A core can be a ceramic
pot, the shape of which can be duplicated. A hump can be made of wood or stone. In both cases, the
internal surface of the new pot will resemble the external surface of the core or hump. Similarly, a pot
can be made in a mold. Its external surface will resemble the internal surface of the mold, which can
be another pot, usually an open form. Another simple hand-shaping technique is slab/coil shaping. The
potter forms a coil of clay and lays it down in a spiral fashion in order to build a vessel. The use of a
turning device can help make pots with more regular shapes. However, the most advanced method is
with a wheel. A potter’s wheel with a stable central axis makes it possible to create regular forms with
relatively thin walls.
Surface Treatment
The surfaces of ancient Egyptian pots were treated in various ways. The most common method consisted
of simple smoothing prior to firing. The potter smoothed pots using hands or special tools, such as a
modified pottery sherd, a fragment of wood, or a pebble. The smoothed surface could also be coated and
subsequently burnished or polished. Burnishing is a process of refining the surface with the use of a hard
tool, commonly a pebble. A burnished surface is characterized by the presence of shiny stripes. Polishing
requires soft materials such as fabric or fur. The resulting surface shines without visible borders.
When a coat is applied to the surface before firing it is called a slip, while a wash designates a coat
applied after firing (Rice 1987: 151). In addition, vessels may be glazed, especially in the case of Medieval
pottery.
Decoration
We can distinguish several kinds of decoration: painted (before or after firing), incised (before or after
firing), impressed (before firing), stamped (before firing), applied (before firing), molded (before firing),
and “cut-out” (before firing).
The Ancient Egyptian potter, or in many cases an artist, decorated pots with several colors of paint.
The most common colors were generally white, red, black, and, in some cases, yellow and blue. Colors
can help in dating a pot. For example, blue was characteristic of certain ceramic vessels from the New
Kingdom.
The surface of a pot could be incised or impressed. The thickness of incised lines or dots depends on
the tool used. Thick irregular marks could be made with fingers. More detailed motifs could be executed
with tools made of wood, bone, or reed.
Impressed decorations are made with a variety of different materials. The surface of a pot may bear
traces of fabric or string. Stamped decoration is made using stamps in the shape of a palmette, rosette,
cross, etc.
Small decorative pieces of clay, the same consistency as that used for the walls, can be applied to the
surface before firing. This is simplest form of application or applique. However, clay can also be thinned
with water to achieve the consistencies necessary for different types of decorative techniques. A pottery
vessel can be covered with a type of watered-down clay applied by cutting a small hole in a bag and
squeezing a small, delicate rope of watery clay in decorative patterns. Again, this is done before firing.
This type of decoration is called barbotine.
The walls of pots made in molds bear relief decoration executed in the mold. The most characteristic
pots with molded decoration belong to the Roman terra sigillata tradition.
Some Egyptian pots, especially large stands, have holes in the walls made before firing while the clay
contains enough water to be carved. This is referred to as the “cut-out” method.

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Shape Designation (Rice 1987: 212–220)

All pots can be divided into two groups: Restricted and Unrestricted vessels. The rim diameter of a
restricted vessel is smaller than the maximum diameter of its body, whereas that of an unrestricted
vessel is greater than, or equal to, the maximum diameter of its body. These groups can be further
divided into formal groups:
Restricted vessels:
Jars (restricted vessel with neck, the height is greater that its maximum diameter)
Unrestricted vessels:
Bowls (unrestricted vessel with base)
Stands (unrestricted vessel without base and with two rims)
A restricted pot shape can also be described as hole-mouthed, meaning that the jar has a rim that
curves inward.
A vessel consists of three components: rim, body, and base (figure 1).
Figure 1. Basic vessel parts (partly based on Shepard 1995: 244, Figure 31).

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The shape of the body can be described using terms for geometric shapes: sphere, ellipsoid, ovaloid,
cylinder, hyperboloid, and cone (figure 2).
Figure 2. Vessel shape descriptions derived from geometric figure names (based on Rice 1987: 219, Figure 7.6).

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The bases of most Egyptian pots are round, but they can also be flat, slightly flat, or pointed. There
are also ring bases (figure 3). The rims can be pointed, round, flat, or recurved (figure 4).
Rounded base Slightly flat base Pointed base Flat base Ring base
Figure 3. Different base shapes.
Rims can be described in a variety of ways by different ceramicists based on rim orientation and
shape, much like the shape of bases (figure 4). Terms that are used to describe orientation are based
on the directionality of the walls and rim (such as straight, flaring, or narrowing), with direct usually
indicating a vertical stance to the rim and walls, and indirect usually referring to a flaring or narrow-
ing stance. However, these are not standard terms accepted by all ceramicists; everyone describes pots
slightly differently. When describing the actual shape of the rim itself, the terminology refers to the
geometric shape of the rim or the intention of the potter. For example, geometric shapes can be pointed,
flat, round, or recurved. Further, if the potter intended for the rim to be simple, with only a slight point
or flat on top, it might be called unmodeled. If the potter put extra work into finishing the rim by round-
ing or recurving, it might be called a modeled rim.
RIM SHAPE
pointed
rims
can also
be called
flat unmodeled rims
rims
rounded
rims
can also
be called
modeled rims
recurved
rims
straight flaring narrowing

rims rims rims
RIM
ORIENTATION can also be
can also be called
called direct
indirect rims
rims
Figure 4. Terminology for describing rim forms.

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Figure 5. Example of a typology of jars. (Since many of the vessels could not be completely reconstructed for
lack of bases, complete profiles, etc., the typology employs only rims and necks).
Typology
After examining a collection of pots, we sort them into types based on a number of shared traits. The
traits include a combination of production method, shape, clay, and surface treatment. In this way we
create a typology, or a classification, of all pottery from the site into types. Figure 5 shows a sample of a
jar typology.

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Table 1. Example of an AERA Pottery Form.
Date: 20iii2004 Bag number: 5
Context: 6-S25/21221 Processor: AW
Non diag. weight: 0.5 F2 non diag. weight: 1.5
Pot Type Fabric Part of vessel, Percent Count Weight - kg Remarks (presence of
number (clay, diameter - cm potmarks, traces of
surface vessel usage, etc.)
treatment)
23 AB1 GN3, WWh R, 10 10 1 0.1 Potmark–external

surface, after firing
24 CD7 GN4, WWh R, 20 5 1 0.1 -
25 F2 GN8 R, 20 5 1 0.4 Burned rim
Data base entry: AW Page: 2

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Table 2. Basic pottery processing tools.
POTTERY PROCESSING DRAWINGS PHOTOS

Handbook–for any additional Contour gauge, caliper Camera
remarks on the described material
Hand lens, min. 10x magnification Long ruler, triangles Photo background–for
–used during clay (fabric) example, a piece of fabric or
description and identification paper
Scales–for weighing Pencil Photo scale
Glue–used during reconstruction of Tracing paper, Grid paper
broken pots
Pen with black water-proof ink–for Pencil eraser
marking the sherds
Munsell color charts Circles for measuring diameter

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Table 3. General categories of the AERA Pottery Database.
CATEGORY DESCRIPTION
Number of pot Follows the number assigned to every diagnostic fragment
Drawing Drawing prepared, name of draftsperson
Photo Photo taken, photo number
Context Area, grid, square, feature number, feature type, building, etc.
Year Year of excavation
Type According to the site typology
Variants Variants of types
Vessel part R – rim, B – base, W – wall (body sherd), Cpr – complete profile, Cpot –
complete pot, H – handle, O – object made of ceramic
Count Quantity of sherds/pots
Percent Percentage of pot, rim, base preserved
Height PH – preserved height, CH – complete height, L – length, in centimeters
(cm)
Rim diameter Measured in centimeters (cm)
Base diameter Measured in centimeters (cm)
Max diameter Maximum diameter of body of a vessel, in centimeters (cm)
AERA clay (fabric) According to the site clay description
Hardness 1 – soft, 2 – middle (scratched with fingernail), 3 – hard (scratched with
copper wire), 4 – very hard (scratched with window glass)
Method of production HM – handmade, WT – wheel-turned, M – molded, WM – wheel-made
or HM-WT – handmade and later turned on a slow wheel
Base shaping M – molded, SC – string cut, Kf – knife cut
Base surface treatment See surface treatment
Break sections Colors of break sections
Break porosity Open, medium, dense
Surface treatment Sm – smoothed, P – polished , U – untreated, C – slipped (before firing),
(outside and inside) Wh – washed (after firing)
Slip colors R – red, O – orange, Pi – pink, Br – brown, Bl – black, W – white
Surface color Using the Munsell color charts
Decoration Painted, incised, applied, molded, etc.
(outside and inside)
Wall thickness Measured in centimeters (cm)
Weight Measured in kilograms (kg)
Remarks Usually description of the state of surface preservation, traces of ancient
usage
Potmarks Marks made on the surface: types, made before or after firing, on external
or internal surface
Storage Location where stored

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Post-Excavation Studies
T he work after excavation is the most time consuming part of pottery analysis. The field work is very
demanding and usually pottery specialists do not have enough time for a detailed analysis of the
material. During field work, however, the pottery is well documented in order to provide a basis for
further study. Time during the “off-season” is used for database entry, analysis of the data, and a study
of the results. Additionally, pencil drawings that were done during the field season are prepared for
publication; they are inked or redrawn in a computer graphics program. The final and most important
stage of the pottery study is its publication. The article or book should be a comprehensive account of
the material, including all the information that is available.
Pottery can be published in a variety of different ways. The publication of a corpus of ceramics from
a site begins with a qualitative description of the assemblage including the attributes discussed above.
The publication should include quantitative data as well, such as counts and percentages of each type.
Finally it must also move beyond description to consider the ceramics in their archaeological context in
order to shed light on the pottery itself as well as to inform us about the ancient site.
Considering the ceramics within the context of the site stratigraphy allows us to organize pottery
according to the phases of site occupation. For a site with a long occupation and well defined phases it is
possible to trace the ceramics over time. Do the relative proportions of types change? Or do some types
disappear or evolve into another type? Is the modification connected to the shapes or the technology
used to produce the pots? Is it related to the uses of the vessels?
While the site phasing can be used to place the ceramics in a chronological sequence, pottery with
already well established dates based on other sites may help to date a site or area within a site.
The ceramic analysis should also contribute to an understanding of the archaeological site. Pottery
can reflect activities and the functions of an area such as cooking, bread baking, beer brewing, etc.
Tomb and temple paintings showing pots similar to those from the site in use—for example, being used
to make wine—can be helpful in developing hypotheses about activities at the site. Pottery may also
reflect social status. The areas where the finest serving vessels occur at a site may be the homes of the
highest ranking people.
The publication of a single corpus of pottery should also contribute to broader studies of ceramics
in ancient Egypt. Every study that is published can help identify the kinds of pottery associated with
settlements, cemeteries, or temples. They can contribute to working out how pottery was distributed
through Egypt and possibly in identifying the ancient production centers. What pottery types were
made in Upper/Lower Egypt? Why and how did they circulate throughout all of Egypt?
The imported pottery from a site contributes to a wider understanding of the Egyptian economy and
foreign relations. What kind of pottery vessels were imported to Egypt? What was their origin? What
kind of commodity did they contain? We also should keep in mind that some imported vessels were im-
itated in Egypt, which raises the question as to why Egyptian potters made imitations of foreign pots.
Ceramics may also be useful in examining socio-economic status in ancient Egypt. What kind of
pottery was used by king and nobles? What kind of vessels were used by workmen employed in the royal
building activities? What kind of pots were used by simple farmers? What attributes characterize these
ceramics? Which ones can be considered, for instance, “royal”?
The ceramics of the Heit el-Ghurab site at Giza illustrate some of the ways in which pottery can
contribute to an understanding of an ancient community. The settlement is well dated to the late 4th
Dynasty and laid out with a number of different districts that are characterized by distinct sets of ma-
terial culture. This includes pottery, which reflects some of the functions of these different areas. For
example, bread pots dominate the assemblages from galleries and adjacent workshops, indicating bread

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production on a massive scale. Differences in the type of serving vessels found across the site reflect dif-
ferences in social status. In the workmen’s barracks (the galleries) simple carinated bowls covered with
white wash were used as serving vessels, while the large houses were equipped with many types of fine
red-slipped pots. The Heit el-Ghurab pottery came from a variety of sources. Most of the local ceram-
ics probably came from a centralized pottery workshop nearby, while another set of pots was imported
from Upper Egypt. Yet another group of ceramics came from Syro-Palestine.
The most important point of the post-excavation work is to publish the ceramics. They are of limited
use to the scholarly community until the collection is available in print.

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Ceramic Glossary
(see also Bourriau and Nordström 1993; Rice 1987: especially 471–485; Yon 1981)
Clay and Fabric

AERA Clay (fabric) Classification: the classification of clay types used for ceramics from AERA
excavations
Break: a fresh break of the vessel wall made in order to be able to describe the clay
Break porosity: the density of pores in the break, described as open, medium, or dense
Clay: the material the pottery is made of, mostly consisting of silica
Compacted: a term used by some ceramicists to describe a clay fabric in which the inclusions and
matrix are tightly packed, implying that the clay is homogenous in nature due to either its
natural quality or higher levels of processing and levigation by the potter
Fabric: the physical composition of a clay with inclusions, either naturally occurring and/or added
by the potter
Grog: small pieces of fired and crushed ceramic; often added to clay
Groundmass (or matrix, paste): the fine particles of clay and silt that make up the composition
of the clay
Hardness: the resistance of a material to mechanical deformation, measured in units of the Mohs
scale
Inclusions: organic and non-organic particles present in the clay
Levigated clay: clay that has been allowed to sit in water to remove impurities
Marl clay: a calcareous clay, also known as a desert clay (or tafla in Arabic)
Mohs scale: a hardness scale consisting of a series of increasingly hard minerals from 1 (talc)
to 10 (diamond); used to specify the relative hardness of a ceramic
Nile clay: an alluvial clay associated with the Nile valley
Organic inclusions: organic particles present in the clay, such as straw, chaff, dung, and ash
Provenance: the geographical or geological origin of the clay source
Qena/Ballas: a marl clay from the Qena/Ballas region
Raw material: a material as it comes from the original source, before preparation
Tafla: marl clay
Temper: inclusions added to the clay by the potter to help enhance the function of the pot. For
example, sand can be added to clay used for cooking pots in order to prevent cracking during
temperature change, and organic materials such as chaff might be added to make the pot walls
more porous, allowing water vessels to cool more quickly. Additionally, a temper of grog can
add strength and stability to the walls of the pot.
Uncompacted: a term used by some ceramicists to describe a clay fabric in which the inclusions
and matrix are not tightly packed; implies that the clay is not homogenous in nature
Vienna System: a schema for classifying Egyptian fabrics and clays
Manufacture
Coil/slab-building: hand-building by the successive addition of slabs or coils of clay
Composite contour: most often results when a potter applies pressure to the side of the pot wall
during formation on the wheel, thus altering the profile to create a composite of two basic
geometric shapes
Core/hump: hand-building on a core or over a hump

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Handmade: building without the use of a potter’s wheel

Knife-cut: finishing the base using a knife/hard tool
Method of production: techniques of vessel shaping
Mold-shaping: hand-building with the use of a mold
Paddle- and-anvil shaping technique: shaping with the use of two tools:
the anvil, a round instrument used to press against the vessel wall from the inside, and the
paddle, a flat tool used to beat and support the wall from the outside
Paddle-and-ground technique: a shaping technique similar to paddle-and-anvil, but using the
surface of the earth/ground for shaping
Potter’s wheel: a revolving platform which moves on and around an axial pivot
Simple contour: a term that implies that the potter allowed the natural centrifugal forces of clay
formation on a wheel to shape the profile; for example, a simple outward flaring shape
or a simple cylindrical shape
String-cut: finishing the base using a string or wire
Turning device: a device without a pivot incapable of sustained rotations
Wheel-turned: building with the use of a potter’s wheel
Surface Treatment
Burnishing: producing a luster on the surface by rubbing it with a hard object (a pebble for
instance) in the leather-hard stage; characterized by the presence of individual parallel facets
Coat: a term used by some ceramicists to describe a layer of color on the surface that is not clearly
identifiable as a slip or a wash, due to degradation of the pot and/or chemical processes within
the soil
Color: surface color description, often using the defined colors in the Munsell soil color charts
Glaze: powdered glass applied to the fired surface of a ceramic that is then fired a second time in
order to fuse the powder and form a thin, glassy coat
Munsell soil color charts: charts of defined colors for the standardized identification and
description of soil colors
Polish: a glossy luster on the surface, produced by rubbing with a yielding tool in the leather-hard
stage; lacks the individual parallel facets characteristic of burnishing
Scraping: the act of dragging a tool across the surface of the clay in order to shape or remove
extra clay
Slip: a coat added to the surface before firing
Smoothing: the process of evening the surface, usually without using tools, by hand
Surface treatment (outside and inside): surface finishing methods
Trimming: a form of scraping, implies a more precise removal of extra material
Wash: a coat added to the surface after firing
Decoration
Application: adding, before firing, decorative elements to the exterior of the vessel
Barbotine: a decorative technique in which liquid clay is applied, leaving a pattern that is slightly
raised over the main surface, it usually refers to light colored applications applied over darker
ceramic surfaces before firing, while the clay is still moist; often used for Early Roman pottery
Cut-out decoration (also called fenestration): a design created by cutting away sections of the
wall, before firing, in the leather-hard stage
Decoration: additional surface treatment techniques

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would be no ‘ouse ‘ere. And I asked Teddy wot shall we do now?”
“Ted ‘e said,” continued Bill, “Blast me ‘ide if I know wot would be best.
Wot you think, Minerva? Want to chawncit?” Teddy spoke for Minerva. He
said, “Minerva ‘ere,” pointing to the girl, “said to us—Now you just ‘old
your ‘orses, men I got it. I’ll sing ‘em a song.”
Let me remind you here that it was their ability and their willingness to sing
on any and all occasions that made those Colonists extremely popular at the
country school-house lyceum of that age.
Bill talked again. He said, “Then I said Hindians or ‘orse-theives,
whichever they are, would know that ‘appy, singing folks bode nobody
‘arm.” For the purpose intended, Bill’s idea was not bad—but Minerva
challenged it promptly. She said, “You can just drop that ‘appy part of it,
Mr. Bill.”
Their reasoning was logical. And their manner in coping with the situation
was unique. For them to have burst in upon a band of horse-thieves in those
days would, most likely, have been suicidal. But with Indians of the times,
it is my belief, they would have had no trouble at all.
When they had thawed out, after Minerva had obliged us with more songs
—and believe me, that girl could sing — Teddy said he would fetch his
concertina from the wrecked wagon. It maybe was a good thing he didn’t
know anything about all that panther discussion.
However, after Ted had returned, Van, who, as a boy, had lived in a panther
country back east, told the newcomers about the Elk creek incident and
other periodical panther scares elaborating on the dangers of same. He told
those people they could count themselves lucky in finding our fire. “Wild
animals,” he said, “won’t go near a fire.” I knew that this was not news to
any of our party. And I knew, too, we would keep our visitors for the
duration.
Van started it. When he had guessed the hour of midnight had arrived, he
yelled so that all could hear above the roar of the storm—”Merry
Christmas!” Our English visitors returned the greeting—though, enveloped
in swirling snow, they didn’t seem to put much heart in it.
Looking up toward the high heavens in readiness to speak, Dad was caught
full in the face with a gob of dislodged snow from the treetops. He said,
clawing the snow out of his whiskers at the same time, “It didn’t look like
this could happen when we started out yesterday afternoon — it was so
warm, almost like spring. But then maybe this snow is a godsend.” He
clawed again at his whiskers, saying “Dammit!” He probably would have
quoted the old saying, “A green Christmas presages a fat graveyard” — but
old Drum raised his voice again, bringing everyone to rigid attention. The
dog ran out a few paces, turned around and came back. He had not gone
beyond the circle of light.
Together, or rather alternately, Minerva and Teddy made music against the
howl of the storm until morning. They could not team together. This
nightingale who had come to us out of the storm, was from another colony
—perhaps English Ridge, south of Havensville. Bill sang some, in a
comical way. Our improvised shelter, hardly worth mentioning, and our fire
had kept them from freezing. They were grateful.
They were of the old English Colony folk—Bill and Ted. This is not to say
they were scions of the favored six families who occupied Llewellyn Castle
on section 25, in Harrison township. They might have been from any one—
or two — of the dugouts scattered about over the prairies outside the
Colony-owned section. But they were decidedly English, and none the less
Colonists.
When at last morning had come, and we had seen our visitors off, we drove
out onto a vast prairie covered with snow, homeward bound. We would be
doing well if we reached home in time for dinner. Deep drifts lay ahead of
us and there was a sea of white on all sides as far as one could look.
Incidentally, I might say here that the streets in Wetmore were completely
blocked by that storm. The main street in the business section was drifted so
deeply in snow that to facilitate traffic a cut was made down the center of
the street, and one standing up in a wagon had to look up to see the top of
the cut.
Van stroked old Drum’s head. He said, “Too bad, old boy, you didn’t get a
chance to show Bill how good you are. Skunked this time, but maybe better
luck next time. Wish you could tell us what kind of a varmint you saw,
heard, or scented, when you made all that commotion back there. You
wouldn’t lie to a fellow, old longears, and you are not afraid of the dark—
are you?”
Dad said, in a tone that indicated his great disappointment over the bogged
down coon-hunt, with maybe, also apologies to his guests, “Well, damn it,
men—it wasn’t a complete waterhaul. We’ve got a white Christmas.”
UNCLE NICK’S BOOMERANG
Published in Wetmore Spectator
March 5, 1943
By John T. Bristow
The hunt was staged in Uncle Nick Bristow’s timber — way back in the
70’s. It was on the home place over on the Rose branch, the farm now
owned by Bill Mast. The trail of the hunters would range down stream,
overlapping into the Jim Hyde and Bill Rose woods, and on down to the
junction with Wolfley creek. Ostensibly, it was to have been a coon-hunt,
but it soon developed into something bigger and better. ‘
There was a good moon—but to attract the hunters, a big bonfire was built
in the woods, and the men flocked in from all directions. The interesting
part of it was that three of them were from the old English Colony, two
miles west of my uncle’s farm — ”Green Englishmen,” the Wolfley
creekers said they were. Couldn’t name them now—and be sure. One of
them was a stocky little man, very talkative, very agreeable.
Then there were the Porters, the Pickets, the Piatts, the Snows, the Mayers,
the Barnes boys, and others—not aiming to overlook my Uncle Nick and
his son, Burrel. The elder Mayers, Gus and Noah, were Pennsylvania
Dutch, with Holland ancestry. Gus liked his fun while Noah liked to stay at
home and mind his own business. But some of Noah’s boys were in the
gathering, as was also Peter Metzdorf, who had a while back married Gus
Mayer’s daughter, Anna. Peter was German—the real thing. He lived in
Wetmore.
Of the five Porter brothers, Ambrose was the only one that I can now
positively say was present. But John and Tom and their brothers-in-law, Bill
Evans and Ben Summers, were probably around somewhere. Bill Porter had
just married my Aunt Nancy, late of Tennessee, and he couldn’t come. And
Ben Porter—well, they said he was too contrary to appreciate a good thing
like this. Ambrose wore his red hair—it was really red—at shoulder length.
He wore gold earrings, too, and three gutta-percha rings on one finger, rings
he himself had made from old coat buttons.
It was good to have Roland Van Amburg with us. Roland was a grand old
sport. Moreover, Roland Van Amburg had much in common with my Uncle
Nick Bristow. They had both suffered, or were due to suffer, heavy losses in
large herds of Texas cattle they had bought from Dr. W. L. Challis, of
Atchison. It is barely possible that those cattle might have been milling
about on the western part of Uncle Nick’s farm that night.
The bonfire was built on the edge of a small clearing, with a large tree
backed up by a clump of small growth on the right. In the distance—not too
distant—was a big log lying on the edge of a ravine, with a 10-foot bank at
this point. A small tree with good height stood at the top end of the log on
the left side of the clearing. One approaching from the north would see the
log only after advancing so far, and even then only if not otherwise
attracted. Had it been a plant for a modern movie scene it could not have
been a more perfect setting for the thing that actually happened.
While yet around the bonfire the talk turned to panthers. One had reportedly
been seen, or heard, in the woods a couple of miles away—up in the Rube
Wolfley neighborhood. The men would be careful not to hunt that timber
because they didn’t want their dogs to be torn to pieces. Uncle Nick owned
a timber lot over in the panther country.
The natives saw in this hunt a chance to have some fun at the expense of the
Englishmen. Also, they wanted to impress those Colonists in a way that
might be the means of keeping them on their own reservation, so to speak.
A lot of timber-stealing had been going on and the Colonists were
suspicioned. As a matter of fact, timber-stealing in those days was
widespread. But in that business the Colonists were no worse than the
natives, but the Colonists were always sure to get the blame.
While people generally scoffed at the idea of panthers roaming the woods,
there were some who said it was not altogether improbable—that one might
have escaped from a menagerie. You must understand that practically all the
older men here at that time had come from panther states back East—and, I
might say, the rising generation had more or less been steeped in panther
talk.
It is written in the family records, and was generally known here then, that
the grandmother of Bill and Ben Porter was killed and partly devoured by a
panther back in Indiana. She would have been the great-grandmother of Jim
and Bill Porter, and Zada Shumaker and Harry Porter.
Also, there is one man now living in Wetmore—G. C. Swecker—who
would tell you how one of those ferocious beasts hopped upon the roof of
his father’s hunting lodge, while occupied, back in Virginia and ripped the
clapboards off. He also declares that panthers do scream like a woman.
And, as one old fellow around the fire had said, they do sometimes migrate.
I myself recall that during a severe winter in the Rocky mountains nearly a
half century ago, that those killers actually came right down into Colorado
Springs.
At that time panthers were quite numerous in the Missouri hills across the
river from Atchison—and with the Missouri river frozen in the severe
winters of the old days, it would have been an easy matter for them to cross
on the ice to this side; and then only a distance of forty miles to get out
here. And supposing—just supposing—that, perchance, they might have
come over in pairs, and carried on in the usual cat tradition, there was the
bare possibility of our coon-hunters even running into a “family” of them.
The panther’s young stay with the mother until grown.
Let’s say, then, that there was just enough to it to keep timid people on
edge. I doubt if there ever was a night coon-hunt in those days when some
of the hunters didn’t give some thought to that killer. The thought seemed to
hit one the moment he was in the deep woods. And on moonlight nights that
thought was simply unshakeable. A shadow in the wood—a shadow that
was somehow alive—could be highly disquieting.
Uncle Nick and the men, with the dogs on leash, took a turn about the
woods while waiting for my father and the inevitable Thuse Peters to arrive.
They would be coming out from town. I had gone out earlier that evening
with my cousin, Burrel.
Uncle Nick bade me remain at the fire so as to direct Dad and Thuse when,
and if, they should come while the hunters were away. Ambrose Porter said,
“Nick, you’re not going to leave that boy all alone out here. I’ll- stay with
him.” Uncle Nick said, quietly, “Oh no, you won’t.” Uncle knew that
Ambrose never liked to exert himself needlessly.
If not inclined to discount my statements — and you really should not—you
are now maybe thinking what I thought that night—that it was a darned
shame to leave a boy all alone out there in the woods like that.
The hunters were now coming in from the north. Uncle Nick and the
Englishmen well in front. Uncle Nick called out, “Johnny my boy, where
are you?”
I had climbed the small tree at the end of the log—as far up as I could go. I
called back, “Up here in this tree, Uncle Nick. Look on the log—quick!”
The hunters had now advanced a couple of steps, bringing the log into view.
I glanced back in time to see them shift their gaze from my tree-perch to the
log—and I took one more look at the log myself, just as Uncle Nick fired
his rifle. In that split second I could see two eyes shining brightly in the
glare of the bonfire—and I saw the yellowish form of the ugly thing fall off
the log.
Uncle Nick was a sure shot with a rifle. And quick too. As told in one of my
former articles, he had killed a mountain lion in the Rockies while placer
mining in Colorado in 1858. The great beast was shot in the nick of time—
in midair, after that 200 pounds of destruction had made the spring for my
uncle from an overhanging limb of a great pine.
Addressing Uncle Nick, the little Englishman said, “I say, my good man,
let’s ‘ave another one soon. Over in the big woods. Beard the lion in ‘is den,
so to speak.” In high good humor, he shook a pudgy fist at my uncle,
saying, “Hand mind you, if I am h ignored I shall be disappointed.”
The one mistake of the whole evening—if one can be sure there was a
mistake—was when the hunters, after they had “impressed” the Englishmen
with the danger of the panther to their dogs, turned the dogs loose on the
trail of the pet coon they had brought into the woods at the right movement
to make a “hot trail.”
It had taken four yoke of oxen to plant the log—and my Aunt Hulda gave
the men a spirited tongue-lashing for making use of one of her hens to
bloody the trail.
Now, imagine if you can, my uncle’s surprise when the next time he went
over to his cherished timber lot he discovered that someone had robbed him
of valuable post and rail trees. Not being present at the time, I have no way
of knowing what his immediate reactions were. But had it been my Dad
instead of my uncle, who never swore, I’m darned sure I could name
more’n half of the irreverent words he would have employed in taking the
epidermis off that stocky little Englishman.
SHORT CHANGED
Not Hitherto Published — 1950
By John T. Bristow
You can never tell by the caption of one of my stories what all is going to be
in it—the caption might well have been something else—but the line that
inspired the heading is sure to be apparent to the careful reader; if he, or
she, will look for it.
The oil strike on the Oreon Strahm land one mile south of the Sabetha
hospital, in August, 1950, and the two producers previously brought in on
the Mamie Strahm land three and one-half miles to the southwest, refreshes
my memory of an earlier try for oil in Nemaha County—and some of my
own experiences in this greatest of all “get-rich-quick” opportunities.
In 1904 Dr. Joseph Haigh and Dr. A. P. Lapham secured a block of oil
leases around Wetmore, and contracted with a driller, W. H. Hardenburg, of
Oklahoma, to drill a well to the depth of 2,000 feet—or to the Mississippi
lime—for $5,000. The site was on land owned by Dr. J. W. Graham in the
west part of town; later owned by Mr. Mathews.
The drillers struck a little gas at 1700 feet, which spurted water over the 80-
foot derrick. This caused a great deal of excitement—but after “pulling” the
fire in the coal-burning power plant and quickly taking other precautionary
measures, the drillers said “there was nothing to it.”
Gas had previously been encountered in two water wells in the north part of
town—on the Cyrus Clinkenbeard property west of the school grounds,
now owned by the Thorn-burrow girls; and on the J. W. Luce property near
the cemetery, now owned by Gene Cromwell. The flow in the Luce well
was the stronger, agitating the water in a way to produce a bubbling sound.
It created a lot of excitement. But the State Geologist said it was helium
gas, which, rather than burn, would extinguish fire.
In the oil test on the Graham lot, at about 1800 feet, a hard formation was
encountered, which the drillers pronounced the Mississippi lime—but State
Geologist Haworth said it was not. Then the drillers completed the contract
at 2,000 feet. Mr. Hardenburg had a drilling contract coming up in
Oklahoma, but he remained on the job here about a week longer, at $40 a
day—and the hole was put down to 2225 feet. It was planned to have Mr.
Hardenburg come back and drill the test deeper, but he got rich in his
“share-the-profits” contract in the Tulsa oil field—and retired to a home on
“easy street” (Morningside Drive) in Kansas City.
When Hart Eyman was getting up a block of oil leases here in 1934, I called
up Mr. Hardenburg, while in Kansas City, and told him of the activity out
here. He asked me to let him know when the first test was to be spudded in
here, saying he would drive out. He said he still had faith in this section and
that he would have been glad to have finished our test. I believe our people
failed to raise the necessary funds. The money for the original test was
raised by selling stock. And it was a clean promotion—but that is more than
I can say for some of the outside oil promotions in which our Wetmore
group dipped.
In view of the recent strikes in the Strahm field, with a 30-barrel producer
in the Hunton lime at around 2800 feet; and the Mamie Strahm number 2,
rated at 1440 barrels in the Viola lime at approximately 3600 feet; and the
Oreon Strahm test, with even greater potential production in the Hunton and
Viola and still another producing sand topping the granite at around 3900
feet, it looks as though we Wetmore “investors” might better have kept our
speculative eggs all in one basket, so to speak, contrary to high-powered
promotion advice—and completed the Haigh-Lapham oil test. And I still
believe we overlooked our best bet right here at home.
But then we had no data to enlighten us. The nearest and only drilling at
that time was ten miles south of us. It was not deep enough to prove or
disprove anything. In the heyday of his great financial flight—in the 1880’s
—Green Campbell drilled a test to the depth of 1,000 feet on the east edge
of Circleville. I believe the incentive was a reported seepage of oil in the
creek south of the town.
Then, some twenty years after the Wetmore try, a couple of promoters came
out of Kansas City, with a plan to rejuvenate interests in the Haigh-Lapham
test—and “feather their own nests.” Joe Searles’ drugstore in the east room
of what is now the First National Bank building, was the unofficial
headquarters for oil hungry “investors”—local and transient. With Joe and
the two promoters, I went over to the Matthews lot, now owned by Bert
Gilbert. Mr. Hardenburg had left the top 100 feet of casing in the well to
prevent cave-ins against the time when he might return to finish the well.
Measurements to the exhaustion of the string available showed the well
open for fifteen hundred feet—and likely all the way down to the bottom.
Excitement began to mount again.
Dr. A. P. Lapham presided over a packed gathering in the opera house—and
appointed a committee of five to confer with the promoters. The committee
met in the Thorn-burrow bank. The promoters came up with a contract
whereby they would undertake to raise the funds for the completion of the
well, against numerous and assorted requirements by “the people” of
Wetmore.
I was offered the trusteeship—but I declined to accept it. I think the reason
the committee offered it to me was because I had been the trustee—with no
part in the promotion—of a block of eight hundred acres of oil leases in Elk
and Chautauqua Counties, purchased from Charley Cortner, salesman, of
Iola, and Dr. C. E. Shaffer, vendor, of Moline, by our Wetmore group, at
$10 an acre, with further obligation of $1.00 per acre yearly rentals, for five
years, which had been carried through to a successful termination, with no
gain to the “investors” and a loss to me of only $85—aside from my $250
first come-in and my part of the rentals, $25 a year, through payments of
rentals in general, as trustee, in excess of collections. I had to collect four
hundred dollars twice a year from fifty-three people—and I didn’t quite
make it. I therefore regarded the trusteeship now offered me as not a
desirable recognition.
To keep the record straight, I shall now give with a little more
enlightenment. I actually had a little velvet in the Shaffer oil deal—
leastwise it looked like velvet at the time. Not for promotional influence—
but for services rendered, and to be rendered.
I went with Charley Cortner, the salesman, and three other Wetmore men to
the Moline oil field—paid my own expenses, even to transportation equal to
railroad fare, and therefore was beholden to no one. The Moline acreage
adjoined a block of leases on which the discovery well, a small producer,
had recently been brought in. There was, however, big production—and
growing bigger every day—at Eldorado, where we stopped on the way
down to get our appetites (for oil speculation) whetted. I wanted to go in
with them, of course.
You know, should you pass up an opportunity to go in with the home folks
on something that was to pan out big, you would always feel that God had
given you less sense than He had given your more fortunate neighbors.
And, should you strive to live down the mistake, there would always be
lucky ones to remind you of your dumbness. The hope of oil-money was in
my system. Had been hankering to get in with the home folks on something
good for a long time.
When reminiscing for entertainment, as well as for record of historic fact,
with no particular theme to exploit, you will, doubtless, agree that it is
permissible—nay, oft-times necessary, to break all the rules laid down by
learned teachers; such as to never let one incident call up another. And, if
you don’t agree—you are going to get it now, anyway.
Aside from the matter in hand, I may say that only a short time before this, I
had been denied the chance to go with a Wetmore group on an inspection
trip to another oil field in southern Kansas—because I had not as yet signed
up, as they had, for an interest in the lease. Well, the energetic young
salesman, after securing pledges enough here to put him in the clear, went
ahead of the boys to the headquarters and bought the lease, at a discount, on
partial payment, using his own money, which, had all gone well, should
have netted him more than the promised commission. He intended, of
course, to deliver the lease to the group up here at the contract price, or
rather the pledged commitments, with only a few amounts yet to be
peddled, or held in his own name, at his discretion. But the Wetmore group
—the boys who had said that to let me go with them on the inspection trip
without first making a commitment, would be unfair to those who had
signed up—turned down the deal, cold. Then, after returning home, the
group heard rumors of lawsuits—and counter suits. The lease vendor was
demanding payment in full, and the poor boy-salesman could not raise the
money.
Charley Cortner, the salesman earlier mentioned in this writing, had been
here for five or six months selling life insurance. He was a whole-souled,
persuasive, sort of man who had made many friends here. Cortner and Dr. J.
R. Purdum, in whose car the trip to Moline had been made, went out among
the people and in almost no time secured pledges for nearly enough money
to take over the Shaffer leases. They were selling interests in $125 “units.”
But, at the finish, to accommodate all the eager applicants, some
subscriptions were taken for as little as $50 and $25—sub-divisions of a
unit.
When they came to me—at the corn-house, where I had been sorting out
seed corn—I surprised them (and maybe shocked them, too) by declining to
subscribe. Not that I didn’t want to get in on the big prospect—but because,
as I believe, it was an improper if not a dangerous way to form a syndicate.
Somewhere I had acquired the notion that if fifty people chipped in and
bought a thing that it would take fifty people to sell it. But I didn’t tell them
this until after they had “flared up” and had their say. They started to quit
me, in disgust—but the Doctor, who was regarded among my best friends,
thinking to erase some of the unkind comment, said, “Well, John, when you
get through sorting your sour corn, come and see us—we’ll save some units
for you.” My corn was not “sour” corn. It was well matured, and making an
average of eighty bushels, with some acres on grubbed ground making 125
bushels.
Now, for a little laughable reaction within a none too laughable story. The
Farmers Union elevator manager, a farmer not so long out of the corn rows,
refused to buy my culled corn, said it would be unfair to his company to
permit me to take out the best ears. After I had sent several loads to the
Netawaka elevator, as it accumulated in the house, after taking out only
about ten per cent, the Farmers Union manager came over to the corn
house, looked at the culled corn we were loading out at the moment, saying
he guessed maybe he had made a mistake in refusing to buy the culled corn.
The culled corn was far better than the general run of corn brought to
market that year. It was an improved strain of Boone County White, which
would shell out equal to Reid’s Yellow Dent.
While still at the corn-house that day of the Purdum-Cortner call, Charley
had an inspiration. He said, “Why couldn’t you write something for us like
you think we ought to have?” I said, “I can try—but it will have to be
approved by an attorney before you can use it. I don’t want to cook up
something that might get our people in trouble.”
But did I—or did I not?
Charley said, “Can you get at it right away?” So the “sour” corn sorting was
postponed until another day—and I went to my home at 11:15. My
typewriter and writing desk were in an alcove up stairs. I had hardly gotten
the corn-dust and the insult to my purebred seed corn, which had been
engendered within the hour at the seed house out of my system when my
wife came to the stair door and said dinner was ready. I had no time for
dinner. The necessary words had not come to me readily. Charley came at
12:30, sat close to me, in a more pleasant mood with occasional verbal
expression indicating the reason for the improvement. But he was careful to
hold back the main reason. His presence didn’t help in furthering the
writing. However, we got away at the appointed time—one o’clock. No
dinner.
Fred Woodburn, the corporation-wise member of Wood-burn & Woodburn,
lawyers, Holton, Kansas, approved my draft, as written, with one exception.
I had made provision for transfer of units. Fred said it would break the
partnership. And, may I say, before I forget it, that I was censured for being
so careless as to omit making provision for transfers—and this, too, by an
individual who, as you will hereinafter see recorded, found fault with my
correct line of reasoning in another instance—correct as in reference to the
one incident, understand.
I’m not trying to “hand” myself a bouquet. The agreement cooked up by me
was neither “air tight” nor “fool proof.” The Trustee had not a chance. The
error was that I did not require the subscribers to include in their checks a
sufficiency to take care of their rentals for the full life of the leases. True,
there was the chance that rental payments might be legitimately
discontinued before the expiration of the lease, as in case of production
terminating the payments, or disposition of the lease. But it would have
been a lot simpler and safer too for the Trustee to return the unearned
portion of the lease money.
Charley Cortner paid the Woodburns for writing a new draft of the
agreement—and asked me, on the road home, for my charge. I told him,
“No charge.” He thanked me kindly. He felt good of course—but I could
see he had not yet got all he needed to allay a worry, the thing that had hit
them so hard at the corn-house.
Unauthorized, and unknown to me, in soliciting subscriptions, it seems,
they had carried the impression, if not the promise, that I would be the
Trustee—possibly demanded by some of the prospects. After miles of
silence on the road, Charley said, “You know, I feel so good about this that
I’m going to give you one unit; you can have it in cash, or in stock in the
syndicate.” From the ultra pleased expression on his face when I said I
would take it in stock, I’m sure he had been holding his breath awaiting my
decision.
True, I had not as yet agreed to accept the Trusteeship—in fact, I knew
nothing about their plans—but I was now as good as in, and they could, at
least, make a plausible showing at the called meeting in the City Hall the
following night, when the vendor would appear in person to deliver the
leases. Charley’s gift to me was acceptable grapes—equal to $4.50 a line, or
45 cents a word for the writing. I really wanted to get in, and would have
subscribed for an interest, anyway—now that apparently a safe and
workable organization would be formed.
Well, Doctor Shaffer spent much of his time here in my home. He was
agreeably pleased over Charley Cortner’s work, with my assistance in
preparing the agreement—and said so in no unmistakable terms. He had a
pleasant word for my wife, too.
In an aside, I will say, that while in Moline on that inspection trip, I was
troubled with a slight attack of appendicitis—which had been chronic with
me for twenty years, and still is—and had gotten temporary relief from the
Doctor. Dr. Shaffer now said that should I ever decide to have an operation,
for me to come down to Moline, and bring my wife along, that she could
stay in the hospital—all free of charge. This was by far the best offer I had
ever had.
First, I might say Dr. Sam Murbock, our old reliable, had said he could not
tell me what his charge would be until he got into me. I told him that he
would never get into me, or my pocket, without first naming his price.
Also, when a guest at the Stratford hotel in Kansas City, Dr. Pickerel, of the
Stratford, went with me to the University Hospital early one morning. He
said he would sit awhile in the lobby and he would spot the surgeons as
they came in. I passed three of them, trying to get my nerves settled.
The fourth one was more in general appearance to my idea of what a good
surgeon should look like. He was called—and we went up stairs to a room.
On examination, Dr. Jabes Jackson, Kansas City’s top-notch surgeon, said I
was just right for the operation. I asked him what would be his charge? He
said, “One thousand dollars!” I told him that I would have to be a lot sicker
before I would think of giving up a thousand dollars. Then, Dr. Pickerel
said, “He doesn’t come under that class, doctor.” Dr. Jabes then said, “Three
hundred—that’s the lowest.”
Again, while at the Byram hotel in Atchison I had a severe attack in the
night—and believed that the time had come when I should have the old
appendix taken out. I called for Atchison’s foremost surgeon. He was in
Kansas City, but would be back at one o’clock. I went up to the Atchison
hospital in the forenoon, asked for a little “home” treatment. In bed, the
nurse felt my “tummy,” shook her head, and said, “You will have to wait for
your doctor.” The doctor said I could have the caster oil and an enema—but
he told the nurse I was to have no breakfast. In the morning, I was feeling
pretty good and was about out of the notion of having the operation.
However, I asked the doctor what would be his charge? He said, “You are
most too weak to stand it now. Come back in a week—we’ll talk it over
then.” One week later, the doctor said, “Owing to your long residence in the
state, and your standing in the community, I’ll do it for five hundred
dollars.” I recalled that our old Nemaha County reliable had done the job
for one of my friends for a very reasonable fee, and also remembered that
he had charged others less reasonable. I said, “If and when the time comes,
I’ll just give you $150.” He said, “I’ll do it—but if you ever tell anybody,
I’ll kick your butt all over town.” You may know that we were on quite
intimate terms, having on earlier occasions met at Atchison’s friendly club
—or he wouldn’t have dared to talk to me like that.
Back in my home again, after enthusiastically discussing the likely prospect
of the new oil field. Doctor Shaffer went out on the street to mingle with his
boys, and the prospects who were now coming in from as far away as
Holton, Circleville, Soldier, Corning, Goff, Netawaka, Whiting, Sabetha,
and intervening farms—including my long-time friend Tommy Evans,
whose farm north of Capioma had the reputation of being the best kept and
most productive in the neighborhood—saying he (the doctor) would be
back soon. My wife said, “It looked like your promoter friends have all
ready unintentionally cut you in on the big melon should you be mindful to
follow up the lead—and wish to be bothered with the Trusteeship.” She
laughed, “If you don’t make that Doctor Shaffer cut you in for a generous
slice you are not as smart as I think you are.”
Well, maybe I needed this tip—and maybe I didn’t.
Doctor Shaffer came back, and without more preliminaries, proposed to cut
me in for two units ($250) if I would prepare him two copies in blank, of
the agreement I had cooked up for the home syndicate, and, incidentally,
permit Cortner and Purdum to make good on their promise to the
subscribers that I would be the Trustee. He said they were expecting it, and
desired to have my acceptance before going into the meeting. Thus, I
wouldn’t rightly know to whom I was indebted for the generous slice of the
melon.
Or was it a melon?
I suspect it was as Myrtle had said, unintentionally cooked up by the two
solicitors—and that, in its final phase, it was a joint settlement, with the
solicitors having to kick back a portion of their rake-off. Anyway, it was
more unsolicited grapes for me—twice over the $4.50 a line, or 45 cents a
word for the original draft. I used a carbon and made the two new copies at
once, while Doctor Shaffer waited. He had another sale on with a Missouri
group.
Fifty-three subscribers crowded into the City Hall, and all signed the
agreement, and each set down the amount of his subscription opposite his
name—and all wrote checks. At the finish I had fifty-three checks totaling
$8,000—my own check for $250, and Doctor Shaffer’s check for $1,000,
included. Doctor Shaffer would reimburse me for this $250 and also pay me
the $125 promised by Charley Cortner. I was instructed to send payment for
the lease in two $4,000 bank drafts. I had no intention of paying out $8,000
until those checks had time to be cleared. In the meantime our attorney had
called for complete abstracts to the acreage instead of the certificates of title
supplied by the vendor—delaying settlement for several weeks.
But the eight thousand dollar payment was made, and I received the $375
velvet from Doctor Shaffer—I guess. For reasons of his own, unknown to
me, Dr. Shaffer had a Wichita man mail me his personal check for $375,
nothing more. I suspect one of those $4,000 drafts had been deposited in a
Wichita bank. The transaction was legitimate. I had nothing to cover up.
This payment to me had come off the salesman and the vendor, negotiated
subsequent to the pledges made by syndicate members—leaving their full
“investment” intact to work out its own salvation.
This is the God’s truth—and mine, too.
Now, kindly figure out for me, if you can, where anyone had been worsted
through my part in the transaction. Two “bright” young clerks in the bank
here—whom I shall not name—caught it at once. That mysterious $375
check had alerted them. They put their own erroneous construction on it—
and passed the word along. Then I caught “hail Columbia” from the
younguns’ superior (in point of banking tenure) who had “invested $125 in
his wife’s name—the idea being that a banker himself ought to have more
sense than to dabble in such matters. His “boys,” as he called them, meant
well, of course—and it didn’t take me too long to convince the banker that I
had taken no part in the promotion. But, what if I had? It would not have
been a crime. I want to say, however, that the banker did me the favor of
trying to correct the false impressions he had helped set afloat. Once in a
blue moon even the worst of us will meet such a manful man.
In this story I only aim to hit the high spots—not, at any time, deviating
from the truth. It was not all easy sailing for the Trustee. In a case of this
kind, the conscientious person representing his friends, does not wish to let
them down because of failure to collect rentals in full. With syndicate
members widely scattered, the Trustee must make his own decisions—and
quick. He can put up the delinquent amount himself, or he can forfeit the
lease—if he does not wish to raise the ire of his friends who have paid.
Our syndicate was in reality an unfinanced holding partnership—barred
from creating indebtedness, euphoniously christened “The Elkmore Oil and
Gas Syndicate.” Here, I must give the wife credit—if, in the long run it
really merited credit—for suggesting this expressive name, which
embraces, in split infinitives, the location of the lease holdings (Elk County)
and the home (Wetmore) of the “investors.” It pleased Dr. Shaffer—no end.
I think it got Myrtle included in that proposed free entertainment at his
hospital in Moline.
Like Doctor Purdum’s good natured crack at my purebred seed corn, those
altruistically donated helpings of “grapes” showered on me by Cortner and
Shaffer, had begun to “sour”—and, I may say, that they deteriorated until
less than nothing was left of the windfall. It posed a perplexing dilemma.
As there was little chance of getting action before the expiration of the
leases, aggravated by draggy collections of rentals, a feeler was mailed to
all subscribers, in ample time before the fifth year’s payments were due.
More than half of them favored dropping the leases, and sent me their
written authorization. Nearly half of the interests remained expressionless.
The four leases were canceled. The majority of the interests wished it so.
But, it was the delinquents who hollered most, even censured me for giving
up the lease—when some of the acreage came into production several years
later. It seemed not to have occurred to them that wo would have lost out,
anyway.
But, in the Moline field we got some experience which should have taught
us a lesson, that a bird in hand is worth a whole flock in the bush—but it
didn’t. We could have sold our leases at a nice profit.
An oil gusher was brought in on a large tract of pasture land one mile away
from our holdings. Dr. Shaffer wired me to come down at once. He drove
me out to the well. There was a terrific jam—at the well, on the road, in
Moline. Crowds of people were at the well ahead of us that morning—Art
Hough, a former Wetmore boy, and his oil-rich partner, from Independence,
among them. Excitement was running high. One man was killed in his
overturned car while rushing out from town. And I, myself, spent the night
in a Moline hospital. This fact, however, does not necessarily pertain to the
gusher—except to show that there was genuine good-feeling all round. I
was the guest of Dr. Shaffer and his wife, who were the only other
occupants of his new hospital, not yet ready for public patronage. Dr.
Shaffer owned a one-eighth interest in our leases.
If you have never seen an oil-gusher, you don’t know what a thrilling sight
it is—especially, if you own nearby leases. Oil spurted in gusts at regular
intervals high into the air, spread out in all directions and arched down over
the four case-setters, stripped to the waist, encasing them in a film of oil so
heavy as to exclude them from view, at times. Art Hough and his partner,
who owned some producing wells in the shallow field near Independence,
wanted to buy our leases—but who would want to sell in the midst of all
that excitement? And, anyway, I was not in a position to deal with them on
the spot, as there were fifty-three signers in the group to an agreement
which provided for fifty-one per cent of the interests to say when to sell. We
did, however, later, arrange to sell part of the leases—carrying a provision
for drilling—and the papers were sent to the Moline bank; but the
prospective buyer was unable to come through with the money.
The gusher was on land owned, or controlled, by a Moline banker, and
another man. I heard one of the partners say, not once but many times,
always the same sing-song word for word, “I just told the Lord that since
He had been so good to me, I shall never desecrate His holy name.” If I
may express myself, unbiasedly, I would say the Lord played no favorites in
the Moline field; that I think He had nothing to do with the man’s good
luck, except, possibly, in a general way of being the creator of all things—
else why would He have destroyed the gusher with salt-water, and got the
owners the threat of a robust lawsuit to boot—for polluting a God-given
stream of fresh water?
In the matter of a fresh try to reopen the Wetmore oil test, I protested the
contract offered by the two Kansas City promoters, maintaining that we had
no valid authority to sign anything in the name of “the people” and that
liability would fall on the individual signers. One of the committeemen who
had been in various lines of business in Wetmore, and had finally settled
himself in a real estate office, said, “Why, John—there haint a day but what
I make contracts like that.” Questioning the man’s competency in such
matters, I said, “I wouldn’t doubt it in the least—but it will take still more
plausible argument to induce me to sign this one.”
The other members of the committee had caught the spirit of the meeting in
the opera house, and were anxious to see further development of our oil
prospect. They conferred the “favor” of the trusteeship on committeeman
Sam Thornburrow, cashier of the State Bank—and they all signed the
contract. Then the promoters went back to Kansas City to await the
hatching of the egg they had laid here. And in due time, Sam got notice
from a lawyer in Kansas City that he was about to be sued for breach of
contract. Then one morning as I was passing the bank Sam hailed me. He
said, “You know, those Kansas City fellows have sued me for $1,000—
what would you do about it?” Remembering how they had “ribbed” me for
refusing to sign with them, I said, “I’d pay it.” After he had turned this over
in his troubled mind a few times, I told him to pay no attention to it—that
the promoters were most likely trying to frighten him into a settlement; that
they would have to start their action in Kansas—and that I doubted very
much if they would risk doing this, as the contract would show them up for
the grafters they were.” The Kansas City promoters did not follow through
with their claim for damages.
It took only one more throw at the get-rich-quick oil game to convince me
that it just could not be accomplished by throwing in with the other fellow
on his home grounds, after he had carried the project to a point where any
day’s drilling might bring riches. But I’m still strong on the home-test—for
that would be furthering something for the good of all the home folks.
Our Wetmore group, with “investors” at Goff and Bancroft, contributed a
sum said to be $14,350 toward the completion of a well in a producing field
east of Enid, Oklahoma, on land owned by a Bancroft man. The
headquarters of the Company was in a fair sized city in southern Kansas,
with a department store owner as president, a physician and surgeon as
secretary—and a banker deeply interested in a covered-up sort of way. The
president and the land owner had departed with our money, supposedly to
complete the well—and then we would all most likely be “sitting pretty.”
But in about a week we got notice of a called meeting to vote $30,000
increase in capital stock. Also, we were advised of the bringing in of a gas
well of ten million feet potential on the lease adjoining the company ground
on the south, still farther away from the known production area on the
north, proving that we were still “sitting pretty.” Had this been reported
before we joined-up with our Southern Kansas financiers, I, for one, would
have kept my money. Sane people do not let the public in on a speculative
enterprise after its success is practically assured.
Our Wetmore “investors”, gave me proxies, and sent me down to
investigate. I first went with the land-owner to the Oklahoma field. We
found no activity at the well on his land, but the rig was still up. And the
drillers were working on the reported gas strike just across the road. They
told me that they had struck a small flow of gas—that it was not strong
enough to blow your hat off the casing.
I got back to the Kansas headquarters on Saturday about noon, and went at
once to the department store owned by the president. He introduced his
wife, who worked in the store, and his father-in-law, whom I shall call Mr.
Shapp—though this is not his real name. The president insisted that I take
dinner with him at his home. I sensed something was wrong—but I couldn’t
place it just yet. I learned later that Dr. Lapham had got wise to something
pertaining to the call for an increase of capital stock, and had written him a
critical letter. Dr. Lapham told me later that it was a “scorcher”—and I can
well believe it was. They were all rather upset. Of course the president, and
the secretary, and the banker, knew some things which I didn’t know—yet.
My dinner host was a bit “jumpy” because of that “scorcher” letter of Dr.
Lap-ham’s, and my appearance two days in advance of the called meeting.
But had he known what I had just learned at the dinner table, he could have
trusted me implicitly.
Some years prior to this I had sold, through advertisement in the Topeka
Capital, 500 shares of our mining stock to the fictitious Monroe P. Shapp, of
that address, and through him 200 shares in the name of his daughter, Ella J.
Shapp. Now, when the merchant called his wife “Ella” I put two and two
together—then I knew that I was among old friends. And I couldn’t find it
in my heart to get rough with them.
Not that I had any apologies to make for our mine promotion. We had used
their money, as promised, in the development of the mine, and at this time
were still putting our own money into it—and we had no intention of going
out and selling a block of stock to rub out the deficit. That would have been
illegal in Nevada. But the fact remained that we had not as yet been able to
make any returns to stockholders.
When I called on the secretary of the oil company, he said he could not give
me any time that afternoon, that he had to perform an operation at the
hospital at 4 o’clock. I said to him, in the presence of the president, “You
fellows seem to be scared about something—but you need not be. I give
you my word that I am not here to make trouble. All I want to know is what
chance you have to make good, and if it will be to our interests for me to
vote my proxies for the increase of capital stock at the meeting Monday.”
The secretary looked at the president, and the president looked at the
secretary—then they both looked at me. The president nodded—and the
secretary said, “Come along with me.”
It seems the directors had carried on with the drilling after company funds
were exhausted, incurring personal obligations, and stopped the drill when
approximating the required depth for a strike, with a large deficit—which,
with our contribution, was now reduced to something like $9,000. While in
the office of the physician-surgeon-secretary going over the books, the
banker—of German extraction, if not the whole thing—came in, and
nodding toward a back room, said as if in great distress, “Dokther—I’ve got
a stick in the eye.”
I decided that I ought not vote for the increase of stock—and, without leave,
came home on Sunday. One of our group, an ex-businessman, attended the
meeting on his own hook to get first hand knowledge of the situation. He
wired Joe Searles Monday afternoon, saying, “Bristow absent; could I vote
the proxies?” I told Joe to wire him, “Yes—if you have them.” I had just
turned them in to Joe. In a couple of days Searles got a long letter from him
—written by a stenographer in Kansas City—berating me for running out
on them, and boasting of the business-like interest he himself had taken in
the meeting, saying, “I stayed with them until we got in proxies enough the
next day to get the money—and I bought $250 worth more of the stock.”
He did not say—probably didn’t know—if his purchase was of the newly
voted stock, or from the old issue. I had a strong suspicion that we had all
ready bought and paid for a generous take of the newly voted stock—and
got short changed as well.
I had called on that “stick-in-the-eye” banker a short while before, and
obtained from him the log of a producing well recently brought in by Frank
Letson and associates in the Enid field—and this, I think, might have been
what had alerted the banker; or, maybe, the president had sent his partner
scurrying in to forestall an admission of their questionable finagling. I
wanted that log to compare with the log of “our” drilling, which I had
obtained from “our” president. Then, too, Frank Letson was a younger
brother of Ed and Ella Letson who were my schoolmates in Wetmore, when
their father, Bill Letson, owned a general store here; before going to
Netawaka to engage in like business. I had called at the Fleming and Letson
bank in Enid two days before, but did not get to see either of my old
acquaintances.
The Fleming bank, now an imposing brick structure having tall columns, on
the east side of the square, was started on the south side, opposite the land
office, in a small frame building in the new town after the opening of the
Cherokee strip, in 1893. I also had occasion to call at the old bank about six
months after the opening, to get a paper notarized.
Attorney Elwin Campfield, in the law office of John Curran, formerly of
Seneca, on the west side of the Enid square, filled out relinquishing papers
for me, without charge—we had been neighbors in the Bleisener building in
Wetmore—and suggested that I wait in the Curran office a few minutes
when he would have one of the office force notarize it for me, presumedly
also without charge—a small matter hardly worth waiting for. Up here the
fee for such service was then, and still is, twenty-five cents. I told Elwin I
would go over to the Fleming bank and get it notarized, that I wanted to pay
my respects to Ollie, anyway. 01 had grabbed off, at Netawaka, a red
headed girl (Ella Letson) whom I had thought pretty nice when we were
care-free kids running wild on the streets of Wetmore in the early days.
Well, 01 was sure glad to see me—and he would gladly remember me to
Ella. When he had returned the notarized paper to me, I said, “How much,
01?” He said, “Five dollars!” I shot him a wordless blank look. He laughed,
and said, “Oh, give me two-and-a-half.” There had been a time in that
frontier town when one could get most anything asked for services, but that
time was now over and passed—half-over, anyway.
That officious Wetmore man was in Dr. Lapham’s office when I reported
my findings. I told the group that I had spoken only for myself when I gave
those finaglers my word that I was not there to make trouble—that I had to
do this to get them to open up. I told the group that I had no desire to pursue
the matter further, but that they themselves were not barred; that any one of
them who might wish to, could notify the Blue Sky Board in Topeka—and
the Board would do the rest.
The man who had taken matters in his own hands and helped put over the
vote for the increase of capital stock without the formality of first finding
out what it was all about, popped up and said, “You had no right to tell them
that.” He insisted that I should make the complaint. And the surprising thing
is, he had some supporters. There were some hard losers in the group. I had
not made the investigation with the intention of filing a complaint—
wouldn’t have accepted the assignment had it carried any such provision. I
don’t like fussing.
Then, too, the president and the land owner had not solicited me to buy
stock, nor made promise to me that the fund would be used to complete the
well. Their contact had been with Dr. Lapham and other members of the
group. I went in with them solely because my neighbors had invited me to
join them, and because I didn’t want to stand idly by—and watch them
make a “killing.” However, on invitation, I went up to Dr. Lapham’s office
at the virtual close of a “pep” meeting, after the check-writing had begun. I
asked for information as to how the company was organized—particularly
as to whether or not the stock was non-assessable? The president and the
land-owner really didn’t know. But they went to Topeka the next day and
secured a transcript of the incorporation papers, which were acceptable.
And I was invited to go before the adjourned meeting the following
evening, and voice my approval. Then the check writing was resumed.
Also, my conscience told me, in a flash, that it would be a rather poor
spirited person who should wish to send his neighbor “up” for the mistake
of keeping bad company. It looked as if our old farmer-neighbor had been
caught in between two fires, and didn’t know which way to “jump”—or
worse still, that there was now no open way out. Thus, it may be said, that
our old Bancroft farmer-friend, in his most uncomfortable position, was
comparable to the banker held as hostage by a bold gang of robbers who
had just looted his bank. I know. I spent two days with the dispirited old
man in the oil field.
The Blue Sky Board was fostered to check on promotions whose stocks
were strongly, if not wholly, tinctured with the azure blue. Along about
1905-06-07 questionable promotions—mostly mining—sprang up all over
the country. Kansas City had several going full blast at one time. I had
occasion to call on one of them; had arranged the meeting through
correspondence. I entered a very large room where perhaps thirty or forty
girl-typists were busily preparing literature to be sent out by mail to
inquirers secured through newspaper advertisements. The printed portion of
the literature had been prepared by “experts” copy-writers—and it is
surprising how those fellows could make an inferior proposition appeal to
the gullible.
The Fiscal Agent’s secretary, or outside girl, stationed near his private office
—he had a better looking secretary in his office—said she believed the
“boss” was not in. I gave her my name and stated my business. She went
into the private office, and returned saying, Mr. so-and-so would see me.
However, had I been a questionable caller, the outside girl would have told
me upon returning that he was not in, and that she had learned from his
inside secretary that he had gone out of town and would not be back that
day. This was the system. The “boss” did not want to see any of his
subscribers—nor an officer of the law.
One of those Kansas City promotion companies was selling stock in what
was called a Ten Million Dollar Development—that is, ten million shares,
par-value one dollar, sold at two cents a share, the idea being to offer the
purchaser a lot for little money, out in our mining district in Nevada. It was
highly advertised as the “Extension of the Great (Searchlight) Quartette
Vein.” The outfit was actually sinking a shaft about a half-mile out in the
valley west of the mountain-situated Quartette mine—a rich gold producer
—without reasonable chance of picking up anything in the way of values.
Too many promotions like this were victimizing the people. The Blue Sky
Board’s function was to keep them out of Kansas.
In our own mine promotion, I did some newspaper advertising in Topeka—
but, first, I had to get a clearance from the Blue Sky Board (in Bank
Commissioner Dolley’s office) showing that our company was on the
square; that the stock was a fair risk; that purchasers were fully and
truthfully informed; and most important of all, that the purchasers would
get a run for their money—meaning that the money so collected must not be
used in paying for a “dead horse.”
On full-page advertising in a number of papers, I received on the average
one inquiry for each 3,000 circulation—but I sold practically all of them.
This was only about one-hundredth part of the returns the Kansas City
fellows were getting. And I had strong copy, too. The newspaper boys said
it was unusually strong. But I made the mistake—from the promoter’s view
point—of telling the readers the truth, that we had not carried the
proposition to a point where we were about ready to begin handing out
dividends, which was the Kansas City boy’s big drawing card. This was
costing too much—and I discontinued selling the stock, hoping that we
might yet find an Agent who would have better luck. We used up the funds
on hand; then went at it individually again. And the six miners continued on
the job, taking their full wages in our treasury stock.
Let it be understood that the mining stock I sold was far from being in the
blue sky class—and that the job of selling it was “wished” on me. While in
the process of incorporating, our president, Frank Williams, had made
tentative arrangements with Los Angeles “Fiscal Agents”—that’s what they
called themselves then—to sell our treasury stock, but failed to conclude a
satisfactory contract with them. He had encountered the same questionable
line of approach out there that caused me to turn down the Kansas City
“Fiscal Agents.”
Might say that in the first place, on his recommendation, I had joined Frank
Williams in the purchase of the initial lead-zinc-vanadium claim—only lead
discovered then—on which our corporation was mainly based. Included in
the corporation also were three (gold) claims in the Crescent district, owned
by Frank and his brother Tommy Williams, A. M. Harter, and Jonah Jones.
These Crescent claims were taken in on a basis of one-sixth of the
combined value. Our lead claim had the further approval of that veteran
millionaire miner, Green Campbell—indeed, had he not died suddenly of
pneumonia, Green, instead of I, would have been Frank’s partner. Frank had
been with Green Campbell, and his uncle Elwood Thomas—all three of the
men former Wetmore citizens, in the Goodsprings district for twelve years,
at that time.
Then, too, those Crescent gold claims held appeal. What think you that your
heart would have done to you, had you been able to go out on your own
holdings and scrape up dirt—disintegrated rock, assaying $544 gold to the
ton—at a time when the fabulous production of the not too distant
Comstock mines in Nevada, with less glowing beginning, was being
proclaimed all over the land as having saved the credit of the Nation during
Civil War days.
And, by the way, isn’t it about time for us to dig again?
Please—somebody, anybody, everybody—pray with me for a redeeming
Comstock as of yore, only let it be such stepped up magnitude as to save,
beyond the possibility of a slip, the credit of our Uncle Sam, even in his
magnanimous undertaking to tide, piggyback, all those unstable old country
states over the troubled waters of world unrest—in an effort to convince a
certain belligerent-minded Old World character that war is, a la Sherman,
indeed “hell.”
But remember, mines are made—not found.
Before incorporating, we (Frank and I), worked the lead claim for nearly
two years—or rather, Frank did the work and I paid him one-half of the
prevailing miner’s wage. We were trying our best to make a paying mine of
it—and may I say that, encouraged by occasional shipments, there were
times when we believed we were right at the door of accomplishment.
The point I’m trying to stress here is, that we did not acquire the mining
claims for the purpose of launching a stock-selling enterprise, as was so of
ter done about that time. But we learned that more often than not even
promising mining prospects require the expenditure of more money than
we, as individuals, could devote to it—hence the incorporation.
Thus it is that, in the fullness of Time, I have tried mining—to the tune of
Six Thousand Dollars, plus; out of pocket—and I’ve tried oil, not once but
three times; and I’ve even tried real estate speculation in the boom days of
Port Arthur, Texas—all avenues leading up to the coveted get-rich-quick-
field—and so help me, I have never taken down a dollar.
I promised my companion of the day that I wouldn’t tell about our
“investments” in Port Arthur town lots. But that was a long time ago,
between the time he was elected Governor of Kansas, from Nemaha
County, and the time he served as Governor of the Federal Reserve Bank in
Kansas City, Missouri. So I opine that it doesn’t matter now, since he is
safely beyond the pale of political patronage. In the new boom town of Port
Arthur that warm January day about the turn of the century, the “boomers”
showed us the location, with rock foundation all ready in place, for a bank
building, with brick enough piled on the site to build an edifice big enough
to house all the money in the world. But the most revealing report I ever got
from my friend, the Governor, on our investments, was that the restless
bank foundation and its companion brick pile had gone on the prowl,
virtually slipped from one end of the plotted business section to the other
end, taking now and then a rest period.
The old regulars in our group of “investors” are about all dead now—or
have dropped the Big Idea. Joe Searles, at present prescription clerk in a
Sabetha drugstore, never in too deeply with the old group, is in line to get
his now. He has taken on both leases and royalties in the Strahm field. The
development so far has been done by the Carter Oil Company, holding most
of the leases. But private interests are trafficking in royalties in a big way.
Should Joe make good—that is, break into the big money where the Internal
Revenue take would warrant him in throwing away a portion of his
winnings in “wildcatting,” I suggest that he come home—and finish the
Haigh-Lapham oil test. This—and other betterments for the old home town
—is what I planned on doing, had I become burdened with mine-made
money.
Also, let it be understood that I took no part in the organization of our group
of “investors,” or the promotion of any of our oil speculations.
And now a last word.
Since it appeared that our Southern Kansas co-partners had risked their own
money, or more likely their credit, in completing the drilling, incurring
disappointment—and, crowded by an unseen hand, (which I believe I could
have put my finger on), had taken the wrong way out of the dilemma, and if
I were not mistaken they yet had a long, long way to go to get out of the
woods; so then, let us be lenient. Why say an unkind word about your
neighbor—when it gets you nothing? Don’t know if they ever sold any
more of the newly voted stock, or if they did any more drilling. Never heard
from them again.
In tolerance of human frailty, let me say that our old Bancroft farmer-friend,
allied with keener personalities, had always been a reputable man—that the
doctor-secretary, and the merchant-prince apparently stood high among
their fellowmen—and then there was Ella J., holder of some mining stock.
But, even so, had I not lost interest in the investigation, considered it
hopeless, I believe I could have found “sticks” in more than one eye.

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A Manual of Egyptian Pottery

AERA Field Manual Series 1

Ancient Egypt Research Associates, Inc.

Published by Ancient Egypt Research Associates, Inc.

Ancient Egypt Research Associates (AERA) is a 501(c) (3), tax-exempt,

© 2010 by Ancient Egypt Research Associates

Printed in Hollis, New Hampshire, at Puritan Press.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

Revised First Edition:

List of Abbreviations Used in this Volume v

Preface and Acknowledgments vii

Map of Egyptian Find Sites for Pottery Illustrated in this Volume x

1. Pottery Production and Processing in the Field 1

4. Further Reading: a General Selection on Ceramics 18

5. Clay and Fabric Descriptions Used in Volume 1 24

Lower Egyptian Culture (Buto-Maadi) 151

7. Further Reading: a Selection for Volume 1 201

List of Abbreviations Used in this Volume

SSEA Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities

Section 3 A list of terms and abbreviations related to ceramics

Map illustrating location of Egyptian sites mentioned in Volume 1.

Pottery Production and Processing in the Field

AERA Field Manual Series 1 1

Shaping Methods (Arnold and Bourriau 1993, Hope 1987)

2 Manual of Egyptian Pottery, Volume 1, Revised First Edition

AERA Field Manual Series 1 3

Shape Designation (Rice 1987: 212–220)

4 Manual of Egyptian Pottery, Volume 1, Revised First Edition

AERA Field Manual Series 1 5

straight flaring narrowing

Figure 4. Terminology for describing rim forms.

6 Manual of Egyptian Pottery, Volume 1, Revised First Edition

AERA Field Manual Series 1 7

Table 1. Example of an AERA Pottery Form.

Date: 20iii2004 Bag number: 5

Context: 6-S25/21221 Processor: AW

Non diag. weight: 0.5 F2 non diag. weight: 1.5

23 AB1 GN3, WWh R, 10 10 1 0.1 Potmark–external

Data base entry: AW Page: 2

8 Manual of Egyptian Pottery, Volume 1, Revised First Edition

Table 2. Basic pottery processing tools.

POTTERY PROCESSING DRAWINGS PHOTOS

AERA Field Manual Series 1 9

Table 3. General categories of the AERA Pottery Database.

10 Manual of Egyptian Pottery, Volume 1, Revised First Edition

AERA Field Manual Series 1 11

12 Manual of Egyptian Pottery, Volume 1, Revised First Edition

Clay and Fabric

AERA Field Manual Series 1 13