Eric Woods with a freshly printed Alox design
It’s not as if creativity’s in short supply at Firecracker Press. But there are some guests that can bring out a little bit extra.
One Friday afternoon—not long after an errant customer from the neighboring Chinese take-out dropped in for their non-existent order of egg rolls—a visitor from Wisconsin came by the Cherokee Street print shop. She was carrying, for starters, a pair of Imo’s Pizzas. But then came more, in the form of boxes, folders, satchels, just about every kind of carrying case imaginable, along with some loose items.
Atogether that vast assortment of materials helped tell a story, one about a St. Louis business that was once among the leaders in the novelty field. From the days of radio onward, Alox was a brand that sold a little bit of everything: kites, shoelaces, marbles, game boards, miniature whips, jacks. Their products appealed to a broad section of kids nationwide, kids who played in the streets and alleyways with items produced right here in St. Louis. And while the boxes she brought with her told part of the story, Nancy Frier can fill in the gaps, with no short amount of praise directed towards her late grandfather, John.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m his biggest fan,” she told the Firecracker staff. “He was way ahead of his time. I wish I had half of his brightness.”
John Frier’s story goes back to the last days of the 19th century. As a high-schooler in 1912, his mechanical leanings found him working on a glider, one that drew the attention of Curtiss Aeroplanes. That company, which would later become a partner with the Wright Brothers, sent a stern letter to the St. Louis schoolboy. It appears that Curtiss felt his glider design was too close to their own, even though there was little way for him to have sussed out their research. In a note dated May 22, 1912, Curtiss wrote young Frier, stating: “This letter is not sent to you as a threat, but in a spirit of friendly caution, in order that you may be fully aware in advance of our right in the matter.” And, yes, that yellowed letter, a few months shy of a century old, is part of Nancy Frier’s collection.
As it turned out, his glider was destroyed, under strange circumstances. But, soon enough, he was onto other endeavors. In 1919, he established the first shoelace factory west of the Mississippi, and his company’s Alox brand laces went nationwide. To the credit of those that built the machinery, its the original Alox equipment that’s still in operation today, one of the longest-running exhibitions down at the City Museum.
Frier, who passed in 1974, would continue to create new lines of products over several decades, new revenue streams for his company, which had a factory at Maple and Hayes in Wellston. He bought seven marble-making machines. He built Mah Tong Chinese Checkers boards, capturing that craze’s cultural meme. But the real of-the-moment strike came with the company’s building of kites, which came in multiple styles and in either fiber or plastic forms. It was these that she was most interested in telling the Firecracker crew all about.
With Imo’s on the table, Nancy Frier regaled her stories to Firecracker owner Eric Woods and his associates Matty Kleinberg and Maggie Filla. Before her arrival, they were working on a series of wedding invitations and collateral for that blessed event, the type of work they specialize in. But with Frier on just a mission, it was obvious that some ink was going to get rolled, after some thin-crust pizza was consumed. And here’s where the interesting part of the day really got going.
In addition to all the toys and novelties that she brought along—including an entire, packed, saleman’s case of Alox wares, which just screamed midcentury Americana—she brought out some of the original plates that illustrated the Alox kites. For example, a smiling kid known as “The Mickey.” Or a classic design of a rough rider on the back of a bucking bronco, known as the “Western Ranger.” Asking Woods whether, or not, he’d be able to work with the old plates, he responded that “There’s no doubt we could,” and soon enough, he and Kleinberg were both setting presses, using the time-tested technology that’s made the shop well-known.
Within a quarter-hour of the pair putting down the originals, the plates were covered in ink and soon enough, a few pieces of poster-sized paper were getting rolled. It was obvious to the printers that the old plates were really soaking up the ink.
“When was the last time these had ink on them?” Woods asked Frier.
“Well, it would’ve been when the company was sold,” she figured. “So, the late ‘80s.”
But within a couple more minutes, the ink was really taking, and the designs seen on the kites scattered on the floor were suddenly being readapted, reintepreted, reimagined.
At this point, the collaboration between Alox and Firecracker is tentatively shaping up. Woods, for example, thinks that people “interested in the history of St. Louis” will be the first folks to walk through the door, looking for posters and prints that replicate the old Alox designs.
Frier, too, has hopes, which extend beyond the Firecracker component. An example of that is her securing the use of an old Alox marble machine, one of the seven that her grandfather bought a good half-century-and-change ago. Another piece of antique gear that’s wound up at the City Museum: She’s hoping to start firing up the marble machine again. It’s not a cheap endeavor, as the cost of “gas and glass” can run upwards of $8,000 a run.
But she says that it was always her dream to run her grandfather’s company; the timing wasn’t right in 1989, when Alox was essentially sold off.
The original factory’s still there in Wellston, but the longtime workers, some of whom spent decades at Alox, are passed. And the memories of Alox are largely in interesting, small pockets of the nation. For example, the West Virgina Museum of American Glass in Weston, WV, has examples of the Alox marbles. And the World Kite Museum of Long Beach, WA, has more than a passing interest in the Alox kites. Antique magazines have occasionally featured the name in stories. And collectors trade the goods on eBay.
It’s possible, though, that the Alox name is flying under a historical radar in St. Louis. After a decade living away from here, Nancy Frier has tentative plans to move back to St. Louis at some point in 2012. By the time she comes back, the poster and print designs might already be on the market, having shown that they can be easily reproduced by Woods and his printing posse.
Times have changed since the Alox brand was one found in households throughout America. But Frier’s bullish on the name’s survival.
“I’m the last one in the family to want this business,” Frier says. “I always wanted to run my grandfather’s company, but it was never feasible until now. But you have to put your dream out there. I’m compiling the equipment. We’ve got the old marble machine back.
“In 2019, it’ll be hundred years since the business started. And by then, I’m going to be creating something with the name Alox.”
