Rudolph Kemmler, St. Louis Browns, from the Old Judge series (N172) for Old Judge Cigarettes 1887

Curator: Goodwin & Company's "Rudolph Kemmler, St. Louis Browns" hails from the Old Judge series of 1887, a photographic print that circulated as a baseball card. What strikes you first about it? Editor: Just look at him! He's gazing off into the distance as if contemplating the meaning of batting averages, or maybe he's just spotted the ice cream vendor. I feel an old-timey melancholy—sort of like a sepia-toned dream. Curator: The photograph's circulation reflects late 19th-century America’s burgeoning commercial culture, the rise of baseball as the national pastime, and the marketing tactics around it. What we have to remember is how integral it was to have an ad for cigarettes with this baseball player. These men and sport were essentially props in the tobacco companies scheme to grow an even bigger market. Editor: Absolutely! Though knowing what we know about cigarettes today, it kind of gives you the shivers, right? But that seriousness in his gaze clashes intriguingly with the whimsical cap he’s wearing, makes one think of the performance and performativity of gender, and what this says about the historical constructions around professional male athletes. I wonder, did he enjoy posing for this card, or did he see it just as work? Curator: I am more concerned with exploring the material conditions which shaped baseball stars and how the labor put into this system further widened the distance in wealth equality in 1880s New York. I understand what you are saying though— Editor: His likeness trapped in this rectangle, his youthful optimism and athletic prowess frozen in time… the photo carries the weight of unfulfilled potential. What if he had just stuck with being a math teacher? No fame, but he probably would have lived longer. Curator: Indeed. Consider this card a poignant reminder of a bygone era, marked by its own unique cultural landscape and, shall we say, problematic endorsements. Editor: And for me, this is like finding a pressed flower in an old book: unexpected and fragile.