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Roof-lines

One of the comments on today’s POTD was about the busy (gaudy?) roof-line of the house. That spawned a whole train of thought in regard to why I like this particular house (waif in the window or not), including the roof-line, so I thought I’d go through it here for fun.

Back when the design for our mountain house was little more than a gleam in the corner of my eye, I happened to read Richard Brautigan’s novel The Hawkline Monster. The cover of the book looked like this:

Given we were wanting to design our house to be sort of a neo-Victorian design, we were really drawn to this image. Note that the complicated roofline and the lightning rods and other roof attachments shows a remarkable similarity to the house in today’s POTD, shown again here:

I would have build a house just like the Hawkline Mansion on the book cover–except that very real money, time, skill, and size constraints, as well as general inclination, scaled down the look considerably. But, except for the roof-line fixtures, you can perhaps see the book cover’s influence on our result here:

At some point in the design of the house, when I was still researching Victorian designs, I stumbled across this 1930s photo by Russell Lee from the depression era archives of the Farm Home Administration:

Clearly the cover of the Hawkline Monster was painted based on the photo of this house, complete with the roof accoutrements (again similar to the waif house in today’s POTD). One year I was going down to Wichita Falls, Texas for an exhibit opening of some of my photography and realized I was going to be near Comanche, Texas where this photo was taken. So I took a side trip there to look for the house. Comanche is a small town, but I drove all around the place and could not find it. Finally, I stopped into the local library and talked to the head (only?) librarian there and she knew all about the house, except that she’d never seen the painting on the book cover. She told me the place was torn down sometime after the end of WWII, but she told me exactly where to find the location.

When I got to the corner where the house used to be, there was an architecturally uninspiring house from the 1950s or 60s. I did see this partial fence around the lot which I imagine was part of the original build:

I was pretty disappointed in the house being torn down so long ago, but I did get a bit of a feel for the old neighborhood by looking at the house across the street:

So that’s a roundabout story of roof-lines and home designs. But if you think the roof-lines of the waif house and the Hawkline Mansion are busy consider this photo of the roof-line of a building in Venice, Italy that I took back in 2008:

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POTD: Waif in the Window

Waif in the Window
Nevada City, Montana
2026

This is the kind of old house I’d really, really like to take a look inside. Unfortunately this place is heavily fenced and signed “No Trespassing.” It’s not clear if anyone is currently living there, other than the waif in the window of course.

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Lectio #87

Lectio #87
Virginia City, Montana
2026

Taken through the window of a locked building, I couldn’t actually page through these books and I couldn’t read the title of the top book in the photo. But the second book is “Reluctant Rebel” by F. F. Van de Water (about pre-Revolutionary War apparently) and the bottom book is “Complete Stories of the Great Operas” by Milton Cross. Both books were published in the mid-1940s and apparently neither is particularly popular these days given the dearth of reviews of them online.

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POTD: Period

Period
Virginia City, Montana
2025

I’ve always wondered why, contrary to what you see today, old business signs often ended the business names with a period. So I asked my friendly AI chatbot the question and got an interesting result:

 


🪶 Short answer

The “period at the end of old signs” turns out to be one of those tiny details that reveals a whole shift in how businesses thought about themselves. Old business signs ended with periods because sign‑painters treated the business name as a complete written statement, following 19th‑ and early‑20th‑century print conventions. A period signaled formality, authority, and completeness. As branding evolved, punctuation disappeared.


🧭 The deeper explanation

✒️ 1. Sign‑painters came from the printing world

Before graphic design was a profession, sign‑painters were trained in lettering traditions rooted in printing and typesetting.
In printed directories, newspapers, and advertisements of the era, business names routinely ended with periods.
So painters simply carried that grammar onto buildings.

This wasn’t “style” — it was habit.


🧱 2. Early signs were extremely minimal

A 19th‑century storefront might say:

SMITH & SONS.
GROCERIES.

When you only have one or two words, the period becomes a visual stop — a way to anchor the composition and signal “this is the whole name.”


📚 3. Literacy was rising, so text replaced symbols

Before widespread literacy, shops used icons: a boot, a key, a barber pole.
As text replaced symbols, painters leaned on the grammar rules they knew.
Ending a name with a period made the sign feel “proper” and trustworthy.


🧰 4. Punctuation conveyed stability

In an era when businesses failed frequently, a period projected:

  • seriousness
  • permanence
  • professionalism

It’s the same psychological effect as a firm handshake.


🧼 5. The period vanished when branding modernized

By mid‑20th century:

  • Logos replaced sentences
  • Corporate identity manuals discouraged punctuation
  • Clean, minimalist typography became the norm

The period suddenly looked old‑fashioned, so it faded out.


🎯 Bottom line

Old signs used periods because the business name was treated like a formal written statement, and punctuation was part of the visual language of professionalism.
Modern branding abandoned that grammar in favor of cleaner, logo‑driven design.

 

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