The Museum of Danish America paints an enviable portrait of Niels Christian Klendshoj: that of a doctor of many specializations and much academic achievement paving his way as a Danish emigrant to greatness in the New World, according to a personal history donated to the museum by members of his family. It is no surprise, then, that only one of the three wives he cared for throughout his long life is worthy of inclusion. Family histories of the 1930s tend to err toward the patriarchy, as evidenced by Niels’ listing as head of his 1930 household, followed by many dependents and a column denoting their “relation to head of household.” 

Thus, we find much more information on the husband and man who in 1933 married Annette Roberta Klendshoj, the owner and woman whose name our volume of Lady’s Monthly Museum bears inside its front cover, than we find information on Roberta the book collector who personally inscribed her name on a bookplate all her own.

But it would stand to reason that a woman, with a personal library large enough to warrant a personal bookplate, would have some sort of life and story of her own to tell.

Bookplates are meant to convey ownership, but when women married in 1933, like Annette Klendshoj, it was quite likely that the entirety of their worldly possessions would instantly transfer to being their husband’s worldly possessions. Such is where the patriarchal propensities of the time and the bookplate-implied ownership of the 

Monthly Museum volume appear to clash. Marriage and divorce dates and records also create broken branches in the Klendshoj family tree, though it is necessary to write off some of those inconsistencies if we intend to place the Annette who appears somewhat independent amongst the Klendshojs.

Dr. Niels Klendshoj arrived in New York, NY, via the Oscar II from Copenhagen, Denmark, in November 1927. By that time, the man had already obtained a degree in chemical engineering from the University of Copenhagen and was offered a job with a pharmaceutical company in Buffalo, NY, just a year after his graduation at age 24.

At this time, work on the Holland Tunnel connecting New York City to New Jersey beneath the Hudson River had just been completed and Charles Lindbergh had recently accomplished his solo transatlantic flight for the record books, nonstop from New York City to Paris. Lindbergh’s flight also coincided with the first transatlantic telephone call from New York City to London. Klendshoj’s first wife Else (22), sons Ole (toddler) and Jorgen (infant), mother Anna (49), and sister Anna (22) were right behind him in coming to America, joining Niels just a year later, in 1928.

The family set up shop and was documented as part of the 1930 United States Federal Census. Arne, Niels’ son, was then a new addition to the family. The Museum of Danish America includes the 1928 arrival of his family, which is immediately followed by 1933-1937 journals of “the young scientist bicycl[ing] between his workplace and evening classes at the University of Buffalo Medical Center, where he received his M.D. [Doctor of Medicine] degree in 1937.” The years 1928-1933 are seemingly unaccounted for, but further inquiry into the matter returns the February 24, 1933, courtship of Niels Christian Klendshoj and Annette Roberta Klendshoj.

Annette is strangely absent from the museum’s biography, though this marriage date was provided by the foundation via e-mail correspondence. It is also worth noting that research also turns up no evidence of a Niels/Else divorce. The museum’s details seem to imply, via lack of any information to the contrary, that Niels’ and Else’s marriage did not end. If this were the case, Niels then would fall into the category of a “bigamist”—someone who has entered into a marriage with 

one person while still being married to another.

An Oklahoma court case (Robertson v. State) dated March 15, 1930, provides evidence of the legal ramifications a person engaging in bigamy are subject to, supposing of course that they are caught in the act. The defendants in this case were charged with bigamy for entering into marriage within 6 months following a previous divorce. Fannie Robertson and R.C. Robertson were sentenced to 30 days in a state penitentiary and a fine of $100, respectively. It is worth considering, though, that records regarding Niels’ initial divorce were simply unaccounted for during online archiving efforts. But if that is not so, we may be examining an untried case against the man—one whose only evidence is this lack of evidence of a divorce from Else. Such a case would not likely hold up in court. Still, bigamy was a relevant enough issue in 1930 for the Marx Brothers to play it up in their film Animal Crackers.

         Capt. Spaulding: [to Mrs. Rittenhouse and Mrs. Whitehead] Let’s get married.

Mrs. Whitehead: All of us?

            Capt. Spaulding: All of us.

            Mrs. Whitehead: Why, that’s bigamy.

            Capt. Spaulding: Yes, and it’s big of me too.

Later, Buffalo city directories of 1941 and 1955 list A. Roberta Klendshoj and Annette R. Klendshoj, respectively, as Niels’ live-in spouse, notably at two different Buffalo addresses. As his career continued, Niels “held increasingly responsible positions” in his field. His accomplishment was praised accordingly, as he was shortlisted for the 1941 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine alongside partner Dr. Ernest Witebsky for isolating their B-blood complex. This work assisted in the creation of a universally acceptable blood for transfusions, but no Nobel Prizes were awarded for the next two years in light of World War II developments.

While all this was happening, it would seem that Annette, like Else and Anna Klendshoj before her, entertained no occupation. Niels’ increasing responsibilities, which probably included pay-grade bumps as time spun on, led to money not being an object of concern for the family. Niels was already supporting a household of six unemployed women and children as early as 1930. Annette Klendshoj probably did not need to work, which might also help to explain the lack of documentation regarding her. If her book possessions are any indication, and it would seem that the Lady’s Monthly Museum did cater to a certain type of woman, Annette was a housewife of great means. This led to a need for her to occupy the hours when her husband was occupied by research and bread-winning. It is possible that the family members Niels left behind, like the ones who donated his Annette-less history to the museum, viewed her as a mere inconsequential addition to the family. Niels was paving his own way and supporting whatever woman would fulfill his more personal needs, as he did not appear to be lacking in the intellectual-independence department. Simply put, Annette (who sometimes went by her middle name Roberta, as seen on the bookplate) had time to read some of the fanciest women’s publications. She also had enough of her husband’s money to put together full collections of those magazines.

Such a reading, however, may not give Annette the credit she deserves. If she led a life in anyway parallel to that of Dorothy Stout, the later owner who would donate the Lady’s Monthly Museum to the Kansas State Historic Costume & Textile Museum, there is, simply put, more to the story. But first, we should probably get an idea of exactly what we’re looking at here. What exactly is this object, dubbed worthy of inclusion in a personal library bearing such an elegant bookplate as Roberta Klendshoj’s?

Perhaps missing a dust jacket but more than likely not, the brown cover (above) of volume 2 of The Lady’s Monthly Museum, or Polite Repository of Amusement and Instruction resembles a marble cake, perhaps symbolic of the fancy desserts within. But the cover bears none of the bold titles that might help to sell it. With a matching barren backside, the only defining characteristics of the book’s outerwear situate themselves on the spine (left)—from the top, we find what is perhaps a 

sunburst or a flower stamped in gold, then, separated by bars of flourish, the words “Lady’s Museum” stamped against a burnt red background. Below is another sunburst, the number “2” circled by flourishes against a burnt forest green, another sunburst, and one more sunburst just for good measure. The lack of a true cover and the implications of a number’s presence on the spine seem to suggest that the Lady’s Monthly Museum was meant to be, above all else, an object of collection. 

The number 2 suggests a number 1 before it and future volumes to come.

Some minor vertical wear to the spine exists, where the darker brown has rubbed off to reveal a lighter tone, but it appears to be missing some of the more defined telltale folds of a book that actually spent some time being read. But the sheer number of words per page (something like 300 each) would certainly require the spine’s extended bending in order to properly and actually enjoy all of the book’s textual contents. So it would appear, as is evidenced by the complete lack of marginal and textual markings (despite having likely been in the hands of at least three owners, two of whom we know, from the book’s publication in 1799 to its entry into archives in 2008), that the book was an object to display. Its place was on a shelf between others like it, not in the hands of a reader.

The pages are yellowing at what could be considered a normal to below average rate considering the volume’s 215-year age. On the inside of the front cover, we find one of the only signs of actual ownership within the entire volume—a book plate (above). Etched in black against a background that is noticeably whiter than that of its surrounding pages (probably indicative of the fact that Klendshoj was born some 100 years after the publication of her book) is a lamp with a flame illuminating the surrounding library. A banner reads “Ex Libris,” meaning “from the library of,” and below that in a space set aside for a name, our “Roberta Klendshoj.” This is not handwritten, but rather typed in what would appear to be a fashion only made possible by some professional printing practice—perhaps made to order in bulk. Outside the edges of the bookplate, it would appear that there once existed some sort of small pencil notes, but those have since been erased. They would have appeared in an area generally bearing prices applied by bookstores selling the 

volumes individually and aftermarket.

There exists no table of contents at the front of the volume, but its final pages (out of 504 total) bear an index of the volume’s essays, anecdotes, and more. The last section in the book actually outlines “directions for placing the engravings,” (above) 

with page numbers specified for the insertion of the black engravings preceding each month’s prescribed chapter (example, “Angelina 253,” left). It is certainly worth noting that referencing the exact page numbers prescribed in these directions leads to the deliberately precise location of the engravings. But it is unclear whether the publisher who compiled the volume or the Museum’s subscriber placed these engravings. The volume does appear to be a sort of compilation with each chapter signifying a specific month of 1799. The entirety of the journal is black text on white paper, excepting five double-page spreads of colored costume (example below).

Roberta Klendshoj’s copy of volume 2 of the Lady’s Monthly Museum was donated to the Kansas State Historic Costume & Textile Museum in 2008 alongside her copy of volume 3 of the same publication, bearing a matching bookplate. In addition to those publications, at least 4 volumes of the similarly-themed Ladies’ Pocket Magazine from Klenshoj’s collection were donated, though they bear a different bookplate (right). The volumes’ donor, Dorothy Stout of Columbia, MO, even offered Klendshoj’s copy of History of British Costume: from the Earliest Period to the Close of the Eighteenth Century, which is certainly indicative of Klendshoj’s rather pronounced interest in women’s fashion. Could it even be that Klendshoj taught college courses in the subject of women’s fashion as Stout did at Stevens College in Missouri many years after her? Yes, it is possible that Mrs. Klendshoj implemented this text in her work as a teacher, save for the simple fact that there is no significant evidence she ever did work as a teacher. But it is also entirely possible that the Lady’s Monthly Museum was an object purchased solely for its entertainment value and/or reputation.

First published in 1798, the Lady’s Monthly Museum billed itself as an “assemblage of whatever can please the fancy, interest the mind and exalt the character of the British Fair.” Issues were published much like a magazine, at a monthly rate, and though it is unclear who exactly compiled the volumes, it is understood that one such as Roberta Klendshoj’s was actually a compilation of multiple issues of the magazine. It is possible the volume came from a publisher bound as such, but its binding is also potentially the aftermarket work of an avid collector with multiple pieces of the puzzle. It is unknown whether or not Roberta obtained the volume in its current bound state or if the issues were combined while in her possession. It is also worth noting that this “volume 2” did not cover a full year, but rather what appears to be a half a year’s time. This is corroborated by the fact that there are some six engravings to be placed, one for each month the compilation binds. Full-color embellishments, such as the costumes previously pictured, were interspersed between poems, invented letters, chapters of serialized romances and ongoing dramas which spanned multiple issues of the publication, and more, all works written by women or by men taking on the voice of women.

The contents of these publications seemed to cater mostly to the growing number of literate housewives, most importantly women of reasonable means, like the wife of someone like Niels Klendshoj. Other periodicals, such as the Lady’s Magazine and the Ladies Mercury, were some of the Museum’s top contenders in the nineteenth century. Housewives who were likely aided by maids and chefs were no strangers to free time, and they consumed these volumes voraciously. However, it is necessary to keep in mind that this particular volume does not appear to have suffered much wear, the likes of which an avid reader might produce. The volume is in pristine condition for having existed for over 200 years. Though the text may never have been read, it remains readable.

Then there’s the issue of the personalized bookplate and its implications. Because of its mass-produced design, it seems likely that Roberta ordered a number of these bearing her name and then placed them with care in each of her many volumes on women’s fashion. It is clear, then, that the woman had a library of her very own. It was much earlier, in 1848, that New York passed a law that allowed women to own property in their own name, but even late into the twentieth century this law was not so heavily observed, especially when it came to the terms of divorce. And Niels and Roberta did divorce.

Niels died in 1975, at the time married to another new name, June Davis Klendshoj. A January 1963 Ohio divorce record denotes Niels’ and Annette’s parting for “gross neglect of duty.” The record also includes a “Marriage Duration” of 39 years which, if the records were correctly entered, would mean the couple had been married since 1924—a date notably overlapping Niels’ 1930 household of seven, including first wife Else. However, this detail seems to be erroneous, considering it would also suggest that Niels and Roberta were together some three years prior to Niels’ arrival in the states. June Davis brings the grand total to three wives during his lifetime, which is certainly not unheard of, but would seem to be indicative of a man who could maintain success on his own, or, at the very least, apart from his original love. The women of his life begin to appear less important as individuals and more a necessary expense to maintaining the sanity of one of the nation’s great medical minds.

But whether she kept her physical possessions following their divorce, or Niels just never thought to tear out her bookplate, Roberta seems to have passed something even more lasting down her lineage. Judging by a Tonawanda News publication in New York state, it would appear that her interest in women’s fashion created an enduring impression with her children, who in turn passed it on to her grandchildren. The article details some “children [in 1967],” importantly denoting an age placing them in the era of potential grandchildren, appearing in an upcoming fashion parade, including one Ms. Anne Klendshoj.

And Dorothy Stout, the volume’s last owner before its entry into the archives, caught that same women’s fashion bug the Klendshoj women passed around. A History of Costume class with Dr. Gertrude Lienkaemper at Kansas State “created a lasting interest in History of Costume.” She went on to become a tenured teacher in the discipline at Stephens College in Columbia, MO. As for this particular volume, though, Stout “probably [acquired it] in an antique shop either in Kansas or Missouri, but more likely in New York State or elsewhere in New England. It was not a family hand-me-down.” Well, New York State seems likely.