Doll Business on the East Side; A Masonic Gift Conspiracy
You know what's worse? I loved dolls. I adored dolls and their houses and their wee bits of furniture. Whenever I went to the big public library in my hometown I would go downstairs and stare at the doll collection they had behind glass. It was quite an eclectic collection, with a replica of Mary Todd Lincoln alongside a plastic Reddy Kilowatt. I used to stand there and wish that the owner who had donated the dolls to the library would come by and notice my intense devotion. She would then unlock the case and offer to let me choose one of the dolls to take home.
I also played with my own dollhouse long after I probably should have. I concocted an elaborate history for the dolls living inside. It was actually a commune and they had to work in the wheatfields surrounding the place and there was a neglected troll-baby in the attic. Periodically, the mother would feel so guilty about her abandoned child or her fling with the window salesman who sometimes dropped by (played by a Ken doll) that she would hang by her arm from the eave of the roof as a penance.
I am always on the lookout for those stores that can help me recapture that feeling I had of creating and controlling my own strange, tiny world. Iris Brown Antique Doll Shoppe, on E. 57th St., is that kind of place. I stumbled upon it when I was in a depressed and desperate mood. (I was trying to get a job working for Gail Sheehy, if that tells you anything?a job she later decided could be done for free by an inexperienced college freshman with no typing skills.) The owner of the shop cheered me up by giving me a little pair of doll rollerskates. It really was a rather sweet gesture, if one overlooked the fact that if a doll were to actually put them on and start skating around the house in a girly version of "Trilogy of Terror," the dainty spikes on them would go straight into her teeny feet.
In fact, Iris Brown is half the reason you should stop into her store. She is just the type of old lady I hope to be, chatty and eccentric and colorful. The other reason you should check out her store? She has an incredible collection of antique, German-made doll furniture, as well as china dolls from the late 1800s and many fascinating odds and ends, such as glass miniatures and sailor hats for your Howdy Doody doll. Everything is displayed in a somewhat organized jumble, with tangles of doll clothes and rooms of furniture set up in wooden cabinets made to look like a dollhouse. It's just the kind of store you don't see much anymore?on the small side, a bit crowded, but with something to catch your eye no matter where you look.
I was also surprised to see that they had a shop, just like NBC Studios or Warner Brothers. You mean I can get a Masonic coffee mug or a sweatshirt just like in those other cheesy tourist shops, you ask? Yes, but it does not stop there. You can also buy Masonic suspenders, lapel pins and tie tacks (many under $10), with all those wacky compasses or scimitars. Surprisingly, they do not ask for identification that you are a Mason or a Shriner?you just have to be a Consumer.
Want an automobile emblem that labels you a member of the Royal Order of the Jesters? Who's to stop you? Why not get the top hat, the cummerbund, the cufflinks and the white gloves, too? If you are on a budget, you can buy a box of their greeting cards, such as the birthday or sympathy assortment, five dollars for a box of 10. (Sadly, there are no Masonic "Secret Santa" cards.)
You can also get a tour of the Lodge, which was built in 1910. I saw the main room, which was quite impressive, with its Tiffany glass skylights and massive pipe organ and portraits of past Grand Masters. ("On the bottom, they are still alive. On the top balcony, they are dead," our tour guide said. He also told us that the architect of the Titanic copied the room in designing the ship. "The sister room is on the bottom of the ocean.")
Remember, if it's good enough for Barry Goldwater, Roy Rogers and Ernest Borgnine, it's good enough for you. The store's open Monday, Thursday and Friday from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., and from 9 to 8 on Tuesday and Wednesday. You don't even need to know a password or a secret handshake to get in, unlike that lousy Jack's 99 Cent Store on 32nd St.