In the early 1990s, a man donated several boxes to Colorado State University鈥檚 Department of Design and Merchandising. In them were more than 1,100 handkerchiefs collected by his recently deceased aunt.
At the time, the handkerchiefs were cataloged and placed in storage. Over time, the details of their arrival were lost -- until two volunteers decided to unravel the mystery.
It started as an average assignment, said Marcella Wells, a volunteer with .
鈥淔or about seven weeks, we sat as a team and accessioned every single one of them -- which meant touching every one of them, taking it out of its box, opening it up, writing a written description, tagging it with a number and then photographing it.鈥�
The 鈥渨e鈥� that Wells is talking about includes fellow volunteer Terrie Cornell. And the items she鈥檚 referring to are handkerchiefs, 1,107 of them collected from between 1938 through the early 1970s.
The collection included hankies of almost every conceivable type and for every occasion. Black ones for funerals. Festive ones for holidays. Commemorative hankies for the Rose Bowl and the 1962 Seattle World鈥檚 Fair.
The collection had resurfaced when the museum moved into its new facility at the University Center for the Arts in 2016, said museum curator Katie Knowles.
The collection鈥檚 size, along with the diversity of styles and fabrics, made it unique, Knowles said. Not to mention the fact that the handkerchief was now a symbol of a bygone era.
鈥淚t鈥檚 something that is really recognizable to people, even though we don鈥檛 use them personally anymore,鈥� she said. 鈥淎 lot of people remember their mother or their grandmother using handkerchiefs.鈥�
As they went through the boxes, Wells said they began to create a mental picture of who owned these handkerchiefs.
鈥淚 just envisioned a typical 1950s -- 鈥�40s, 鈥�50s -- housewife,鈥� she said.
Obviously, this was a woman who loved handkerchiefs. She was even a member of the Hanky of the Month Club, a subscription service for handkerchiefs that was popular in the 1940s and 鈥�50s. She was probably also sentimental. Many hankies in the collection included cards indicating they were gifts -- including a number from 鈥淓d,鈥� who they believed was her husband.
鈥淭o me, a collection like this from friends and family, would have meant something really heartwarming,鈥� Wells said.
The one thing they didn鈥檛 have: the original owner鈥檚 full name. The only clue was a monogram on many of the handkerchiefs: 鈥淔lorence.鈥�
鈥淲hen she kept meticulous records of who gave her what, and when -- she never kept an envelope with these cards,鈥� Terrie Cornell said. 鈥淪he kept the cards -- they鈥檙e lovely -- but not the envelopes. It was very frustrating.鈥�
It was a strange feeling going through the handkerchiefs and not having a full-name or a face to put with them, Cornell said. They desperately wanted more information, but too much time had passed. No one at the museum knew anything about the mystery man who dropped off the boxes back in the early 1990s.
After weeks of scouring through the collection, Cornell took one last look through the boxes.
And then she saw it: A lone envelope addressed to Florence Luebke.
鈥淟uckily her name wasn鈥檛 Smith or Jones,鈥� Cornell laughed. 鈥淚 rushed home to my genealogical sources online and plugged her into Ancestry and Family Search, and bam! Up she came.鈥�
Florence Luebke was a file clerk from Chicago. The daughter of German immigrants, she had three sisters and one brother. And while Cornell and Wells were wrong about Ed -- Luebke never married or had children -- they were right about one thing: She was very loved.
鈥淪he was fierce, and she was fearless,鈥� said Pat Gilbert O鈥橬eill, Luebke鈥檚 grandniece.
O鈥橬eill鈥檚 father, Paul Gilbert, had been a physical education professor at CSU. He also was the mystery man who donated Luebke鈥檚 collection to the museum all those years ago.
Luebke died in 1985 after moving to Fort Collins in the 1970s to be close to her family. Gilbert, who passed away in 2015, had been the keeper of many of the family heirlooms. O鈥橬eill said it was just like her father to find the best possible home for her aunt鈥檚 collection.
鈥淚 think that was wonderful of my dad to donate the handkerchiefs to the museum, which would truly appreciate this donation of textiles,鈥� O鈥橬eill said.
After being contacted by the museum, O鈥橬eill helped fill in the gaps about 鈥淎untie Flo,鈥� as she called her.
Luebke was a 鈥渇ierce and fearless鈥� career woman who blazed her own trail at a time when options were limited for women, she said. She loved riding roller coasters, even into her 70s. She was generous and kind and loved her family, particularly her three sisters, who vacationed together every summer and posed in their birth order for every photo. In fact, the 鈥淓d鈥� referenced in the cards was not a paramour, but a nickname for her older sister, Esther,
The handkerchiefs? Those were a mystery to O鈥橬eill, who never remembered seeing them displayed. As a teen, O鈥橬eill said she did see a large stack of boxes in her aunt鈥檚 tiny studio apartment. Luebke told her they were full of her 鈥渢reasures.鈥�
鈥淚 didn鈥檛 realize at the time that it probably was -- a lot of it was handkerchiefs,鈥� she said.
O鈥橬eill also shared photos of Florence that are now part of the Avenir Museum鈥檚 latest exhibit, 鈥淣othing to Sneeze At: One Woman - 1,107 Hankies.鈥�
鈥淲hat this exhibit really does well is talks about the history of the hankie as an object, but then when we figured out who Florence was, we also get to tell the story of who this particular hankie collector was, and how this collection represents her story,鈥� said museum curator Knowles.
Luebke was a single woman, living in a big city on her own, she said. She kept family and friends close through these handkerchiefs.
It鈥檚 not often that single donations come with so much documentation, Knowles said. That fact is also pretty telling about how detail-oriented Luebke was.
鈥淲ell, she was a file clerk,鈥� she said. 鈥淚 mean, she took her work home with her. I guess she really liked filing.鈥�
For Wells, who curated the exhibition, working with the collection has given her a greater appreciation of an item she didn鈥檛 really give much thought to before.
鈥淲hen I see a hankie now in a thrift store or a vintage collection, I always spend an extra few seconds with it because -- that meant something to someone at some point.鈥�
"" is on display at the Avenir Museum at Colorado State University's University Center for the Arts through August 2018.
