The disappearance of Horace Marvin, Jr. became a national sensation. In early March 1907, young Horace, just a few weeks shy of his fourth birthday, was playing in the yard of his father's new farm in a sparsely populated area near Dover, Delaware. The family had just moved from Iowa and this was the first day Horace had to explore their new home. In the farmyard with Horace were his brother John and cousin Rose, all visible to neighbors helping the previous owner move off the farm. Then Horace disappeared without a trace. Within two weeks this heartbreaking event was being reported to hundreds of other families in newspapers across the country and around the world. Horace's disappearance would be the most publicized missing child story until the Lindbergh kidnapping exactly twenty-five years later. Local author Brian G. Cannon tells the full story of this tragedy for the first time.

The disappearance of Horace Marvin, Jr. became a national sensation. In early March 1907, young Horace, just a few weeks shy of his fourth birthday, was playing in the yard of his father's new farm in a sparsely populated area near Dover, Delaware. The family had just moved from Iowa and this was the first day Horace had to explore their new home. In the farmyard with Horace were his brother John and cousin Rose, all visible to neighbors helping the previous owner move off the farm. Then Horace disappeared without a trace. Within two weeks this heartbreaking event was being reported to hundreds of other families in newspapers across the country and around the world. Horace's disappearance would be the most publicized missing child story until the Lindbergh kidnapping exactly twenty-five years later. Local author Brian G. Cannon tells the full story of this tragedy for the first time.

In the summer of 1937, the mountain town of Flagstaff emerged from the Great Depression with an eye toward the future. Few people were better positioned for success than JD Walkup, a handsome young mover and shaker who served as chairman of the board of supervisors and a happily married father of four. The city was alive and bustling, tourism thrived and cultural endeavors blossomed. But JD's life changed forever one cool summer evening when his wife, Marie, and their children were found dead. The murders shook the town to its core, along with the disturbing knowledge that Marie was the culprit. Join author Susan Johnson as she explores the tragic history of a once-happy Flagstaff family.

Today we associate the Renaissance with painting, sculpture, and architecture—the “major” arts. Yet contemporaries often held the “minor” arts—gem-studded goldwork, richly embellished armor, splendid tapestries and embroideries, music, and ephemeral multi-media spectacles—in much higher esteem. Isabella d’Este, Marchesa of Mantua, was typical of the Italian nobility: she bequeathed to her children precious stone vases mounted in gold, engraved gems, ivories, and antique bronzes and marbles; her favorite ladies-in-waiting, by contrast, received mere paintings. Renaissance patrons and observers extolled finely wrought luxury artifacts for their exquisite craftsmanship and the symbolic capital of their components; paintings and sculptures in modest materials, although discussed by some literati, were of lesser consequence. This book endeavors to return to the mainstream material long marginalized as a result of historical and ideological biases of the intervening centuries. The author analyzes how luxury arts went from being lofty markers of ascendancy and discernment in the Renaissance to being dismissed as “decorative” or “minor” arts—extravagant trinkets of the rich unworthy of the status of Art. Then, by re-examining the objects themselves and their uses in their day, she shows how sumptuous creations constructed the world and taste of Renaissance women and men.