Devilish Museum

[Martin Hash]

DEVIL-ish LIttle Things Museum.jpg

My daughter-in-law, Jessica, told me: “I’ve found the perfect place for you to go.” while searching Google Maps in downtown Vancouver, WA, near where we live. She’d randomly seen a name that caught her attention, “Devil-ish Little Things Museum,” and immediately thought of me. She called them and found out they also offered absinthe-tasting so she bought tickets for the whole family. The place was an old church converted into a tribute to macabre memorabilia, all collected, curated and guided by Marion Held, a Brusque German woman with the stereotypical accent and eccentricities that extend far beyond obsessive compulsions. She started our tour by mentioned she used to make props for movies and proceeded to rattle off the productions her work had appeared in, then she introduced her little “rescue” dog and told us it would lick out feet and not to get concerned if we saw “accidents” because it had a bowel problem and had just eaten. (It pooped 3 times while we were there.)

Devilish Museum Curator Marion Held.jpg

The rooms were filled with statues, jewelry, books, lamps, matchboxes, vases, books, art, and other novelty objects, mostly devil-themed but also erotica and Krampus related. (Krampus assists Santa Claus by scaring children who have misbehaved and beating them with a birch rod.) Most of items were from last-century northern Europe, probably stuff she was familiar with after growing up in Germany. We were all quite impressed and obviously Ms. Held was knowledgeable but she went on a bit long, and whenever someone’s attention waned, she would snap her fingers and direct them to listen and not touch anything. This happened repeatedly, to the point that my son, Heath, left the room but she came out to find and chastise him to stay with her. Luckily, her demeanor changed when we went downstairs for absinthe tasting. She was quite proud of the opium den looking basement, explaining she distilled all the liquor herself. I didn’t know much about absinthe except that wormwood was one of the components and it tasted like licorice. I’d never seen an absinthe fountain, let alone used one, along with a sugar cube. Her special was called “Death in the Afternoon.”

Absinthe Fountain.jpg

Afterwards she took us to the old kitchen which had been converted into a shop where she sold her crafts, devil-themed merchandise. I was tempted to buy something but one look at my wife, Gwynne’s, face told me I wouldn’t get authorization: “Where are you going to put it?” was the operative complaint for such items that I found amusing and she didn’t. That was when I saw the set of vintage drinking glasses. They were jaw-droppingly provocative, perfect for my own collection of the bizarre macabre. A cartoon caricature of an African native standing next to a gorilla, and a jester in a palm tree. At the time those glasses were made the image was certainly considered innocent, the naive imagination of the people of that era, having no sophistication about the Wokeism of today. I couldn’t help myself, I bought them all even though my daughter, Heather, was triggered, exclaiming, “Those are hideous!” “Yes they are,” I responded proudly.

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