Some family heirlooms tell love stories that transcend generations. In my home, two such treasures stand as witnesses to my grandparents’ lives. One is a solid wood WWII military footlocker that traveled from battlefields across the Pacific. The other is delicate W.S. George china that graced family tables for decades. Together, these pieces reveal the complementary strengths of George and Eva Dubinsky’s partnership. His years of military service met her creation of home. His practical durability matched her appreciation for beauty. These heirlooms embody the values that defined their generation: duty and devotion, sacrifice and domesticity, strength and grace.
A Footlocker’s Journey: From Battlefields to Summer Camp
The solid wood footlocker sitting in my living room bears the scars of nearly 90 years of service. The corners show wear and the leather handles have cracked and dried. Its surface carries the ghostly remnants of old shipping labels and stenciled identification marks. And while the metal hinges remain functional despite decades of use, the lock does not.
But taped inside the lid, remarkably preserved, is a typed certificate that tells the beginning of this family heirloom’s remarkable journey:
George’s Background
My maternal grandfather George Dubinsky was born in 1910 in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, to Carpatho-Rusyn immigrant parents. He faced significant loss early in life. His father died in a railroad accident in 1912. His mother passed away in 1920 (See “The Mystery of Julia Dubinsky: Why Was She Overlooked?“). At just ten years old, George became an orphan. His older siblings raised him (See “Nicknames – Moms & Pops“). He first enlisted in the U.S. Army on February 15, 1934, serving until his discharge on December 8, 1936, stationed in the Canal Zone. This explains how he possessed this footlocker during his time at Fort Davis in the Canal Zone.
But George’s military service was far from over. He re-enlisted on February 15, 1939. When the United States entered World War II after Pearl Harbor, he was already a soldier. His service took him to Australia, where he arrived at Port Melbourne, Victoria on October 10, 1941. He served in the Pacific Theater until August 1944, when he returned to the United States. This WWII military footlocker traveled from battlefields across the Pacific. It carried the belongings of a man far from home.
This solid wood trunk, reinforced only with metal hinges and lock, accompanied George through these remarkable journeys. It probably sat at the foot of his bunk in the Canal Zone. And traveled with him to Australia and through the Pacific. When he returned stateside and was assigned to Percy Jones Hospital in Battle Creek, Michigan as 1st Sergeant, the footlocker most likely came with him there too.
After George’s discharge and marriage to Eva in September 1945, the footlocker found new purpose. The handwritten packing lists taped inside the lid tell this next chapter. They list blankets, bed sheets, pillow cases, bath towels, face towels, and wash cloths. Sweaters, pajamas, beach sandals, and bath robes. Shorts and blouses, riding pants, bathing suits. Jackets, robes and skirts, Bermuda shorts, polo shirts. Under pants and socks. These weren’t George’s military necessities. This was my mother’s packing list for summer camp around 1957 or 1958..
The shipping labels reveal the footlocker’s transformation. They show it was sent to Evelyn Dubinsky at “Camp Immaculata / Mattituck, Long Island, N.Y. / (Camp No. 391)” from “George Dubinsky” at “402 Westminster Rd / Brooklyn 18, N.Y.” The same trunk that had served George through the Canal Zone and the Pacific Theater now carried his daughter’s belongings to sleep-away camp. This demonstrated the kind of practical reuse that defined the Depression-era and WWII generation’s values. Nothing was wasted. Everything served a purpose until it couldn’t serve anymore.
What strikes me most about this footlocker is its physical presence across generations. This isn’t a decorative piece. It’s a working trunk that served practical purposes from 1936 through 1959 and beyond. Its worn handles were gripped by George’s hands as he moved from barracks to ship to hospital. Those same handles were later grabbed by my mother as she packed for camp.
Today, when I open it, I can still smell the faint mustiness of old wood. The interior compartments—a removable tray with divided sections—remain intact. The solid wood construction has survived nearly nine decades of hard use. This trunk embodies not just George’s character but his generation’s values. Practical. Durable. Unpretentious. Built to last. Never wasted when it could serve again.
Heirloom at the Family Table: Eva’s China
While George’s footlocker speaks of distant battlefields and military service, Eva’s china tells the story of family tables and the domestic life they built together. The W.S. George “Flower Rim” pattern (Pattern #181A, known as “Lido, Pink Rose & Gray Scrolls On Pink Bar”) represents the aspirations of mid-century American women. They believed that setting a beautiful table mattered. They believed that family dinners deserved to be honored with their best.
The pieces I have inherited include:
- Teapot with lid (1)
- Saucers, 6⅛ inch (4)
- Dinner plate, 10¼ inch (0, but one on order from a replacement service)
- Luncheon plates, 9⅜ inch (4)
- Salad plates, 7⅝ inch (3)
- Bread & butter plates, 6⅝ inch (5)
Each piece features delicate pink roses scattered across a white background. Gray scrollwork accents a pink band around the rim. Platinum edging provides elegant definition. The pattern sits on the “Lido” shape line, introduced in the 1930s. It featured distinctively square saucers and streamlined contours—a departure from purely traditional round forms. This reflected the transitional design period of the 1940s when manufacturers sought to appeal to both traditional and progressive tastes.
W.S. George Pottery Company
W.S. George Pottery Company, founded in 1904 in East Palestine, Ohio, grew to become one of America’s major dinnerware producers.4 The company specialized in semi-porcelain dinnerware—a practical middle ground between fragile fine china and rugged earthenware. This strategic positioning made W.S. George products accessible to middle-class American families who wanted attractive tableware without the premium prices of true porcelain.
Eva’s choice reveals the same practical wisdom that George showed in his durable footlocker: she selected quality American-made goods that balanced beauty with durability and affordability. She chose W.S. George instead of expensive European imports, American-made semi-porcelain instead of fragile fine china.
By the mid-1950s, owning a complete china service represented middle-class respectability and domestic achievement—tangible proof that a family had “arrived.” The bridal registry—invented by Marshall Field’s department store in 1924—had transformed china into the quintessential wedding gift by the 1940s. Whether Eva received her Flower Rim pattern as wedding gifts when she married George on September 30, 1945, purchased it piece by piece, or acquired it through another occasion, owning such a set was deeply meaningful.
What moves me most about my grandmother’s china is that she actually used it. I remember these dishes appearing at family dinners during my childhood—the carefully matched plates set around the table. My grandmother didn’t treat her china as museum pieces too precious to touch. She understood that beautiful things gain meaning through use, that special occasions happen more often than we think, and that family dinners were worthy of her best.
This pattern was produced during the transformative decades of the 1940s and early 1950s—years that encompassed the Great Depression’s aftermath, World War II, and the explosive postwar prosperity that reshaped American life. The set represents not just Eva’s taste in dinnerware but her generation’s aspirations toward beauty, refinement, and creating a good life for their families.
Two Heirlooms, One Love Story
Together, George’s footlocker and Eva’s china form a portrait of a mid-century American marriage—two people who built a life together after George returned from war. These heirlooms tell a complete story: the footlocker represents George’s years of service before their marriage, traveling from battlefields in the Canal Zone in the 1930s to Australia and the Pacific from 1941-1944, then to Percy Jones Hospital in 1945. The china represents the domestic life they created at family tables after September 1945, when George’s military service ended and their married life began.
These heirlooms reveal shared values that transcended their different purposes. George chose a footlocker in 1934 or earlier that was durable and functional—it is still functional 90 years later. Eva chose a china pattern that balanced beauty with practicality. Both valued quality within their means, beauty when possible, and things built to last.
The footlocker’s second life carrying my mother to summer camp as a child adds another dimension to this story. George and Eva raised their daughter in Brooklyn in the postwar years, and they could afford to send her to Camp Immaculata—a sign of the economic mobility and middle-class stability they had worked to achieve. The footlocker that had carried George’s military necessities through wartime now carried their daughter’s camp clothes through peacetime prosperity. The same practical spirit that kept a durable trunk in 1936 saw no reason to buy new luggage for Evelyn when the old one still worked perfectly.
My grandmother’s use of her china for family dinners reveals a similar practical spirit. She didn’t save her beautiful dishes only for rare state occasions. She brought them out for the people she loved, understanding that family gathered around a table was itself a special occasion worth honoring with her best.
The Stories Objects Tell
These heirlooms matter because they’re tangible connections to people I loved. I can touch the same handles George gripped in 1936 and my mother grabbed in 1958. I can hold the same teapot Eva used to pour tea at family tables. These aren’t abstract historical artifacts; they’re treasured objects that three generations of my family chose, used, cared for, and valued enough to preserve.
But they also matter because they represent a specific moment in American history. The footlocker embodies the citizen-soldier tradition—ordinary men who answered their country’s call, served with distinction, and then returned to build civilian lives. The china embodies the domestic values of postwar America—women who created beauty and stability at home, who believed that how you set your table mattered, and who understood that special moments deserve to be marked with special care.
The W.S. George Pottery Company couldn’t survive the flood of cheap imported dinnerware that began in the 1950s and finally closed in 1960, making pieces like Eva’s set survivors of a vanished American manufacturing era. George’s military service represents the millions of American men who served in the years before, during, and after World War II, many of whom came from working-class immigrant families and used military service as a path to middle-class stability.
When I open George’s footlocker or set Eva’s table with her china, I’m not just handling old objects. I’m touching the choices they made, the values they held, and the lives they built together. The footlocker still smells of old wood. The china still gleams with its platinum trim. Both still serve their purpose: keeping alive the memory of two people who valued duty, beauty, practicality, and family above all else.
Heirlooms don’t have to be expensive to be valuable. The true value of these pieces isn’t monetary—W.S. George china sells for modest prices at estate sales today, and military footlockers can be found at army surplus stores. Their value lies in their connection to people who mattered, to stories that deserve telling, and to values that shaped not just one marriage but an entire generation.
These heirlooms have survived because someone—my mother, my family—recognized that they mattered. My family chose to keep them and to pass them down. They chose to preserve not just the objects but the love stories they represent. Now it’s my responsibility to continue that tradition, to tell these stories, and to ensure that future generations understand what these objects represent. A journey from battlefields to family tables. A life of service transformed into domestic devotion. A partnership that began when a soldier finally came home from war. These are true heirlooms of the heart.
Your turn!
What family heirlooms tell your story? Do you have objects that traveled through generations, carrying memories and values from past to present? I’d love to hear about them in the comments!
- George Dubinsky footlocker, ca. 1934; privately held by Kirsten Max-Douglas, Blue Ash, Ohio, 2025. ↩︎
- Certificate of personal property, George Dubinsky footlocker, 12 November 1936; document affixed to footlocker lid, privately held by Kirsten Max-Douglas, Blue Ash, Ohio, 2025. ↩︎
- W.S. George “Flower Rim” pattern china, Pattern #181A (Lido shape), ca. 1940s-1950s; pieces privately held by Kirsten Max-Douglas, Blue Ash, Ohio, 2025. ↩︎
- “W. S. George Pottery Company,” Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._S._George_Pottery_Company : accessed 14 December 2025). ↩︎
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