From Cincinnati Post 24 August 1950, Image extracted from microfilm by Greg Hand
When Amor Smith “Kit” Kapp Jr. died in Florida at the age of 86 in 2013, not a single Cincinnati news outlet carried an obituary or, in fact, any mention at all. The oversight was remarkable since Kit Kapp had been featured in more than 60 Cincinnati news stories between the 1940s and the 1970s.
Almost every day of Kit Kapp’s long life was worthy of a news story somewhere. He was born in 1926 to Loretta and Amor Smith Kapp Sr. in Walnut Hills. His father was a lumber dealer and the marriage was rocky. Loretta sued for divorce twice. The second time, it took. Throughout high school and college, Kit lived with his father.
As a youngster, Kit was bedridden with scarlet fever. He told his father he wanted to build a boat, so Amor Kapp Sr. drove down to the Ohio River and took photos of a towboat. Dad told the Cincinnati Post [18 December 1955]:
“I put those pictures on a drafting board and we started to build. That darn boat took nine months to make, but Kit still has it. It has 144 miniature lights that work and a miniature paddle wheel.”
Inspired by the towboat project, Kit launched his own business, the American Model Company, to sell model boat kits to hobbyists while still a student at Anderson High School.
While living in Mount Washington, Kit walked down to Coney Island and pestered the concessionaires into letting him exercise their ponies and horses. He was just 15 when he signed up to work on a dude ranch in Oklahoma. The next summer found him at a “real” ranch in Arizona. Diving into the cowboy culture, Kit became fascinated by the guns of the Old West and managed to become, at age 17, the youngest person licensed as a firearms dealer by the U.S. government. He boasted that he owned more Smith & Wesson sidearms than any collector in the country.
Kit enrolled at the University of Cincinnati in 1944 but was almost immediately drafted into the Army. He served as a paratrooper in an airborne division based in Japan during the post-war occupation. While overseas, he discovered two new passions: mountain climbing and the Ainu, an indigenous people found in the far northern reaches of the Japanese archipelago. Typically, Kit located every book published on the Ainu – 15 in total, all in Japanese – and hired Japanese students to translate them. He amassed a significant collection of Ainu artifacts and set about connecting Japanese scholars at Hokkaido Imperial University with anthropology faculty at UC.
Returning to UC after his discharge as a sergeant, Kit convinced the Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity to climb Mount Whitney, the highest mountain in the contiguous United States. But, when the time came for the expedition to depart, Kit found himself alone. He told the Cincinnati Post [24 June 1947]:
“A couple of my fraternity brothers were going along, too, but they apparently thought it was just a lot of talk and made other plans for the summer. So I’m going alone.”
On his way west, Kit climbed Signal Peak in Utah and El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. He summited Mount Whitney, hauling a 63-pound pack, and then climbed nearby Mount Muir, not as tall but treacherously steep. According to the Post [29 December 1952]:
“He reached the peak, then gazed down on 1200 feet of sheer precipice. The descent was more a rock-grasping operation than anything else. Kit’s foot slipped and he went tumbling. The whole slope seemed to slide with him. In the best mountain-climbing manner, he stuck out his arms and spread his legs to provide the best brakeage possible.”
From University of Cincinnati 1950 Cincinnatian Yearbook, Used by permission of the UC Archives & Rare Books Library
Kit ended up with a twisted right leg, a heel pried from one boot, and a determination to find another mountain to climb. Instead, he bought a cheap automobile and drove it through Central America. He blamed it on Burton Holmes.
Almost forgotten today, Burton Holmes was something like a Depression-era globe-trotting Rick Steves. Holmes filmed exotic locales and traveled the country narrating his movies in very popular and remunerative lectures. In April 1946, Holmes presented a filmed tour of Mexico at UC’s Wilson Auditorium, extolling the fine automotive route along the new Pan-American Highway, but warning his audience not to attempt driving further into Central America, because it couldn’t be done.
That sounded like a dare to Kit Kapp. Boasting, as he put it, a bankroll “just thick enough to see through,” Kapp bought a 1929 Model-A Ford for $64 in 1948 and drove it all the way to Costa Rica. As a friend later wrote:
“Claiming to be a journalism student, Kit succeeded in meeting and interviewing the presidents of both Nicaragua and Guatemala during his trip. His car survived the journey back to the US, despite suffering 18 bullet holes passing through a small revolution in Nicaragua.”
Kit changed 51 flat tires and somehow made it back to Cincinnati without the benefit of second gear just in time to enroll for his junior year at UC’s College of Business Administration. Soon after graduation in 1950, Kit sold his model boat company and his firearm collection and bought a 41-foot ketch he named Fairwinds and sailed for the Caribbean. The original Fairwinds was wrecked in a gale, so Kit acquired a 50-foot “bugeye” ketch and christened it Fairwinds II.
With St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands as a base, Kit launched a charter company, hauling tourists around the area, eventually wandering farther and farther afield. Along the way, he met and married his first wife, the former Lois Fatzinger of Palmerton, Pennsylvania. After a decade running charters, that marriage dissolved, and Kit decided that he would rather go exploring than stick to a charter’s set schedule. He told the Post [18 December 1965]:
“I decided to get out of the high rent district. Running a charter boat is like running a sea-going taxi.”
Instead, he offered expeditions to crew members who paid him for the privilege of exploring rarely visited islands and coasts.
“I make plans ahead of time and if anyone wants to go along they pay $200 for two weeks. They work, but not hard. They help clean up, aid in survey work, help carry equipment on the island beaches. We work about five hours a day, then we swim or loaf.”
Many of those expeditions were sponsored officially by the Explorer’s Club of New York. That organization designated Kit as a fellow of the society. Among his regular customers was physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer. Kit’s travels took him into previously uncharted waters near the coast of Panama, and it was here that he generated his most culturally impactful discovery.
Kit’s efforts to survey the San Blas Islands off the north coast of Panama led to a lifelong interest in the Guna tribespeople who lived there. The Guna (or Kuna) produced unique fabric designs known as mola, vibrantly colored and intricately layered fabric pieces worn by the Guna women. The process involved in creating molas is often described as “reverse appliqué,” in which pieces of fabric are cut away to reveal layers underneath. Kit was among the first outsiders to appreciate and study these dynamic artworks and to bring them to the attention of scholars worldwide. His self-published 1972 monograph, “Mola art from the San Blas Islands” remains the definitive introduction to the art form.
During dozens of voyages around the San Blas Islands, Kit’s quest for reliable charts inspired him to seek out, collect, study and sell antique maps. Some of the maps he found were quite valuable. One sold at auction for $34,000. By 1967, Kit had accumulated a substantial inventory, enough to mount an exhibition in Jamaica. During the opening reception for that exhibit, Kit met his second wife, Valerie, born on the Isle of Wight, who helped coordinate his buying and selling trips to England and the Continent.
As Kit and Valerie shared their discoveries in Guna art, their travels brought them to Cincinnati, where they coordinated a landmark exhibition of molas and ritual Guna statuary at the Studio San Guiseppe at the College of Mount St. Joseph in 1972. Enquirer [13 February 1972] art critic Owen Findsen was impressed:
“Leaving the ethnology to Captain Kapp, the Mola can be seen as a pure art form. One must be taken by the intense coloring of many of them which can set up visual vibrations to compete with the Op artists. And the designs are clever in the same way that the pseudo-primitive art of Paul Klee is clever, by its directness and its innocence.”
The colors and patterns of mola fabric art filtered into popular fashions throughout the 1970s. Women around the world wore clothing and carried handbags replicating Guna mola designs, usually with no awareness of the original source.
Mola in Fish Pattern, From Honolulu Museum of Art via Wikimedia
As a dealer in antique maps, Kit built a reputation as a discerning connoisseur and befriended several other influential collectors. British map dealer Simon Hunter was one such colleague. He recalled:
“Kit was a very astute buyer, but he was also a most entertaining character whose good humor and traveler’s tales made it impossible to resent the large discounts he invariably managed to obtain on his many purchases.”
All the while he was buying and selling maps, Kit earned acclaim as a formidable scholar who also had the expertise to create his own maps. His many academic publications include analyses of maps, inventories of known charts and monographs on native peoples. Worldcat lists more than 40 publications under his name, with at least a dozen publications being maps of previously unfathomed waters.
After 25 years devoted to collecting and selling maps, Kit and Valerie decided that their business, no matter how successful, was detracting from the time available for exploring their beloved Caribbean. They pivoted toward selling by consignment through other dealers, rather than issuing their own catalogs. The sheer volume of their collections necessitated buying a house with a large garage on land, and they settled in Nokomis, Florida.
Over the years, significant honors accrued. In addition to the prestigious Explorers’ Club, Kit was awarded a permanent card for the British Museum Reading Room and memberships in the Royal Geographical Society, the Adventurers’ Club of New York, the Archaeological Institute of America and the American Geographical Society.
After Kit’s death in 2013, his widow discovered more than 60 cartons of uncatalogued Guna art that he had packed away since the early 1970s. While itemizing that substantial collection, she discovered a room covered by a false wall in the garage with even more fabrics and statuary. Much of this new inventory is now available through various auction houses.
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