Katie's Sketchbook - Christmas at Famous-Barr 1976 - 4. Part 2 – Scene Four: Sloan's Morning with Katie

Part 2 – A Cast of Visitors

Scene Four: Sloan's Morning with Katie

The parking garage elevator opened at sidewalk level. A little blast of chill hit Jay, Miles, Katie and Sloan as they stepped out and turned left towards Olive Street.

Snow was falling lightly, as indeed it had been most of the night, but this Saturday morning, the bustling crowds downtown trudged around the two or three inches with shrugging acceptance – the invisible workings of salt truck and snowplow had done their magic like a band of Santa's elves to make all the roads and streets passable. How busy they'd be throughout the day remained to be seen, as the fall of white stuff seemed to be turning more insistent by the hour.

Across Olive from them was the great twenty-one floors of ivory terracotta that comprised the massive Railway Exchange Building, most of which was occupied by The May Company's corporate headquarters, and its flagship department store, Famous-Barr.[1]

The air between them and that wall of glass and white-glazed building was blurred and charmingly animated by the descending points of frozen whiteness. Flakes alighted on Sloan's nose and cheeks, right below the eyes, to evaporate their icy wetness in an instant. He glanced to his side and saw Katie's long dark hair be peppered with them most attractively.

Sloan's little party headed east towards Sixth Street with the teenage boys out in front. Those two, chatting quietly and in lock-step shoulder to shoulder, appeared to Sloan's eyes the very portrait of wintertime intimacy. He wished in his heart that if they wanted to remove their frosty hands from their respective coat pockets, and intertwine fingers for warmth and affection with the other, that they'd do it. It was 1976, for goodness sake; no one would say anything about it, and most would probably smile and think about the beauty of young love.

Katie's elbow came out and poked Sloan. Glancing down, he saw the girl smooch up her face to be all 'kissy-kissy.' The man raised a finger to his nose, knowing the bright little girl with a school satchel slung over her shoulder would get the Visit From Saint Nick allusion: quiet was warranted while magic was at play. Sloan may not have been filling stockings, but with the delicate snowfall, and the growing anticipation of seeing the store transformed into a holiday wonderland, his heart was very jolly indeed.

Arriving at the corner, right next to Boyd's bronze sign, the teenage sweethearts turned and waited for the others to catch up. Many people were traversing up and down Sixth Street. These included excited gaggles of teenage kids, younger ones too, and lagging parents pushing baby strollers. It was time to officially shop for the season, and these several blocks from Market to Washington provided a myriad of retail establishments for browsers and buyers alike, including both Famous and Stix. Seemingly overnight, or at least since the official announcement of this year's theme, mobile Paddington Bear billboards in miniature – and all with FAMOUS-BARR embellished along the bottom edge – mixed and mingled with the more usual Woolworth, Stix and Boyd's shopping bags of Sixth Street.

"Well, boys," said Sloan as he and Katie caught up to them. "The Arch is six blocks that way!" He pointed down Olive Street, the way they had been headed.

"Yeah," Katie's voice rang out with a slightly irreverent head-bobble. "You can't miss it, it's only six-hundred and thirty feet tall!"

"All right, Katie," Sloan chuckled. "They'll find it, and you boys come back to the store later, like we arranged. Have fun!"

"Okay, thanks, Cousin Sloan." Jay grabbed Miles by the shoulder and they crossed the street heading east with the crowd. Sloan watched as Miles' arm came up too, and the pair of boyfriends looked like they didn't have a care in the world.

He glanced down to Katie and found she had been observing him resolutely. She wore so charming an expression, he couldn't help but smile.

"Lovebirds," she echoed his thoughts in a soft croon.

He laughed and patted her back. "You little mind-reader."

"Well, you've said it enough times now for me to know that's what you're thinking."

"I guess I have. Come on, let's go check out the windows."

They crossed Olive Street, and a passing glimmer cast from one of the store's polished bronze signs touched his eyes momentarily. Here two faces of a stone monolith were capped with matching metal plaques bearing the cursive script of the store's original logo just above eyelevel. Under the tablets, the five-foot-tall plinth of unadorned but highly polished sky-gray granite stood proudly at the corner of the structure and carried the visual weight of the mighty building's vertical pier hundreds of feet into the air above their heads. One of these signs faced pedestrians on Olive, and the other greeted Katie and Sloan as they passed by it heading north on Sixth Street.[2]

The 'Famousite' felt an unbidden smile animate his face all at once; the snow was getting colder and fell with more intent now. It acted like it wanted to stick around for a while.

They sailed past the corner window, which was given over to the Cookware Department. An animated and warm kitchen scene showed sleepy kids at the breakfast table, and Mom busily making Christmas-Morning waffles in her new waffle maker. Holiday décor was present, but not overwhelming: a wreath was hanging at the window, and holly wallpaper added to the festivities.

"Look!" Katie's hand shot up. Sloan saw her pointing excitedly to what the little mannequin boy was clutching. It was a bear, but not just any old bear; it was one with a British accent, and hailing from deepest, darkest Peru.

"Very good, Katie," he told her for spotting it.

The next window was also Cookware's, and divided in half. On one side, a young host and hostess proudly entertained a groovy crowd of the cocktail-set. A Christmas tree sparkled in the corner of the living room, however, the main focus of the vignette – and the main cause of the mirthful movement of animatronic laughter – was one young man raising a ball of mistletoe over the head of a bashfully blushing young lady. In a moment, that blush turned hot, as she whipped her head to the side and kissed him full on the lips. The other side of the window was an angled wall of various appliances: blenders, food processors, pizzelle makers, rotisseries, donut irons, electric sauté pans, fondue sets, toasters, and on and on. The sign said it all: 'For Your Holiday Entertaining Needs, be sure to Visit the 7th Floor.'

Sloan asked breathlessly: "Do you see him?"

Katie studied the display with determination, and finally found Paddington peeking from around one corner. "Yep," she announced proudly.

"Very good," Sloan told her, making his way to the center of the next window and stopping.

This first of the Menswear displays featured a pajama party – the Art Deco style rec room of a ritzy STL home was entirely arrayed in quarter-sawn walnut panels affixed to the walls below the massive plaster coving of a pure-white ceiling.

Gold garland with red satin balls swagged the walls, while a tabletop version of a Christmas tree pinned one end of a home bar. The base of this counter was open wrought iron in the manner of a fancy grille, and sported high style leaping gazelles and palm frond designs.

A group of full-grown men lounged here in silk sleepwear, with and without posh robes, to chat and imbibe holiday martinis. At the other end of the room, a giggling horde of teen boys – not only in PJs, but also war paint and warrior feathers on headbands – erected a 'tepee' of bed sheets. The young men frolicked around the overnight construction, and generally had a good time while their dads kept watch. A baseboard sign along the bottom of the platform of the display informed shoppers: 'Men's Casual Wear and Pajamas, 2nd Floor. Boys' Apparel, 5th Floor.'

"You know," Katie observed, pointing to the men. "That red robe does NOT go with those yellow pajamas. I'd pair it with those light blue ones."

Sloan was trying to concentrate; he did need to check over the display for exactly this type of coordination.

"Also," Katie reflected informatively, "that one boy is wearing flannel while most of the rest are dressed in silk. I'd think one of anything makes it an oddball – maybe there needs to more of the fleecy PJs."

Sloan wanted to be annoyed by the persistence of her chatterbox 'help,' but that was rendered impossible by her thoughts being his own.

"Look," he gestured to the boy in flannel, the snow outside the store alighting on his arm. "There is something special about those fuzzy pajamas. See...?"

Sloan trained attention on Katie's rapt eyes waiting for the animatronics to bring the 'oddball' boy back into view.

The moment he was, Katie turned a sly 'got me' sneer on her companion. "Paddington PJs. Now I get it… ." But she wasn't quite done. "I'd still have more, if I were you."

Through the snow, Sloan witnessed the twelve-year-old girl actually wink at him.

The man guided her with a hand between her shoulder blades on to view the next Menswear window, having a new nickname for the girl conjure itself out of the frigid air. He wondered how she'd like being called a 'Sagacious Missy' right to her face. Knowing her, she might totally dig it.

He chuckled; maybe he'd have to find out.

This second window had attracted a crowd, and soon they saw why. The 'eye-tooth' position, immediately adjacent to the overhanging marquee main entry, was spectacular.

Snow continued to gather on the top of their heads, but neither Katie nor Sloan felt it, and apparently neither did their fellow gawpers.

Forest Park was reproduced in all of its wintertime grandeur, for on the left side was the top of Art Hill with the giant equestrian statue of Saint Louis the King, and the beaux-arts Art Museum rising behind it.[3]

Men and boys – all in the latest fashions – sledded, tobogganed singly or in merry little groups, or otherwise ass-slid down the snow-covered slopes to the lake of frozen plate glass below.

It was magical, for the motion showed not only the downward fun, but also fathers at the bottom trudging uphill again with sleds and toboggans in tow; all of them had cheeks giddy in rosy laughter and thrills. Some fathers slipped on the way back up and followed the sledders down again to the bottom.

On the lake, children ice-skated and tugged young sisters smoothly over the reflective surface. Another banner of script ran along the base by the bottom of the window. This time, red letters on an undulating ribbon of white informed patrons: 'This Window Sponsored by the Menswear Department. Visit the 2nd Floor for all Your Outerwear Needs.'

Katie tugged on Sloan's hand, and a silent gesture from her guided his attention to a special little vignette. At the bottom of the hill, Paddington Bear sat astride his sleigh and brazenly pointed uphill in a clear tribute to the king's outstretched arm at the top of the 'mountain.' A group of four Forest Park bunnies, all with red mufflers and stocking caps, were tasked with taking the city's special guest back to the top of the slope.

"Looks like Mr. Bear wants to go down again."

Katie agreed. "Yep. Sure does."

"So, Missy…Good Ideas – any suggestions for this window?"

She cocked her head at it in a moment of deep concentration. "Nope." She admitted at last with a sigh: "It's perfect."

Sloan chuckled. "Again, you and I are in complete agreement."

They headed towards the shelter of the marquee, and to where no snow had gathered on the sidewalk. Lights under this chain-fixed canopy ensured a sparkling welcome to the store's main entry.

"Sloan, how many display windows does this store have?"

"Twenty-five, plus The Corner Window, which are really two more."

Katie grinned, and appeared to already surmise the reply to her next question. "And how do you know the exact number?"

The young man from Ohio hoped he wasn't blushing. "I know, because I counted them soon after I was hired. I couldn't believe a department store existed without a backdoor, especially not one as humongous as this, so I walked around the whole block proving to myself that Famous didn't."

They advanced to the point where window ended and marquee began. Bronze 'Famous and Barr' plaques were again mounted atop five-foot-tall granite plinths between the edge of window and the setback for the three pair of double doors.

Katie caught what Sloan supposed to be a mystical glint in his own eyes, for she intoned softly, "I know. I love those too."

"No other store in the world," he said admiringly. "Is justified in having thirty-six bronze plaques stating proudly what commercial premises lay beyond. Imagine it!"

"Very proud," she said, and then Sloan felt a sliding pressure. Looking down, he saw the girl was placing her gloved hand in his.

Taking it firmly, he asked her, "Do you want to see the sign, close up?"

"Yes."

"Then, alley-oop."

He hoisted and settled her to ride the crook of his arm, and walked the lovely young lady right up to the granite pedestal. As he watched, she slipped off her glove, and ran delicate fingertips over the logo. Florid script of the nature of the original Coca-Cola presented a beautiful capital 'F' for her touch to trace, and then trail all the other letters until she came to the capital 'B.' She was enchanting to watch, and Sloan wondered how many generations of parent and child had experienced this exact same moment throughout the years.

Back on the pavement, Katie went to the center set of doors, but Sloan ran up ahead of her. "In the old days," he informed her through a huge grin. "Doormen liveried in dark green uniforms, top hats and snow-white gloves – their cab whistles hanging like chains of state around their necks – would hold the door open…" which he did now for Katie "…and greet you with a 'Welcome to Famous-Barr, madam.'"

"Why, thank you, my good man," the twelve-year-old slipped into a fine English accent and sailed forth into the vestibule with Sloan quickly following.

While they both shook coat lapels and stomped shoes to dust off the loose-clinging flakes of snow, Sloan admired the panache of this foyer. Here reigned a masculine Art Deco style reminiscent of the lounge hosting the pajama party in the store window.

Soft colors of skyscraper gray and pastel peach informed the smooth texture of hand-finished Venetian plaster. In front of them were twenty-five feet of chrome and glass – three sets of paired doorways leading into the store proper – while above the visitors' heads a frosted glass lighting fixture popped down from a slump-shouldered plaster ceiling medallion like an upside-down layer cake of Lalique-style illumination.

The two narrow ends of the space had broad concave turns to avoid anything as harsh as a corner, and the fifteen-foot-long walls were plain, except for matching masterpieces of the stuccoist's art. For in the center of these two end walls was a massive wreath of foliage and laurel leaves surmounted by an eagle with outspread wings; it was a streamlined, Moderne eagle, angular, virile, and proud. This medallion – the original trademark of the combined stores of Famous and Barr dating to 1912, and here rendered in updated tribute to 1940s taste – had an unassuming shield in the wreath's center bearing two gothic capital letters: 'F-B.'[4]

Sloan rushed ahead and held the shiny inner door open for his young companion. She stiffened her spine and upper body, and glided past him with another "Thank you," this time done with a convincing Mary Poppins twang. He followed right on her heels, but both barely made it inside before being stopped in their tracks again.

The effect of first seeing the main floor of Famous-Barr reworked into a holiday wonderland was akin to the sensation that arises unexpectedly on the cheeks of a person coming into an air-conditioned space from the height of a summer's day.

The pleasant prickles raised now not by the heat of the store's temperature coming in from the snowy cold as they had, but from the warmth arising within their hearts. Katie and Sloan were gazing out on a sea of holiday shoppers and décor; hearing the anticipatory buzz of patrons and sales associates alike with the strings of Christmas music falling from the ceiling like auditory snow – soft and gentle.

More FB shopping bags with Paddington's image floated around the room, some with the bear on backgrounds of red – and thus with a yellow rain cap – and some with him on a wheat-colored ground, thus proving he also liked red Sou'westers when the right fashion moment so dictated.

As for the yuletide 'outfit' the store decided to wear this year, it was decidedly on the rustic side. Down the central aisle, Katie and Sloan saw all the mirrored columns festooned and joined together by chunky ropes of garland. They traveled the entire 271 feet of the store's length to Seventh Street – twenty-five columns in all looking like they were holding hands with swags near the ceiling. As understated as elegant restraint could be, these garlands were constructed around a core element of beautifully plaited natural straw. Interspersed among this central component were white pinpoints of light, while wide ribbons in crimson wrapped it from the outside in a gentle swath.

As if not enough by themselves, the same type of broad ribbon was tied in a simple bow at the center-top of each column and hung down to support a wreath. Four matching wreaths were mounted on the faces of the columns to be about eight feet off the floor, or about another eight feet down from the ceiling, and each three-foot circlet was perfectly sized to fill the width of the mirrored supports to a tee. These too were made of straw, and provided with colorless lights and red ribbon bindings, but in addition, the base of each one supported an old-fashioned type of kerosene lamp. These were complete with pressed tin reflectors behind the glass chimneys, which shielded electric flame bulbs. These little spots of fiery animation lent a marvelous effect to the scene.

Sloan did some on-the-spot mental gymnastics. "Quick, Katie, if there are sixty-four columns, and four wreaths on each one, how many total wreaths are there?"

Katie was not amused. She put on a Miss-type smirk, and relayed the answer as if it were all too obvious. "Two hundred fifty-six."

"Right," Sloan replied, as if he knew it all along.

"Next time, give me a hard one," she said through a chuckle.

Sloan considered that his new nickname for her was an appropriate one after all.

They rounded out their survey by noting how all the glass counters of the various First Floor Glamour Departments glinted and gleamed – Watches, Fine Jewelry, Antique Jewelry and Clocks, Cosmetics, Perfumes, Silk Scarves, Men and Women's Hat and Gloves – each had their own countertop tree. In addition, all of them were decked out in white lights, red and white ornaments, and brilliantly tied to the main decorative theme by having delicate rope garland in the natural shades of woven straw.

While the young man from Ohio was still shell-shocked and feeling like a total kid once more, he sensed a sliding presence. Looking down, he saw Katie was placing her hand in his again.

He smiled and grabbed ahold. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Magical," she replied.

"Okay, let's take the escalator up to the Second Floor."

"Okie-do-kie."

As they walked, with the girl's eyes at the level of the lit glass cases, Sloan gripped Katie's hand harder and raised it to gesture. "You see those mirrors?'

"You mean the column covers?'

"Yes, that's right. And behind those flat mirrors are round columns. Well, one of the veteran 'Famousites' I work with told me that one Christmas the central twelve columns were turned into animatronic characters."

"No way!"

They arrived at the Art Deco terrazzo floor plaque that announced the way 'Up to 2,' and stepped on the escalator together. As they ascended the high space, their vista of Christmas wonderland got even better.

"It's true about the columns," Sloan continued. "Apparently some were angels, some toy soldiers, others nutcrackers – all kinds – and each one could move its arms and rotate its head."

"It sounds like Disneyworld!"

Deep amazement resonated from Sloan's voice. "Yes, it does. It must have been incredible to witness."

"Actually," admitted the girl, "I saw it."

"You did?!"

"Yes. My dad tells me it was the year I was born, and my parents brought me here to the store to let me see, but I was just a baby, so I don’t remember it very well."

"Oh," Sloan chuckled.

Soon they passed through the dark section where sight of the 1st floor was vanishing beneath their feet, and the initial glimpse of the 2nd floor was dawning into view at the top of the escalator's moving horizon.

As they got to the top, and stepped off, another Art Deco floor plaque announced "2nd Floor – Up to 3rd Floor" and a yellow arrow began its journey like Dorothy's road from The Wizard of Oz. Due to some unknown characteristic of the place, the eastern bank of escalators connecting the upper floors to the Second Floor were a bay and a half away from the First/Second Floor connection. The 1940 renovations had provided these permanent paths in the floor for any wayward shopper.

As Sloan began to walk straight ahead, heading towards the northwest corner where the suit section was, Katie began producing drag in his hand. She was veering off to the left and tugging Sloan vehemently.

He asked, "What are you doing?"

Katie trained her eye on the terrazzo ribbon of yellow. "Following the arrow."

Sloan laughed. "Nope – we're not going up to three; two is our destination for the morning."

˚˚˚˚˚

Sloan's tummy grumbled. He glanced at his watch and saw it was nearly eleven. Now he felt a time crunch.

He stood at his counter, making notes about slight adjustments for the Menswear windows and the holiday displays on the second floor. One glance to his left, and he could see Giulio helping a pair of older ladies shopping for ties – they were grinning and holding up various candidates under the blushing boy's chin – and one glance to his right, and Sloan could see Katie set up at a little table nearby. He was grateful that Giulio had made sure she was provided with all that she needs to open her book bag and get lost in her own work. He was a good young man, always willing to pitch in, and Sloan liked that about Giulio.

He glanced at Katie, and had to smile. Sloan had caught the girl in mid-inspection of him, but she quickly guarded her shoulders over her work and returned focus on it. That suited Sloan, for his head was full of documenting the details he and Katie had singled out in their snowy morning critique.

After a few minutes of quiet writing, Sloan perceived a rustling sound approaching. He looked up and nearly gasped.

Victor Hirshhorn was coming straight for his counter. The older man wore a surly expression, had the shoulders of his fine Boyd's overcoat dusted with remnants of melting snow. Draped over his left arm were half a dozen Famous suit bags.

Sloan barely had time to close his notebook, check to confirm Giulio was still occupied with the ladies, and find Katie on guard and splitting glances between him and the approaching man with the slicked-back hair, before Hirshhorn was in front of him.

Sloan came out in front and assisted him. "You didn't have to drop these off yourself, sir."

"No problem, I can slum like the rest of them, on occasion…in fact – "

He stopped himself short, catching the openly hostile appraisal Katie was subjecting him to.

Sloan let an embarrassed grin split his mouth. He shrugged shoulders, explaining: "I'm babysitting today."

The man said softly while leaning into Sloan a bit, "I have an ulterior motive…IF we can have some privacy."

"Katie, why don’t you run along up to Six, check out the Paddington book display, and browse the art supplies. Just be back before noon so we can meet up with Jay and Miles."

She stood. Katie was not impressed with the cold vibe from the suited Boyd's man. "You sure?"

Sloan laughed. "Yes, I'm sure. Run along."

They watched her close her notebook, then meander towards the 'Up' escalator. What they didn't see was how she glanced over her shoulder, and circled back through the displays. She hunched down and climbed into the void of a clothes rack with suit pants right next to the men to eavesdrop.

Sloan double-checked to see how close his beleaguered sales associate was. The dark-haired young man was being led farther away, as one of the ladies insisted he model a dress shirt or two. Giulio offered a friendly greeting to Hirshhorn in the form of a hand gesture. The Boyd's bigwig returned it with a scowl and a private eye-roll for Sloan.

"I see you're still forced to work with that one."

"Ah, Giulio's a good kid."

"Well, he's not right for Boyd's. Speaking of which, have you considered my offer a bit more?"

"Actually, as a matter of fact – "

Hirshhorn cut him off, announcing coldly: "Things have changed."

Sloan's crestfallen frown seemed to raise mirthful delight in the older man. However, the ruse was only maintained another second, as Victor gleefully announced, "Whereas before I could only extend an associate's position, things now stand that I may offer more: a chance to manage your own department at Boyd's. You name your salary; you hire; you fire."

Sloan was stunned. "That's such a generous…generous offer," he stammered.

"I know. I have faith in you, Sloan Stevenson. This opportunity is a chance for you to enjoy independence, call your own shots, be your own man."

"Yes, sir."

What Hirshhorn could not have known is how those things hit Sloan's 'sweet spot' – could he?

"I know it's a big decision," said the Boyd's man, placing a boney hand atop Sloan's shoulder. "So you take the weekend, and let me know by end of day Monday." He came in closer to share a greater confidence. "Boyd's may want you, but we can't wait forever before offering the job to another candidate."

"Yes, sir. I'll let you know by Monday."

Hirshhorn patted the other man's shoulder and used it to launch himself away from Sloan. "You know as well as I do, you don’t belong here." He glowered around suspiciously, letting a disgusted look settle on Giulio. "Anyway, I'll be going now. I don’t like to spend too much time at Famous-Barr. They're not our types, you know. Too many refugees from Dago Hill, too many nancy-boy window dressers, and far too many blacks." He sighed "It's not like the old days," and began to walk away.

Sloan was stunned into silence.

"Well," Hirshhorn called back. "You call me when you figure out if you want a future or not."

The young man from Ohio watched as Victor's impeccably-tailored suit coat disappeared amongst the crowd of happy shoppers milling about the central aisle.

After he could no longer see him, Sloan – still stunned – leaned against the table with Katie's things spread on it. He realized her 'notebook' was actually a sketchpad. Absentmindedly, he opened it. The girl was very talented; finely textured scenes inhabited the page with lifelike accuracy. Near the beginning were sketches from the start of Richardson and Sloan's time together; the first one being the two of them, smiling and open at her father's dining room table eating waffles. Flipping the page, Sloan had to smile, for there they were, lying like a family unit cozily sprawled on a blanket over the grass of the Arch grounds for the 4th of July holiday. Streamers and blossoming chrysanthemums of fire illuminate the sky above them. Turning the page, the following sketch showed an intimate moment of her father and Sloan sitting on the sofa, chatting quietly with broad smiles and linked hands.

This was getting too intense for him, so Sloan flipped to the final few leaves with the most recent artwork in them. He was stunned – these must have been drawn this morning, while he was only a few feet away from her, yet knew nothing of Katie's stratagems.

The first was Jay and Miles, crossing Sixth Street in the snow, Jay's arm lovingly – protectively – draped over his partner's shoulder.

Sloan slowly flipped the page to find himself hoisting her up, Katie's fingers tracing the fancy script of the Famous and Barr sign. Right next to it was Sloan holding the door open for 'Her Ladyship' like a true footman.

Almost apprehensively, he turned the last leaf and saw a portrait of Sloan leaning on his counter this morning. He was making notes, and he was lost in his own world.

Lifting the sketchbook closer, Sloan had to admit the man in the drawing looked like he could be a lot happier.