Katie's Sketchbook - Christmas at Famous-Barr 1976 - 7. Part 5 – "How do you do?" & Part 6 – Magic

Part 5 – "How do you do?" – The Climax

Scene One: The Whispering Arch

Acres of the red roof tiles of their destination glistened in the December sunshine as the 'Famousite' from Ohio and his party of young people neared it. Monday morning – 'Event' day – had brought clear skies, which along with bright and crisp air meant it was perfect parade weather.

Sloan held open the heavy wood and glass door and ushered his wards for the day, Katie, Jay and Miles, into Union Station. They had entered the three-block long edifice under its central granite arch at sidewalk level – the main entry of this 1894 belle époque monument to rail and steam.[1]

First encountering a deceptively unimpressive landing area, Sloan knew Jay and Miles would soon be gasping once they ascending one of the short flights of book-matched steps; everybody did, for just above their heads waited one of America's grandest rooms.

He encouraged the teenage boys to ascend one side, while Katie and he took the other; Sloan thought about the excited scene they had seen while approaching the station. At the side of the building on Eighteenth Street, the bubbly mood of anticipation heaved like the surface of a bubble bath. There was a throng of TV vans with camera crews with their lights. Interviews were being given by members of the marching bands in colorful uniforms, and the costumed characters who were going to operate the even more colorful floats. Local charities were sponsors, as were each of the store's dozen or so branches, competing for the Famous blue ribbon of best company-wide holiday float.

Parked near the corner of Market Street were antique cars – all polished open-top automobiles decorated with crêpe paper streamers and flowers in red and white. This small fleet would transport dignitaries and the guest of honor slowly along the parade route, where parents and children already waited several persons deep for the fourteen-block celebration from Union Station to Famous-Barr's front door.

Katie slipped her hand in his while they climbed and they soon arrived on the upper landing of the grand staircase. The teen boys did gasp, but it was muffled by the talk and laughter coming from the crowd on the floor just above them. As they looked up and to the right, their view was still partially blocked by the rise of the central set of steps, but beyond it loomed the Grand Hall's six and a half story tall vaulted ceiling.

The girl dropped Sloan's hand and ran excitedly to greet the boys. Sloan came up and joined them just in time to hear her say "…Use the Whispering Arch." She dragged the boys, including Sloan, to one side of the landing and dashed across to the matching spot on the other side.

"What are we supposed to do?" asked Miles with faint annoyance showing.

Sloan raised his arm and grandly traced out the curve of arch above their heads. The wall to the exterior was all awash in light filtered via poly-hued glass, but the arch itself was molded in elaborate plasterwork. "Put your ear against the wall."

The boys puzzled a moment at that instruction, but then turned to face one another and lay opposing ears flat against the base of the ceiling arch.

He gave a hand signal to the waiting girl, and she turned to face her section of wall.

The teen eyes twinkled as if on cue – they were hearing her, although Sloan could not make out a thing.

"She's talking," Jay said in amazement.

"She's asking if we can hear her," Miles informed his cousin in a hushed tone.

Sloan calmly instructed: "Well, answer her."

The boys stood erect and blinked unintelligibly at him.

"Face the wall, get real close, and speak softly."

Jay tried it. "Hello, hello – what are two and two?"

Miles put his ear to the plaster and relayed the cheeky girl's answer aloud. "It's four, Jay. Don’t you know your basic arithmetic?"

Jay pressed his ear to the wall too, for Miles had given an eager head signal to come and listen.

In a moment, both sets of teenage eyes twinkled wickedly and glanced at Sloan; they blushed with what they heard through the plaster grapevine.

"What's she saying now?" the older man asked suspiciously.

The boys stood, backed away and invited Sloan to listen for himself. He pressed his ear against the wall and heard the little girl reciting plain as day: "Sloan and Daddy sitting in a tree…."

He righted himself, gathered the boys and herded them up the central flight of steps; he knew Katie would soon grow bored of chatting with herself, and follow them shortly.

The two teens cast eyes upwards in wonder – as every visitor did – for a massive space larger than an Olympic swimming pool awaited them, and all of it under a single unobstructed barrel vaulted ceiling. The same fancy plasterwork created ribs and flat planes curving up high over their heads, and a series of stained-glass skylights let light pour magically in central space like a cathedral.

At the top of the landing, a great crowd was milling about, and a stage was set up on the other side, nearest the train shed, but for now the boys' attention were rapt on the narrow ends of the room. Here on the wall forming the arch, two levels of walkways existed, but a broad swath of flat wall curved around from side to side with plasterwork. Foliate in low relief, organic lady forms rose from an emerging with swirling leaves and vine tendrils. Their hands raised and outstretched over their heads held a stain-glass lighting fixture, which resembled half a massive blackberry, but done in soft hues of just amber and gold.[2]

Katie came bounding up to them, announcing matter-of-factly, "You have to see the window!"

She latched onto Jay's hand and led the group to stand by the massive banister enclosing the open area of the stairwell from which they had just come.

In front of them was a painting in glass and filtered light, a painting as soft and subtle as the full-wall Monet in the Art Museum, but animated by the living rays of the December sun.

Katie explained: "This is the Tiffany window.[3] The woman on the right is New York, the woman on the left is San Francisco, but The Lady in the center is Saint Louis."

And indeed she was right. Every time Sloan saw the window, he marveled at new details, for in repose in the center sat a life-size woman in crimson, the copper-clad dome of the Old Courthouse rising behind her. In her hand rested a palm frond, the one of victory, while at her sides looked on two other women in profile. Blue skies, prosperity, and the great abundance of the land haloed their beautiful faces.

Noise caught the little party's attention; the crowd in room at their backs suddenly swelled with excitement. The great bells of the station's twenty-eight-story-tall granite campanile started to chime-out the arrival of the morning's eleventh hour.

"Come on!" Katie began tugging on Sloan's hand. "We don’t want to miss the arrival."

As they moved through the crowd and out of the arched door to the terrace overlooking the platforms, Sloan noticed that not only was the dais all set up to play receiving host, but kids had ivory colored balloons tied by long strings to their wrists. Each one was printed with the Famous-Barr logo-in-a-box that Sloan loved so much, and each one had "Home to Paddington Bear" in block letters below it. Camera crews and photographers buzzed around like determined hornets to try and document all the building anticipation.

Finally getting out to the congested terrace, Katie pulled herself and the rest of them right up to the iron handrail. They were just in time to see an apple-red steam locomotive chug to a slow stop at the head of Platform No. 1. This train had only one passenger car, and a 'Famousite' dressed as an old-time porter positioned a stepping stool and opened the train door.

A fury paw appeared out of the doorway, and the porter latched on to assist the passenger down.

Sloan glanced to his right. A father had hoisted his toddler son into his arms, and was whispering to the lad: "Look who's come for a visit."

The instant Mr. Bear alighted, a veil of steam was puffed out like great clouds of cigar smoke from the low portions of the engine, and sent an obscuring mist to hide the celebrity's whereabouts. After a nearly 'unbearable' moment of suspense, in which it seemed he had vanished in a London fog, the great bear – complete with yellow Sou'wester, blue duffel coat, horn buttons, and shipping label – appeared through the haze with a wholesomely sweet face and an easy, confident stride.

Paddington was officially in Saint Louis, and the assembled youngsters to Sloan's left and right erupted into uproarious hoots, hollers, and cheers. One cheeky boy even sent up a shrill whistle via fingers in his mouth as an artless but heartfelt greeting.

To Sloan's utter delight, Richardson followed the very important spectacled bear carrying the visiting dignitary's magic, and evidently bottomless suitcase.

They walked towards the head of the platform, and to the Grand Hall.

On the concourse level below the terrace where the platform ended, two men in suits shook the bear's paw one by one.

"Who are they?" asked Jay.

Katie explained: "The shorter guy is the head of The May Company; the taller one is the president of Famous-Barr."

"Come on," Sloan announced, gathering them up. "Let's go get a good position inside."

They made their way towards the dais, and Sloan flashed his store identification at a security guard. He let them slide in between the special guest troops of kids at the front. These were United Way representatives, and all proceeds from today's event were going directly to that charity.

The dignitaries arrived, and mounted the dais, while Richardson passed over the bear's valise and took up a position next to the Famous camera crew.

Once on stage, Mr. Bear put down his suitcase and stood with his great rain cap and duffel coat with the horn buttons and shipping tag next to the microphone. An elegant young lady with short dark hair stepped up. "I'm Lois White, British Consul, and on behalf of Her Majesty's Government, it is my great pleasure and honor to introduce this eminent ambassador of the people of the United Kingdom to the great people of Saint Louis."

She extended a hand and shook 'paws.'

"Paddington Bear," she concluded with a wonderfully warm smile. "Welcome!"

As the crowd cheered, and any number of camera shutters clicked, they posed side by side.

Next up, a distinguished-looking man in an expensively-tailored suit and comb-over appeared with a small boy next to him; the boy held a giant golden key.

"I'm John Poelker, and as mayor of Saint Louis, it is my happy privilege to extend the keys to the city to you. I hope your stay will be a joyous one!"

The boy stepped in front of the mayor and lift his pillow up for furry inspection. Paddington placed a paw on the lad's shoulders, and the shutterbugs chirped merrily.

After the photographs were taken, the boy stepped back, and the mayor invited the bear up to the microphone.

Silence fell on the Grand Hall. The visitor said, "How do you do? I'm Paddington Bear."

The crowd roared with cheers and applause. Sloan and his little party let themselves dissolve into infectious laughter; they were the keepers of the secret of who had just spoken those words with such aplomb. Some FB balloons escaped little clutches and floated sixty-five feet up to the top of the reverberating vaulting. 'This will be a day to remember!' Sloan thought, barely able to stifle a laugh.

Part 5 – "How do you do?" – The Climax

Scene Two: Two Dignitaries of the Season Finally Meet

The parade was marvelous, for unexpectedly, Richardson had snagged Sloan and company and shown them to one of the open-top cars.

A marching band set the pace from out in front; floats came next, followed by dignitaries and more musical groups. Then the main float with Paddington on it swelled the cheers of the crowds as it inched its way along.

Richardson had been given a great honor, and rode in the backseat of the car between the two company bigwigs, no doubt in recognition for what the Special Events Manager was doing for the glory of Saint Louis, and for Famous-Barr. They followed Paddington.

Riding behind them, Sloan and the young people witnessed how the kids along the parade route went crazy to see Paddington, and volunteer 'Famousites' tossed candy out at them.

FB balloons were everywhere.

As the festive procession turned north onto Seventh Street from Market, taller buildings began to rise on either side and increase anticipation for what would happen next.

Paddington's float stopped right in front of the store's marquee, which now boasted a two-story-tall lit Christmas tree on top of it, and the bear began shaking the hands of children along the sidewalk in front of Famous.

Sloan's car pulled over just in the right place, for the Window Display Department had decided to buck tradition and open a second corner window at Seventh and Olive, just in Paddington's honor.

They dashed out of the car and ran into position only moments before the dignitaries arrived and started leading Mr. Bear to view it officially.

When Paddington arrived – the dark curtains smoothly rolled back, lights came up, and animatronic figures came to life.

Against an angled wall, Santa was in his North Pole parlor, and sat in a great chair with Paddington by his side.

A tea table was laid, and adorable Christmas mice in knee breeches and suspenders darted around the whole display with the accoutrements of a classic high tea – some carried the cups, some the dishes and flatware, while others toted cupcakes with mounds of snow-like frosting and a cherry on top; still others hoisted great plates of shortbread or fruitcake above their heads as they moved.

One mouse stood demurely in a corner near the glass with the wide-eyed spectators on the other side. He had a placard in his hands, which read simply: "Brought to you by the Gourmet Food Department, 7th Floor."

"It looks delectable," Paddington Bear was heard to observe. The reporters nearby dutifully recorded it in their small notebooks for posterity.

As the delegation began to drift back along Seventh Street, to enter the store via the main door under the marquee, Sloan hurriedly tugged on Miles and Jay's shoulders, and grabbed onto Katie's hand. "Come on, I know where they're headed."

He quickly marched his pack through the crowd, east along Olive Street, and ushered them through the store's south-west entrance.

Just as they arrived at the first east-west aisle, a tremendous cheer arose from their left. Paddington had entered the building.

Sloan hurried them to the elevator bank and pushed the 'Up' button. The great chrome sign informed them it'd be a few minutes wait, so they glanced across to watch Paddington, the store and company presidents, and Richardson – again tasked to be the bearer of Mr. Bear's suitcase – all board the escalator. They soon disappeared, ascending up to the Second Floor.

"Your dad told me what they're going to do."

"Which is?" Miles asked impatiently.

"Have a sort of victory lap up through the store, but we still have time to get up there."

"Up where?" inquired Jay.

"Oh, you'll see," said Katie sagaciously.

Ding!

Their vertical chariot arrived.

After a few minutes – a few anxious minutes made even longer by additional passengers getting on and off on the upper floors – the strained silence of the small group broke when the button marked '11' became dark on the call panel, but lit up brightly on the horizontal row of numbers above the doors.

Another Ding! sounded.

The doors opened, and they stepped out as if via Holiday teleportation to the gates of 'Santaland' once more.

The little group passed through the entrance, and unlike Saturday afternoon when a long line of kids and parents snaked along the attraction, now all was quiet of people, but alive with motion and music.

They made their way along the course, and everywhere Sloan's gaze fell was sparkle and holiday wonder; it especially shone from the eyes of his companions.

Soon their single-file trooping brought them to The Little Drummer Boy. Sloan was surprised to actually find him about four and a half feet tall, or life size, because he looked smaller from farther away. The character's hands merrily played the drum slung over his shoulder, while he was dressed in a red and white check shirt – complete with large starched white collar and cuffs – blue overalls cut off above the knees, and wool calf socks. Such attention to detail was paid that even the top of his right sock was lower than the other, as if he were a real boy. Holly sprigs adorned the strap of his overalls and the band of his Robin-Hood-like cap.

The Little Drummer boy's head moved slightly side to side, and as they got nearer, Sloan realized a full-sized antique delivery cart, one of the exact ones the store had used to use a hundred years ago, was piled high with presents right behind the animatronic figure.

Apparently he had more to give this year than just his drum playing, for on top of the gaily-wrapped boxes of every size, shape and description, plush toys frolicked. Puppies, kittens, even a donkey, and as Sloan should have guessed it, a Paddington Bear behind a drum set. The sticks were in his paws and one was already squarely at the cymbals.

"Come on!" Katie called from a portal up ahead; Sloan had lagged behind.

He was last to enter, and stood in amazement.

The inner sanctum was the enchanted dominion of Father Christmas. The glorious room, a neoclassical hall about thirty-foot square with tall ceilings, was full of quiet people. Up front, before his throne, was Santa Claus.

The dignitaries had outpaced them, for Paddington Bear was stepping up to shake hands with Saint Nick. Not satisfied though, the V.I.P. with the Anglo-Peruvian accent pulled the beaded man into a bear hug. Sloan laughed outright – perfect it all was – yes, why fight it, his heart asked; it was all just so perfect.

As Santa drew back from his own personal bear hug, Sloan smiled and reached his hand down. Katie took it just as the jolly Old Saint dissolved into heartfelt laughter.

Paddington's voice rang out clearly: "Happy Holidays! Let the season officially begin!"

Santa rocked on his heels, patted his 'bowl full of jelly,' and tilted his head back so a full-throated wish could be born. "Ho! Ho! Ho! And Merry Christmas to each and every one of you from Famous-Barr."

Part 6 – Magic

Scene One: A Pair of Wishes

It was after ten. The streets were quiet and dry as Sloan drove in and out of the pools of illumination cast by drowsy-headed streetlights.

At these moments of brightness, Sloan would check on the girl in the backseat to see her slow descent into a recumbent position.

He had already fed and entertained Katie and his visitors from Ohio, and now was taking the bright little one home.

Richardson would be late getting back, as the British Consulate was hosting a holiday charity ball to swell Famous' United Way Fund contribution. Sloan was sure the delegation would have been honored to have Julia attend as well, but she was finally able to board her long-delayed flight back to Connecticut, sans bear costume. He imagined how happy she'd be to get home, and even happier to see Paul – yes, a hug from a loved one, it was one of those extraordinary 'ordinary' things Julia had praised about life to Sloan in Soulard Market, and now he understood, now he agreed, fully.

Coming into one of the intermittent circles of light, he glanced again in his mirror to check, and just as he expected, Katie Orlean was lying stretched out across his backseat. Very sleepy, the bright girl fought that drowsiness with all her might, but her daddy's 'Event' day had proven quite the drain on her seemingly inexhaustible supply of high spirits. She let her musings groggily find Sloan in the driver's seat.

"I predict bears will forever be associated with Christmas at Famous now."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

The young lady's voice spoke from an even dreamier realm. "Sure. No one will ever forget the day Paddington came…."

Sloan chuckled, gripping the wheel tighter in mirthful acknowledgement. "Yes, Katie – and how special for us to know it was saved by none other than Julia Child."

"I predict – " She faltered, as sleep began to snuggle down on her like a warm comforter. "I know we'll have a new store mascot next year. We'll call him…him…Famous Bear."

Sloan's eyes filled with happy tears, but his voice sang out as softly as a lullaby. "One word, Katie, planted in your father's ear, and I'm sure we will."

As the girl surrendered to sleep, she murmured, "This is one Christmas I will never forget…."

Sloan, driving east on Arsenal and alone with his thoughts, considered that solely because of the effort and hard work of all those Famous-Barr people donating their time, hundreds of kids will never forget this day either. The memory will shadow their every charitable thought to the ending days of their lives.

He whispered to the slumbering girl in the rearview mirror: "And how magical is that?"

A laugh erupted from his soul, along with the thought that only a few people will ever know about The French Chef in the bear costume.

˚˚˚˚˚

Sloan waited for Richardson to get home by spending time with his quiet thoughts, sipping a brandy, and sitting on that man's sofa.

He allowed his head to loll back. Cushioning it against the top of the couch, he used the blankness of the ceiling to project a replay of only twenty minutes ago. He had cradled a still-sleeping Katie in his arms and carried her upstairs to put her to bed. As he looked for and switched on her brand new Paddington Bear nightlight, the girl had shifted on her pillow and said as if from a dream, "Good night, Daddy Sloan."

Choking back his emotions, he had knelt down and stroked her hair lightly. "Good night, daughter Katie."

Now his view of the ceiling plaster grew a bit blurry, but at last he was content with his resolve. It felt like a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

Sloan suddenly remembered something else as well, and sat up. He glanced to the end table on his left hand side, and there it was.

Setting his snifter down, he picked up Katie's sketchbook.

He first found the last drawing he had seen: Sloan standing at his counter only moments before Victor Hirshhorn had come to him.

He turned the page and saw Jay and Miles at Stix's candy counter. SBF, the store's holiday mascot in chocolate, loomed in the background almost like a nightshirt-wearing cupid, for Katie had taken the artistic liberty of showing the next step in the encounter: Jay was feeding a bon-bon to an orgasmically happy Miles.

The image made Sloan chuckle, and so did the thought that the boys could be reenacting this scene, in private, in his flat, right this very second.

Sloan turned the leaf, and the next vignette was a strikingly good portrait of Julia sitting on the floor of this living room, her legs kicked to the side, a Scrabble tile pinched between her fingers, and a knowing expression on her face.

On the opposing page, he saw another sketch of Richardson and Sloan sitting on this sofa, mid-Scrabble game, and leaning into one another. 'Do I really look like that?' he wondered. 'When I glance at Richardson, I guess I do….' He chuckled out loud: "I look…so happy."

His good humor was shocked to the rear of his brain as he turned the page and found Hirshhorn staring back at him. In mirror-like accuracy, she had portrayed the man from Boyd's visage – couched as it were in the accoutrements of his expensive, hand-tailored suit coat, Egyptian cotton shirt, and silk tie – so that the scrunched-up features of pinched eyes and flaring nostrils could tell even a child, maybe even especially a child, that he was 'the bad guy.'

Now that Sloan was coming to reject it, the 'playing out my options' mentality seemed especially unequal in his consideration of ditching FB for Boyd's. The events of recent days and weeks had proven resolutely within his mind that Famous was not just a place, for any organization that would do what it did for the disadvantaged operated from a very special position, and it was rare to find a business that approached profit with both a heart and soul. In that regard, FB was a blessing in Sloan's life – just like Richardson and Katie were.

Now, all the turmoil of his overwrought thinking was put to bed as soundly as the young artist had been a short while ago. The little nightlight he had switched on in his head easily shooed away the night-shadowed boogiemen of 'freedom' and 'independence,' and did so with the small but inexhaustible flame of love.

There would be no more imposing cold, abstract notions over what felt right and good, and Katie and Richardson had never felt so right to Sloan.

He chuckled softly, thinking, 'It's like the damn chocolate – Stix's may taste slightly better, but FB chocolate is about love, isn’t it? It’s about having the things you love close to you.'

Julia had taught him that invaluable lesson, so Sloan thanked her with a silent wish. 'Good night, Paddington Bear, wherever you are.'

There was the sound of a slight throat clearing.

Sloan glanced up and saw Richardson standing in the opening into the hallway. The older man, with his ashen blond hair and intensely green eyes, was still in his camelhair overcoat, from beneath which Sloan got a glimpse of his white dinner jacket and black tie.

Sloan set Katie's sketchbook aside, stood, and went to Richardson knowing the other man had never appeared more beautiful to him. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I didn’t think you'd stick around to wait for me."

Sloan slid right up to stand before Richardson. "Disappointed that I did?"

"Oh, no – delighted, in fact."

Sloan guided his fingers between Richardson's chest and overcoat, lifting them up along his body and gliding the coat off of his shoulders. He also came in for a kiss.

The coat fell to the floor in a puddle.

Sloan placed his hands around Richardson's waist. "I've told Boyd's I'm off the market. More like, I've told them to take their job offer and stick it where the sun don’t shine."

Richardson's arms came up to rest on Sloan's shoulders. "You're sure about that?"

"One hundred percent. I told Victor Hirshhorn that Scruggs died 'cause it was stuck in its bigoted ways, that Stix only barely survived because they changed their stupid behavior in the 60s, and that Famous thrives today because they were the first to deal with hatred and evolve way back in the 1930s. I know they will do the same for Gay men and women too. So, what'cha say, shall we nudge them a little?"

Happy surprise lifted the corner of Richardson's mouth. "Oh yes, we can change a lot, if we make up our minds to do it. But speaking of that, what changed your mind?"

Sloan placed his hands on the inside of Richardson's arms by the elbows, and pulled down gently to draw the two men closer together. "You. Your hard work, your devotion to pulling off such a spectacular success for the benefit of others – your love of Famous – and don’t laugh if you think it's corny, but I woke up to the fact that it's more than a store; it's a company of people who are happy to work there and try and make the world just a little bit better because of it. I'm a 'Famousite' now, through and through."

Richardson kissed him. "You know that decision makes me happy."

"And," Sloan added slyly, "I've made another one as well."

Richardson almost gasped; half-pained, half-jubilant, the glow of expectation darted over his hazel-green eyes.

"I've decided…" continued Sloan in an open tone "…to tell the Boys I'm off the market too."

"You know that decision makes me happy too. What did it? Katie?"

"It was partly her, but mainly you. I love you, Richardson; just like I don’t want to be anyplace but Famous-Barr, I don’t want to be with anyone but you."

To Sloan's eyes, Richardson appeared sad, but two emeralds glinted through that overcome expression. "I love you too. I – "

The older man's words were stopped-up in mid-formation by kisses and happy tears from the younger. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…." he kept repeating.

Richardson pushed his boyfriend back slowly and wiped his tears with his thumbs. "It's not too late – no sorrys needed. As I was saying, I love you, and this will be the best one ever! Merry Christmas, Sloan."

"Yes, it will. With you and Katie, it will be the best to date, but only the first of many to come. Merry Christmas, Richardson."

~