It Had to be Good! - Christmas at Famous-Barr 1929 - 4. V. Week One – Chapter 4: A Ten-Cent Turkey Dinner

V. Week One –

Chapter 4: A Ten-Cent Turkey Dinner

Thanksgiving morning had been hectic; even though the store was closed to the public, Famous-Barr was a beehive of activity. As Bettina and her troupe family had walked along Locust, towards the employee entrance near 7^th Street, her eyes had traced display window after display window – acres of glass – dark and curtained in suspenseful blankness. Behind those lightly rustling drapes, the girl had known department store elves and window-dressing fairies were busy making holiday magic.

Inside, crews had likewise bustled themselves about with pine wreaths and rolls of garland, unfurling the scent of Christmas all throughout the main floor.

Upstairs on 9, the great Santaland Circus was slowly coming together. The pair of young ladies from the store had conjured the alchemy of wit and imagination to transform the former assembly space into Santa's Throne Room with yard upon yard of crepe paper streamers. Yes, those stacks of rolls had vanished, and seasonal color and vitality had replaced them.

Now, as Bettina Martin stood in line for a late lunch in the employees' 12^th floor cafeteria, she could relax a bit. A halo of good smells surrounded her, and she luxuriated in the relief that they would be ready to perform when the store opened tomorrow.

Lorna nudged her back to reality. "This is the best thing ever!"

Most of the troupe had already passed through the line, been served and moved off to find seats. Bet and Lorna had been about the last to set down their tasks in Santaland and come up here per their 1 o'clock timeslot. Naturally, with the store full of hundreds of hungry workers today, everybody was given a window of time to take their lunch.

"What do you mean?" Bet asked, chuckling because she already suspected the answer.

"A 10¢ turkey supper! They sure know how to treat their workers right!"

"Yes, it's quite a nice touch – have to be away from family, so the store's 'family' makes sure they're at least fed."

A lank look passed over the rotund woman's visage; Bettina doubted she had even heard her.

Lorna slowly recited vittles. "Turkey, gravy, cranberry sauce, corn, string beans – " Then she got excited. "Mashed sweet potatoes and butter! Oh Bet, I hope they have corn muffins. You know I love warm corn muffins with creamy butter."

Bet chuckled, but it was one filled with deep respect. "Save room, Lorna. I saw you also can choose pumpkin or mincemeat pie for dessert."

Lorna's eyes grew round with wonder. "And all for a dime. Sakes alive…"

The line advanced to the place where Bet could pick up a tray. She did and gave it to Lorna. Bet placed her own tin salver on the sliding bars of the serving counter and started doling out cutlery for her and her companion.

She noticed a few curious stares and awkward smiles from FB faces already seated. Bet felt bad for Lorna, for with her size, she could never blend in, except when she shopped at Lane Bryant – the big ladies' store.[1]

As she scanned the seats, and shuffled along the chow line, a smile rose on her face. Lowell and Alden were sitting at a table for two. The light from the window right next to them put their quiet conversation and shy grins in bewitching silhouette.

Lost in her own little world of feeling that Alden deserved to be happy, her smile alighted – accidentally – on Glen Curtis. He was seated alone, at a small table halfway between the serving line and the line of windows. He was also staring straight at Bet.

The girl slathered on a frown and quickly looked away, but not quick enough so that eagle-eyed Lorna did not catch the visual exchange.

"Sakes…alive…" she said, drawing out a rat-a-tat staccato. "He sure is a handsome boy. Isn't he?"

Bet pursed her lips, lowered her brows, and shot a rebuke at her carny aunt. "I know you didn't ask that expecting an answer."

The older woman chuckled. "So, that's clearly a 'yes.' And, I agree. But you be careful with your young heart, Bettina Martin. Don't go falling for the first handsome fella that comes along."

Bet turned and replied with unaffected candor. "He's hardly the first handsome boy that's drifted through my life." Unbidden, Bettina felt a strong blush rising from her heart to color her chest, neck and cheeks. Lorna's expression confirmed that she had picked up on the 'confessional' aspect of the girl's last statement.

They finally made it to the food.

"White or dark meat?" a young man in paper hat asked as he held a large knife and two-pronged fork over an entire golden-brown turkey.

"Dark, please."

As he sliced, and as Bettina Martin stared at her plate to the side of him, Lorna said softy, "Do you think of Lawrie as just one of those drifting through your life?"

"Pshaw!" The overly serious tone in Lorna's voice had made Bettina gasp out her dismissal.

As the young man laid in a store of thigh meat, Bet told him "Thank you," and moved with her plate down the line.

"Mashed potatoes?" a woman asked.

"Yes, please."

"Bettina – "

"Lorna. Brother Lawrie and me – we're not like that." Bet tried to make that the definite statement on the matter.

But Lorna added quietly, almost as if to herself, "Don’t mean that's how he sees it."

˚˚˚˚˚

Their meal was almost finished. Lorna wanted to sample the mince pie as well, so Bet had picked up one. She had had her turkey and trimmings, and settled on her pineapple Jell-O cup as all she needed for dessert – that, and a cup of coffee.

Just as she was about to rise, and ask if Lorna wanted a cup of java as well, Glen Curtis was there.

He held a small tray in his left hand, and as he pulled out a chair and sat down, three piping-hot mugs of coffee were lowered onto the table.

"Oh, thank you!" Lorna cried, reaching for one of them. "That's just what I had in mind."

Bettina's glance drifted up from the tray onto Glen's face and wavy blond hair. His clear blue eyes were unguarded, and seemed to want to know if he had done good.

Bet reached out and took the second mug. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." Glen erupted into spontaneous smiles.

"You should be careful with those, young man."

Glen puzzled at Lorna. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Bettina's father can be a junkyard mutt when it comes to his treasure."

Bettina glanced around, and sure enough, Singer Martin sat at a table with the twins and Lawrie; he was shooting near-daggers at the back of Glen's head.

"Ah, don’t worry," Bettina said, turning to the stage cowboy. "He's a pussy cat if you know how to stroke him."

They fell into a strained silence as the young man and lady sipped their coffee and watched Lorna enjoy her pumpkin pie.

To be polite, Bet inquired, "No performance tonight?"

"No. This state is 'blue' – no dancing, and no vaudeville on Sundays and holidays."

"So, how will you spend your Thanksgiving night?"

Glen Curtis shrugged. "I guess I will walk around a bit." His smile suddenly showed again, and he chuckled. "I guess I'll find out if they really do pull the sidewalks in at night around here!"

Lorna laughed, revealing some squash on her teeth.

Bet shot her a look of 'don’t encourage him.

"Of course," Glen quickly added. "I'll stay all night to lend a hand with Santaland. I've got no plans."

Lorna assumed a self-contented gloat that easily rebuked Bettina's 'don’t encourage him,' with 'see, I told you he's a good egg.'

After another moment or two of silent coffee imbibing, Bet glanced again, and saw Lorna had managed to polish off both pie wedges and drink most of her java. A sidelong view of the girl's Jell-O cup confirmed she was officially off it.

"Well," Bettina tried to announce casually. "I guess I'll go walk some of this fabulous ten-cent turkey dinner off a bit before heading back to Santaland."

She stood, screeching the chair legs across the thick linoleum tiles as she did.

Lorna quickly stated: "But you can't go alone."

Bet smiled, relieved that Lorna would come with her and keep Bettina 'safe.'

Instead, Lorna said, "Glen will go with you. Right, Glen?"

"Yes, ma-am." He stood too.

Bet departed with an 'I'll get you for this' sneer at her grinning carny aunt.

˚˚˚˚˚

Lowell watched as Alden casually scrunched back his sleeve cuff to glance at his watch.

It had been a pleasant 'employee' luncheon with the carnival troupe docent, but like with all things, he had to be ready to accept its end.

"So tell me, Alden – I think I perceive a certain Southern tone lurking under your otherwise Minnesota brassiness."

"You do, do you?"

"I believe that I do – "

"Family is from Arlington, Virginia. That's where I was born and raised. Surprised a bit you picked up on it. Virginia speak is not generally as pronounced as you Peach State."

Lowell laughed. Alden was certainly a charmer.

"That Bettina is a clever one, wouldn't you say?"

"Sorry?" Lowell asked, snapping back to himself.

"Well, you say she picked you out of the crowd as someone I have something in common with."

"Well, to be fair, you've initiated her into being on the lookout, just like any fella would be, so she spotted our brief exchange of looks, and even standing in front of the post office, amongst a crowd, she knew what she was seeing."

"So, you're single, I take it?'

"Very much so. You?"

Alden laughed. "Single yes, but…"

"But what?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just going to say that, that, summers in Minnesota are never a very lonely time for me. I roll into town and never fail to find company, if you know what I mean."

Lowell felt his grin grow equally wry. "I have to travel a lot for work too, and company always seems to find me as well."

Their dishes suddenly rattled. Dandiprat Dave shoved his tray good-naturedly onto the end of the narrow table. "You don’t mind if I join you, boys?"

He waited for no reply, instead scrambled a few tables away and grabbed a vacant chair. He picked it up and sat down, immediately diving for his cutlery.

"Well, Mr. Fredricks, have you been to Saint Paul?" The young lion tamer's fork performed an accusatory wag at the adman.

"Yes, I have. And please call me Lowell."

"Well, Mr. Lowell – the grand department store we've got there is Field-Schlick, but it's nothing like this store. Here, I feel at home, and that one would never let someone like me in."

The little man attempted a shallow laugh. But, what started in dismissive lightness, instantly deepened into genuine resentment.

As he cut his turkey, he told them plainly, "I heard you talking about Minnesota summers. They're nice, but I prefer our Florida winters." He chewed.

Alden chuckled, asking, "Why?"

Dandiprat swallowed, his knife and fork rising like sentinels on either side of his plate. "'Cause, I don’t have to work in Florida. Oh, but don’t get me wrong…" He speared a string bean. "This gig is about the best holiday jaunt this fellow has ever had. What'd ya say, Alden? The best?"

As the young man ate, Alden nodded his head for Lowell. "Well, it's a good one; if it's the best remains to be seen."

˚˚˚˚˚

Bettina Martin and Glen Curtis strolled the first floor of Famous-Barr after their Thanksgiving dinner. The crews in charge of decorating the 20-foot plus tall columns, along with the rest of the glass counters and display spaces, had mainly finished their work in the morning so they could carry their decorative schemes higher up into the building. So much so that now quiet mostly reigned as the girl glanced around the half-light of a shopperless store.

Only every other of the multitude of frozen-waterfall lighting fixtures were on, and Bet admired how up-to-the-minute they were. There were dozens of them, all pretty as a picture on their shiny chrome stems, and all resembling 6-foot tall octagonal wedding cakes of glowing satin glass panels.

Bet stole a glance at her companion, catching a twinkle in his blue eye, but he did not seem to be captivated by the lighting fixtures.

The silent pair turned from the main aisle onto one that edged the long side of the onyx, bronze and stained glass Soda Fountain. A great line of green upholstered swivel seats with fully upholstered backrests stretched fifty feet in front of them, and Bettina realized this was less than a third of the Fountain's total length, for in addition to rounding the corner and continuing an equal length on the other side of the columns, this 'island' was matched by another fifty feet of seating against the other wall.

"It sure is an impressive eatery, isn't it?" Glen asked in cathedral-like tones.

Bet nodded her head; the strapping fellow by her side sure was making an impression on her. She could hardly think straight.

"Yes," she muttered. "These columns are beautiful too. Very high-class, and French looking."

And they were. Square, and about forty-two-inches in width, they looked like they had central white marble panels from floor to ceiling, visually held in place by 'skyscraper' corner guards. Bettina thought they resembled skyscrapers anyway, for just like the chandeliers, these had three tiers, and stepped back from lowest-and-thickest to highest-and-thinnest. This corner feature did not go all the way up, but came to an end about four feet from the ceiling. Instead, the upper part of each column face had a capital of sorts in the form of a triangle. This was about two feet tall, pointing down and made of strips of chrome cut so they formed flat, upside down pyramids of striped metal and stone.

"Very elegant," she said with conviction. "I've seen pictures of The French Line ships, and this place look just like them."

Glen, whose hand was extended and casually brushing along the back of the Soda Fountain's seats, appeared suitably impressed. "So, you read a lot, Miss Martin?"

She sputtered dismissively. "Read! If you can call it that. I like to pick up an occasional McCall's magazine and see what's doing with the literary types."

Glen laughed. "Well, I don’t know about McCall's, but I'm not opposed to a good Saturday Evening Post. They sometimes have rousing Westerns in there."

"Is that your favorite type of story?"

"And movies too. The Virginian; that came out a couple of years ago; that's one I've seen in many a town." His tone grew soft, looking at her from the side. "Life on the road can be tough, especially…"

"Especially, what?"

"You know, Miss Martin – " He halted in mid-sentence, apparently realizing something. "Well, maybe you don’t. You travel around in your group, so I suppose loneliness is not an issue. And if you don’t want to see a film by yourself, you can always find someone to go with you."

There was a cast to The Blues Singing Cowboy's eyes that informed Bet Glen was eminently suited to sing the blues.

They slowed and eventually stood still three-quarters of the way down the length of the Soda Fountain. Bettina tried to laugh off the intensity of the moment. "Call me Bet, or Bettina, and you can talk books with Lorna. She loves to read, and will pop into libraries in every town we haul up in just to see what they have on offer. I bet she's read The Virginian, as I see her with Zane Grey novels quite a lot."

"I'll be. That's interesting; a woman who likes Westerns. I will talk to her, Bet. Thanks for the information."

As Bettina felt herself get lost in those blue eyes once more, a pleasant sensation overtook her. It was a fragrance, a holiday one. Glancing up, she noticed the inside face of each column sported a big, 3-foot wreath of evergreen boughs. It hung just at the point of the metal and stone triangle capitals by an enormous red ribbon fashioned to resemble poinsettia leaves. The care the holiday decorators took showed in even such details as a spray of yellow 'berries' being in the center to complete the Christmas-flower look.

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. "Smell that?! That smells like Xmas to me." When she opened them again, Glen was gazing right at her, and the shadow of honesty on his face was seen in all its nakedness. That is, seen a moment before the young man blinked and put on a 'stepping out in public' face.

The muffled sounds of voices broke their mutual enchantment.

Light and activity drew their attention to the end of the row, where a woman behind a glass counter instructed her assistant how to stack the boxes of her display. As this area was against the wall, the space behind her counter had a rear section with columns, a mirror and a pediment like a temple.

Glen and Bet continued on their way, pulled in to see what all the fuss was about.

Bettina tried to be casual. "I don’t know the first thing about you, Mr. Curtis – "

"Glen. Please – call me Glen. And what do you want to know?"

"Age?"

"Twenty-six."

"Where are you from?"

"I'm from a little patch of nowhere in Southern California."

She chuckled. "You don’t sound like you're from 'nowhere.'"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when you're not singing, when you're not on stage, I'd say you have a pretty ritzy accent, for a cowboy that is."

"Jimmie Rodgers is my idol, and a real gentleman.[2] I do my best to live up to his example." Glen's tone changed to a lighter one. "Okay, Bettina Martin, it's my turn for the questions."

"Shoot."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty. Soon to be twenty-one."

"And your accent?"

"Pure 'Land-O-Lakes.'" She grinned. "Know where that is, cowboy?"

"Minnesota. I've been to your state, singing my little Western heart out."

"I bet you have," she laughed, thinking 'And broken some too.'

As they neared their destination, they could make out it was the Candy Counter. The mirror and pediment on the back wall of this department were actually enormous – ten feet tall from the marble slab of the back counter to the underside of the mezzanine level's ceiling. The temple-like top piece, as well as the smooth columns on both ends, were richly paneled mahogany. The mirror also sported an evergreen wreath in the center, and swags of red and green garland swooped to the column capitals.

As they approached, the woman in charge slipped through a small door, no doubt to a storage section, and her worker bees were busy stacking and arranging at the counter to their right.

Glen and Bettina walked right up and peered in the glass case. Tray upon tray – lined in doily edged paper – held treats by the mouthful. To the left were individual bonbons and nougats in uniform shades of milk and dark chocolate. However, to the right, festive colors predominated. One tray held a mix of fancy 'French Creams.' Some were red and moulded in the shape of Santa Clause faces; others were green and like Christmas trees and wreaths. Still others appeared as golden-yellow houses and churches. There were also tan-colored teddy bears, reindeer and moose.[3]

Additional trays on this side offered red foil-wrapped caramels, Neapolitan coconut chews in small white boxes, moulded butter creams in pastel blues, pinks and lavenders in the shape of melons, grapes and acorns. There were also vibrant jelly candies – flawlessly smooth gumdrops in every hue of the rainbow, and life-size wedges of orange segments with the opaline sparkle of sugar on top.

Bettina forgot to dampen her excitement as she rotated her gaze on Glen. "I've never actually seen these in person before."

"Which?"

Bet pointed. "These – the French creams shaped like Santas and Christmas trees."

"Oh. What do you mean?"

The girl straightened herself and responded with a question. "Did your family get the holiday Montgomery Ward catalogue?"

"Ummm… I'd have to ask my mom."

"Well, the thing is, when I was young, Lorna would make sure we got one no matter where on the road we were, and you know, I could find the Christmas circular in that 500-page behemoth lickety-split."

"How'd you do that?"

"Easy. Montgomery Ward always prints what they call their 'Gifts for Christmas – Order Early' section in green ink." Bettina grew dreamy. "Even the feel of those pages was different; the smell of the ink too – I don’t know how to say it. It's just that along with the smell of pine boughs, the way the MG catalogue smells makes me think of Christmas."[4]

Her tone grew triumphant, and her finger pointed straight at the French creams. "And they always had these."

The women stepped out of the stockroom again holding a stack of boxes. "Oh. I'm sorry. We're not open." She set her supplies down on the back counter and returned her attention to Glen and Bet.

"We're sorry," Bettina said for both of them. "We're working upstairs and just thought we'd have a look around. We didn't mean to put you out or anything."

"Ah." The woman smiled. "Which department?"

"Santaland Circus," Glen replied.

The Candy Department head became a suddenly gushing 'fan.' "OH! You're the traveling folks."

Bet grabbed Glen's arm. "He's our Santa this year."

"Oh my. Such a handsome young Claus. If you don’t mind, I'd like to stick my head in later and take a look before I go home today. Everyone in every department is abuzz about how amazing Santaland is this year. I expect you'll get a lot of Famous folks coming by for a look today."

"Well," Bettina confirmed. "They're all welcome. And may I say, your candy display is beautiful."

"Why, thank you young lady." The woman's hand gestured to the adjoining counter on the left – the one where her staff was busy with stepping stools. "Have you seen the rest of it?"

"No, ma'am…" ah-shucked Glen. "We haven't."

"Well, step this way."

They did, and another mirrored pediment was sectioned horizontally by glass shelves. Here, flat round baskets of great size held colorful arrangements of dried fruit and nuts. Fanning out from the center were green and red foil-wrapped dates, then a daisy ring of golden-amber apricots, followed by partitioned sections for walnuts, almonds, and pecans. The outer edges were arrayed with slices of dried pear, nectarines, and apples. Punctuating these were points of color: glacée-red and bright mint cherries squeezed themselves in with considered artlessness.

On the lower shelves were flat round boxes of thin wood. Resembling children's drums the size of dessert plates, each one sported a colorful label with a dish full of mandarin segments. Pale blue text rounded the perimeter of the circular sticker and said it all – 'Dried Orange Slices from California.'

"Oh my, Glen. Look at that."

But Glen seemed to be more interested in Bet's reaction than the actual display.

Glancing into the counter here, Bet saw huge trays of chocolate-covered nuts, and again to the right were organized the more colorful selections. Glacéed apricots, some half-dipped in chocolate, competed with stuffed dried figs, and date rolls with coconut 'frosting' and whole almonds decorating the top. Another tray glistened with candied orange slice – real ones this time – and plump French plums. These old-fashioned sugarplums still had their stems attached for hanging on the tree, and each one was lovingly gilded in a transparent sheen of sanding sugar.

"It's all so wonderful," said Bettina to the lady in charge, and both she and her staff evidenced a great sense of accomplishment through hearing the girl's remarks.

"Thank you, young lady. We try. It has to be good to be at Famous-Barr."

"Yes, ma'am. It shows," the cowboy agreed.

"It's true." Bettina laced her arm through Glen's and began leading him away. "We'll be out of your hair now."

"All right. Come back any time!"

"We will, ma'am."

Bet did not attempt to release her hold as they strolled casually towards the elevators.

"Seeing those orange slices put me in mind of something – " She hesitated.

"What is it, Bettina?"

"Well, I guess I'm embarrassed, but why should I be? You can guess by now that I didn't grow up with privilege – let's face it – we were broke most of the time. Oranges were my one Christmas luxury. When I was little, no matter where in the country we were, my father would take us to midnight mass at the Catholic cathedral in town."

"Why would he do that?"

"Not to pray, Lord knows that. It was for me, because after mass, as the kids were filing out the door, the priest would place one orange in each little hand with the words 'Merry Christmas.'"

She gripped his arm harder. "Maybe you'll think I'm a sap, but to me, that's my idea of festive. It was the only orange I got once a year, but my dad always made sure I got it. I love Singer for that. He may be pushy and controlling, but he's a great father, and did the best he could with what he had."

Glen squeezed her hand – the one laid bare on top of his jacket – and laughed in a way that told Bet he was trying to cheer her up. "Heck, back where I'm from, oranges are so plentiful, orange juice is as cheap as soda water."

Glen's attempt to lighten the mood backfired. Bettina Martin swallowed down the lump in her throat and extracted her arm. Staring into his crystal-blue eyes, the reason she felt sad at his comfort was suddenly clear to her. She didn't want Glen to go back to California, at least, not yet; maybe not at all.