It Had to be Good! - Christmas at Famous-Barr 1929 - 13. XIV. Week Four – Chapter 3: Escape & XV. Consummation – Bet's Holiday Treat

XIV. Week Four –

Chapter 3: Escape

On this Christmas Eve, he still lacked that one genius idea for his holiday ad campaign, but Lowell Fredrick's heart glowed nonetheless.

"Alley oop!" A pinched-face German lady hefted her fifty-pound Kartoffelkloß[1] of a five-year-old son onto his lap. "Ja, Ja, tell Kristmas Mann what you will for presents tonight."

Lowell's hand instinctively went up to smooth stray fibers from his beard out of his line of sight. The woman's little potato dumpling was blue-eyed and full of wonder and awe-struck fear. The disguised adman bounced the young man a moment by raising a knee and sending the child's weight into Lowell's pillow-padded stomach. "What's your name?"

"Hans."

"Well, Hans, have you been doing what your father says, and helping your mother out as much as you can?"

Lowell shot a glance to the boy's Mutter, who had clasped hands in silent joy.

"Yes, sir."

"Good lad. So, tell Weihnachtsmann what you vill for Christmas."

As the shy boy began prattling vociferously about Buddy 'L' delivery wagons and fire trucks, Lowell nodded and kept his fingers stroking the hairs of his chin wig. He was sure that motion was conveying the right Santa-Claus image for mother and son alike.

Truth was, Glen's beard was a little too tight, and consequently itched him. However, with the help of the troupe's official costumer, Lowell felt confident the rest of his guise was picture-perfect, right down to the holly sprig on his cap being centered above his left eye for full charm effect.

Also, he was beat, for the long morning of squirming tikes on his lap, and the more-than occasional screams of protest – both of him and of the photographer's flash bulbs – was wearing him down. Right now, his pillow needed adjusting, for little Hans was elbowing his liver relentlessly in his zeal to tell Santa all about the fire truck's swinging hook and ladder.

A glance over the contented Frau's shoulder produced a sight of Singer at the doorway checking up on him – well, on 'Glen.' Lorna's idea would work because of two things. One, the adman and the blues-singing cowboy were the same height, same build, and came complete with blue eyes. The other essential feature of the ruse was Lawrie feeding reassurances to Singer and Dandiprat Dave that Glen was well under surveillance at all times; that the vaudevillian and the troupe's daughter could not effect an escape. Lowell felt like laughing.

How wrong they were, and the sweet notion was also broad enough to encompass thoughts of Alden. He remembered leaving the bruised but resolute man sitting amongst their luggage in his Saint Nicholas hotel room. By tonight – by the time this wonderful store and its Santaland Circus closes – Alden will be at Union Station and Lowell can join him. They'd soon be snuggled in an Atlanta-bound Pullman and anticipating their new life together. The adman's Christmas would be bright after all, even if inspiration failed to work its holiday magic. He could lose his job now and still feel he was leaving town with much more than he arrived with. In that regard, Christmas had come early, and he was as giddy as any one of the elves now waiting in line for his lap.

"Smile!" the photographer called out. The motion of him raising his flash wand drew the eyes of both Hans and Santa to the camera lens.

Whoop!

The picture was taken, and Lowell's hand reached to his left; this was by far his favorite part. He picked up one of the red-edged Santa Books and placed it in the boy's grasp. "Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas from Famous-Barr."

The boy blinked, and his mother helped him down with a warm "Thank Santa Claus."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Hans. Be a good boy."

Lowell knew with bottomless clarity that that message and this experience would be remembered and treasured by the boy for the rest of his life.

The next child on his lap was a bright little girl in neat pigtails and satiny-luxe clothing. Barely able to speak the preliminaries, the assertive young lady took over with her wish list and résumé of qualifications to make it on the 'Good List,' and this allowed Lowell to sit back and consider what Glen and Bettina must be up to right about now.

A few hours ago, while Bet hid out near the Bargain Basement's jewelry counter, Glen had checked into the green room to get into his costume like normal – and, to be seen by Singer. That accomplished, Lorna dressed Lowell and the boy sneaked down the employee staircase to the 8^th floor below, and then rode the staff lift all the way down to the cellar. There, the happy pair would pick out a ring, catch a cab to City Hall, and make their way to Union Station. Lowell couldn't glance at his wristwatch, but he expected by now the newly-married, freshly-eloped couple – and their horse – were on a westbound train destined for a complete life together.

As the photographer drew their attention, the adman realized the four of them would all leave Saint Louis with more than they bargained for, and in a way, it was all due to this store, to this place and time.

Whoop!

'Life sure is funny,' he thought with a hidden smile.

Just as Lowell was handing the bright young girl her souvenir book and wishing her a Merry Christmas, Lorna appeared.

She nodded at him and proceeded to the head of the line, where the woman strung the velvet rope and announced that "Santa has an urgent telegram from the North Pole. He'll be back in 15 minutes."

He stood, and she escorted him towards the exit by latching onto his arm and reminding him in hushed tones: "You'll have to stay in costume, and you cant go to the green room either – don’t want anybody finding out you're not Glen."

"Fine," he said. "But I'm really thirsty."

"Then go downstairs."

And Lorna was right. A little stretching of the legs, a little refreshment, and he'd be right as rain to close out the day.

˚˚˚˚˚

Knowing he didn’t have much time to waste, Lowell stood in the descending public elevator feeling awkward. He had it brought home to him that even outside of Santaland, the adman was representing Santa and all the magic that Saint carried on his shoulders.

People smiled to simply see him, and Lowell's holiday spirits bloomed. "Ho, Ho, Ho!" ripped out of him and delighted his fellow elevator passengers.

It was the same merry cloud of jollity that followed him as he made his way through the throngs of folks shopping Famous-Barr's main floor. In his eyes, the seasonal color glowed extra bright, while the fresh pine scent from the many wreaths on the columns refreshed his nose.

He knew he looked jovial, and he certainly felt that way as his hands automatically latched onto his broad belt. 'Yes,' he thought. 'An American Santa, bright, open, fatherly – that's what people want.'

As he turned into the aisle at the head of the Soda Fountain, he was a bit dismayed to discover every stool was taken. This place was bustling, but never mind, he had been sitting all morning, so he could stand.

He strode about halfway down the length of the marble and onyx counter, enjoying all the turned heads greeting him with smiles and laughter, and asked one of the handsome soda jerks with the paper caps for a Coke.

The young man replied "Sure!" and filled one of that beverage's signature glasses to the brim. A young mother sitting at the counter passed the glass to Lowell. He paid and moved to stand in the center of the aisle. With one hand on his belt, and head kicked back, he drank his Coca-Cola with lip-smacking enjoyment.

He had been so wrapped up in the moment, so dedicated to quenching his thirst, that he temporarily forgot time and place. But when he glanced down again, a great sight met his eyes. Several moms had gathered their children to see Santa, and pointed at him with soft-spoken whispers of wonder.

Lowell blinked, holding his glass before his inspection for a moment. A light bulb went off in his head.

As if in rollicking slow motion, he kicked his head back once more and let out a tremendous: "Merry Christmas from Famous-Barr!"

XV. Consummation –

Bet's Holiday Treat

The train's smooth clickety-clack continued to take them towards their holiday destination.

Glen crossed the compartment and snuggled in close to Bettina Curtis' side. She loved that contact and held up her magazine to the Coke ad for her blues-singing husband to inspect with her.

A great, light blue-green background showed enormous white snowflakes and framed a portrait of Santa Claus. He stood in the aisle of a soda fountain – hand on his hip, head kicked back and sipping a Coke – while a mother and children gathered before him. Wreaths and chandeliers like upside-down wedding cakes of frosted glass made it clear to anyone who had been there exactly where Kris Kringle stood.

She read the ad text for her man:

It Had to be Good to get where it is

World's largest soda fountain

In the great department store of Famous-Barr Co., Saint Louis,

where busy Christmas shoppers pause and refresh themselves

with ice-cold Coca-Cola.[2]

"Oh, Glen!" she squealed with delight. "Isn't it wonderful?! I knew Lowell would come up with a simple and great idea."

"Yes, Coca-Cola and Santa Claus; it seems like a natural. I predict we'll be seeing this campaign for years to come."

"Look, Glen! That's exactly as I remember you from last Christmas, right down to the holly on your cap."

"Yes – Yippee Kaiyay – I made a dashing Kris Kringle!"

"Yes – you and Lowell most certainly did."

"Alden must be so proud. He and Lowell must be so happy."

"Well, Bet, why don’t we see for ourselves?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, once we're in Florida with your family, we can send a telegram to them and go back to Hollywood via a slight detour through Atlanta."

Bettina was deeply moved. "You know, don’t you, that a holiday without seeing Alden just won't be the same for me."

"Well, I suspected it, Bet. And I want you to be happy."

"Oh, I am Glen." She lovingly picked up his hand and used it to stroke her belly. "We are, Glen."

He leaned in and kissed her very gently, making her heart rate skip a contented beat as a blissful whiff of coconut met her nostrils.

He pulled back, appearing like a momentary flash of discomfort had broken his train of thought. He drew up the flap of his jacket, reached into his pocket, and told Bet, "I know I missed it last year. And I'm sorry."

He held an orange before Bettina's eyes.

"But I promise, Bet, I'll never forget your holiday treat again."

She slowly took it from his hand, fighting back tears of joy.

"Merry Christmas, wife."

"Merry Christmas, husband."

They kissed, and then leaned back against their plush seats to let the clickety-clack lull them into a peaceful holiday slumber.

~