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Wini and the King of Someplace - 2. II. Part 1 – Chapter 2: Lunch at the Chili Parlour
II. Part 1 – Spring/Summer 1912
Chapter 2: Lunch at the Chili Parlour
Saint Louis, Mo.
Thursday, June 13, 1912
Dear Mother,
Thank you for your letter. It's nice to know the daylily plants are thriving. By the end of the month, the south side of our house will be awash in their lovely orange-sherbet. I will report on how the daylilies in Missouri look. Some fellow coworkers in the office insist I accompany them to the Famous resort, and are making me take Saturday off so we can make a proper 'week-end' of it. I protested about how much work I have to do before the launch of the Association, but they turned a deaf ear to my protestations. So, concerning the daylilies – if indeed they have them in this part of the country – I doubt they will be open by next week, but I will find out.
As for Thomas, no, I am not concerned. His letters to me from Provincetown contain a relaxed feel; one of a young man opening his eyes to the world around him and drinking in the pleasure of experience as it comes his way. He writes of hearty Portuguese stew dinners at low-cost eateries amongst the fishing wharfs, and barefoot strolls along the beaches. His roommate and companion is from a very decent Boston family, so tell Thomas' 'Dear Father' to be happy for the boy, for once.
I'm not surprised to learn that my nephew's contentment upsets my brother, but it's excellent opportunity to remind him that his demeanor toward his only son is part and parcel of the young man's desire to spend his summer holiday away from Pittsburgh. I for one can sympathize with the youth. Yes, I know, I can see you rolling your eyes.
Also in your letter, you said how much you like getting news from me. I'm glad you like hearing the little snippets of exchanges I've been having at the store. It gives me encouragement to give you more of them. In fact, do you remember that child I mentioned a little while back? The young orphan boy whom I discovered working in the Delivery Department. . .?
Well, I have a funny little story to convey. One noon this week I was coming back to the store on Seventh Street, after posting a letter to Thomas and buying stamps, and I literally bumped into the boy.
"Bauer!" I exclaimed.
He whipped the cap off his short-cropped blonde head. While looking up into my eyes, a small glint of recognition appeared. "Miss."
"Where are you going?"
"Lunch at the chili parlour."
"Want company?"
The boy shrugged.
"My treat."
The boy smiled. "Sure."
He led the way and soon we were back halfway along the block between Saint Charles and Olive – right across the street from the new store's construction site.
A bright red awning flapped in the June warmth, and Bauer pointed it out to me. I should mention that eateries in the theater district of Saint Louis are plentiful, so this was one I must have walked past any number of times without noticing it.
'O. T. Hodge Chili con Carne and Lunch Room,' the banner said, and included the tagline: 'As Served at the Fair.'[1]
The door stood open so we just went in. A quick moment of orientation, while my eyes adjusted to the lower light, proved confusing. I expected – assumed, really – that we'd wait a moment and be shown a table by a host.
Instead, Bauer sauntered halfway through the restaurant while I stood there. In a moment I caught up, and realized he was in line behind a gentleman in oily dungarees. "This is not a 'sit-down' place?" I inquired of the boy.
"Yes, miss. We order, pick up our food and then sit down."
I smiled; it was not what I meant, but the boy's answer was perfect and complete.
In a few more minutes, I had grown accustomed to the procedure, and the line behind us grew with more and more workingmen and women.
"What's good here, Bauer?"
"The chili, ma'am."
"I reckoned that, young man, but what are the options?"
"I usually only get the nickel bowl myself, but they have a larger bowl with a fried egg on top. And hungry men like the tamales topped with chili."
"Oh my." I suddenly found myself glancing around. "So, this is a Mexican establishment? I don’t think we have any of those in Pittsburgh. Tell me young man, what exactly is a 'tamale'?"
"You never had one? Well, it's a corn pudding type of roll-up with meat filling on the inside. It's good, and not too spicy. Hodge's chili is not too spicy anyway; it's just right."
Somehow the boy's simple and artless reassurance put my mind at rest.
"They also have hotdogs," the boy concluded just as we got up to the order slot.
"What'll it be?"
Bauer looked to me and I rattled off spur of the moment: "Two nickel bowls and two hotdogs on the side, please."
"Twenty cents, ma'am."
I paid and was handed a slip. We waited in line as others ahead of us retrieved their food.
"How long have you worked at the store, Bauer?"
"About six months, miss."
"And you like it?" I was dying to ask why he was not in school.
"Yes."
And that was it. The blonde head before me turned around, and I had the sinking suspicion I was being too nosy. But, he is a mere lad, so surely I am entitled, right?
When called, I handed the slip over and picked up a tray with our workingman's repast. "Where do you want to sit?"
He did not answer, but merely touched my elbow and led me back along the line of hungry people to the front of the shop.
There, constructed across the window, was a high counter with stools. Bauer found a vacant pair near the center and kicked out one for me like a gentleman.
I set the tray down and thought I might have to hoist the boy, but he scampered up like he'd done it a thousand times before.
Only after we sat and divvied up our meal did I see why Bauer 'always sits here,' as he told me. Right across the sidewalk, busy with pedestrians and the thoroughfare moving along with motor carriages and horses, was a drab construction fence. But behind it the glorious new home of Famous-Barr rose majestically.
A few red steel columns stuck themselves into the blue sky, but most of the creamy façade was covering the structure now. The occasional sound of far-off steel men working and riveting wafted in through the parlour's open door to our left.
Bauer planted his elbows firmly on the counter so he could spoon some chili on his 'dog.' He asked with conversational ease, "Where are you from, miss?"
"Is my accent that bad?"
"A little, miss, but you must be an outta-towner if you never heard of Hodge's chili."
"Oh," I chuckled.
"So where are you from?"
"Pittsburgh on the Allegheny."
"Ohio, miss?" He took a bite and chewed with a broad grin for me.
"Pennsylvania."
After a moment, he asked, "How do I get there?"
"You take The Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Chicago and Saint Louis Railroad Line. Why? Are you making plans to go there?"
"No, miss. . .. Miss. . .?"
"Barrett. Winifred Barrett."
"I just like to know things, is all." Then he repeated items to commit them to memory. "Miss Barrett. The Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Chicago and Saint Louis Railroad Line, you say?"
"Yes, that's right."
"As I was saying, every Saint Louisan has heard of O. T. Hodge's chili parlour by now."
"Is that right?" I lifted my spoon to try the main attraction. It was meaty and mellow; there was a soft undertone of warm spices, like smoky paprika, but all in all it was milder and more satisfying than I anticipated.
"Yessum. Set up at the World's Fair and a good place for a workingman to lunch, like me."
I glanced at him while I had more chili. "And who did you learn all this from?"
"My boss, Mr. McIntire. He tells me things, and I listen."
He didn't have to add the last part, for he had demonstrated his ability to absorb information.
"Do you have hotdogs in Pittsburgh on the Allegheny? On buns?"
"Why yes, I believe that level of civilization has touched our city's fair shores."
"Mr. McIntire also taught me the hotdog on a bun was first served at the World's Fair. Did you know that, Miss Barrett?"
"No, I don’t think I did." I picked up my frankfurter to give it a bite. It was crisp and grilled with lovely slashes. It too tasted wonderful.
"Mr. McIntire was there, so I don’t see why he wouldn't know. One frankfurter vendor was selling his sausages, but as normally people would sit down and eat, he couldn't do that at the Fair. So he came up with the idea of handing out cotton gloves to folks ordering and standing around eating. Seems pretty quickly he was missin' quite a few, and the laundry expenses were too much for the ones he managed to keep around. He couldn't very well take time to slice hundreds of loaves of bread a day, so he asked his baker friend to make buns long enough to fit his franks, and it worked. Soon he had long lines, and he called his toasty treat 'hot dogs.'"[2]
"Well, now that you mention it, in Pittsburgh we don’t see the buns, only a slice of bread around it."
"Buns are great, miss. Holds relish, and mustard – and chili – real good."
At this point I had to fight every instinct I had as the daughter of a retired teacher not to correct the boy's grammar and slurred words. However, I resisted, knowing such actions had the potential of turning off the spigot of the lad's openness to me, and I wanted to learn more about him.
"Miss, do you have family back in Pittsburgh?"
"Some. I have my mother, whom I live with, and an older brother who is married and has an eighteen-year-old son."
"That's nice. Do you miss them?"
"I miss my mother and nephew. Thomas is enrolled at MIT in Boston, so he's not in Pennsylvania right now."
"And your brother, you don’t miss him?"
"Honestly, I do not. He is a temperamental person, and much older than I am. When we were growing up he was quite the bully. In fact, when Thomas was born I was only eight years old. By the time he was ten, I had already started working at the department store and began bringing him models and toys from Boggs & Buhl. I felt close to him while he was growing up, and seeing my brother's bullying tendencies come out against Thomas and his mother made me want to protect the boy's wellbeing as much as I could."
He just looked at me.
"What is it, Bauer? Am I talking too much?"
"No, miss. I was just thinking that it's nice to have the choice of a family to go back to or not. That's all."
And yes, he was right. I suppose too often in my life 'a family' was something I simply took for granted.
While we ate for a bit in silence, we looked at the FB tower rising across the street.
Bauer mumbled: "Gonna be a great place to work."
I dabbed with a napkin. "It will be quite a treat to work in such a modern facility. The Saint Charles Street Warehouse and Power Plant is almost done as well. That's where you'll be stationed."
"Yes, miss."
"Tell me, Bauer, what kind of boss is Mr. McIntire?"
The young man said 'all right,' but I was still suspicious. I changed the subject, gesturing to his clothes. "You know, coveralls are fine for 'chili parlours,' but you should wear a suit to go to other eating establishments."
"Overalls is all that I have. The orphanage gives out one new pair a year, plus two shirts, and three sets of socks. We have to take care of them to make them last."
I set my food down.
"And shoes, Miss Barrett, they get replaced only when they wear out – one pair every two or three years. Got a deal with the Brown Shoe Company. They give 'em to the orphanage, and Saint Joseph's promises to deliver life-long fans of the Saint Louis Browns ball club."
I chuckled, and felt myself dip my head. "And are you a baseball fanatic?"
"Sure am. I have a nice little collection of baseball cards. I like pictures too. Remind me and sometime I'll show 'em to ya."
"Remind you?"
"I have to get them first. Mr. McIntire keeps my shoebox locked in his desk drawer for me."
I turned my attention back to my chili. "Oh, I see. A shoebox, you say?"
"It's my private stuff. Nothin' pricy, just postcards, buttons – got one for Teddy Roosevelt – some pictures and my baseball cards."
I said casually between spoonfuls, "My hotel has a set of postcards. I'll pick them up and give them to you."
He erupted into a genuine, "Thank you!"
A bit startled, I reassured him, "They are simply of the hotel: their fancy lobby, restaurant and such."
"Don’t matter. I like looking at pictures."
A revisit of McIntire's none-too pleasant demeanor asserted itself. "If you don’t mind me asking, how is your relationship with your boss?"
Bauer immediately responded, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, is he good to you? Does he ask you to do more than you can manage? Does he treat you with kindness?"
This final inquiry seemed to throw him off for a moment.
"He's a good boss."
And that was it. Bauer said no more on the subject, and I did not push him to explain the somewhat brusque treatment of the boy I had seen with my own eyes.
Well, Mother, what do you think of that? The lad has an air of mystery about him, however, a nicer and more articulate young man one could not hope to meet. I will have to do more 'digging' on him.
And so, dearest, kindest Mother in the Land, I must bid you adieu.
Do take care of yourself. Bundle up in the cool evenings, and watch out for those summertime colds. They can be a bear to recover from.
Your affectionate daughter,
Winifred
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1912
Saturday, July 20th
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Marquette Hotel, Saint Louis, Mo.
Dear Diary,
Just a quick memo to jot down the details of our first 'Welfare Association' meeting. The elections were held last week, and the board members chosen were a pleasant mix of Barr and Famous people. During our regularly scheduled lunch a few days ago, Mr. May suggested that since it was my concept, I should sit in on first official meeting. What a gentleman of high class, such as Mr. May, happens to not say can sometimes be more telling than what he does. I think he'd like personal reassurance that the course the Association takes will make the best possible use of the funds the company contributes, and naturally, the group also bears the name of Famous-Barr.
At the opening of the session today I suggested all Association meetings should have published minutes for staff and management to peruse.
That was agreed to and other business quickly came up. Amongst which it was decided to have an employee newsletter. A friendly Welfare Messenger, and that special preparations for a grand souvenir edition of the newspaper to mark the move-in day festivities should start now. It will feature plans and renderings from the architects, statistics on the largest commercial structure in the world, and Famous-Barr as its chief tenant and world's largest department store. In addition, biographies and pictures of the management team, plus photographic views of the interior are planned.
Here's the surprising thing: Mr. Blenkinsopp, the newly-elected president of the Welfare Association board, put my name in nomination to spearhead all the photography needed for the souvenir edition.
Oh my. And I thought my workload was heavy before. However, when I anticipate how pleased Mr. May will be by the news, it makes it worthwhile. Plus, the air of excitement is palpable. We are scheduled to start moving in by February, so the clock is ticking!
Someone in the meeting suggested that information on the management was good to print in the souvenir edition, but the common man also needed recognition. Another person, I do not know who, had a brilliant idea: list the name of every single employee, department by department. There will be thousands of them printed in the back of the booklet. Everyone will be thrilled to see their name engraved and memorialized as having taken part in this momentous day.
Much work to do, but I am looking forward to it.
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Famous-on-the-Meramec, near Eureka, Mo.
Saturday, August 17, 1912
Dear Thomas,
You will notice this is an extra large envelope. I can see you trudging along the winding streets of your little fishing village resort town wondering what your loving aunt has sent you. It's print material, including some brochures on where I am staying. This is my second visit to the 'Farm,' and I have to say it's an ideal getaway from the bustling city of streetcars, noise and coal smoke.
On the Meramec, all is peaceful and idyllic. Inside the brochures you will see the small guesthouse where I am staying this time. It is peaceful, and with all the windows and doors open, and with the cabin being situated deep in the woods as it is, the cool breeze finds one inside most pleasantly.
I've been sleeping well for a change.
Other pictures will show the river itself, which is wide but relatively shallow. It flows along at such a leisurely pace, many Famous folks – especially the young men – put on their bathing suits and float out in the center for blissful hour upon hour. Others prefer the many rowboats, and there's always a game of relaxed water polo going on. I think you and Malcolm would adore it.
I am glad he is well. I read your accounts with relish about the theatricals in 'P-Town,' as you are calling it, especially the one staged at the end of a pier. Malcolm's friend, this young playwright named Eugene O'Neill, seems subdued and just the sort of person you boys would be 'carousing' with. Your Bohemian summer sounds like it will never end, and I am happy for you.
Give my best to all your friends, and especially Malcolm.
I am tired this evening, Thomas, and will wrap it for now. Do tell me how your 'dinner party' of canned sardines and dried codfish stew went over with your pals. And do try to keep your shirt on! That picture you sent of your little circle sitting around in the evening, topless to 'talk Plato,' is too much for your maiden aunt to think about. Oh, never mind. Harmless fun, and I know if any ladies were present, you would button up.
Good night, Thomas!
Your doting aunt,
Wini
[1] O. T. Hodge Chili Parlor: be sure to check out the 'Menu' tab.
[2] Commercial equipment to slice bread only appeared at the close of the 1920s, and bakeries resisted it tooth and nail for a long time, saying the bread grew stale quickly after it was sliced. The opposite proved to be true, and eventually 'sliced bread' became the trend.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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