Wini and the King of Someplace - 7. VII. Part 4 – Autumn/Winter 1913 Chapter 1: Ribbon-Cutting and a Boy's Shoebox

VII. Part 4 – Autumn/Winter 1913

Chapter 1: Ribbon-Cutting and a Boy's Shoebox

 

Saint Louis, Mo.

Friday, August 22, 1913

 

Dearest Thomas,

 

Just a line for now. When you get back to your flat from Europe, and have a chance to pop down to the post office to collect your mail, I feel confident this big package will be the first one you open!

As for my life, it could not more hectic be. I'll be glad when the inter-departmental bickering is at an end. At some time soon they will have to work together because the crowds waiting to spend their money will be tremendous. Then they'll figure out a 'system' through compromise. That's the American way, after all.

Departments are still unpacking and sorting, but I've drawn up a photography schedule from the top of the building down and all the goods and boxes must be out of sight by the time I get there.

The first floor will be decorated most attractively with garlands of fresh and dried magnolia leaves. The ladies at the florist's showed us a festoon to approve, and now no doubt they are busy stitching together miles and miles of them. The plan is to have them lace the pretty Doric capitals and columns and add that special FB green to the festive opening.

Oh, Thomas! I know you sailed on the Italian Line, but you should see some of the finished interiors of the store! They are like the grandest salons on the largest of the transatlantic ocean liners. There is one called the French Costume Room with paneling in the latest Neo-Sheridan taste. Delicately figured walnut of the richest, lightest honey color holds mirrors and gilded trimmings, while the pure white plaster ceiling has a continuous line of electric lighting washing it from recessed coves at the top of the paneling. It is breathtaking.

The customer service area on the First Floor Mezzanine has the same Circassian walnut everywhere, and here is where you can purchase tickets for the theater, the symphony concerts or the opera. Also ladies and children can have their hair done, and there is a lovely bank of customer telephones from which you can place outside calls for free. It's from this area one can look down upon the magnificent soda fountain on the main floor: one hundred and fifty-foot long, and all made of marble and onyx. There are illuminated stained glass domes resting on bronze capitals, and enough stools around it to seat eighty or more people in style and comfort.

In the Basement is one of the store's greatest features, the Cascade Staircase. It's a tribute to the cascade fountains at the World's Fair. Truly grand, and not just for '1st class' folks like those on the steamships, but for all the people.

And now, to address why this package is so large, I will tell you that I enclose several trade journals and Progressive Architecture for your reading enjoyment. I've been collecting them for you, asking the trades to give me spare copies, and the architects to save write-ups for me too. Just to survey some the amazing facts about Famous-Barr's new home, it's the first skyscraper in the world to be fully sprinklered – some 14,500 automatic sprinkler heads in all! Due to the huge open spaces the store demanded (26'-6" x 25'-0" column spacing standard, and 28'-6" x 25'-0" at the perimeter bays), the structural engineers had to invent a new system for the floors called 'steel decking,' which are like troughs filled with reinforced concrete. Already the system is being imitated for all large buildings. There are 9,000 light bulbs used in the store, 457 of them alone on the Fourth Floor; 12,700 yards of French Wilton carpet, 6,000 yards on the Third Floor alone; 250,000 cubic feet of "cooled, washed, and filtered" air is exchanged in the store every 7 minutes; and it's possible for 150,000 people to 'shop in comfort every day.'

Anyway, you'll see more when you crack into the journals.

I know you boys have to unpack, settle in and enroll for the fall semester, so I fully expect that within the next couple of letters from you, my task here will be complete. I'll have to make some big decisions in a short amount of time. Wish me luck.

And give my best to Malcolm!

           

Your doting aunt,

Wini

 

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1913

Tuesday, September 2nd

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Marquette Hotel, Saint Louis, Mo.

 

Dear Diary,

 

My plan of photographing the departments from the top down hasn't gone too well. Oh well, I'll just need to be extra vigilant in coordinating the latest areas of the store as they become available for picture taking.

Today we started in the Basement. I received word that Sporting Goods was ready, so we met down there.

This domain for the sports enthusiast was quite interesting. Dark wood cabinets along the perimeter held wooden dumbbells in scaling gradations like xylophone pipes, while next to them, glass cabinets housed baseballs and other boxed goods. In the center of the department was a display rack full of Rawlings baseball bats, which Bauer taught me are made right here in Saint Louis. Before this display sat a low wooden platform with pyramidal stands to lift up the back tires of bicycles. Dozens of bikes of all descriptions, each with pretty new tires in white, were just waiting for folks to take a ride.

To polish off the play nature of the space the Sporting Goods Manager has hung a barrage of pennants. These felt triangles live on the walls above the perimeter display cases, and offer spots of color and team vitality.

The photographer had arrived earlier, carrying his camera and plates case, which is a strapped box, black as night and equally mysterious.

I encouraged Bauer. "Go pester Mr. Jenkins. Ask what he's doing and why."

As my 'assistant,' the boy's main duties were lugging my briefcase from department to department as she coordinated the final set up for the pictures. I had my clipboard and stacks of folded plans, so his efforts were valuable, but now that the lights had been arranged, the photographer was positioning his camera's tripod just right. In a moment or two, he'd bend down and work the box containing the unexposed negatives.

"You think so, miss?"

"Yes, you go. Be mindful to stay out of his way, but find out what he's doing."

The young man drifted off. A moment later, Mr. Jenkins smiled and spoke to Bauer in low tones about the process underway.

A glance to my right showed me the five young elevator operators sitting on the steps to the department in street clothes. It had been decided last week these lads could be the equipment grunts, carrying the lighting rigs from floor to floor.

"Ah, Miss Barrett!"

To my left appeared the affable Manager of Sporting Goods. "Morris Fruend, good morning."

His round, good-natured face shone happiness and a hand came up briefly to smooth back his light-colored hair, which was thinning at the front.

"Miss Barrett, I know you'll be writing the copy to accompany the photos in the Welfare Messenger. So…." He extracted a neatly folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "I've taken the liberty of highlighting one of the department's features. I hope you don’t mind."

I barely had time to offer one perfunctory shake of my head before he cleared his throat and started reading: "One of the most outstanding assets of the new Sporting Goods Department is its unimpeded access. Simply come to the store's main entry on Seventh Street, find the staircase on the right-hand side of the vestibule, and come down directly into the department. This has been devised expressly for the huntsman, angler or athlete who has no wish to wade through the feminine lace and finery of the First Floor."

He re-folded the paper and slipped it into my hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Fruend." I nodded, knowing it would have to be re-worded, but I could salvage the message.

WHOOMP!

There was a great flash. Bauer stood by the photographer's side paralyzed with excitement, while my heart glowed to know the first official portrait of the new store had just been taken.

 

≈ • ≈ • ≈

 

Our lunch break found Bauer and I on the First Floor Mezzanine. Mr. Jenkins had retreated back to his warehouse laboratory to secure the exposed plates and retrieve more negatives. Since the next port of call would be the Hair Dressing and Manicuring Salon on this level, we decided to luncheon here.

"Like it?" I asked the boy. We leaned on the handrail, staring out over the acres of display cases and the hundreds of lit electric globes suspended ten feet from the floor. The 'it' of my question was the bite of liverwurst sandwich my young companion was chewing.

He bobbed his head at me with contented brows.

"I picked these up at White's. They also filled my thermos with ice tea. Would you like some?"

"Yes, miss."

"Have you seen these before, Bauer?"

I un-lidded a pair of collapsible drinking utensils.

"No, miss."

"I picked them up in Sporting Goods. You simply raise the lip, and presto – you have a drinking cup."

I worked the accordion-type mechanism and handed it to the young man. He raised and lowered it a few times, apparently enjoying the aluminum chatter it made.

"Doesn't it leak?"

"No, Bauer. That's what I wondered too, but they're watertight. Now, extend it fully and I'll give you some tea."

He did, and I poured the cool amber liquid.

Bauer took a sip. "Yum."

I filled my own, saying, "I'm glad you're watching and learning what the photographer is doing. I can tell you're picking it up quickly."

"I'm supposed to be your assistant, Miss Barrett, but I am having fun with Mr. Jenkins too."

I smiled. "So much the better."

A noisy distraction drew our attention. In the area by the broad staircase up to the Second Floor, electricians on ladders worked over the walnut paneled public phone stations; they were installing late-arriving fixtures.

Their loud banter was caused not by the task at hand, but by a jovial man in a suit. He joked amongst them with a sly smile and slick Irish brogue.

I informed Bauer, "That's Mr. 'Baldy' O'Connor, Electrical Union Rep."

He spotted me and came to us.

"Ah, Miss Barrett, you must be near burstin' with pride." Then he dipped his chin at Bauer. "Afternoon, lad."

"Sir. Same to you."

"Mr. O'Connor, from up here, the store looks magnificent. We'd never be able to see it if not for your electricians' fine work."

"Oh, Miss B., that's fittin' flattery indeed, but true. A store covering a whole city block was an impossibility only ten years ago. Without light courts, there was never a way gas fixtures could shed anything but a dull and noxious pall on the merchandise."

"Yes. I had never thought about it that way."

"Aye, miss. That Marshall Field's store in Chicago – a damn sight smaller than this one too – is riddled with courts, all just to bring some light into their rather narrow space."

"Fascinating how quickly the state of the art grows. And I must say it's been a pleasure working with you and your contractors."

"I'll tell you straight up, Miss B.," he said with pleadingly sincere blue eyes. "This store is a great success, and September the 8th will be a day to remember. If our business world had only few more men like what we see in the management of Famous-Barr, I can vouch there'd be few strikes if any."[1]

"I'm sure, Mr. O'Connor, management would love to hear that, if you do not mind me passing along the message."

"I'd be honored if you did."

The men at work had finished – a fait accompli punctuated by the snap of their ladders folding together.

"Well, I'm sorry truly to have intruded on your lunches. The boys and me are off to the next item on our punch list. Good Day, miss; lad."

"Goodbye, Mr. O'Connor."

We watched them go downstairs, hearing their laughter resume. I gave Bauer more tea.

Thinking about 'leadership' made me realize it's cost effective. "Electricity is the clean power of the future, Bauer. This company owns its own plant large enough to light half the homes in this city of 700,000 people, and they don’t need to give a dime to private utilities for it. That goes for the fuel companies as well, as part of the electricity we make goes into charging our all-electric fleet of vehicles. We'll have free busses running to and from the store to Union Station and the Intramural Terminal, where streetcars and commuter trains come together in a hub. The delivery trucks are the same, and this company knows what it's doing by saving huge sums on gasoline. Famous is so forward-looking, at times it almost seems beyond belief, but when you have vision combined with leadership, there's nothing that can't be achieved. That's the American way."

He smiled broadly. "Sure is."

As we were finished with our repast, I told the boy, "Drink up, then we can go for a bit of a stroll."

I handed him the lid so he could close up his own cup. He drained the last drop into his mouth and gleefully snapped the handy utensil shut.

"Have you seen the Children's Barber shop?"

Bauer shook his head.

I led the way, with the young man toting my briefcase.

In front of the landing from the stairs down from Two stood a pair of open doors. We stepped through them.

A long space, three floor-to-ceiling windows made up the right-hand corner. Open to let in the August breeze, they worked unusually on a center pivot to make little intrusion on the limited mezzanine floor space. One of the handsomest and favorites of the store's design, the mezzanine level casements were huge panes of acid-etched frosted glass, each proudly bearing the FB trademark in a wreath with an eagle spreading her wings above. Since there were approximately two hundred of these, the outlay alone on this one design feature was impressive. However, in terms of seeming ostentatious, the public wouldn't be confronted by them; they'd think of them as 'pretty' and not know how dear a penny they had cost the firm. I've grown to appreciate how folks in Saint Louis do not guild their lilies.

Bauer went exploring. "Interesting, miss."

Two walls with mirrors hosted about half a dozen stations for barbers. In the corner were two regular pneumatic chairs, but the remainder were carousel animals.

A jittery young one, perhaps receiving his first haircut, could be deposited in a horse or grinning lion, and raised up to receive a trim.

It was a fantastic idea, and unique to Famous-Barr as far as I knew.

A 'wicked' idea popped into my head.

"Bauer, go sit on that white tiger, will you?"

He ceased his circumrotations, and stood center of the room akimbo. "Why?"

"Come on, now. Amuse an 'old maid,' please."

He grumbled something under his breath about 'ain't no kid,' but moved towards the animal I had indicated. He slowly climbed in the saddle of the wooden beast and made me laugh outright. "You're still a kid, Bauer. I hate to burst your bubble, but you are."

He sat there to please me, and despite the incredible scowl on his visage, he looked adorable.

I teased, "Too bad I haven't a Kodak. I'll simply ask Mr. Jenkins to take your picture like that."

As I laughed again, I could see my Buster Brown boy was none too pleased.

        

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Saint Louis, Mo.

Monday, September 8, 1913

 

Dearest Mother,

 

It is done. However, where one door closes, another opens, or so you've always taught me.

September 8th – ribbon cutting day – throngs of people crowded the outside of the building on all sides. The layers of party-going humanity were so deep, all streetcars were halted and vehicular traffic diverted two blocks north, south, east and west of the store.

Uniformed police stood by, but naturally, nothing untoward happened, as all of the assembled simply wanted a glimpse of this mercantile miracle.

The twenty-nine massive display windows were each curtained and dark, awaiting the tolling of the 9 o'clock hour when they'd all be revealed simultaneously.

What not a soul from the merrymaking multitude could have guessed is how five thousand Famous-Barr employees were at that very moment paused in silence.

Spick and span as children on the first day of lessons, the staff stood at their stations with folded hands. Fourteen elevator boys, in olive green and gold rope uniforms with monkey caps at a rakish angle, waited at the open grilles of cabs at the ground floor level. Support staff of either the office workers upstairs, or the warehouse and power plant personnel a block removed, paused at attention too.

From my vantage on the First Floor near the speaker's dais, a wayward image crossed my mind: of Bauer, his overalls fresh and crisp, his cap held deferentially in his grip, standing in the loading dock with his workmates.

On the platform before me, Messrs. May, Salomon and Paul Baker gathered with all the department heads behind them.

My heart rate accelerated looking around the finished store. Dark green garlands highlighted every capital, and festooned down the front of the columns. Potted topiaries in their dozens sat on the white marble floor of the central aisle at the head of every row of display cases, and likewise acted like living newels to demarcate the location of the staircases.

My heart leapt into my throat. Mr. May stepped to the microphone so his dedication could be carried to every corner of the company via our public address system.

"In a few minutes, my dear fellow Famousites, these portals will open on the world's largest, most innovative, and beautiful department store.

"I need not chide you to be kind to our visitors, for this will be a day of selling, but also a day of celebration, so allow yourself to feel the pride that is our due as the world drops in on our new home for a visit.

"That we may begin this journey in the right frame of mind, I ask us to offer a moment of silence for our dear lost associate and coworker aboard the Titanic. In Henry Samuels' memory will we christen this store, thereby closing one chapter and beginning a fresh one in the long history of the Famous and Barr companies."

All heads bowed instinctively, and I for one felt the gravity of the moment overtake me. So much work, so much anticipation, and here was the day it began to pay off, but one of us was missing.

Mr. May concluded with a joyous note. "Now, my fellow Famousites, ready yourselves. Our public awaits."

With that, silence retook the thousands of employees and Mr. May went to stand before the great vestibule entry at Sixth Street – a nod to tradition, as this was always the front door to Barr's.

Messrs. Salomon and Baker parted his side and went to the respective entries on this end of the building at Locust and Olive Streets. The other managers divided into groups and stationed themselves at the remaining three entrances.

A clock started to strike the hour. A moment later, a great tidal wave of AH's, immediately followed by raucous applause, told me the lights had come on in the display windows, and the curtains drawn back.

Mr. May nodded at the uniformed footmen. "Open ye portals." They did with bowed heads, and the noise from the outside began to spill across our marble floors.

The first customers were greeted by the president of our company with a loud and steady voice: "Welcome to Famous-Barr."

Within minutes, people swarmed in all directions. Gasps and OH's universally reverberated at the scale and polish of a store they could only have imagined lived behind our ivory-colored exterior.

After the flood had finally trickled to smaller streams of eager customers entering our domain, the flowers began to arrive – wagonloads of them from well-wishers, and even our rivals.

First were five-foot wreaths on easels in a rainbow of shades. Every type and variety of blossom imaginable had been used. I coordinated the placement so they stood at the head of aisles along the central passageway.

These wreaths were augmented with other enormous shapes, like a golden horseshoe of marigolds and mums. The sash proclaimed: "Congratulations from Stix, Baer & Fuller." There was also a carriage-wheel-sized shamrock of green carnations interspersed with baby's spray from Scruggs, Vandervoort and Barney.

Remembering my duty, I glanced at my watch. I had been tasked with retrieving Mr. May from the clutches of press reporters and glad-handers after a pre-designated twenty minutes. The mayor was waiting upstairs in the store's Recital Hall for their joint press conference at 10 o'clock, and the interval between now and then would be taken up by flying champagne corks, the ignition of Cuban cigars, and hardy back-slaps in the boardroom for the executives. And why not? They deserved a moment of self-congratulations.

I strode up to our leader, touched his arm, and leaned dourly like I had urgent business to relay.

What I actually whispered in his ear was: "Mr. May, we're a success."

He nodded, begged excuse from his devotees and walked with me towards the staff door. I told him, "I have a heavy heart, sir. My task at Famous-Barr is complete." I failed to mention how that sense of completeness did not involve my business with Bauer.

"Is your work done here, Miss Barrett?" he asked, and stunned me.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I have one more assignment for you, that is, if you are willing to tackle it."

We neared the green staff door, so I paused.

"What task is it, sir?"

"It is the second week of September, so we do not have much time, but I'd like you to coordinate the first Famous-Barr Christmas in our new facility."

"Oh."

"The Barr people will expect a lot, and Famous is not strong on traditions for the season." After a pause, he added, "So, what do you say, Miss Barrett? Delay your return to Pittsburg and Boggs & Buhl until January?"

In my heart, I was secretly relieved to stay for Arnold Bauer, but nearly panic-stricken by the job at hand. It meant a lot of work in a short amount of time. Nine weeks to be exact.

"Mr. May, I accept. Together we can make Famous-Barr the dominant Christmas store of Saint Louis."

He smiled and shook my hand. "Yes, Miss Barrett. Together we can."

So there you have it. Business done; more business yet to do.

I'll be sleepless and giddy tonight![2]

 

Your affectionate daughter,

Winifred

 

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1913

Tuesday, September 9th

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Marquette Hotel, Saint Louis, Mo.

 

Dear Diary,

 

I had desperately wanted to tell Bauer the good news right away, but the rest of Monday was a blur.

As soon as the store closed today I intended to find him, however pressing matters delayed me in the office. I thought it was hopeless he'd still be here, as it was after seven, but I walked to the loading dock to be sure.

Two young men in Mr. McIntire's employ were there, sweeping up. I asked the one with red hair, "Do you know if Arnold Bauer has gone back to the orphanage for the night?"

He looked funnily at his companion, then leaned on his broom and told me with a crooked smile, "Don't you know, miss? That chil' ain't been back to Saint Jo's for quite some time."

"What!"

"Yeah," his companion chimed in. "Truth is, Mr. McIntire lets him bunk in the store."

"I had no idea. Where does he sleep?"

The redhead answered. "Boss done give 'em a pair of moving blankets, and since we set up over here, he's been sleeping on empty pallets in the Tunnelway."

"Oh." I was astounded. "Thank you."

It was clear I'd have to have a word with the boy's erstwhile uncle. What was he thinking!

For now, I made my way back along the service corridor, calling out quietly: "Bauer, are you down here?" The place was deserted, and only every other electric ceiling light was on.

As I neared the halfway mark, a collection of unused pallets stood in a group near the west wall.

"Bauer, it's me, Winifred Barrett."

"Miss Barrett?" a small voice asked, followed by the sound of boots on the concrete floor. In another moment, Bauer's angel smile peeked from behind a 'wall' of wooden slats. "This way." He waved me closer and disappeared from sight.

Entering a passage of sorts, I turned a corner to the left, and there was Bauer sitting on the bed of a shipping pallet; two mover's quilts were spread out as his sofa.

"Oh my, Bauer. You live down here?"

He switched on a flashlight and aimed it along my path. "Only sleep, miss. Won't you sit down?"

"Why yes, thank you." I lowered myself and sat with my legs and skirts under me on top of the padding.

"I haven’t seen you for a couple of days. How did the grand opening go?"

"Oh, Bauer, it was grand. Did you hear Mr. May's speech?"

"Yes. It brought a sense of pride to me."

"Me as well. Me as well."

"I'm sad, Miss Barrett."

"Why?"

"Now that the customers are here, you'll be going back home."

So funny was that 'home' word. Was Pittsburgh my home anymore? Only my mother and a connection to Thomas meant I might go back there.

"But, Bauer, that's why I needed to find you. Mr. May has one more assignment for me. I'll be here in Saint Louis at least until January."

Little boys, especially ones people go out of their way to avoid because they're 'rough,' are not supposed to have big blue eyes welling with tears, but this one did.

I pulled out my handkerchief and dabbed at them. "Does that news make you happy, Bauer?"

He nodded within my hands, and I hugged him – permission be damned.

To my delight, little arms came around and embraced me too. A moment later, he was pushing back and saying, "Oh miss, I have it. Do you want to see it?"

"See what?"

"My shoebox!"

"Oh, yes," I chuckled. "It would be my pleasure."

He placed the flashlight in my hand and reached behind him. In a moment or two of rustling, a white-topped Buster Brown lid came into view. He set the box between us and displaced the top.

A smile preceded his reaching in and extracting a small stack of advertising cards. He held them before the aimed beam of my light, and we admired them together.

These cards were certainly hand-me-downs; high Victorian in flavor, I suppose most of them are ones I might have seen as a child myself.

First was an indigo blue one with children pouring a teapot. Jaccard's it proudly proclaimed. "Artistic Solid Silver Ware."

This was followed by another card. T. B. Boyd & Co. is a fine outfitter of men's luxury tailoring. This card featured a very particular gentleman;"Old Bachelor" was inscribed along the bottom, and the man was almost a caricature of Victorian 'taste.' Dressed in a clashing green plaid jacket, blue tweed pants, and red and white-striped shirt and socks, he sat in a rocking chair with an immense Japanese fan held upright in one hand.

"Gosh, Bauer. I wonder how folks back then looked at this and thought 'Oh, I must get my clothes at Boyd's.'"[3]

He chuckled. "I don't know either. It's funny to look at."

More ad cards followed from Lammert's and Hodge's Chili.

Bauer placed this collection on the mover's blanket and went in for a mound of postcards. In my mind, I appreciated how organized a lad he was.

He held them again for me, first a few from the World's Fair. He paused on one of The Pike.

"Wish I could have been there, miss."

"Me too."

Behind these was the Famous-Barr card showing the new building and with the now-infamous text: "Open for business spring 1913."

"Keep that one, Bauer. It might be worth something one day."

"Yes, miss. I won't lose any of them."

Next were the ones I got for him from Café Cicardi and my hotel. The examples from Marquette featured a few colored views of the grand interior spaces. He paused a long time on the image of 'The Famous Lobby and Ladies Gallery.'

"You like this one, Bauer?"

"Yes, miss. I prefer the photo postcards to the drawings, and this space just looks so beautiful."

I knew what he meant. My hotel was new, and the public spaces were executed in the highest German-style neoclassicism. The lobby featured two-story Doric columns with six-foot-tall vermillion bases. Overhead, skylights of frosted glass with golden borders lent a dignified air of permanence to the temple-like room. [4]

"Well, we must have lunch there some day. My gosh, Bauer, it's not as if it's in faraway Munich; it's down the block!"

He said nothing, but his gratitude flashed brighter than the electric torch in my grip for a moment.

At the bottom of the postcard stack was the three-dimensional photograph from Famous' studio.

He operated it back and forth, showing me how the illusion worked, and laughed. It was a beautiful thing, for that child does not laugh very often.

Baseball cards were next out of the box.

Proudly he held up one of a uniformed man wielding a bat. "This is Barney Shotton, pitcher for the Browns. The team's having a bad year, and he's on track to be pegged with the most Base on Balls." He frowned. "That's bad, miss."

He flipped to the next. "This is Ty Cobb with the Detroit Tigers. He's the league leader in hits. Wish he'd come to Saint Louis."

"How do you have so much detailed information about these players, Bauer?"

"Mr. McIntire reads The Sporting News to me every afternoon."

I used the boy's hand to turn the card over, following a shadowy hunch. It said 'American Tobacco Company, Saint Louis, Missouri.'

"These are cigarette cards, Bauer. Is Mr. McIntire encouraging you to smoke?!" I could not hide the ire from my voice.

The boy was momentary confused. "No, ma'am – miss – I don't want to smoke, and, well Mr. McIntire wouldn't like me to start."

"Then how do you get these cards?"

"Mr. McIntire. He buys them off of the fellas in the loading docks. They all know he'll give them a nickel a piece for cards I haven't got."

Considering five cents was enough for a workman's lunch, it was a generous amount indeed. Against my will almost, I felt a softening within me towards the boy's handler.

"He does that for you?"

"Yes, miss. Despite his gruff ways, I think he secretly likes me."

"I wouldn't be surprised, Bauer."

He quickly put the baseball cards away, figuring they were somehow upsetting me.

To replace them, he pulled up photographs.

First was the studio shot of Bauer Mr. Jenkins had taken. That made me smile, so he felt a bit of relief.

Behind it appeared a wedding picture of Mr. and Mrs. McIntire. The man sat in a chair and the woman, dominating him from behind, maintained an icy grip on his shoulder.

"Sometime, would you let me have a picture taken with you?"

The boy's sweetness snapped me out of my cold regard for Constance McIntire.

"Yes, Bauer."

"I'd like that."

"Me too. Let's do it this week then. No time like the present."

The final photograph in his meager collection was another studio shot, this time of a young blonde woman.

"Who is she, Bauer?"

"Oh her, miss. It's Mr. McIntire's sister. He gave it to me, and when I asked why, since I never met the lady, Mr. McIntire told me to hang onto it. Maybe one day, he said, I'd be glad I did."

"Yes, Bauer. One day, it may mean something nice to you."

"Are you all right, miss?" He held my hankie back up for me to take.

Damn. Now my eyes had started to leak.

 

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