Wini and the King of Someplace - 8. VIII. Part 4 – Chapter 2: From the Both of Us

VIII. Part 4 – Autumn/Winter 1913

Chapter 2: From the Both of Us

Saint Louis, Mo.

Thursday, October 16, 1913

Dear Mother,

I'm tired. Tired of drifting along in a state of emotional limbo. You've taught me the value of patience, and for most of my life I've been deeply proud of that attribute. But as I get older, and in my continuing circumstances, this 'virtue' has been a sorely felt hindrance.

Finally I resolved the obvious: time was not on my side; something had to be done to break the loggerheads of waiting on hope alone to fulfill my desires.

As I strode across the dusty loading dock, with several of the younger delivery boys doffing caps at me, my hands clinched unconsciously in front of the belt buckle of my skirt. Come salvation or perdition, I was hell-bound to bring this to a head.

I knocked with resolve.

"Come," sounded officiously through the glass of the door, and I steeled myself for a confrontation. I might have been placid on the outside – at least I hoped so – but I was an internal roil as I entered.

"Miss Barrett . . . . " He rose to his feet, sounding puzzled.

I closed the door and walked to him with pursed lips. "I'll not mince my words, Mr. McIntire. You must decide what you will do with Bauer. It's unfair to leave the child homeless and uneducated. Either adopt him, or . . . or . . . release all claims on him so I might begin the process of – "

"Miss Barrett."

The softness of his tone halted me instantly. It was impossible to read if he were sad or happy – perhaps a mixture of both.

"My wife is pregnant. She thought she was this summer, but now it's certain. Constance has put her foot down; she says she cannot trust Bauer to be in the house with 'Baby.' That's where we stand, Miss Barrett."

Mother, I know I was very rude. I know I should have offered congratulations and wishes for a healthy and happy newborn, but I did not. My mind was on other matters, ones that made me laugh from sheer relief. From sheer joy!

I will detail my plans in my next letter, but they involve you, Mother, and I trust you will acquiesce to my request.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have some happy arrangements to make.

Yours,

Winifred

˚˚˚˚˚

Saint Louis, Mo

Tuesday, November 11, 1913

Dear Nephew,

I'm glad to hear your holiday plans for Boston are going smoothly. Celebrating with a small group of friends is oftentimes the quickest way to ensure the Christmas spirit comes to life. My gift this year will be mainly to myself. I'll have a new and permanent home by the end of your spring term, and want you and Malcolm to come stay for a week or two. Don't roll your eyes like that. I'm afraid this 'offer' is non-negotiable!

You asked about my assignment, and I will tell you the concept we've come up with will endure. I can envision this approach evolving over the years and becoming a beloved Famous-Barr tradition. Parents will talk to their children about what it was like here when they were kids, and do so while waiting in line with their little ones to visit Kris Kringle.

Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, as we've yet to inaugurate the first Christmas season in our new store, but here's how it all came about.

Working closely with the Barr people as I have, they universally expressed a strong desire to see the 'Holiday Depot' institution carried on in the Basement, many pointing out that they've done it there for thirty-one years already, and that the sublevel mezzanine was expressly designed to house this seasonal attraction.

And that's exactly the vision I laid before Messrs. May, Salomon and Baker in a meeting. I had a few rough plans, and they had a few rough questions about the scale and cost, but in the end, the kindly knight of commerce, in his hospitable German gentleman's accent said, "Miss Barrett, Santaland it shall be."

Since then I've been frantically busy. There's the temporary relocation of the several departments who 'live' on the Mezzanine to other quarters in the store; the various managers whose displays and sales staff will have merchandise for the duration of the season in Santaland; and not least, the store Architect and Display gentlemen are eagerly transforming a 'depot' into a destination! Their work has been breathtaking to watch. Both the old Famous customers who have come to expect little from the store's holiday, and the Barr clientele who have visions of sugar plums dusted with the sweet taste of nostalgia floating through their heads will be amazed by Christmas at the re-born Famous-Barr.

I took Bauer down there the other day to lay out the vision.

From the main level, a wide staircase near the front door on Sixth Street leads downstairs.

As we descended, I commented, "It's nice to see you out of coveralls during the workday."

He didn't reply, but he did blush.

I took the liberty of brushing his hair back with my palm; he's letting it grow out at my request.

"Why are we going down here, miss?"

"I wanted you to get the full impact. In just a few weeks, the whole Basement Mezzanine will be transformed."

As we neared the final five or six steps, I tugged Bauer to stand with me by the handrail. Some smiling customers were coming up.

After they passed, I said, "Picture it. From here visitors will get their first glimpse. A banner will proclaim 'Welcome to Santaland' from above the staircase."

I continued us on down the steps. "Once they get to the bottom, arched trellises with garlands will form a central aisle and lead back fifty feet from the bottom of the stairs. At the end, Santa will sit on his throne."

"Beautiful, miss."

We began strolling back, my hand gesturing to either side of the aisle.

"This central area will be for the waiting line, but far from being boring, the throngs of Santa's visitors will be surrounded by the wonders of the season. Toys and dolls – teddy bears and trains too – will be about here. On the other side will be Christmas trees and decorations, that plus gifts for young and old alike, and food! Tables and counters piled high with treats and presents. Imagine it, Bauer – fruitcake and stollen from our bakery, hand-dipped chocolate from our own candy kitchen!"

He seemed suitably hungry, and it made me smile.

"Can't wait, miss."

A slightly unconvinced edge to his tone made me halt our progress. "Bauer, don’t you think it will be glorious? I've promised Mr. May no less than we'll be the dominant Christmas store of Saint Louis."

"It's good, miss, it is. But, it's somewhat similar to the other big stores who go all out for Christmas. Now, if you want to make sure every child and parent for hundreds of miles 'round comes to FB this Christmas, we'll need a hook."

"A 'hook,' like what?"

"It will need to be something no other store will have. Let me ask you this, don’t you think moms would like a picture of their precious darlings with Santa? A souvenir of their visit?"

I felt my eyes grow wide in slow motion.

I bent down and kissed my little genius on the cheek. "That's a million-dollar idea, Bauer! We'll do it too, every child. That will make a visit to Santaland a must for all."

"Yeah, we'll blow the competition outta the water!"

I agreed, straightening up and adjusting his smart little bow tie. "It will mean a lot of extra work for Mr. Jenkins and his new assistant."

"We can do it, miss."

"Yes." I smiled helplessly. "I'm sure you can."

So, as you can see, my 'matchmaking' with the boy and photographer worked out and now Bauer does not have to spend his days among the crude youth of the Shipping Department. He has a cozy and bright workspace on the Sixth Floor, where there is a receptionist, and workroom, and changing quarters for the sitters. He's learning a great deal, and it shows.

Thomas, the boy is so happy there. Sometimes we forget what real appreciation looks like until we see it in a child's eye. There it lives in all its unadorned glory.

Anyway, I have other news to tell you – very, very important news – but I must do a couple more preparatory things first.

I hate to spoil anyone's expectations, especially mine, as there's always a chance the other party involved will not agree to my proposal.

Cross your fingers and wish me luck!

Your loving aunt,

Wini

˚˚˚˚˚

Saint Louis, Mo

Wednesday, December 24, 1913

Dear Mom,

Well, Mother, it worked. Thanks to you.

I decided a special occasion required a special venue, so I asked Bauer to dress up; I was taking him to Lippe's.

This place is chi-chi, Ma. Not so much a restaurant, but a series of 'Rooms' which each seat about one hundred fifty people and offer different menus. And, since it's in the Chemical Bank tower at Eighth and Olive, it's an easy walk from the store.

"Let's go see upstairs first," I told him as we turned the corner.

"What do you mean, Miss Barrett?"

"You'll see."

We passed through the wide double doors where footmen bowed and did their best 'open sesame.'

In the lobby, I spoke a word to the maitre d' and he agreed to let us peek in on the rooms.

First, he moved to the right and to a large opening. Violin music of the soulful and brooding kind greeted us.

Bauer gasped.

The host told us, "This is the Flemish Room."

All around, ox-blood panels sheathed walls and columns, while ceilings and beams sported soft-glowing light bulbs. Accents of blue and white porcelain were here and there amid evergreen garlands and wreaths. Elegant people in evening dress chatted and ate in Christmas jollity.[1]

The man crossed the hallway. We followed.

"The Colonial Dining Room."

Worlds apart from the Flemish Room, this was belle époque at its finest. A ragtime string quartet set the happy mood for diners amidst the ivory-colored walls and Corinthian capitals in pure gold. A Christmas tree reached to the high ceiling, and its sparkling lights matched the oval halo of bare bulbs set in the ceilings between the beams and columns.[2]

"Looks like the first class salon on an ocean liner, doesn’t it, Bauer?"

"Yes, miss."

The host joined his hands together. "I am sorry, but there's a private party in the Chapel. All gentlemen, I'm afraid."

"That's all right," I said to him with a smile, and then explained to my young companion, "the Chapel is a vaulted space with green tiles on the walls and golden light fixtures."[3]

"Has madame dined with us?"

"Yes, I was with the May Executive party last month."

The man grinned. "Very good, madam."

"Now, Bauer, let's go downstairs and eat."

I led the way out to the sidewalk again, about to the middle of the block with the tiled arch and lights to the second half of Lippe's.

"Wow, miss!"

And he was right. I took his hand so he would not trip from distraction, and we started down the steps.

Etched mirrored panels flanked the walls, while above a mother-of-pearl stained glass arch illuminated the path in opulence.[4]

Once inside, we saw the right-hand side was the boisterous Sea Food Room, but we turned left.

Passing through a vestibule which successfully cut out all extraneous noise, the boy and I reached our destination.

"What's this one called?"

"This is called the Ladies' Mosaic Room, and I chose it because it's quiet and beautiful."

I gave my name, and the hostess led us to a table in the back.

Ladies of every age were eating and chatting in holiday finery. I glanced down and enjoyed the sight of Bauer drinking in the spectacle. White Italian marble in mosaic panels lined the walls; mirrored columns were capped with art glass lighting fixtures; and most incredibly, the smooth-as-glass ceiling was entirely done in gold leaf.

Fortunately, we sat at a table where Bauer could have a good view of all the goings on in the room, and as I watched him people-watch, my throat closed up. What if he said no . . . ?

Our waiter, who was a thin man with a drawn face and impeccable evening clothes, handed us our menus.

Long and tall like the man in charge, the cover featured a rather Germanic looking shield, with a crown and great flourishes around it. Within the heraldry, a boar's head rested amongst fruit, while below was an open bottle of wine and two glasses. It looked altogether like something one would expect in a hunting lodge.[5]

"I'll be back in a bit for your order." Our waiter walked away, but first took two steps backwards.

My blonde companion was entirely hidden by the huge folio.

"This is a special occasion, so order anything you like."

"It ain't my birthday – "

"It isn’t my birthday."

"It is not my birthday, miss." His eyebrows flared at me for avoiding the question.

"It's for Christmas, and also for a bit of other good news. At least I hope you'll think of it as good."

He shrugged and slumped out of view behind his menu. It suddenly hit me that he'd be unlikely to read many of the offerings.

"How about," I suggested, "seafood? I've heard it's good luck to have it on Christmas Eve."

"All right."

As if by telegraph signal, our waiter was by my side the moment I needed him.

"Yes, we'll start with the Caviar on Toast – "

Bauer made a horrified face and distracted me.

I continued, "And then the Broiled Pompano . . . ." In a glance of confirmation, I decided to throw in some meat. "And the young man will have the Wienerschnitzel."

Bauer smiled, relieved.

I finished our order, "And for vegetables, I think we'll have the White Asparagus a la Mornay, and the Stuffed Green Peppers."

The waiter collected the menus. "To drink?"

"A pot of tea, if you please."

"Very good." Again, he took a few steps backwards before turning and leaving us.

Bauer resumed his wide-eyed inspection of our surroundings, and I felt nervous. I had to ease into the matter at hand. There was in fact another thing I needed to tell him.

"Do you remember during one of our lunches, after you showed me your baseball collection, how you lamented the difficulty in obtaining them."

"Miss?"

Rolls arrived. We started to nibble, and I put some butter on Bauer's bread dish for him.

"You told me, Bauer, how young men like you are the ones most interested in acquiring them, but as it's the tobacco companies who put them in packs of cigarettes, so boys like you are induced to smoke. That's dastardly marketing; getting young people started on a dirty habit like tobacco."

"Oh, yes. It's true, but I never smoked, miss."

"I believe you, Bauer. You also said it would be better if Famous-Barr printed a series and handed them out to kids . . . say, in the Boys' Clothing Department. You said we'd trump the competition for sure with that idea."

"We would."

"Mr. May thinks so too."

"What?!"

"Yes. I had lunch with him the other day, and he said it was an innovative approach – give baseball cards to kids in a form that's harmless. I concurred. Then he agreed to start the project."

He flopped back on his seat astounded. "He does?!"

"We do, and the company will need your advice on which players are best from which teams for the pictures. The idea is to work with one of the local sports paper, like The Sporting News, and get shots of everybody you think is worth his own card. Maybe we'll have a series of two hundred total; we will have to see."[6]

I have to confess I delighted a bit in his continuing surprise.

"They know it was me who thought it up?"

"Yes, Bauer. And more than that, they want you on the project. Although I've only been a part of this company team for a few years, I know enough to say that's how they operate. They reward innovation, and make sure the right people get the benefits."

He was speechless.

I continued undaunted. "Do you know what else Mr. May told me?"

"No."

"He told me about some of his early promotions, back when he was a young man in Colorado and running his first large department store. He told me he came up with an idea that earned them many new customers."

"What'd he do?"

"Imagine this – every boy who came to his store for a new suit not only left again fully clothed in the latest styles, but the proud owner of a free bat and baseball."

"That's a wonderful idea!"

I chuckled. "Mr. May says the glaziers of Denver loved him. Over the course of a short time, every other house in the city had a broken window."

"Well, I'll be a monkey's – "

"No bad language, Bauer."

"Ah, I wasn't gonna say nothing, 'cept uncle."

My warning had the desired effect, and he laughed.

After a few minutes of silently eating bread, I leaned back on my chair and sighed. "I must be in a rather sentimental mood tonight. Do you know what I was just thinking of?"

He shook his head.

Our appetizers arrived. I served him a toast point with some fish eggs on it. "Just try it, if you don’t like it, at least we will know for the future."

He held it up to his nose. Apparently satisfied that it smelled appetizing, he took a bite. After a few chews, a smile appeared and I could go on with my story.

"As I was saying, I wonder if you remember – over the summer – how you and I sat out on the boat dock with our toes in the water?"

"Yes, I remember."

My mood turned serious; perhaps I had found a good way to introduce my main topic. "You were going to ask me something then, weren't you? We had been talking about my life in Pittsburgh and if I missed it."

"I remember."

"What was it you wanted to know?"

Eyes darted in a clear signal that he felt awkward. "Well, I wanted to ask you something real simple. Were you planning on going back? I figured you were and everything, so I didn't ask."

"At that time, I'm not sure what I would have told you. Sure, I could stay on in Saint Louis and find rewarding challenges working in the May Company headquarters, but it's you who makes the difference. I want to be here with you, so now it's an easy answer: I'm not going back to Pittsburgh."

My heart raced. I was so near my goal, but I could not blurt it out. Another way to ease into it crossed my mind.

I asked, "How do you like the small Brownie camera Mr. Jenkins and I got you for you birthday?"

"It's wonderful, miss. Thank you for giving it to me, and for being my first snapshot." His smile was back.

"I know you love photography, and after you finish school, I think you can come back to the store if you want to. I expect you'll be running the photo studio someday. That is, if that's what you want to do, Bauer. It's all up to you."

"School . . . ?" He acted as if a dirty word had been spoken at the dining room table.

"Yes. School. Look, Bauer, I've hired a lawyer, and he says it's not so difficult with Mr. McIntire's permission. So, I propose that I adopt you and give you a permanent home."

The boy was hard to read. He went back to eating, and I thought I had failed.

Until that is Bauer said, "I'll tell Mr. McIntire to hand over my shoebox to you, since I'll be your son now."

I smiled. "Yes. Very practical of you. You'll be my son and I'll be your mother."

"You'll look after me, right?"

"Yes, Bauer."

"Forever, right?"

"You have nothing to fear. It's all arranged; my mother is moving here to teach you at home. We'll catch you up in your lessons so you are ready to attend junior high school with your classmates. After you graduate high school, you can decide if you want to come back to Famous-Barr to work."

"With the photographer?"

"Yes. Follow your interests, Bauer."

"But you'll be my mom – forever?"

"Yes – forever and a day."

"Then I'll be your son. Bauer Barrett. Thank you, miss."

"Bauer, you can stop calling me 'miss' now . . . . "

"What should I call you – " He stopped cold. "It may take a little while to get used to. I've never called anyone . . . mom."

"There's no rush. You can continue using 'miss' if you want to."

"No, I'll try the new way, mom."

"And no more sleeping in the store. With McIntire's signed permission, I've arranged for a trundle bed to be my in hotel room starting this evening. You are going to live with me from now on, that is, if it's all the same with you."

"Well, the Tunnelway is bit drafty . . . and I bet I can get used to a bed again, I think."

"Good. It's settled then."

Needless to say, Mother, I needed my hankie again when he followed up by reassuring me he was happy to be my son, forever. I am so excited and so relieved!

Enclosed you will find a little keepsake of the holiday season, 1913.

It's a photograph of Bauer on Santa's knee. As soon as all the equipment was set up and Santaland was ready to open for the first time, I made Bauer climb up there and be the very first one.

As you can tell by his scowling mug, he'd just gotten done complaining about 'kid stuff' when the shot was taken.

Bless his heart, Mother. He's my own 'precious darling,' my personal Buster Brown boy, and I am never letting go.

You will kindly note the text along the bottom of the cardboard frame. It says: "Have a Merry Christmas from Famous and Barr Co.," and thanks to the store, that's exactly what we'll do.

I can hardly wait till you get here, Mom. Send me a telegram when you know your train, and Bauer and I will meet you at Union Station.

I can't wait for you two to meet. Until then . . .

Love,

from the both of us,

Wini.

~