Right Where We Live - 2. Chapter 2: Voin's View

Chapter 2: Voin's View

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Eighth Floor Newsettes

Three 'little soldiers' in Toyland found guns and had a great time aiming at everyone in sight. They ended up entertaining the entire Department when two of them started turning rope and the third one jumped.

The children who visit our Eighth Floor Playroom are eager to ride on the merry-go-round and ferris wheel. These two wonderful toys are brought out the day after Thanksgiving, and go back into seclusion at the end of Christmas. However, the kiddies never forget the thrill of riding on them. The Children's Playroom is a customer service, where parents can park their dear ones for up to three hours, free of charge.[1]

A Super Kiddie! One of the sights of this glad Christmas season was Millicent McHenry (Tracer) buying a kiddie kar and machine gun for her two-month-old grandchild, who weighs all of eight pounds. When amazed onlookers protested, she explained that he was a super kid and ready for such toys. Millicent tried to pretend that she didn't have the Christmas spirit, but she didn't fool us a bit.[2]

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Voin's mind was awash with happy anticipation of how he'd spend his day off. He had one more task to complete this Saturday afternoon, and then he thought he'd stop by the Sporting Goods Department to chew the fat and look at rod and reed. Sometimes the best fishing was done when the ice was laying thick on the lakes and rivers, so he was daydreaming about that.

As he went his way amongst the back corridors of the employee-only areas of the Basement level, he wondered how he'd gotten involved with Store Chat and its firebrand editor in the first place. Well, the answer was not so simple, but it included enjoyment in writing his weekly column and being able to say anything he thought would be useful and entertaining to his fellow 'everyman' and woman at Famous-Barr. If he considered it deeper, he might also admit he was intrigued by Betty Higginbotham, and begrudgingly approved of her folksy approach to keeping the Famous Family in touch with one another in a personal way. On the other hand, some of the more out-and-out gossip pieces made him glad he was a part of the paper and thus not subject to ever being talked about in it.

He rapped gently on the door labeled: "Elevator Operators' Staff Break Room."

"Come in!" erupted, and Voin stepped inside.

An older gentleman sat at the head of a table. He wore his uniform jacket, and his cap was raked on his head at a jocular angle. Gray hair glinted from the sides of it, and Voin once again thought the hat resembled an old-time chauffeur's cap. With his uniform and headgear in place he also reminded Voin of the old-fashioned train conductors from his youth.

"Captain Smith! How's life treating you today?" Voin entered and closed the door. While he set his pad and pencil on the table, he slipped off his suit coat and smiled warmly.

"Pretty good, pretty good. And how about with you, Mr. Reinhardt?"

The columnist pulled out a chair across from Duffy and sat down. "You can call me Voin, everybody does."

Duffy nodded politely and brought his hands together on the tabletop. "Thank you for doing this."

"We always want to get 'the story' straight from our retirees. People at Famous are intrigued to learn about what the company was like 'way back when.'"

The captain laughed. "Yes, a 'morbid' curiosity, I reckon."

Voin was a cool person generally, but such a comment left him a tad unsure how to proceed. "Yes, perhaps."

"I'm just joking, Mr. Reinhardt. I like reading the wonderful retirement announcements you and Miss Betty do. It's like reliving the way things were back in the day, I swear." He laughed slowly, and it seemed to Voin to show Duffy was glad he did not have to live in those times again.

Once more, Voin was a bit discombobulated, but he pressed on, noticing a large advent calendar pinned on a notice board behind Duffy. It looked vaguely familiar to him.

The Store Chat correspondent flipped open his pad, took up his pencil and smiled at the soon-to-be retiree. "I like to start with the basics. Can you tell me a bit about your job now?"

"I run the Elevator Operators' Department, organize the schedule for the forty-eight operators, see to the cleaning staff, inform Mr. Isaacson – who's head of the Engineering Department – when the inspections are due, and make sure the Electrical Department is notified the instant a cab starts acting 'jittery.' I make sure my staff is neat and presentable, which includes me, as I attend to Mr. May personally and greet the public during my daily inspections. And I take care of my 'girls,' seeing to it they have a good life, because a good life will reflect back on the customers we serve as a smile and 'Have a pleasant stay at Famous-Barr.'"

Voin jotted down the items as a series of bullet points, muttering, "Excellent; all good material."

"Would you like to hear 'the numbers?'"

"What numbers…?"

"The facts and figures, Mr. Reinhardt. This company first installed hydraulic lifts for the clients way back in 1872, when Barr's was at Third and Saint Charles. They were the first ones in Saint Louis and serviced five entire floors. The elevators Famous-Barr have now travel 91,000 miles a year, carry roughly 200,000 passengers, and the service company assures me we have the highest volume of any single company in the entire West."[3]

Voin smiled. "Impressive."

"The new cabs and equipment installed in 1940 are smoother and faster, and my girls run them like the pros they are. I'm proud of my staff, and I hope they look up to me like a kind of second father."

Voin jotted that down. "Now, going back to the beginning, when did you start, and what position did you have originally?"

Duffy chuckled softly, and his eyes grew dreamy behind his wire-rimed glasses. "I came to Barr's to sweep out elevator cabs, in 1894, at the age of seventeen. I'll tell ya what, that Mr. Barr was an amazing man. Came from nothing back in Scotland, and arrived here when he was still thirteen years old, alone and penniless. Then he worked his way up and started out on his own here in the West with ambition and a thick accent. As I say, amazing, because back in the '90s he was first among the bigwigs in this town to have black folks in front of the customers. He was alone in that for quite a while."

Voin realized he had stopped taking notes. His pencil bobbed between his index finger and thumb in lazy rapture while he allowed his attention to get caught up in Duffy's storytelling. "But what were they like, you know, as men?"

"How long have you worked here, Mr. Reinhardt?"

"Eight years."

"Ah, yes. Too much a youngster to have met them, but Mr. Barr was a fine figure of a man. Six-foot tall, with long silver hair and an old fashioned beard like the Victorians respected because they thought it showed a mature mind behind it. He walked proud, a lit stogie sticking out of his beard, and then he'd pull it out to show he had a sweet lilt to his deep voice. He was bold and that boldness showed in how he shook your hand, with his clear blue eyes locked on yours, like a man.

"Now, Mr. May – not the president at this time, but his father, David May – he was a German gentleman, and as such quieter and more unassuming. But his heart was enormous and his pride in building a company like this one, with stores coast to coast, was amazing to see in person. I liked him a great deal. He seemed to know and care about everyone in this building in a deep and personal way.

"Both of them were self-made men, starting from nothing, coming to this country with ambition and vision, and building greatness in their adopted city. I guess us old timers who remember them are fading too. It's a pity. I can only hope Saint Louis remembers her heroes, that's all."

"Yes, I've heard everyone who knew him say William Barr was a remarkable person. You know he gave a piece of his fortune to start the public library system here in Saint Louis."

"No kidding? Whatddya know; I had not heard about it."

Voin set his pencil to work again. "So, you stared by sweeping up. How long did that last?"

"I was a nosy kid; always sticking it in the business of the Otis people who came out to service the lifts, and then chatting up the store's electricians to learn as much as I could about the machines and how it all worked. I guess they liked it, because in a few years, I was sweeping up in my spare time while I mostly did little adjustments on the elevators and trained the operators – who were all young white boys at the time – how to start and stop the lifts just right so the passengers didn't get sick. Barr's elevators were the fastest in town. Five floors in them days, from the basement up to the fourth floor – store covered the whole block already here on Sixth."

Voin continued to take notes. "How did the closing of Barr's for expansion affect you?"

"Like I said, Mr. Reinhardt, William Barr was a gentlemen as true to his word as any ever born, and he had what they call 'a vision.' He didn't have to retain the entire staff on salary when they shut the store temporarily in 1911 to build the new building, but he did. But then again, Mr. David May was also flawless in keeping the entire Barr staff and finding us positions in the merged companies."

"Yes." Voin smiled. "And here we are – an amazing company, a store like no other."

"Very true. Mr. Barr had the vision. He wanted to build the biggest commercial building in the world to thump his old New York pals, and he sure did. The Railroad Exchange Building – over thirty acres of usable floor space, all under one roof, giving his store over a million and half square feet – which broke the record of any other in the world. But then, he died unexpectedly, and the new storeowners were faced with cost overruns, mainly because the foundations had to be sunk to a hundred feet below sidewalk level till they found bedrock. They looked into the possibilities of selling, approached Mr. May about a merger, and the rest is history. To his own credit and vision, Mr. May continued on with the Railroad Exchange project and added huge sums to make sure Famous-Barr was grander than any store standing – marble bathrooms, a cascade staircase in the basement with statues, a first floor soda fountain done in Missouri onyx and bronze and stained glass. First day this store opened here, in this building, the world gasped. Every department store in the world looked at us with pride and envy." Duffy sighed and leaned back on his seat. "It's a day I'll never forget."

Voin jotted this down quickly.

Captain Smith took his time and continued in a measured and low pace. "I feel lucky. I've advanced as far as I can go, considering my age, and my skin color."

Voin slowed writing but did not stop. "Things are changing, Duffy."

"True. And don't get me wrong, this company has had places for black folks for longer than anyone else. Hell, if an outta-towner went to Stix or Scruggs, they'd never know how many of us are behind the scenes. At least at Famous, they'd bump into a smiling face before long, somewhere in the store."

"At this company, if we all do our best, then promotion is coming our way. It's almost a guarantee. I started out pushing merchandise from the warehouse through the tunnelway, so the sky's the limit on how far a person can go."

Duffy relaxed. He leaned elbows on the table and removed his cap. Chuckling he said, "I suppose you are right…to a point."

Voin put down his pencil and gave his full attention to the older man. "To a point, how?"

"Well, look. Famous is worlds better than the other departments stores, and here it's possible for a black person to be helping a customer outright, and be thanked for it too. But, it's too bad there aren’t any positions for those young and ambitious Famousites of color behind the counters. You know, helping the customers directly."

Voin folded his arms and thought about it with a laugh. "But it's not true. Mabel Foxworthy is a regular fixture in the French Costume Salon. I see her bringing out dresses for the ritzy lady customers all the time. And, she seems happy there."

"So you know Mabel, huh?" His smile was warm and sincere. "Mabel is a great gal. I've known her for years. She's married and has two kids, and as far as her job goes, Miss Hummel – the Manager of the Salon – can't do without her. Mabel keeps all the inventory books, reckons the daily receipts before they go up to Accounting, orders goods from the warehouse, and yes, occasionally brings out dresses and merchandise to the highbrow lady customers."

Voin felt gratified; Captain Smith was agreeing with him.

"But," Duffy added. "With all that responsibility, with all that importance to making the salon money, you know what her title is…?"

The columnist was slapped in the face with Duffy's meaning, but shook his head in false ignorance.

"Maid, Mr. Reinhardt. She runs the whole show behinds the scenes, but is not called Assistant Manager. Why? 'Cause of her color. For her, Maid is the highest rung of the ladder she can go, no matter how much she does."

Voin swallowed a lump.

"Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Reinhardt. Mabel is happy with the store. She's the kinda wife and mother who takes pride in being organized and needed. But still, this wife and mother is routinely called 'girl' by her boss." Duffy paused for effect, the glass globe of the ceiling fixture glinting in reflection. "What do you think of that, Mr. Reinhardt?"

"Call me Voin. There's no reason not to. And as for Mrs. Foxworthy, I see your point. She's no girl, but a full-grown, remarkable woman."

Duffy was apparently satisfied. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. "I agree with you, Mr. Voin, things are changing, but are we doing all we can within the store for our young people? It's too late for me, Lord knows that, but there are those who deserve the same kind of opportunities you had. I hope you agree."

Voin nodded like one of the Pied Piper's kinder. But emotionally, he heard every word and felt it deeply.

"Take this young woman I have in my department right now. Patti Johnson is a war-widow, raising a son alone with the boy's grandmother, and working long hours as an elevator operator. But even still, she's always in here helping the other ladies with their makeup, because Patti enjoys it; it's her 'thing.' She even started with Famous-Barr as a Maid in Basement Mezzanine Cosmetics. Her husband was a Famousite too, but after he went to war, Patti came back to work here as an operator. She's the type of person I think deserves a shot to rise in the company as far as her abilities can take her."

"Patti Johnson, eh?" He made a note.

"Yes. She's a bright young, talented woman who has a lot more to offer Famous. Patti just needs a foot in the door to shine."

As if on cue, the mention of 'door' was followed by a light but distinct knock from midway down it.

"Come in!" Duffy's deep voice bellowed.

Voin turned on his seat, and to his utter surprise, saw a bareheaded boy of about eight years old come sauntering in.

This lad blinked the instant he saw the columnist sitting at the table with Duffy, but the older man reassured him, "Close the door, Reed, and join us."

The boy did, but turned to lean hands behind his back against the portal and inspect the white man before he moved away.

Captain Smith chuckled and opened his arms.

Reed went to him and stood leaning against the still-sitting Duffy. A finger went nervously to the lad's mouth as he eyed Voin.

Duffy's strong hand went up and embraced Reed by the shoulder, jostling him a bit while he said, "This here is young Mister Reed Johnson. He comes here all by himself on the streetcar Saturday afternoons to escort his mother back home. Isn't that right, Reed?"

The boy nodded as he was patted on the back.

"Johnson?" Voin asked discreetly to the older man.

"This is the son of Patti Johnson. The young woman you and I were just talking about, Mr. Voin."

The Store Chat correspondent wondered through a slight smile if he should feel taken back by this just happening to be the son of the woman they were just talking about. It smelled like a set up, but then again, if it was, it was a charming one with a family feel to it.

The captain's sly undertone removed itself and brightened while he told Reed, "This is Mr. Voin Reinhardt. We were just talking about how your mom does everyone's makeup here."

The boy nodded, glancing at Duffy, and he seemed to let his guard down a bit.

As the older gentlemen made small talk with the lad – about how crowed the streetcar was; what his grandmother was planning for dinner – Voin's reporter eye inspected the young man. He leaned against Duffy with a growing smile and was certainly a well-dressed youth of his age.

His coat was of the newest 'two-toned' variety, like examples they sold right here on the Second Floor, in the Boys' Department. The reversible wool fabric was tartan on one side, in shades of tan and light-green – or, 'glen' as the stylists called it – while the other side was a solid cocoa-colored tweed. The jacket was cut loafer style, so the body was the tweed, and the sleeves, collar and pocket fronts were tartan.

The boy had on dress slacks in warm gray, a white button-down shirt and a rayon necktie with bats and baseballs printed on it.

At first, Reed seemed overly well-dressed for the errand of picking up his mom from work, but then Voin remembered how his own mom always insisted he wear a jacket and tie when he rode the streetcar on Saturdays. 'Have to look presentable,' she'd say. 'Only riff raff parades around on the weekends without being properly dressed.'

Apparently Patti's son was still subject to the same pressures, and Voin bet it had something to do with Reed's grandma.

"Isn't it awfully cold to be out without a cap?" Voin inquired, and seemed to startle the boy a bit.

A guilty look passed from Reed to Duffy.

The raised-eyebrow expression on the older gentleman's face asked clear enough 'Well…?'

"I have it, sir." He extracted a scrunched cap from his jacket pocket to show Reinhardt. It was one of those sheep-skin-lined, leatherette helmet types so trendy at the moment

"You can call me Voin."

Duffy laughed, gently taking the cap and puffing it up with his balled fist. "And tell Mr. Voin why you don't wear your fine, brand new cap."

"My grandmother gave that to me this year, saying it's the latest, but I hate it, sir. It's too tight and covers my ears so I can't hear anybody talking on the streetcar."

Voin chuckled, because as the boy was explaining how much he hated the cap, Duffy placed it on the lad's head and lifted the fuzzy earflaps to a horizontal position.

Reed gave the older man a 'really?' type of look before gazing back to Voin and reminding the columnist of a donkey.

Through his chuckle, Voin asked, "Which streetcar do you take, Reed? From which neighborhood?"

"The Hodiamont Line, from Belle Glande Avenue, by Tandy Park, sir."

Voin could not hide his surprise; the lad had just named the ritziest street in The Ville – the poshest neighbor in Saint Louis for the black community. He must have looked questioningly at Duffy, for the older man responded.

"Reed's grandfather was the owner of the Brite-Spot Dairy Company."

"Oh, I've heard of them." And he had. It was a rival for Pevely Dairy, but sold exclusively to African American clients. It was supposed to source its milk only from local, black-owned farms too.

The captain concluded, "Reed's granddad is gone now, and the dairy's run by the boy's uncle."

"How nice – ice cream whenever you want!"

That made the boy crack up; his cottony earflaps flapped while he divided looks between Duffy and Voin. "You would think so, right? Not according to my grandma. Only Sunday dinner, she says."

Duffy suddenly announced: "Mr. Voin is the one of the store's reporters. He was interviewing me for the paper."

This information made Reed stand up straighter; he was clearly intrigued with Voin now.

The captain added, "Our Reed here is a real sports fanatic. He follows all the scores and statistics. You're in a junior touch-football league, aren’t you, son?"

Reed nodded, and a slip of pride shone from his otherwise reserved gaze at the white man.

Voin followed up with something he felt sure would keep the lad relaxed. "Well, if that's the case, you must have been off your rocker with excitement for the '44 World Series."

Reed whipped the cap off of his head and grabbed a chair. With elbows on the table and a big wash of smiles, he proceeded to tell Voin all about it. "It was wonderful. The Browns and Cardinals – an all Saint Louis Series – you can’t beat that. We listened to it on the radio, even in our classroom, and on the weekend, Duffy took my grandma and me to see game three." He glanced at his mentor a moment, before returning his attention to Voin and admitting, "It was the best day of my life."

"And you kept score for the entire series, didn't you." Duffy said.

"Yep."

"And you follow the Saint Louis Stars, don’t you."

"Yes, I do. Do you know about the Stars, Mr. Voin?"

"I sure do. One of the prides of the city." And he meant it too; the Negro League baseball franchise was one the best in North America.

"And Reed and you, Mr. Voin, have something else in common too."

"What's that?" asked Voin softly.

"Tell him, Reed."

"About what…?"

"What you want to do when you grow up, son."

"Oh. That. When I grow up I want to be a reporter for one of the local sports papers – The Sporting News, or Sports Illustrated – I don’t care which, cuz they are both the best. And if I worked over there on Washington Avenue, then I could walk back here and have lunch with my mom everyday."

"Well," Reinhardt said in admiration. "That's a mighty fine ambition, and I'm sure your mom would love to lunch with you regularly." He flared his eyebrows at Duffy. "Quite the coincidence, Reed and I both being reporters and all, huh?"

Duffy smiled broadly, and let out a good impersonation of Jolly Ole Saint Nick. "Sure is."

Voin suddenly remembered his desired foray to Sporting Goods, and reached for his pencil and pad to pack up. "I think – "

Duffy cut him off by rising to his feet before the reporter could. "Reed's mother is getting off her shift right about now. Why don’t you stick around and say 'hello' to her?" The captain quickly turned his attention to the boy to shut out any change for Reinhardt to protest. "I almost forgot, young man – I have a present for you?"

Reed's eyes went large as saucers. "You do?"

"Yes. I was thinking about old times yesterday and went digging in my files. I found something special there I want you to take care of for me, aw-reet?"

"What is it?"

"Here, come over here, and I'll show you."

Duffy placed a hand on the lad's shoulder, guided him to stand and follow the man to the billboard. He took down the advent calendar and placed it in Reed's hands. "See, this is special – made for store's first Xmas in this building, long before you were born, in 1913. It's scarce nowadays. I've had it all these years, since it was new in fact, and now it's yours to use and look after."

"Are you sure?" The boy gripped the calendar with hushed excitement.

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm moving on, and it should stay in the Famous Family. Do you know how it works?"

Reed shook his head.

"It works by holding back your expectations and just opening one door at a time. Today is December 15th, so you will have ten mornings from now till Christmas to open the little doors, which are really the store windows, and behind each one is a little message. See…? This one says the 15th, so we can open it." He operated one for Reed to get the idea.

"Yes, Mr. Smith."

"Good, Reed. You see the thing is, we don’t know what's behind the doors, we never know in life what's waiting for us, but good or bad, we must open them doors one by one and accept it. You understand, son?"

Reed nodded, and the captain let out a large smile to reward the boy. "Now, you go show Mr. Voin. He's maybe never seen one of these old time Famous-Barr calendars either."

Patti's son returned to the table and laid the Advent calendar between himself and Reinhardt. His little fingers carefully found and opened the door marked: 'Dec. 13.'

The object was made of heavy cardboard and paper. On the surface, finely embossed detail mimicked the ivory terracotta of the façade, and was flecked here and there with gold. The sidewalk level showed the store windows full of holiday toys and goodies. This level was for Christmas week, for the main pair of doors right in the center said "Dec. 25 – Christmas Morning" and were flanked on either side by lady columns and miniature bronze "Famous and Barr" signs like the actual entry. Four levels rose up from this base, each one a week of December, and each one a floor of the store. The big, beautiful windows of the Railroad Exchange Building each sported a date upon which they should be opened.

"This is wonderful, Reed." He leaned in close to whisper: "If you like it, don’t forget to thank Captain Smith."

Reed immediately blinked and turned his attention to Duffy. "I love it, Duffy! Thank you."

"Promise to take care of it for me."

"I will. Don’t worry. It will go up next to our tree; I won't keep it in my room or anything."

Duffy smiled. "Sounds mighty sensible. Looks like I gave it the right person after all."

"Sure did," agreed Voin.

The door opened and in walked a handsome young woman. "Oh," she gasped, apparently surprised at how many people were in the room.

Reinhardt stood up.

"Mommy, Mommy! Look what Captain Duffy gave me!" Reed grabbed the advent calendar from the table and flew to her side. "It's a special, day-by-day, one door at time Christmas calendar."

"Why, so it is." She turned a serious note on her boss for a moment. "You sure about this?"

"It's Reed's now," Duffy confirmed in a glowing tone and smile.

"Mom, this is Mr. Voin. He's a real reporter."

Patti extended her hand and the columnist shook it. "Are you here to do Duffy's life-story," she asked with a slight giggle.

"Yes, and getting a lot more to boot. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Patti moved to stand next to her boy and put a hand on his shoulder. She asked both men, "I hope he's been behaving himself...?"

"A perfect gentlemen," Void said smiling. "You're raising an exemplary little boy. You and his grandmother must be very proud."

Patti smiled. "We are, and he is. A remarkable young man."

"Mr. Voin," announced Duffy, "was learning all about what it was like in the old days."

"Oh my," chuckled Patti. "Nothing too bad, I hope."

"No, nothing too too bad."

"Mommy, can you show me some of Mr. Voin's newspapers at home?"

"I think I can. You want to read his column?"

"Yes."

She smiled warmly. "How come?"

"I want to learn how to be a real reporter."

"Oh," she admitted with childlike wonder. "In that case, Mr. Reinhardt is a very good example. Everybody knows and respects Voin's View in Store Chat. He's our own Will Rogers; everybody's friend."

Voin liked the comparison. He liked the notion of being everybody's buddy, and helping them out when he could.