Right Where We Live - 3. Chapter 3: Betty on the Beat

Chapter 3: Betty on the Beat

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Better than Old Blue-Eyes

While most of the gals are swooning over Frank Sinatra . . . Minnie O'Brien's pals in the Art Needlework Department report that for her Pin-Up Collection, she has requested a candid shot of Private First Class Bill Barns (Checker, Saint Charles Street Warehouse). Well . . . maybe she has something there![1]

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Classified Ads

No charge for these ads. Just call Betty, Station 384.

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WANTED TO RENT

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Returned veteran must find 3, 4 or 5-room apartment or flat, furnished or unfurnished. Willing to buy furniture. Call Eric Temple (Fur Repair), Station 676.[2]

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WANTED TO BUY

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I am anxious to buy a bachelor-sized hot plate (one or two burners). Must be in good condition. Call Clement Carey (Adjustment Bureau), Station 473.[3]

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FOR SALE

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Girl's beige winter coat with a brown velvet collar. My daughter needs $6.00 or more for it. Call Sallie Gohn (Women's Dresses), Station 605.[4]

A piano accordion, almost new. Has forty eight bass (Lyric). A really fine instrument, $65.00. My son never plays it. Call Mrs. Agnes Crain (Favor Department), Station 222.[5]

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LOST

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I lost my social security card, driver's license and yearly streetcar pass from Alton, Illinois. Finder will please return to Cecile Van Trees (Toyland), Station 548.[6]

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★  ★  ★

Frankie and Johnny

They all look good . . . Lucky Clara Parson (Shoe Repair) has two steady sailor boy friends. One is called "Frankie" and the other, "Johnny." And wouldn't you know it, whenever she sees a hand- some young gob, she always comes up with the same remark . . . "I could've sworn that was my Frankie" . . . only sometimes the boy winds up being her "Johnny."[7]

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No matter how many times she was down here, the sheer grandeur of the basement level always impressed Betty. 'What other store in the world,' she wondered, 'has forty-five-foot ceilings – in the cellar!'

The Store Chat deadline was looming, and this Wednesday afternoon saw middling crowds shopping the bargains on display. Her fingers wandered over the neatly-folded blouses and she liked how casual women's fashions had suddenly become; what was 'in' were colorful solid fabrics, cut loose but still flattering and with tasteful details, like 'U' cutouts at the neck, and drawstrings in the same fabric as accents.

A particularly handsome yellow model made her set down her pad and pencil aside and pick it up.

Betty held the jersey-style chemise by the shoulders and unfurled it before her. It was nice, and glancing down at the price – $3.98 – she suspected none would be left for the post-holiday sales.

Cuffless, Betty estimated it would ride midway along her lower arm. She fiddled with the drawstrings, admiring how they ended in looped tassels, all in the same fabric.

Neatly re-folding it, she eyed the crimson version, and then the heather green example. She'd have to come back at 5 PM today, for she purposefully left her pocketbook in her desk drawer when she made her daily rounds – it was a wise precaution, as her Central West End flat had only a medium-sized closet.

She sighed, glancing at her watch and picking up her tools of trade; at the same time, she raised her eyes to note the colorful decorations.

The holiday theme this year had been announced to staff back in September, and everyone was thrilled to learn they would be adopting one of last year's biggest Hollywood hits – Meet Me in Saint Louis. Since the story was all about one family's year of anticipation before the World's Fair, the decoration and displays this year had the old-fashioned nostalgia appeal of the early 1900s.

Down here, the ladies in the Display Department had taken skeins of ruby-red crêpe paper, cut thousands of 3-inch squares and bunched them together on the support wires of large wreaths. In bottlebrush fashion, they positively bristled with color and visual interest hanging midway up every other column. At the top of the wreaths were satin ribbon bows and a cascade of thinner ribbons, each one terminating in a pinecone and collar of pine needles.

Somehow the simple trend of this season's clothing, coupled with the homey, nostalgia-laced desire for simpler times to return, all bespoke eloquently of the Christmas-1945 mood. And Meet Me in Saint Louis made for the perfect holiday theme – it meshed with the zeitgeist of this quietly jubilant Christmas: hopeful, relieved, homespun and expectant.

Which reminded her…. She would have to visit the Art Department after her meeting with Voin this afternoon and come up with a second Store Chat cover for this holiday season.

The cover coming out this Friday was all right – wonderful, in fact – and featured a jolly Santa Claus atop a spinning globe. Below him, as if the Earth had rings like Saturn, the children of the world held hands and danced in jubilation. A few weeks ago, this image seemed to convey the spirit of the holiday season to Betty, but now she was not so sure. The mood of Xmas '45 was more intimate and quiet. She'd have to talk to the artists and see if they could brainstorm on a new cover, which would come out the day before the store closed for the long, four-day holiday. In the store's nearly one-hundred-year history, this was going to be the first time there was no selling on Christmas Eve; that alone made 1945 one for the record books.

"Betty! Yoohoo!"

The editor turned to see her 'informant' coming her way.

"I have the scoops for you, Miss Higginbotham." Marylou Dougherty wagged a few pieces of hand-written pages at Betty.

Once they met up, still in front of the blouses, the 'reporter' from the Saint Charles Street Warehouse and Support Facility smiled wildly. She pressed her communiqués into her editor's hand and then latched onto the other woman's wrist.

"Oh, they are good this week," Marylou confided in a conspiratorial tone. "Selma Wiggins was out in the County looking at vacant lots; seems she wants to build a house to give to her son and daughter-in-law when he comes back from Saipan."

"Oh, what good news!" Betty liked positive human-interest stories.

"Yes it is. She gave full permission to mention it in Store Chat. And there are some funny pieces in there, one about Pappy Keith painting palates last week in his wife's discarded apron. He knows I mentioned it, and he's ok with printing it."

"Great." Betty flipped through the Saint Charles Street Patter entries and immediately started to think of how to place what where in the newsletter."

"How goes it, Betty? Everything all right?"

"Oh, yes. Busy like the Dickens, but it will get easier in a couple of weeks. Today I have to finalize a few things and do a nice write-up on the holiday windows this year, and then one more issue of Store Chat can be put to bed."

"Aww, sounds wonderful. You work so hard, and everyone appreciates it."

"Do they?" Betty was a bit taken back by the sincerity of doubt in her own voice.

"Yes, honey. It's a great thing you do for us. You keep us feeling like a family, and how hard is that with dozens of people, never mind the thousands you manage every week."

"Well, thank you, Marylou – "

"I mean it! Each issue is like mini reunion all on its own." The woman clutched Betty's watch to read the time. "I have to jog! Sorry. Let's have lunch some day next week, aw-reet?!" She started to retreat backwards.

"Yes, Marylou! I'll give you a jingle later on. Bye now."

"Bye, Betty!"

The young woman was off, heading back towards the employee door closest to the Tunnelway, and the block-long passage to the Saint Charles Street Warehouse.

'Busy, busy, busy,' Betty thought and chuckled out loud. It was a good thing; things were looking bright and hopeful. And the boost to her confidence was a help as well.

She headed towards the 'UP' escalator, thinking about the circumstances which had led her to this place and time.

She was from a well-connected and well-moneyed East coast family, and had attended Smith College. Through the recommendation of her professors – who knew she'd like to 'work,' unlike many of her college cohorts – Famous-Barr's Welfare Association reached out to her as a soon-to-be English Major graduate. She would become its fulltime staff historian, the main efforts of which involved getting Store Chat out every Friday afternoon.

Betty grabbed the wide black-rubber handgrip and stepped onto the smooth tread of the escalator up to the Basement Mezzanine Level.

She had taken the job for three reasons. She thought the responsibilities would leave her time to work on her novel. She responded well to how progressive a company FB was, a fact proven by the Association hiring her itself; it was a private group, financially supported by the company, but independent of management, designed to offer full employee health benefits, retirement funds, sick leave, a weekend retreat for staff to use in the county along the banks of the scenic Meramec River – known as Camp Famous – and social happenings, like bowling leagues, staff dances, parties, charity events, and on and on. Such a progressive wing of a company was practically unknown in the department store universe, other than member companies under the May umbrella, of which Famous-Barr was the flagship enterprise.

She glanced out on the retreating Basement Floor, noting the 'busy-bee' drone of shoppers here and there, and those heading to and from the diner at the west end of the department.

While she watched, the final reason she took the job made her crack another of her patented black smiles. Saint Louis was pleasantly far removed from the 'eyes are evidence' snobbery and claustrophobia of 'her circle' back East. In a delicious irony, her adopted city was both close enough and far enough removed from Connecticut to be comfortable. In Saint Louis, she was a socially sought-after novelty, while back home, she was just another aging debutant for the nosy blue-bloods to keep tabs on.

She held up the notes on her colleague's house-hunting, and automatically found a blurb sprouting from the soil of her fertile mind.

QUESTION OF THE WEEK:

What were you hunting on that vacant lot out in the County, Selma Wiggins? (Candy Kitchen) Could it have been rabbits . . . or perhaps you were property shopping for your soon-to-return son and his bride . . . ? Do tell![8]

'Yes,' she thought contentedly. 'It will do nicely.'

Betty stepped off the escalator and turned to take the escalator up to the Main Floor.

She liked the Basement Mezzanine level; it smelled good down here, what with the Perfume and Cosmetics Departments nearby. And, there was a full drugstore on this floor as well. It was handy to pick up aspirin or take the doctor's slip and have it filled in a jiffy.

She boarded her moving flight of steps, and turned around to inspect. Famous-Barr had it all. They didn't call it a 'City Under One Roof' for no reason.

Although she hated to admit it, the exclusive 'taste and feel' of one of Famous' rivals – the gorgeous and ritzy Scruggs, Vandervoort and Barney – made her feel more at home, she nonetheless liked the proletariat spirit of her work world.

She felt like a well-respected Katherine Hepburn moving amongst 'her people,' and like the beautiful and posh movie star, Betty was of the same class. Yes, both of them were doing good and trying to move the world ahead apace through their activities. And suddenly it hit her full in the kisser; like Miss Hepburn, Betty too was a socialite socialist, and her audience enjoyed the factor of both fear and fun coming with being around her.

The light grew dark for a brief moment as the escalator approached the transition from mezzanine ceiling to Main Floor openness.

And then the soft current and sweet buzz of light, fragrance and excited noise greeted her.

She stepped off and soon was awash with sensations amongst the bustling crowds of shoppers and lookie-loos using the heated department store as a block-long retreat from the outside bite of winter.

Betty turned around and headed west. Here the wafting of enticing smells would get stronger as she approached the Soda Fountain and always-busy Candy Department.

As a reporter doing a necessary job, Betty acknowledged she was both the employees' friend and antagonist. She felt no qualms about naming names, as long as it brought the thousands of strangers together in a true sense of family. She was proud to get confirmation on how it was working, treasuring the letters from service men and women saying they felt connected to the store and all of its people.

She blinked. A young man – a staff member from the Seventh Floor – had just turned the corner from the Soda Fountain. She dug in her pocket and raised a hand towards him.

He started. "Miss Betty – "

"Henry Bartholomew, look at what you've done to your tie!" She latched onto his jacket elbow and gently pulled him over to a counter where they'd be out of the flow of traffic.

She set her pad and pencil down.

The teenage boy bent his head at an awkward angle and picked up the center of his red necktie. He saw a large chocolate ice cream stain there. "Oh…."

Betty licked the corner of her hankie, pursed her lips in the best of motherly fashion and went to work cleaning it up.

Even as she did so, the fellow's boyish eyes and 'such a fuss' grin conjured a fresh piece for inclusion in next week's Store Chat.

GROWING YOUNGSTER!

We think the fawning young ladies of the Check Writing Department should collect a fund to give a bib for Christmas to Henry Bartholomew (Pet Shop). One recent afternoon he came back from his lunch break with the remnants of a chocolate ice cream soda on his tie. Oh well, be nice to them, Henry, and you just may get one hanging around your neck yet![9]

"There you go, young man. All nice and tidy." Betty released his arm.

"Aw shucks, Miss Betty! You're a lifesaver; they would have ribbed me something awful upstairs."

He started to move away. Betty quickly added, "I may be calling you next week, Henry, with a little Store Chat business."

He blushed. "Oh, it's all right, Miss Betty. I look forward to how you'll word it."

And with that, he was gone. A different type of motion caught her eye. At the gloves counter, a dashing young Marine with wavy blond hair was leaning an elbow on the surface and holding onto the hand of the young lady clerk. His other hand pressed his flattened cap against the dark green fabric of his shapely uniform trousers.

Their interaction was calm and seemed to mainly pass by as a series of wordless looks and gentle hand kneading. A little description came to Betty.

HAND IN GLOVE?

Millie Threlfall (Main Floor Gloves Bar) was quietly excited last week . . . and why? Well, if you had a handsome Marine step up unexpectedly, take your hand while offering a soft "Hello" . . . you would have been too. "Just a friend," Millie will tell you, but it looked like a moment of paradise-found to us.

As Betty tapped the pink eraser end of her pencil on the pad, she thought she might not write this one down; some stories were not for a larger audience than one.

She smiled and moved on towards the main Seventh Street exit. She figured she would not need a coat if she stuck close to the building inspecting the windows for a final time. She took the door farthest to the right, and smiled at the doorman.

"Afternoon, Miss Betty."

"Good afternoon, Mr. White."

The distinguished black gentlemen in his 40s tipped his cop-looking cap at her, and she was glad it had a badge right in the center with the store's original FB in a wreath logo.

"How is your son?"

"Oh, Miss Betty, you are so good to ask about him. He'll be going to Harris-Stowe State University in the spring."

"That's wonderful, and he can stay at home!"

"Yes, his mother is thrilled about the situation; the boy, not so much."

They laughed, and the doorman tipped his hat at Betty again when a taxicab pulled over at the curb and he had to dash.

The Store Chat editor stepped to her right and noticed a store employee dashing past her. He must have been somewhat foolhardy like her, for he too was without a coat.

She took out her pencil and strode past the first window. They were all based on scenes from the movie and the one she paused at was sponsored by the Sixth Floor Bedding Department. A big brass bed was front and center with soft and downy satin comforters and pillows. Bed sheets of every description and hue were on racks, and scarlet curtains in more satin with yellow trim framed the walls. Near the bed were figures of Judy Garland's character and her older sister from the movie. The bigger girl was trussing up the singer as tight as a turkey before they left for the big Christmas ball.

Betty made notes and smiled as a troupe of small children piled around her to peer in. They giggled wildly when the moving figure of Judy rolled her eyes in discomfort when her sister reared back on the corset strings like the reins of a bucking pony.

She moved on towards Locust Street, and the second window from the corner. This one showed the nighttime car ride to the dance. There was snow on the ground, and a winter sky cut by moonlight. In the middle was an actual old car, painted a rich blue, bobbing along with grandpa driving. The girls' scarves trailed behind them to show the 'great speed' of 10 miles an hour they were going.

A banner along the bottom said: "1903 Brecht Tonneau Touring Car, Brecht Automobile Company, Saint Louis, Missouri."

A larger plaque read:

"Saint Louis and the American Car – a match made in History.

This window brought to you by the Automotive Department, Seventh Floor, and the American Automobile Association.

William P. Barr and Company sold the very first automobile in the West, an imported Benz model, way back in July of 1892. Ten years later, AAA was founded right here in Saint Louis to assist motorists with maps and access to gasoline. Both companies were instrumental in bringing the over-200 different car manufactures exhibiting at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition in 1904.

The success of the car exhibit led to the founding of the first annual car show in the nation the following autumn, and by 1910 Saint Louis had more auto manufacturers than Detroit. Our city today is still only second behind the Motor City for the building of cars, trucks and buses."

Betty jotted a memo in her notebook. "This year's windows are most educational."

When she glanced up from her tidy scrawl, the first thing to attract her attention was the sounds of children and adults laughing. Second was the waft of dance music from speakers over the heads of the crowds gathered at the corner window's main display.

She made her way to it, and suddenly remembered how grand it truly was.

Representing the ballroom scene from the film, a ten-foot-tall revolving Christmas tree glittered with metallic strands of tinsel and deep-colored glass balls peeking out from within the boughs. Figures of men in black tails, and women in fancy, Victorian-styled gowns were spinning and weaving effortlessly all around it. Judy's character was being whipped rakishly by a klutzy beau, and making the kids peal with laughter every time she swung nearest the glass and rolled her mechanical eyes. Waltz music with a ragtime edge played for all to hear on the sidewalk. Kids and moms stood by Betty, and all hearts glowed.

The banner strung near the top of the tree delivered the seasonal message most concisely.

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas Now!"

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Famous Welcome!

We welcome Tyler Joseph (Second Floor Men's Underwear) to the Famous Family. It's quite a jump from selling Nash automobiles to men's delicates, so we hope Tyler doesn't get his sales talk mixed up! Be sure to stop by and say Howdy.[10]

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Fifty-Two Years of Service – Carl Strauss Retires

One morning in October of 1893, a lanky youth arrived in Saint Louis from Montgomery, Alabama. Seeking his fortune, he first found a comfortable room in a private house at Sixteenth and Washington Avenue, and bright and early the next day canvassed the downtown retail district. He looked over the business houses carefully and picked out "The Famous Store" as the busiest and the most up and coming. He applied for a job and was told to come back in a couple weeks. Next morning, he was back again. The head of the employment office was amazed. "I thought I told you to come back in a few weeks." Our hero smiled. "We all know things can change overnight in a thriving business like this one." The employment manager scratched his ear . . . "You're the most tenacious young man I've ever had to deal with." And Carl countered with, "You'll find I'm the same way with my work, sir."

That same morning, the employment manager found a job for him: Freight Elevator Operator-in-Training, which earned Carl a cool 75¢ a day! Within a matter of weeks, Carl was bumped up to be a Special Delivery Boy, driving a wagon after four o'clock, and then a Receiving Clerk in the warehouse.

When Famous started a "Credit Bureau," he was taken into the office, where he acted as interviewer, collector and cashier. Soon he was running the department, as he has ever since.

Carl laughs. "We didn't have titles back then, only responsibilities."

Along with his other duties, Strauss was also Sunday Watchman when the big store fire of '95 took place. He called in the alarm, and the firemen trained their hoses on him as he opened the safe. With flames all around, he rolled the records and books through the building on a truck. Outside, he feared the ledgers were in danger of being ruined by water, so he rolled them straight down Broadway to the Lindell Hotel, where he rented a room with his own money, and made a sign to hang on the doors of Famous. It reassured patrons and creditors alike that the store's Credit Bureau was open for business, and told them to come to the hotel room.

Many more stories abound of how the tenacious youth of 1893 became one of the most honored men of his field, but we will content ourselves by mentioning that he founded the National Retail Credit Association, and has been made lifetime board member of the Associated Retailers' Credit Bureau of the United States, and in fact served as the first president of that organization.

"I have enjoyed every minute of my fifty-two years at Famous-Barr, and I'd say to any young person out there, stick to your guns, and don’t take 'no' for an answer."[11]

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There was nothing quite like the clean, crisp smell of a brand new Store Chat.

Betty sat behind her desk and held a proof sheet. It was the back cover of this week's newsletter.

"Well, Voin, old chap," she sang out. "This is the final Famous Pin-Up girl of the war. What do you think?"

Voin pushed his glasses a bit up along the ridge of his nose and reached out to take ahold of it. "The final one?"

"Yes." The Store Chat editor inhaled in relief. "The conflict's over and our boys want to know more about the happenings in the store. I think I'll start a feature on 'Famous Families.'"

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. Plenty of sisters and brothers; mothers and sons working in the company. We should do little write-ups on them."

Betty would feel overwhelmed if she let the magnitude of her weekly efforts come to conscious thought. For her, knowing the business and lifeblood of each Floor and Mezzanine of this massive store – fifteen levels in total – plus the parking garage, the Spring Avenue Warehouse, the Saint Charles Street Warehouse and Power Plant was possible because she had 'spies' feeding her weekly reports and human interest tidbits. Shucks, she even had one stationed in the Tunnel-Way employee eatery, five stories underground and in the middle of the block between the store and the Saint Charles facility. Here Famousites could grab a sandwich, a Coke, or a cup of coffee along with their seat at the counter for a rest.

He set the photo of the pretty young woman down. "Well, your Pin-Up idea was a great one, and sounds like the Famous Family series will be great too."

"It will be sad to see the young ladies go from the back cover, but even the fact that we don’t need them anymore seems like progress."

She thought about Voin's motivations for participating in Store Chat. He, unlike Betty, also held down a fulltime sales function in the store. Perhaps his involvement was related to the 'keep your enemies closer' concept, and the notion made her laugh.

Betty fake rustled papers on her desk; a sly grin came to her glance at Voin.

"Did I tell you? I had to do a quick promotion piece for this week's magazine?"

"Oh? No, you didn't."

She pulled up a page right from the top of the stack.

"Yes. Let me read it to you and get your take.

"Voin Reinhardt is the shining example of steppin' up the Famous Ladder! Eight years ago, after two stints in the U.S. Marine Corps, he joined the Saint Charles Street Warehouse as a trucker moving goods to and from the store. After that, he moved himself up to Stockboy, Book-keeper, Sales Assistant, Floorman, and most recently, Assistant Buyer. However, starting January 1st, the 'Voin' of Voin's View will become full-fledged Buyer for Girls' Toggery and the Hi-School Shop on the Fifth Floor. We wish our fellow Store Chat columnist all the best! Knock 'em dead, Voin.

"Well, how does it sound?" Betty put the paper back in place and slid her sight sideways to enjoy Voin's charmingly off-put expression.

"So, you've heard, I see."

"My dear, Voin. Nothing escapes the notice of Store Chat."

"When will it run?"

"The week between Christmas and New Year's. And in case I omitted to say it – Congratulations!"

"Thank you, Miss Higginbotham. It's a great honor."

"It's all due to your hard work, Voin. A mere eight years from manual laborer to head Buyer for two departments…? Only at Famous. Sky's the limit for the capable here."

Betty was now the one taken aback. The color washed from her colleague's face, and he made an audible gulping sound.

He distracted his own nervousness by reaching down to the floor for his satchel. "I worked up the retirement notice for Captain Smith." He set a small packet of papers on Betty's desk. "And there's my column for this week."

"Thank you. Voin. Are you all right?"

The man took off his glasses and eyed her frankly. "Truth is, Duffy Smith is a remarkable man. He could be running the entire Facilities Department, if…."

"If?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"If he were not black?"

"Yes. Yes! If he were not held in place by a color bar. If things were fair for him – if they were fair now for younger people too – then there's no telling how far he could have risen in the Famous organization."

"Young people, now?"

"Yes, Betty. Young people now are still not able to go as far as their talents can take them."

Betty tried to hide a small smile; she liked this line of questioning the status quo, and was intrigued by the possibility of having Voin as an ally for her more progressive leanings.

"Well," she reassured him. "Times are changing. Who knows, what with the nine-million dollars, three outlying stores, opportunities are popping."

Reinhardt put his glasses back on. He folded his hands on Betty's desk and laid it on the line.

"Duffy has a young woman working for him now, Patti Johnson, and he wants me to get her a trial run in Basement Mezzanine Cosmetics."

"Well, is she qualified?"

"Yes. I've met her – the woman and her son, in fact – and trust me, she'll be more than able to keep her bosses satisfied. As for qualifications, she's ideal, because she started out behind the scenes in that department before she was married."

"So! What's the problem? You want me to make a phone call – " Betty reached for the phone, but Voin grabbed her hand.

"Duffy wants her up-front, dealing with the clients at the counter. A sales position."

"Oh…." She withdrew her hand from the receiver.

"See?" Voin sighed. "Are things really popping for all of us in the Famous Family?"

"Well, I think you started off by asking the right questions first: is there a barrier at the top, and if so, how can we break it?"

"I don’t know what to tell them. 'It's not the way things are done' sounds so cruel. And worst yet, Patti's mother-in-law sent me an invitation to a dinner party this Sunday. Do you think I should go?"

"I think you should go. The least any of us can do is hear a person out, and explain ourselves face to face."

"Yes – that is so, but I'd hate to spoil anyone's Christmas, especially for a nice little boy like Patti's son. Oh, Betty! I don’t know what to do."