Right Where We Live - 4. Chapter 4: Stars of Silver and Gold – Part 1

Chapter 4: Stars of Silver and Gold – Part 1

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…Somewhere in France…

Dear Betty:

Just a line to give you my change of address, and to let you know I am fine. I am also surely missing the news from home in the good old Store Chats. I am enclosing a little present for you . . . a two-franc note – don't spend it all in one place, haha.

I have seen lots of things and places since I left the States, and all of them very interesting. I have gotten to Paris a few times, and everyone there rides bicycles . . . it is practically their only form of transportation. In the country, they still use oxen to pull wagons and plow their farms. They don’t hitch up a team of them like we would, but put one in front of the other. It looks odd, but I guess that is the way they have been doing it for years.

The French will trade almost anything for cigarettes. We get wine, cider and cognac to drink. The little children go around looking for extra food, and we always give them some of ours . . . also candy and gum. You should see some of the small boys smoking cigarettes . . . it's quite a sight.

As for Paris and the department stores, you hear about shortages, but the grand 'magazines' are always full of merchandise.

It's aw-reet and good to see and experience, but if I could, I'd be back with you at Famous-Barr, and never leave Saint Louis again!

Yours, as always,

PRIVATE EDWARD TALLER

(Patrons' Parking Garage)[1]

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Letter from Maj. Kelly

Dear Betty:

It seems like every time I write to you, it's to change my address. For the time being, my new station is in Fort Ord, California, and my new job is as supervisor of all Personnel Affairs in all the hospitals of the West Coast. I do a lot traveling, but the job is never dull, and I meet a lot of wonderful people.

Secondly, I wanted to write and thank the Welfare Association and the store for the lovely gift box I received. I see in Store Chat that a lot of old members of the family are returning to the store, and it's nice to be remembered. I have been in service for five years now.

Please give my regards to all my old friends at Famous, and give my thanks for the lovely and useful gifts.

Sincerely,

MAJOR GLADYS KELLY

(Radio Department)[2]

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On My Way Home

Dear Betty:

Sitting here in the U.S.O. waiting for my train to take me back to civilian life, civilization, and my pals at the store! To say I'm excited would be a gross understatement.

For three and a half years now, getting Store Chat, and all the wonderful remembrances from the Welfare Association, has made the difference in my otherwise worrisome life.

But, no more. In a few days, I will be with my family for Christmas, and in a few days from that, I will report for duty to the store.

God! How wonderful is the thought . . . although, I think about the boys who will never get to have another Xmas back home too. Anyway, Betty, thanks a million, and I can't wait to be back to Saint Louis and Famous-Barr, because as they say, there's no place like home.

With gratitude,

SARGENT WILLIAM ZELLINGER

(Second Floor Shoes)[3]

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Music – like breaking columns of incense – wafted in from the living room radio. It lingered almost unnoticed, merging effortlessly with the subtle evergreen aroma of the family Christmas tree in the same space and the headier, more present goodness of food in the dining room. Together, sound and smell bolstered a low-toned stream of holiday spirit under the currents of consciousness.

In the midst of it, Voin was having a good time; the mood of his evening amongst strangers had turned out warm, and the hospitality of his hostess was disarming and flawless.

The seafood course of stuffed and broiled clams was fast disappearing between the little party of four. The 'good silverware' – the kind that never traveled to the kitchen except to be cleaned – rattled its elegant coral Bakelite grips softly on the Lennox gold-edged china. They had already enjoyed a tomato and zucchini soup with rye crisps, and Voin could smell chicken roasting.

Glancing up from his now-empty clamshells, pinpoints of light met his eye. They floated along the spine of the dark-wood table about two feet above the surface. White tapers sat in squat glass holders; their bases festively nestled amongst frilled collars of red and magenta crêpe paper.

The man's vision drifted down and through the reflective surface – for the candles sat on a stylish and modern table runner of mirrored panels. Dark-hued in metallic blue, these had been all the rage a few years back, but under his hostess' capable hands, the steely modernity had been tamed with homespun charm. Mica snow was bermed to form ameba-like ponds on top of the glass, and this is where miniature figures ice-skated.

"Reed made those in school, Mr. Reinhardt."

Voin lifted his attention towards the sound of the voice. Olive Johnson, family matriarch, and the Store Chat columnist's mistress of ceremonies for the evening, presided from the head of the table to his left. The expression of the affable, slightly plump woman in her early fifties radiated good fellowship and confidence in her position in life. Her ruby lapel brooch sparkled briefly in the candlelight.

"They're very good, Mrs. Johnson."

Voin wondered how he was going to achieve his self-stated goal – the one he had spoken to Betty about in her office a few days ago – namely, how to explain in person how truly sorry he was, but there was nothing he could do about getting Patti an 'up-front' job with clients at the store.

He distracted himself by picking up one of the skaters. What he had said about them being good was true. Each one proportional, they were either posed in the motion of gliding, or spilled on the ice; their clothes were carefully painted in shades of red, yellow and brown.

"My little godson has many talents."

Duffy Smith, as the honored guest of the evening, and the other senior member of this dinner party, sat at the end of the table to Voin's right.

Mention of Reed caused Reinhardt to grin at the young man in question. Voin was seated singly on his side of the table, while opposite him sat Patti Johnson and her son.

The lady was dressed in dark blue, and looked pretty as a picture with a white orchid pinned to her chest. The boy looked jocular in his tweed sports jacket, gray shirt and yellow bowtie.

The lad's slight slump in his chair straightened as the white stranger in his house smiled and told him, "These are beautiful, Reed. Did you have fun making them?"

A furtive inspection caught a glimpse of pride from Patti Johnson's lips the moment before a napkin came up to hide it.

"Yes, sir. My dad helped me paint them last Christmas."

"Oh, he got a holiday furlough?" Voin asked and regretted it instantly; sadness loosened Patti's joyful expression.

"He did," explained Olive for her daughter-in-law. "A year ago, as a matter of fact."

Ignoring the less-than-simple implications, Reinhardt continued brightly, "Well, Reed, your father and you did a great job. And you, Mrs. Johnson," he said, training his warmth on Olive, "are a wonderful hostess."

"Why, thank you. It's an honor to have you here, at our little sendoff party for Captain Smith."

Shellfish forks were down now, as empty shells littered every plate. "My pleasure, Mrs. – "

"Call me Olive," the family matriarch insisted through a grand smile.

"Only if you call me Voin."

"Deal."

"Well, Olive, I was saying the pleasure's all mine. Such a delicious meal."

The older woman drew elbows close to – but not on – the tabletop. "Tell me, Voin, have you no one to make meals for you?"

"Mother!" Patti exclaimed. "We don’t need to grill Mr. Reinhardt on his domestic affairs."

Voin leaned back on his chair, catching a mischievous glint in Duffy's eye. He folded his arms and said with conviviality, "Mrs. O'Shay, my boardinghouse owner, feeds me well enough, but not stuffed clams with toasted breadcrumbs and parsley. I'll freely admit that!"

"Oh, Mr. Voin," Patti chuckled, her serviette again finding her mouth in a defensive reaction. "You are a witty one." She explained to her mother-in-law, "Everyone at the store reads Mr. Reinhardt's column, and loves his take on things."

Duffy's deep voice boomed. "They don’t call it Voin's View for nothing!"

More laughter followed, and then Olive made a gesture with her head to the dirty plates; both she and Patti got to their feet.

In another moment, the women were collecting them and Olive sang out: "We'll be right back, boys!"

After they had disappeared behind the swinging door to the kitchen, Voin, Duffy and Reed inhaled simultaneously. The columnist suspected having the female folk depart could let the 'men' relax their best behavior for a moment. The mellow sway of the network's radio offerings for this Sunday evening slightly intruded from the living room. Voin could glance that way and see the Christmas tree lights reflecting in the large front window above a spacious sofa.

"Reed, your grandma is quite a good cook," Voin said softly towards the lad.

"Yes, sir. She knows how to make just about anything."

Duffy joined in the sentiment. "Olive is skillful at using her Victory Garden produce and bottling up the goods for winter."

"It shows," Voin admitted. "Both the tomatoes and zucchini in the soup were top-notch. You can always taste 'homegrown.'" He winked at the attentive young man across the table, making the eight-year-old loosen up.

Captain Smith's glasses glinted while leaning towards Reed. "And how's your grandmother's cake?"

"Good."

Voin was amazed. "Your family has cake?"

"Not everyday, but sometimes."

"That's amazing," the columnist declared to Duffy, who laughed.

"Olive is an expert at pooling the family sugar rations into a 'savings account' so she can bake holiday treats."

"It sounds like you're close to the family, Captain Duffy."

Plates clinking in the kitchen alerted the men subconsciously that the next course was on its way to them.

"Mr. Voin, I try to pop in as often as I can, since Austin went overseas, and Patti is such a great gal."

"Here we are, boys!" The kitchen door swung opened, followed by a beaming Olive and Patti. The hostess and chef elaborated, "Lemon roast chicken, bean loaf, and spinach-cottage-cheese soufflé."

The matriarch sailed effortlessly towards Duffy's position of honor and set his plate before him.

At the same instant, Reinhardt shifted his attention to his immediate left, and there was Patti – her hair pinned back most attractively – smiling at him and placing a savory-smelling dish of food before him.

"Thank you," he said as she moved away.

"You're welcome. We'll be right back." The ladies dashed into the kitchen and soon reemerged with additional plates. A napkin-draped silver tray got placed to Voin's side, and he could smell hot rolls beneath.

Patti set a plate in front of her boy, then at her own station before picking up her napkin and sitting. Her mother-in-law brought a dish of butter, her own meal, and sat with a display of weary contentment.

"This is a lovely dinner, Mrs. – Olive – and I mean it."

"Why, thank you, Voin. Let's dig in, shall we? Parker House Roll?" She uncovered the linen heat shield, and Voin took one. As the baked goods made their way around the mother-and-son side of the table towards Duffy, Voin placed his bread on its little dish and got lost in the bounty of the main plate of food.

A beautifully roasted chicken thigh sat on a pool of lemony-colored sauce, and had three strips of bright zest crowning it. To the right was a slice of what looked like meatloaf, but Voin remembered hearing something about 'beans,' so this must be one of those wartime innovations mainly designed to be 'good fa'ya.' The bottom half of the plate was a creamy and toasty-top portion of spinach – one of the columnist's favorites.

He picked up his fork and knife and glanced to see if the guest of honor had yet done the same. He had.

Olive enthused: "Dig in! It's getting cold."

And they did.

As Reinhardt sliced and bit into the first taste of piquant chicken, his eyes closed to better savor it.

Patti told Olive, "This dinner should be in Mr. Reinhardt's honor as well."

"Why's that, dear?"

"Because…" the woman smiled graciously at the gentleman across the table. "The Store Chat which came out two days ago not only had Captain Smith's wonderful retirement announcement, it also contained word of Voin's promotion."

Olive exclaimed: "Mr. Reinhardt! How wonderful."

"He's going to be a fulltime Buyer for two entire departments," explained Reed's mom.

"Congratulations," Olive offered giddily.

"Take mine too, Mr. Voin," added Duffy with more restraint.

"Well, thank you all. Famous is a great place to get ahead."

He regretted saying it right away, as both Duffy and Patti shifted perceptibly on their seats.

Olive inquired, "How long have you worked there, Mr. Reinhardt?"

Voin cut off a corner of his soufflé to sample. "Eight years; since 1937, when I got out of the Marines."

"Oh…" the senior Johnson drew out as a realization twisted itself into an idea. "That's two years after you started Famous, isn't it?"

"Well," Patti stammered a moment. "I started in '34, but I had Reed in between."

The spinach and cottage cheese blended perfectly on Voin's palate. A quick application of math proved that despite having a baby, Patti Johnson's tenure at the store was about equal to his.

A hasty inspection of Duffy's face confirmed the long-term Famousite was considering the same matter.

Patti changed the subject. "Reed, what did you think of the Store Chat cover I showed you last night?"

He shrugged, fork hovering over his plate. "It's nice."

"Santa on the globe. For the first time in six years, children around the world can have a merry, war-free Christmas. Isn't it wonderful?"

As the boy was chewing, he simply nodded, but the sincere enlargement of his eyes confirmed he felt it was indeed great.

Olive brought a morsel of bean loaf teasingly near her lips. "I also read the store's holiday theme this year is based on Meet Me in Saint Louis." She finally took a bite.

"Yes." Patti's tone glowed. "The store is decorated like it's 1904, and almost every department has mannequins as characters from the movie."

"Well, I'll be," mumbled Olive after she swallowed.

The captain sliced his chicken and spoke with a nostalgia-tinged quiet. "Yes, but I remember the real thing."

All eyes went to him.

"The Fair?" asked Reed excitedly.

"The Fair, boy. The Louisiana Purchase Exposition."

Olive's voice slid smoothly down the length of the table. "You were not alone, Duffy."

Reed's soft-brown eyes grew saucer size. "You were there, Grandma?"

She touched a corner of her mouth with her napkin. "I most certainly was."

Incredulity edged Captain Smith's tone. "But you must have been a baby."

"Hardly." Olive sputtered her lips and gracefully kicked back her head. "I was ten that Fabulous Summer."

Duffy's spectacles bobbed in the candle glow as he nodded acknowledgement. "Ten is still mighty young." He asked the boy with a chuckle, "Know how old I was, son?"

Reed Johnson shook his head.

"I was twenty-four years old – a full-blown dude with a brand new bowler hat from Barr's, and a borrowed walking stick. Let me tell ya, boy, that stick had a 'diamond' as big as your fist for the grip, and it was meant to impress the ladies."

"And did it?" inquired Olive with open skepticism.

"It did. I assure you." The captain's head cocked and his eyebrows flared suggestively.

Amid Olive's laughter, Voin chirped, "Wow, Duffy. You must have cut quite the figure!"

A confirming guffaw from the captain's employee at the table confirmed it must have been quite the sight.

"Are there any pictures, sir?" Reed cut through all the pretense of imagining and inquired about the proof.

"Sure," chortled Duffy. "Next time we're all together like this, I'll be sure to bring an old album." He grappled the boy's shoulder playfully. "You wouldn't believe the duds young men had to wear back then to be 'decent.' Hat, tie, collar so stiff it could cut your head off, cuffs like tubes of cardboard poking out from the bottom of jacket sleeves like groundhogs from a burrow – it was all stiff and just too much."

Olive added her voice in mood of remembrance. "And little boys, Reed, walked around the Fair in big round caps, frilly blouses drooping below their waists, and knee breeches!"

Clearly, the young man's face told the assembly he got the picture. "Like the way Buster Brown is dressed?"

"Yes, Reed," Patti confirmed. "Exactly like Buster Brown, or sometimes like little sailor boys; like Cracker Jack."

"Wow," the boy keened. "That must have been swell."

A light chuckle went 'round the table like forks clinking dinnerware, but it was for Reed's choice of words, and not his sentiments.

Voin felt completely relaxed now; the Christmas music from the radio in the next room seemed to pick up in tempo and holiday spirit. "My parents, and aunts and uncles, would talk about the Fair. Sometimes it sounded too amazing to have happened at all, never mind it going on right here in Forest Park."

A sly smile came to Duffy for his hostess. "Ten years old, you say? A might young to see much of The Pike."

"Oh!" Olive cried out. "A tad young, but my folks got me in to see The Beautiful Jim Key."

Duffy's Kris-Kringle-level of jollity echoed off the corners of the room. "The Educated Horse! He was wonderful! Nothing can describe the feeling of being in the audience."

Voin and Patti were vaguely aware of the equine who did everything but sing opera, but Reed's blank stare up at the captain said he was lost.

"Jim Key, son, was an Arabian stallion who could answer questions about history, or do 'rithmetic problems, or remember people by name – first and last names – and lived in a house with his 'owner' and trainer, Doctor William Key, a black man, just like you and me."

"And he was on The Pike?" Reed inquired about the mile-long amusement park section of the World's Fair.

"Yes, son. He had his own building, which was a big auditorium with a stage inside, and that's where Doctor Key kept the rack with numbers and letters Beautiful Jim Key used to answer questions."

"Wow. How?"

"He'd just select the blocks with his mouth, and then one by one place his answer on the stand for the crowd to see."

"You should have seen his building on The Pike, Reed," the boy's grandmother added. "There was a giant horseshoe over the door – four stories tall – and all in pure silver leaf. It sparkled in the summer sun for miles around."

The boy nodded, the image apparently floating across his mind's eye.

Duffy continued, "I'll tell ya first off, that Doctor William Key was a kind and brilliant man."

"You met him?!" exclaimed the boy.

"Oh, yes. Remember, I was twenty-four at the time – brash, and taking my bite outta the world. I marched right up to Doctor Key one day as he was leading Jim Key backstage, and introduced myself." The older man paused to chuckle and lean closer to his godson. "See, I even got barked at by 'Monk.'"

"Who’s Monk?"

"Monk was a scrappy little two-toned terrier who had made himself the horse's pet. They spent all their time together; bedded down together; and whenever someone new got too close, old Monk pulled out his fangs as a horsy bodyguard."

"And he barked at you?"

"Oh, did he! He yapped. Then Jim Key eyed me with what I swear was a grin, and Doctor Key told the mutt to 'hush it up.' Anyway, I told the good horse doc how he was an inspiration and tribute to our race, and he just smiled and doffed his hat to me the way polite fellas of his age did. He let me stroke the white tuft in the center of Jim Key's forehead, and then I left them alone. But I've always been glad I said 'hello.'"[1]

Silence had overtaken the room, except from the soft strains from the parlor radio.

Voin finished his plate of food, knowing with quiet confidence its cleanliness would speak eloquently for him about its delectability. "I wish I could have gone. It must have been quite a sight."

"Sight nothing!" crooned Olive. "It was quite the experience."

"So, Mrs. Johnson," Voin addressed Patti. "Captain Smith tells me your husband worked at Famous too."

"Yes." She smiled broadly. "He was a doorman on the Sixth Street side."

Olive's mouth made a dismissive sound without her wanting to do it.

"A doorman," the columnist said to Patti in measured tones of approval. "I bet he met all types."

"Austin sure did. He liked doing it." Patti turned her smile on her mother-in-law, and it took on a keener edge. "Do you know, Mr. Reinhardt, about the family business?"

"Brite-Spot Dairy. Captain Smith told me."

Olive was suitably impressed. Her spine stiffened with pride. "My son was a remarkable young man, Mr. Reinhardt. And so was my husband."

She paused and watched Patti dab with her napkin, without comment. Olive resumed in a softer voice. "Austin and his dad may not have seen eye to eye all the time, but as his only son – our only child – he never cut us out, and we were both grateful."

"What do you mean," Voin asked gingerly, "by cut out?"

Olive set her serviette by the side of her plate. "You see, Austin's father and I were raised right here in The Ville, and taught education is paramount – no learning, no advancement in life. We've always been staunch supporters of Sumner High School, and live in the neighborhood to be close to the school."[2] Her hand reached out and took Patti's warmly. "We are both so proud of Reed; he's a good student, and we look forward to a great scholastic and athletic career at Sumner for him, just as Austin had."

A quick glance at the boy confirmed he was slumping down on his seat again. Shy inspection of his mom and Duffy made Reed keep quiet, until he caught Voin's sympathetic look and did a quick eye-roll for the columnist.

Voin asked, "And the Dairy – will it be Reed's one day?"

Olive grew circumspect, her examination of her grandson more sagacious. "That's up to him, and his uncle. You see, my late husband's brother is now in charge."

"Yes, Captain Smith told me about your loss, and I'm sorry."

"It happened so suddenly," confessed Olive. "Poof. At work one afternoon last December, heart-attack – and he was gone."

"Like I said," Voin reaffirmed. "I'm sorry for your loss." His attention shifted to Patti. "For both of your losses."

Reed's mother diverted her attention to her lap.

Olive continued. "My husband's family takes care of us in return for releasing control of the dairy back to them. It's been proudly run by the Johnson family for over sixty years. In fact, if she wanted to, Patti could quit. She does not need to work at Famous, or anywhere for that matter."

A brief sight of Patti's discomfort informed Voin how getting out of the house was probably a good thing for a vivacious young woman like her, despite the financial non-necessity of it. He told Olive, "But Austin wanted to work at Famous-Barr too?"

"Yes. You see, Austin was as headstrong as his father, and rebelled. He did not want to join Dad in the office, but 'cut his teeth' on his own. He found out quick that management-level jobs, even for college graduates like him, were few and far between. He took the job as Famous doorman to prove he could advance on his own, and I smoothed things over with his father through assurances that Austin would come around once he saw he was 'stuck' at the store."

"Mother," Patti calmly chimed in. "He hardly felt stuck there – "

"Anyway, Mr. Reinhardt, it's there he met my future daughter-in-law, and I have to say I was pleased to meet such a well-spoken and polite young lady." She then chuckled, adding, "It was also a relief to learn this girl's background was a suitable match to our own, only with a Kansas City cow-town twang to it."

Reed's mother sputtered with laughter.

"You're from Kansas City, Mrs. Johnson?" Voin asked.

"You can call me Patti, and yes – born and raised."

"What drew you to Saint Louis?"

"I have a cousin here, and thought I'd see what the place was like. I stayed, got my cosmetics job at Famous, and met Austin." A hopeless smile appeared. "The rest is history, as they say."

Olive's hand again came out to hold her daughter-in-law's. "I was delighted when they married, and that Austin never even considered moving away from the family home."

A spark of mild pushback tilted Patti's expression. She patted the top of Olive's hand. "You know we didn't have money for our own place."

"I'll confess it," Olive clucked in victory. "Knowing Austin's salary as doorman was not enough was good 'reassurance' for me to offer Austin's dad that the boy would be in the dairy business sooner rather than later."

"And then the war came," Reed said quietly.

"And then the war came," echoed Duffy in his deep baritone.

"Well," Voin offered, "at least this Christmas the war is over. I've heard on the news train tickets are impossible to buy. They say the government is scooping them up secretly, returning tens of thousands of G.I.s home for the holidays." Voin slowed his thoughts, realizing all eyes had settled on Patti, and the young war-widow was again withdrawn and staring at her lap.

"As you already know, he was home last Christmas, Mr. Reinhardt," murmured Olive softly. "It was a bittersweet furlough for him in '44. He was allowed to come bury his father, and settle business with his uncles concerning the dairy before shipping out overseas. The tree was already up, and at least Reed's dad got to spend time with him and his mom."

"It's hard to keep faith in a reason, son…" Duffy's calm tone drew everyone's attention. "But we have to believe things happen for a reason."

Olive rose majestically to her feet. "Now…" she clasped hands together. "There are advantages to having 'an in' with the dairy biz – so who's ready for dessert?"

A warm smile beamed down on her daughter-in-law.

"It's eggnog chiffon pie, and Patti made it herself."

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