Of Prophets, Saints and Sinners - 13. Chapter 13: Meeting the Saint

Chapter 13: Meeting the Saint

Flutes led the slow-dawning break of day, followed by the same few bars repeated on the piccolo. Single deep notes, in turn, drawn out on the clarinet and bassoon allowed the French horns, and eventually all the glorious brasses and timpani too, to crescendo on Sunrise as a series of chords.

Naturally, kids awake at such hours, on such mornings, and on Christmas Day in this symphony they are no different.

Jacob Jordan glanced at his program.

The children arise with joy to find their stockings had each been visited by Saint Nicholas.

It was magic, and we all need a little magic in our lives.

The older gentleman let the printed pamphlet lower into his lap. His mind had drifted back to such moments with his own daughter. Emily's young joy on Christmas morning returned not as a specific sight or sound, but as a nearly subsuming amalgam of many such happy scenes.

The tree behind the children here at the Exchange, the flickering wreaths with their candles in every window, the glow in the old man's heart mirrored on the faces of the chorus, audience children and adult chaperones, all confirmed effortlessly that Jordan's coming efforts were going to be new and durable. So seldom do we obtain a presence of mind that gifts detachment from immediate circumstances to allow a broad view of time and destiny, but he had it now.

Thanks to Miss Waverly's inspiration, the department store man had a sense that this new idea born on the night of the VP ball was about to change Christmas, not only in this city, but in many others, and eventually the world! It was an idea whose power lie in its democracy; it was charitable and noble, and irregardless of race, social standing, creed or income, would be free to all. It would grow and develop as the store's long-lasting gift to the community that supported it.

What was going to happen after the concert was a great American way to bring a little joy – like the little ones with their stockings on Xmas Morning – which should be our highest goals of attainment.

The music of the tone poem was shifting again; keen anticipation of 'their moment' telegraphed something exciting about to happen on the choir children's faces.

Jordan looked at his program again; the final entry read:

The young ones gather with their parents beneath the lit Christmas tree to praise and welcome Christmas Morning and the Christ Child.

A gentle roll of the kettledrum re-introduced the primary melody of the poem – the taut ligature of the symphony, if you will – and glorious expectation as sweet and delicate as joy itself brought the music forward in every heart.

The conductor gestured to the children on stage, and in synchronized fashion orchestra and beautiful, innocent voices sang out:

"Oh come all ye faithful
Joyful and triumphant
Oh come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem.

Sing choirs of angels
Sing in exultation
Sing, all ye splendors of the heavens above.

Yea, Lord, we greet Thee
Born that happy morning
Jesus, to Thee be all glory given.

Word of the Father
Now in flesh appearing
Oh come let us adore Him
Oh come let us adore Him
Oh come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.

Oh come all ye faithful
Joyful and triumphant
Oh come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem.

Come and behold Him
Born the King of Angels
Oh come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord."

The audience stood as one soul as the trombones underscored the words 'Come let us adore him.'

Several parents in the crowd of spectators picked up their children and cradled them in their arms to see and enjoy the spectacle together. Many a small finger found its way to open mouth, while wide eyes drank in the scene and instantly stored it in long-term memory.

A recapitulation caused the conductor to turn to the audience and raise his baton in invitation.

The Exchange, the glorious commercial structure, resounded as each and every one of the assembled sang the hymn.

A moment of silence greeted the final crescendo, which was played on the snare drum, and then, applause followed. Tremendous applause to prove once more why theatrical experiences are so meaningful to the participants – they are shared moments of connection spread simultaneously across nearly countless hearts and minds.

˚˚˚˚˚

In the several minutes after the concert, much commotion occurred. After many bows and salutations, eventually the conductor and orchestra withdrew to a side chamber.

Once they were gone, parents went up and greeted their child-choristers to help them out of their robes and praise their efforts with broad smiles and affectionate embraces. That included Jordan's daughter and son-in-law going up to the angelic Mina.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw another happy couple moving towards him. Monk McDonough had his arm protectively around Elizabeth Waverly's waist.

She was first to speak, and did so in glowing terms. "Mr. Jordan! How glorious is this event of Barr's."

"Thank you, Miss Waverly, but I'd remind you the concert is only the first half."

Monk shook the gentleman's hand. "And where pray tell is your organization's indomitable leader?"

Jordan felt a helpless, uncontrollably sly grin creep over his face. "Oh, Mr. Barr has changed his attire and is awaiting our arrival."

"Too intriguing!" exclaimed Waverly. "You know you've turned all of us into expectant little children, don’t you, sir?"

He nodded. "I have with myself as well, if the truth be known."

Monk glanced up and around the concert hall. "It's wonderful to be back in the Exchange for a festive occasion. The last time was the ball."

"Oh, yes," Jordan said, suddenly quite serious. "The night of the escape."

The two conspirators regarded one another for a moment, shyly trying to suppress smiles.

After the deed was fait accompli, Miss Waverly had come to Jordan and explained the situation and desperation of the wrongly-incarcerated boys.

"What you two did was dangerous, but immensely brave and noble as well. It's a relief to know neither of you came under official suspicion."

Monk explained: "The initial scrutiny concerning the boys' disappearance, the what-went-wrong, fell upon the pair of cops on duty at the front doors. Once the guards admitted to having indulged in several 'champagnes and pineapple ices,' it was assumed the boys managed to slip past them unnoticed in their footmen uniforms."

Waverly chuckled. "Unnoticed, yes, but not in their monkey suits."

The reporter concluded: "The police investigated for a while, but since runaways from the metropolitan institutions are not that uncommon, the men in blue simply assumed Felix and Hampden will eventually be picked up in one of the city slums."

"Plus," Miss Waverly added, gripping the correspondent's arm, "the power of the pen, and its godly fear, can keep Police Chief Grubb from raising too much of a stink."

"Well, more than he naturally does."

The three laughed at Monk's witticism.

"And how are the young men in question?" inquired Jordan.

"I happen to have something to show you…." She pulled out a folded letter from her sleeve. "Please see for yourself."

Jordan unfolded it and read:

Deer Miss Waverly,

Thank's to Cousin Monks reporter freind here, weve also found a decent place to live South of the Slot, as they call the working-mans part of the city. San Fransisco is small ~ a quarter of Saint Louis ~ so we found a nice furnished room for not to much. One room for now, but its all me and Hampy need to be happy.

San Fransisco may-be little, but its a wide open town. Dont worry, Miss Waverly, we are good and keeping to ourselfs for the most part. No more politicial 'curiosity' on Hampden's part, for sure. In fact, to prove how good we are staying, were both in school. The Saint Patriks church on Mission and 4th Street runs courses for working fellows, and we go every Sunday. We are determined to improve our lot that way to, so please rest a-sured.

We work at a bakery called Eppler's, which is alright for a place to do what we already know how to do. They have one treat that is Hampy's new favorite. They take the day-old chocolate cake and cube it up. Then we splash a rum sirup on it and press it into cone-shaped mufin tins with a shortbred cookey on top. Once its turned out, we coat it in melted choclate and dust with powdered sugar. Its called Rum Rockies, and as I say, Hampy likes them.

You mentined the night of the bal in your last letter and "What on earth possesed" us to dance like that. Hampy needed to relax, so takeing a turn on the dance floor, just like 'regular' folks, calmed him down. I'm glad we did it. It was wonderfull, and we'll never forget it.

I want you to tell my cousin something I cant. Its hard to do, I mean, straight up to him, but on the day he said he'd help us, I felt real emotional about it. Our own folks dont want no-thing to do with us, but Monk ~ just try to tell him, what he did means so much to me, to me and Hampy both.

Naturaly its dew to you to, Miss Waverly, and now we can see us setling down in Frisco and staying a long long time. You stuck your necks out for us, and because of it, we are free. We owe you, my cousin and Mr. Jordan the world. Please pass along our deep appericiation to both gentlemen, please.

Yours, with love,

Eric Williams and James McPherson

(our new names, if you please)

P.S. Weve even set up a little Christmas Tree this year. Its our first, but it will be just one of many.

Jordan folded the letter and gave it back, trying to suppress a tear.

Miss Waverly tucked it away, and in the same motion, landed her hand on Jordan's sleeve. "Monk and I – we both sincerely hope you'll have time to join us tomorrow afternoon."

Monk's arm resettled itself around the young lady's waist, which made her smile.

"My dear Miss Waverly, I wouldn't miss your Christmas nuptials for all the tea in China. I wish you both the very best."

She kissed his cheek and made his heart glow all over again.

˚˚˚˚˚

The breeze was minimal, so an endearing and gracious snow drifted down on the city streets.

Jacob Jordan had been the first one leading his party of merrymakers out the grand front doors of the Exchange.

Down the granite stairs and onto the sidewalk, he turned and guided the two hundred or so children and adults to their ultimate destination, five blocks away, with a winsome Pied-Piper step.

Now as he ambled along, light and motion asserted themselves as the themes of the streetscape; snow may have been falling, but the sky glowed and everywhere was brightness. Gas flames added visual warmth and flickered within the tin-lantern streetlights. Their pyramid rooves and finials shrugged off the heat of the fire and collecting a layer of burnishing snow.

Vehicular traffic was sparse, so the inch or two of powdery batting remained little disturbed over the cobblestones. Up from the curb and building foundations, feathery whiteness also clung to window muntins, wreaths on doors, and the swags of evergreen garlands trouping gaily round-about.

Illumination may have come from the sky and lampposts, but it also shone from the open storefronts: from the happy bustle on people within as they proceeded to secure last-minute necessities. In a few hours everyone would be nestled indoors, and once all the family members were gathered around, lit tapers should anoint drops of flame to the waiting candles tips of the Christmas tree.

The shops along Pine Street presented various wares, but most had fascinating sparks of color in their windows. Jewel-like facets cast intriguing shadows from wicks floating in hanging oil lamps. These fairy lights – each about the size of a crystalline onion – offered competing spheres of cobalt, green, amethyst and yellow.[1]

One was a wine merchant. Besides the clinking bottles of Missouri Rieslings, Nortons and Cook's Champagne, large bottles from patron's homes were topped with funnel and filled with the house's holiday punch – strongly laced, no doubt with green tea and Show-Me-State bourbon.

Jordan noticed and chuckled at the lack of patronage on the 'dry' side of the shop, with the beautiful marble soda siphon and the hand-painted "Shaker Sarsaparilla" sign.[2]

Jordan checked behind him to ensure his guests were doing well. Most were bundled up against the frozen moisture gliding down on the currents of air, but all appeared ruddy-cheeked and full of buoying anticipation.

As their trek neared ever closer to the major artery of Broadway, the number of youthful street vendors increased.

There were the knee-pants newsboys hocking special edition Christmas papers and periodicals, and looking a bit chilled as the snow clung to their shoes and variously black, yellow or red wool socks.

Other boys in slightly richer attire held white trays on neck straps. Neatly wrapped boxes of a uniformed size were stacked up on these, and attractive hand-rendered letters across the tray fronts offered: "Home Made Candies – All Sorts."

Beautiful Italian girls, their dark hair wrapped beneath long red scarves, nestled baskets in the crook of their arms. Piled inside were apples or pears. Their younger sisters carried smaller baskets richly supplied with candy-coated almonds. A penny would buy a handful to be slipped into a pocket and find their way into stockings later tonight.

Blond girls moved about with bundles of long matchsticks, most perfect and desirable on this night of the year when lighting the Christmas tree required them.

As they got to the corner, Jordan paused to let the lead group of people catch up, and noticed a handsome lad of color stationed at a pushcart near the curb. He was telling a young mother how the exquisite dollhouse furniture and toys for sale had been carved throughout the year by his industrious father from old cigar boxes in the evenings after supper. They had then been painted so lovingly by his mother and sisters.[3]

A little voice called from behind him. Jordan rotated and Mina ran up with "Grandpa! Grandpa!" on her lips.

He scooped her up and did a half twirl. "Are you having fun, granddaughter?"

"Yes! Did you see me sing?"

"Oh, did I! Your solo was the highlight of the concert."

Bashfully, she acknowledged his praise. "Thank you."

He set her down, and once he ascertained his party was still following, he took her hand and started up the thoroughfare.

Soon they were passing in front of Henry Michel & Co. at No. 107 North Broadway. His shop was large, well lit and full of customers and holiday scent. Normally a wholesale florist, this time of year the sidewalks around his premises were stacked ten deep with bundled-up Christmas trees, and the inside of his store was transformed into a forest of pine, spruce and cypress garlands, wreaths, sprays and centerpieces. For Christmas 1880, a merry throng kept his clerks hopping as they selected their home-transforming decorations.[4]

A few steps down was Beer's, an old-world, upper-class market catering both staples and holiday specials. Patrons lingered along decorated front windows to select their holiday game: grouse; pheasant; partridge – all hunted locally – and barnyard fowl of the fattest variety: Bronze turkeys with the feathers remaining on the neck so the breed could be readily identified; pure-white geese; chickens and capons.

Inside, tables were festively piled high with packaged delights to take home. Jordan glanced at some of the signs. "German Favors," which probably meant stollen, springerle and pfeffernusse. Another offered "Salads – Chicken, Lobster, Ham." A third promised "Angel cakes, Christmas Cakes and Sugared Zwieback."[5]

As they turned west on Olive, Jordan could feel the precipitation alighting as pinpoints of cold on his chin and cheeks. He asked his granddaughter with a smile, "Did you know it's good luck to eat fowl on Christmas Day, but bad luck to eat it on New Year's Day?"

"No."

"It's true, or rather, it's a local belief."

"What’s good to eat on New Years?"

"Oh! Well, black eye peas are a symbol of abundance, so eat them. Cabbage too, for prosperity, and especially we should eat pork. It's rich and fat and we never want to lack for anything in the new year if we eat it on the first day." He glanced down to her, inspecting her skeptical silence.

"Miss Waverly says if grownups, like you, try to teach us kids about superstitions, we're not to believe them."

Jordan laughed. "Oh, did she now?" Although he admitted to himself that it sounded perfectly like the soon-to-be Mrs. McDonough.

"Yes, she did. She said some of them are harmless, but some are not."

"Well, I suppose she's right on that account. However, in this case it's rather like her Sunday School lessons – the stories she tells are not strictly the truth or history or anything like that, but they can offer us moral instructions nonetheless." He wiggled her hand slightly. "Do you see?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

"Good. However, you must realize some of them are traditions, and when we pass them along we continue our form of culture. Saint Louis folks have a few in regards to Christmas."

"Like what?"

"Well, let's see – Never light any tree candles till Xmas Eve, or you will have bad luck. On Christmas Day, spread the straw used in manger displays around the base of fruit trees for an abundant harvest later on in the year. If you receive clothing for a present on that day, do not wash it until after you wear it, or you will wash the good luck away. Always keep your holiday decorations up until the twelfth of January, or you might risk having bad luck."

"Oh, my mom follows all of those."

"I suppose she would. She's a Saint Louisan through and through, just like you."

"And for New Years?"

"For New Years…well – Going into the holiday, make sure your cupboards are full. Fireworks on New Year's Eve will fright bad luck away from the new year. On New Year's morning, only dress in new clothes, and sweep the dirt out the front door with an old broom. The next day, throw the old one out and buy a new one for good luck. Let's see, what else…? There's the grape tradition. On New Year's Day, eat twelve grapes. Make a wish before each one for a specific month of the coming year; do it for good luck."[6]

"Sounds like 'luck' is a lot of hard work to keep around."

"Well, we must start the new year right, so I guess we have to work a little for it."

The snow continued to fall and dusted great charm on Mina's form.

Soon he heard music. One of the dry goods companies across the street was fully lit and abustle with patrons inside. Glancing up at the open second floor windows revealed the source of the music; the store was hosting a musical gathering. Ladies and gentlemen glided and bobbed as they waltzed to their hearts' content.

Jordan caught a glimpse of the hand-painted sign near the retailer's front doors. "Christmas Eve Only – Story & Champ's Soirée Musicale – Open to the Public."[7]

Jordan felt a little draw on his hand to slow him down. When he glanced at Mina, he understood why. Without him paying any attention, they had walked halfway along the windows of a toyshop on their side of the street.

More colorful oil lights glowed from garlands in the front windows above displays of dolls, hobbyhorses and stacks of blocks. Back shelves were all painted white and contained stacked boxes – hundreds of them – with the latest pull-along toys from the East Coast. Another wall seemed to display nothing but toy trains for little-boy fingers to try and grasp.

"Come on, sweetie…." Jordan tugged on her along. "We have even more of every type for you to see in our Holiday Bazaar."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. You don’t want to miss it, do you?"

She vehemently shook her head.

Now they could see their destination straight ahead. Just like the trading floor of the Exchange, every windows of Barr's glowed with a lit wreath; light poured from inside the store as well, which filtered through the soft prism of the meandering snowflakes, adding unspeakable charm to the massive store.

They crossed the street and began to pass along the magical show windows. Crowds were gathered to see each one and trudge patiently along, the children with mittened fingers pressed against the glass, the last ones to give up their spots to see the next tableau.

Jordan again lifted Mina into the cook of his arm so she could see inside.

"Do you like them?"

She nodded, transfixed.

"Each one is based on a fairytale. This is the Three Little Pigs, and the one closest to the main doors on Sixth is Little Red Riding Hood."[8]

"It's wonderful, Grandpa."

Mina's artless-but-heartfelt words of praise meant more to Jordan than he could ever articulate.

They approached the aforementioned main entry, and Jordan took pride in the huge placards on display at each portal.

Barr's Open Tonight

– Till 8 P.M. –

Come See Our Grand

Holiday Bazaar

&

Santa's Kingdom,

Basement Level.

All Welcome to VISIT.[9]

Jordan checked behind him, seeing Mina's mother and father close behind, and Miss Waverly and Monk directly trailing after them.

He stepped through the front doors and helped his granddaughter shake the snow off her coat and boots.

Jordan headed across the way, and he and Mina descended the grand staircase.

The wonders of the basement floor were spread out before them. Decorated columns and swags of holiday greenery announced this was a special place. Shoppers busied themselves, pursuing the fineries of small gifts, like hankies and laces, but larger items were on display too.

The central part, as they stepped up to it, consisted of decorations. A small forest of trees displayed the wares, which included candles, oil lights, lead ornaments pressed into reflector shapes to spread the light, wooden baubles meant to be gathered and played with on Christmas morning, and glass ornaments. These final rarities were globes of every size imaginable, but also others moulded into fancy shapes – like grape clusters, pinecones and fat-topped icicles. All were silvered on the inside, and depending on the color of the glass itself, appeared metallic-cobalt, red, green or yellow.

"Nobody had store-bought ornaments when I was a child, Mina. Times are changing."

"They're pretty, Grandpa."

"Yes they are, Mina."

Moving past this area, they began to see a large crowd milling about one end of the Seasonal Display Department. They could hear a man's deep laughter. It rolled like something akin to jolly thunder across the marble floor, branching out warmly to all corners of the cavernous space.

While man and granddaughter approached, the crowd seemed to magically part for them, and then Mina could see.

There he was, the living and breathing Santa Claus seated upon a golden throne. An upholstered bench rested on his right hand side for visitors to sit as if in the presence of an old European king.

Mina tugged on his wrist, obviously surprised to see the Old Saint so near to hand. He couldn't tell the girl it was merely an 'actor' in the suit, for some traditions should always remain involatable.

The man's boots were black and shiny as night. His calf-length trousers were satiny velvet in the deepest crimson imaginable, and trimmed on the bottom with white fur. A brown leather belt cinched the jolly man's belly on top of his coat, which was of the same red cloth. White fur trimmed the bottom hem, seam where it buttoned, and cuffs. A snowy beard flowed down to his beltline, and a red cap – rather like a spacious fez – had fur-lined earflaps turned up at the edge of the Saint's abundant white hair. Piercingly blue eyes sparkled from within this frame, casting merriment on all he surveyed.

A jovial laugh rolled out and the man's hands clasped his sides.

He spotted Jordan and summoned him with a fine Dutch accent. "Kom, Jakob. Come here and visit met sinterklaas."

The stool next to the throne was resolutely patted, and Jordan – with a grin like a schoolboy's – went to sit there.

"You, Mijnheer Jordan, have helped Mister Barr for all these long, vele years. He happened to…. To…" Santa extracted a large metal disc and chain from his coat pocket. "Gaf me your reward, and I give it to you with his deepest, warmest regards."

Santa deposited a solid gold watch into Jordan's hands. When he opened it up, a little melody played Adeste Fideles.

The retiring gentleman read the inscription: "For 31 years of devoted service to William P. Barr & Co., this token is presented with love and esteem by William Barr, December 24th, 1880. Bon Chance, Mon Ami, and Job Well Done."

Jordan had a bit of trouble making out the final few words; somehow his vision had become a tad obscure by moisture. But Santa shook him out of it by sticking out his gloved hand.

Jordan grasped it heartily. However, the Saint's mirthful eyes soon slipped off of Jordan and onto the retiring man's granddaughter.

"Come, Mina!"

The girl was a bit frightened, cowering and partially hidden from view by her mother's skirts.

"Kom, kind! Come en sit with me. We will discuss your Kerstmis presents. Kom; kom."

Mina didn’t move. Jordan rose, saying "We'll be right back" to Kris Kringle, and went to them. Pressing his gold watch into Emily's hands for safekeeping, the older gentleman genuflected next to Mina. He drew her out a little. "Wouldn't you like to say 'Hello' to Santa Claus? He's a friend to everybody – rich and poor; young and old alike."

Santa spotted the girl's inspection of him, stooped a bit on his seat and opened his arms.

"Shall we go, Mina?"

She nodded and Jordan picked her up. In another moment, he placed the child in Santa's lap.

The jolly Old Saint spoke softly to her, his Dutch accent slightly modified so she could understand him. "Have you been a goed little girl this jaar?"

She nodded slightly.

"You luisterde to your father and mother?"

"Oh, yes. Always." She was suddenly adamant and plainspoken.

"Goed, goed. If dat's the case, then later on, at midnight, I will slip a treat or twee into your stocking. Remember to hang it on the end of your bed voor me."

"Yes, Santa." She nodded enthusiastically.

After a signal from Santa's head, Jordan lifted her off again and stood her on the floor. Other children slowly gathered – Mina having broken the dam – and soon a second child was on Santa's knee in private conference, followed by a third, and then a fourth, and so on.

Jordan led his granddaughter back to her mother, catching a warm smile on Miss Waverly's face. He asked the little girl, "Did you enjoy that?"

"Yes, Grandfather. He's ever such a nice man."

"Oh. Yes, Mina. He is indeed."

"Congratulations, Mr. Jordan," Waverly said. "Such a triumph."

"The readers of the Globe, sir," vowed Monk, "shall soon know all about this scene as well."

And then the light of a final understanding shone on the retailer's mind. Mina may have been the first child to sit on the lap of a department store Santa, but many more would follow; this was a tradition bound to be a durable part of the holidays from now on, of that he was sure.

Just as he set down a child and reached for the next, Barr's Santa let out a raucous "Ho, Ho, Ho!" of a belly laugh. He then added in warm tones: "And on behalf of everybody at William P. Barr and Company – past, present and future – I wish each and every one of you a very, Merry Christmas!"

~

Barr's advertising card announcing the presence of the world's first

department store Santa Claus, for Christmas of the 1880 season.