Famous Bear and the Ivory Tower of Commerce - 4. Chapter 4: Saturday, December 24th – Buddy Day at STL Centre, Round 2

Chapter 4: Saturday,

December 24th – Buddy Day at STL Centre, Round 2

It's a few minutes before 9:30 in the morning.

There are only two cars up here, on the roof of Famous-Barr's parking garage, one with a rainbow bumper sticker, and mine right next to it.

"Look at the crowds!" my companion says.

"Yeah. It's not too often Christmas Eve falls on a Saturday."

Ten stories below, merry shoppers bustle about Olive Street. We're leaning against the concrete parapet with elbows out. Geraldo's already in his costume, minus the head, which is 'watching' us from the hood of his car. In his mittened, white fur paw is a styrofoam cup – one to match another in my grip. He brought a thermos of hot chocolate, saying he knew how much I liked it.

His smile turns wan as he rotates to look at me. "You're back for more, huh?"

"I guess so. I just feel drawn to the place."

"Me too."

"I'll have to bring my friend up here."

"Which one?"

There was way too much anxiety leaking from the edge of his tone; an expectancy, I'd say.

"My buddy Waldo. We spent last Saturday together at Union Station."

Relief…?

I go on. "I'll bring him up here – thanks to you – cuz I know he'll enjoy both the view and the history."

"Is he coming here today?" he asks as if he already knows.

"Yeah. I'll meet up with him and my other buddies in the plaza about noon. Gives me a chance to visit Bearland on my own."

"Cool."

"I wanna drink in that holiday flavor and remember it for later use."

Bear says casually, "I always wondered why you love this place so much. Now having worked here, seen some of the effects it has on people – especially the kids – I think I get it."

"Well, for me, it started in elementary school. Our first grade teacher took our entire class on a holiday fieldtrip. We toured the big downtown stores, and were told to keep a tight grasp on each other's hands as we went along. At one, after huddling our cold noses against the plate glass to see the display windows, we went into the warmth. Massive chrome escalators – taller than me! – carried us up into the clouds, while our teacher pointed down to the floor. There, arrows were built right into the terrazzo to guide our way up to the next level, and Christmas was all around as we followed that magic path to ascended ever higher into the massive store – we were there to visit Toyland on Eight, and Santaland on Nine. That day the wonder of place seeped into my bones. It was in the smells, the music, the decorations, and most especially, it was written on the happy faces of shopper and Famous-Barr workers alike."

After I finish, it looks like Geraldo is pretty down.

"You okay?" I ask.

He drains his cocoa. "Me? Yeah, I guess. This is it. See? Christmas Eve and by the end of the day, my work here will be done, I hope."

The last part was added cryptically.

"You'll be losing your job. Well, on to the next one, as they say."

Mr. Bear stands upright and puts his cup in my hand. "Oh, yeah, before I forget…." He goes to his head, tips it and picks up a stack of papers from underneath. "Here's your story. I took the liberty of jotting down a few notes. Hope you don’t mind."

After I put the cups on the ledge, he places the even-more rumpled, and obviously well read typescript into my hands. I flip a few pages; flashes of red and longer paragraphs on some of the backs of pages catch my eye. I don’t read any.

I ask flat out: "Did you like it?"

"I think the concept is strong – very strong and fitting for the holiday time setting…."

"But?"

"But, overall, it's not a success. By the end of the tale, the paranormal aspects must seem – in my opinion – more obvious to the reader. Right now you seek to 'tell' them how it's happening, when all you really need to do 'show' them why it could happen in this way. It's best to let your audience puzzle out an explanation for themselves. Otherwise, I thought Manny the Boxer was a well-developed and sympathetic character. You did really well making us feel his pain and know why he may want to kill himself in front of the Angel Tree."

"Wow."

He adds hurriedly, "I enjoyed it. It's ninety-five percent there – "

"That's not what my 'wow' was about."

"What then?"

I'm awash with gratitude, immediately thinking of ways to improve the story. "You know, most people don’t give me in-depth feedback. You've taken the time to try and understand the tale, and I'm grateful."

"It's no problem, man. It really was my pleasure, and that's an incredible story for a seventeen-year-old."

"Well, with your help, I know Angel Tree, round 2, will be a whole lot better."

There's silence. It looks like he wants to say more, but doesn't.

I pick up his thermos and pour us another piping hot round. We go back to leaning on the parapet and sipping.

Famous Bear murmurs with a sigh: "Yeah, I'm gonna miss this gig. All day long I make people happy – how awesome is that?!"

"Very."

"Hey, make sure you check out the Christmas morning paper."

"Why's that?"

"Cuz my picture'll be in it!"

"Oh!"

"Yeah. The Cardinals had a promo day here at Famous on Tuesday. Me and Fredbird officially 'met' in Santaland for all the kids and photographers. They're gonna run it in the morning as a 'Merry Christmas' thing in the Post-Dispatch."[1]

I sip, I stare up at the beauty of the buildings and think how on Washington, two blocks north, the view is slightly different; the one I enjoy standing on the walkway leading to Dillard's.

"Fredbird's cool," I say, "and Saint Louis fans are the best. I'm still pissed off that Sports Illustrated and The Sporting News – both homegrown papers – moved out of the city. It's like slapping the loyal home team in the face for making them a success in the first place. We love our teams, but unfortunately they don’t love us. Only thing the 'owners' love nowadays is our money, not our devotion."

"Yeah, I getcha."

"I mean, look at the football Cardinals. The losingest team in NFL history, and yet the good people of this city fought tooth and nail to keep 'em; taxed themselves to death to build a 70,000 seat indoor stadium, but in the end were backstabbed by money-grubbing 'owners' who were gonna move no matter what. Oh, well. Our loss is Arizona's problem now. Let 'em be the lackeys to the greatest flops in football, not us. The only thing that's certain, they'll be leaving Phoenix sooner or later, and they'll never – never – win a Superbowl."

He chuckles. "Tell us how you really feel."

"I feel that what's his name – Darryl Cokehead – in N.Y. versus Ozzie Smith, Saint in Saint Louis, make the perfect compare and contrast of the two places right there."

I look to gauge Mr. Bear's reaction, because I guess I've gotten a bit hot under the collar.

He surprises me by saying: "I'm gonna miss talking with you."

The statement was so plainly spoken, a dab of moisture forming in the soft corner of his brown eyes, it gives me pause for a moment. Then I ask, "What will you do afterwards?"

"I'm not staying in Saint Louis."

"No?"

"No. I've decided to go out to L.A. and see about things with Harold."

"That's good, man."

"You've reminded me that sometimes nothing's beyond being 'too late,' and I'm gonna try. I owe it to myself."

"Cool."

In a moment he reads my watch upside down, collects the cups and thermos, and shuts them up in his car. The he picks up his head and cradles it in his arm. A sly look rolls onto his face. "Wanna hear a funny little factoid?"

"Sure."

"See, Harold and me, we've got the same name. Geraldo and Harold; same name; one in Spanish, one in English."

I think about that a moment.

"Well, little buddy," he says inhaling a sigh, "it's show time. Drop by the sidewalk later on and say 'Hey.'"

"Okay."

He smiles. It's the first fully open one I've seen from him, and…and there is something telltale about it, but I push it to the back of my head.

I watch him put on and adjust his costume head, checking with me to make sure his red stocking cap and white ears are straight.

Fully clothed in his costume, Geraldo shrugs and I give him two thumbs up. He moves towards the elevators.

'Funny,' I think. 'It's ironic his fella's name is Harold – that's mine too, although I've been called Harry my whole life. Hmm.'

He suddenly turns back after pushing the elevator call button. His sweet, black eyes and permanent smile regard me. I hear a muffled: "And by the way, Harry, Merry Christmas from Famous-Barr."

I chuckle, halfway between delighted kid and jaded adult. It's all pretty amazing; I will admit it, at least to myself.

˚˚˚˚˚

We all have hugs and backslaps for Ian.

The plaza in front of Saint Louis Centre is lit up and festive; the candy stick lights are on; and the beautiful barrel vault sign of entwined post horns twinkle pink and green.

Crowds move about us where we stand, and music is piped in from the mall. Joy to the World blends with the slowly blinking dots of illumination within the Centre's logo. It all makes my heart beat faster; I'm giddy.

Just after the tolling of the noontime hour, York, Ian and Waldo arrived and joined me. Instantly, Ian sprang the news that he got into the school he wanted, so we're congratulating him.

"It feels good to know we're all settled on that front." Then I add with a chuckle, "Our futures look bright!"

That sets off a second round of hugs and handshakes.

York comes out with, "Too bad Edwardsville's basketball team sucks – not like Carbondale!"

We all laugh, but as we watch him for a follow-up barb, the grin slips completely off of York's jock face.

We glance to where he's looking, and Ian's sister and the girl the computer-science, soccer-playing teenage Adonis has always liked is right next to her. They spot us and cross the street from the mall's parking garage.

"Dude…?" York sputters at Ian, grabbing onto his buddy's shoulder at the same time.

"Yeah," Ian replies, cool as a cucumber. "I invited them to come, and my sister may have mentioned to me that Christina Brickman has always liked you too."

His round eyes narrow and his inhalation quickens, but as soon as the young ladies join us, York is the first to offer a mellow "What's up?"

"Not much," Christina says, popping a chewing gum bubble. "So, what's so interesting about this place, anyways?"

Through our reassuring glances, we let York know he should take the lead.

"They've got an Abercrombie and Fitch."

They girls shrug; there's no name recognition there.

"Ever been to a Sharper Image?" York tries again with a warm grin.

That expression is instantly wiped clean. Christina Brickman is unimpressed with the lure of an electronics shop.

Nearing his 'three strikes and you're out' threshold, he follows up with a quick "They also got a Laura Ashley."

Bingo!

Ian's sister and her friend lock arms together excitedly, and a few delighted squeals and gum pops add a chorus to Joy to the World.

York leads the way to the gadget shop's plaza entry.

I tug on Waldo's sleeve, telling the other guys, "We'll catch up in a minute or two."

Our buddies head off, and when I glance at him – still touching his arm – there's a curious look on his face.

Bingo! indeed.

I don’t know how, but I have seen exactly that same smile earlier in the day. In fact, on the roof of Famous-Barr's parking garage.

"Ian's a great guy, isn't he?" Waldo asks.

I let go. "One of several 'great guys' I know."

His freckles blush, and I immediately begin scanning the crowds. Through them Waldo and I can see Famous Bear being accosted by a group of tots wearing their own white set of furry ears caps. The mascot is bent down to pose with them for pictures near the corner of the store at Sixth and Locust, but his large black costume eyes seem to be affixed on me and my friend.

"Say, Waldo's short for something, isn’t it?"

"Yeah. I've been known as Waldo since kindergarten, but my real name's Geraldo. Why?"

"Oh, no reason. You know what Harry's short for?"

"Umm – Henry?"

"Nope. My real name's Harold."

"Oh, okay."

"Get it, dude? You and me, we've got the same name, Spanish and English."

"Oh." A sly expression blooms. "That's kinda cool."

"More than kinda, I'd say."

We look again, and now Famous Bear has stood and is posing with the moms, one of whom is pinching a white furry ear.

"Harry, are you okay?"

"Yeah, you know, I am." I feel my smile rise. "Sometimes things just work out, like Ian and his school, York with his girl. And maybe…."

"Maybe?"

"Just, maybe. I suddenly feel like I'm looking forward to graduation, the summer and of course starting college in the fall."

"That's still a long way off."

"Yep. Lots of time between then and now."

Waldo seems to get what I'm hinting at.

Across the street, Famous Bear stands near the curb and watches us. He raises a paw and waves slowly. In another moment, a bus rolls by, and he vanishes.

Through goose bumps, I hear Waldo ask, "Whoa. Where'd that dude go?"

"You saw it too, huh?"

"Um, yeah."

I turn and can see the mascot's unmistakable smile on the face of the teenage boy before me now. Both have the same discolored incisor; there's no mistaking it.

I shrug. "Harold; Geraldo; Harry; Waldo – what's in a name, huh?"

"Apparently, a lot!"

"Yeah, old Billy Boy turns out to be right again." I suddenly remember something. I unzip my coat and 'flash' my shirt at Waldo.

"That's – "

"The Mona Lisa tee. I bought it cuz I really like it too."

My companion is speechless. Around us, the crowds move, the lights blink and sparkle, and the music cries out in peaceful fulfillment. I feel giddy.

I explain further, "I liked the shirt from the beginning, but I bought it cuz it made you smile, and I liked that even more. If I wear it, I'll get to see it all I want."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. That was part of the deal, right?"

He shrugs. "Well, I suppose it can be."

I play-punch his arm. "I'm glad Ian drove too."

"Why?"

"Cuz there's a 5:30 showing of "Twilight Zone, the Movie," at Union Station for just you and me."

He makes a nervous chuckle. "You think we'll be the only ones in the theater?"

I rest my hand on his arm again. "Let's just say, if we were, that'd suit me fine. I'd like to get to know you a whole lot better."

All nervousness leaves him. His beautiful, intriguing freckles wrinkle into a smile, and I see his unmistakable beauty-mark tooth.

"Me too," he says.

~