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Wini and the King of Someplace - 3. III. Part 2 – Autumn/Winter 1912 Chapter 1: "He's dumb, Miss Barrett"
III. Part 2 – Autumn/Winter 1912
Chapter 1: "He's dumb, Miss Barrett"
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1912
Thursday, September 12th
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Marquette Hotel, Saint Louis, Mo.
Dear Diary,
Progress on completing the new building is slow. The construction company was supposed to be ready to turn over the structure for outfitting December 1, but that will not be happening.
Just as well, as Mr. Salomon's appointments for the interior are requiring some serious coordination. The quarry in central Missouri supplying the onyx for the First Floor Soda Fountain is busy cutting and polishing only the choicest specimens for us.
At lunch with he and Mr. May the other day I learned why this fountain is being treated as such a priority. It seems back in time The Famous Company had a thirty-three-foot-tall example in its store. This was no ordinary soda siphon, but shaped like a three-story building and executed entirely in marble and sterling silver. It was originally made for the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia and was the store's greatest treasure, but also sadly destroyed in the 1892 fire, which nearly succeeded in closing the company's doors for good. That's when Mr. May stepped in to rescue the firm, not to mention greatly expanding and making it the shining jewel in the May Company crown of businesses.[1]
At this lunch it was also discussed – and decided by my employers – that I should assist Mr. Salomon with the plans. A liaison position to get approval from the various department heads, and smooth out any department operational differences. We'll have to see when the contractor can hand over the keys, but I suppose this new assignment will, plus the photography efforts for the Welfare Association souvenir edition, keep me in Saint Louis well beyond my twelve-month leave from Boggs & Buhl.
Oh well, I have been growing a bit fond of this place, and its people, to tell the truth. And I feel sorry for Bauer. McIntire treats him no better than a servant, but the lad is faithful, and polite too. I've been talking to him on occasion, and have resolved to do him a little good turn. I think he's had few of those in his young life, and as for the uncaring chatter going around the company that he's un-teachable, my lunch conversations with the boy prove him to be bright and engaged. And best of all, he's curious. Many of those wagging their tongues may be able to boast of a high school diploma, but few could follow up the credentials with the fact of actually being inquisitive about anything. How Sad.
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Saint Louis, Mo.
Thursday, October 3, 1912
Dear Thomas,
It's funny the things you ask me about, but I like your wide array of interests. You wanted to know if I had heard of this new thing called a 'parachute,' and how it was tested here at an airfield in Saint Louis County. Well, I spent a leisurely Sunday afternoon looking though the newspapers at my hotel, and found out it's true. Apparently a Captain Albert Berry jumped out of a plane with nothing more than a silk bag strapped to his shoulders to save his life. As he landed unharmed on the grassy fields of Jefferson Barracks, one can only assume his risk to life and limb was worth it.
Apparently the Army Air Corps thinks so too, as they are signing a contract with him. Well, well, times are changing.
Speaking of which, it is still a little strange to see the new flag flapping. My whole – relatively young – life, 'the flag' had forty-six stars, and now it has forty-eight! Since Arizona and New Mexico were the last two continental territories, I suppose we will be looking at 48 stars for quite a while, but you never know. Maybe once our canal is built, Panama will want to join the Union.
With politics, I appreciate your point of view, but I'm not sure about Teddy Roosevelt's chances of getting elected president again. The Republicans were never very happy with him, what with his creating the National Parks system by a stroke of his pen as an Executive Order, and his gathering up of private utilities into large umbrella companies to offer electricity and phone service basically 'at cost' for the people, but Teddy as a Progressive Party candidate has a hard row to hoe. He'll probably split the GOP vote and let Woodrow Wilson and the Democrats take the White House. But, so be it. Wilson will be more progressive than the GOP candidate, for we've already seen how four years under Taft has nearly stymied growth; it always happens when they are in charge for a while. Too much money gets siphoned up to the wealthy when the Party of Wall Street Easy-Streeters are left to say the workingman is 'lazy,' while at the same time stealing our tax money to give to themselves.
On a lighter subject, how's life back at school? It's nice to know you and Malcolm are settled into off-campus housing, although I bet traveling to MIT when snow is on the ground will be a bit of a challenge.
Word around the office is, reporters for various trade magazines have been crawling over every inch of The Railway Exchange Building, and reviewing store plans with Mr. Salomon. It seems every magazine from Progressive Architecture to the Plumber's Home Journal (ha-ha) will be featuring write-ups on the structure when it officially opens. And when it does, and the mags come out, I will be sure to collect a pile and send them along to you.
In closing, I thought I would tell you something about Saint Louis you may not know. Ragtime was born here. I was told the first sheet music of this local beat was printed in 1897 and called the Harlem Rag, which confused people who thought it must have a New York connection. It does not, and I can tell you, the whole town swings to it. You hear it everywhere you go, drifting out from downtown taverns – like the renowned 'Maple Leaf' across from Union Station and where Scott Joplin worked – to open windows and parlours in every neighborhood. It gives the city a most charming feel, and reminds me of that untranslatable German word Gemütlichkeit.
Well, here it is, twenty minutes later . . . . I sought out a German dictionary in the hotel library to see how they phrased the meaning. It says "Gemütlichkeit (N.) – The condition of having or promoting an easy state of mind; an easygoing disposition; a good-natured outlook; geniality; pleasantness; comfortableness; and a freedom from pecuniary or political cares. From the adjective gemütlich – jovial; full of feeling; simple; agreeable; cheerful; hearty; affectionate; cozy and snug."[2]
No wonder it's so hard to define! It appears to mean everything honest and good in one's outlook, and that seems to me what Saint Louis is all about.
This town is food mad, as well as very proud of the fact. I think it has to do with the unabashedly German nature of good meals and good fellowship being linked hand in hand. Even its little boys are well versed in the history of its native treats from hot dogs to ice tea. There is some talk that New-York-types are trying to claim the invention of the ice cream cone, which everybody knows was first served at the World's Fair here. Apparently some busybody dug up a patent filing from a few months before the Fair for a disposable dish made of flour paste, which was never meant to be eaten. How ridiculous, based on that such a claim, to try and steal something so glorious as the Saint Louis ice cream cone! Outrageous!
In fact there are plenty of photographs from the Fair of children eating the real thing, and how the genuine article came about is a charming piece of narrative.[3] A local vendor at the Fair was hugely popular. He served his ice cream the usual way, in glass dishes, but found it expensive to replace the many that were 'walking away.' His friend and fellow concessionaire was a Lebanese gentleman making pizzelle nearby. The ice cream man had a flash of inspiration and asked the cookie maker to wrap some pizzelle around pastry cones as they cooled. Viola! Filled with ice cream, and originally sold for two a nickel, both men became famous overnight. That's the moment the 'waffle cone' variety was born, and the horrible, cheap version called the 'sugar cone' was recycled out of the failed ice cream dish patent, but only in the summer of 1905 on Coney Island, in an attempt to recapture some of the glory of the Fair a whole year after the fact.
Anyway, just some information for you to amaze and impress your friends at social gatherings.
For now, Thomas, I will bid you a fond goodnight, and don’t forget to set your alarm clock. Your streetcar will not wait for you in the morning, despite the eye rolling I can see from you even now!
Your doting aunt,
Wini
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Saint Louis, Mo.
Friday, November 8, 1912
Dearest Mother,
Yes, Thomas wrote me too saying he was excited to be coming home for Thanksgiving. I can tell you, dear one, not to discount the fact that he is bringing his close, 'particular' friend with him.
If you are able, I hope you smooth the arrival of Malcolm to my brother's house in any way that you can. You needn't tell or suggest to him that they are close, in fact, that may simply draw unwanted attention to the young men, but hopefully you can coax the boy's father into seeing how happy Thomas is. Acknowledging that, by which I mean in a profound way, will go a fair distance in making my brother consider whether or not he wants Thomas to ever be happy in life or not.
In any event, I trust you know what to do; after all, you have been managing your son since before I was born!
Things here at the store have gotten hectic, as gift merchandise is flooding the warehouse for holiday sales. Already there have been some grumblings from the Barr folks that the first combined Christmas of Famous and Barr Co. will be a letdown to longtime Barr clients. I'm starting to see two things: William P. Barr & Company did Christmas big, with storewide decorations and promotions, while Famous has a tradition of focusing on affordable gifts with less of an 'event' feel. This new coordination wrinkle will promise to be a large one.
As for my growing concerns over Arnold Bauer, I have news to report.
I had to find out, so I confronted Mr. McIntire, and here's the way it transpired.
"The latest from the architects!" I said as I rapped on his office door and let myself in. I held up a tube of drawings.
I went to Mr. McIntire's table and started to unpack them.
He rose and came over. "Miss Barrett, you really should schedule these meetings. I – "
"No time, Mr. McIntire. Things are moving fast, and I need your opinion, and hopefully your sign-off on the plans."
"Very well."
He huffed a bit, but pulled out a chair for himself and sat. I stood on the other side and pointed out the sectional cut of the Tunnelway.
"As you can see," I started, "the conveyor belt system will be attached to the tunnel ceiling. Each floor of the main building will have a packing and unpacking room where customer purchases can be prepared for delivery. They are dropped down a spiral chute and land on the conveyor belt for transport a block underground and up several stories into the Saint Charles Street package delivery room." The entire time my hand made the show of a bundle being prepared in the store, dropping, being conveyed underground and then going up into Mr. McIntire's kingdom of sorting goods for home delivery: some vans going east, others in the remaining directions to fan out for dozens of miles.
I glanced at him to see if he approved of the arrangement.
Instead of inspecting the sectional cut, he appeared to be eying me.
Curtly I asked, "Well?"
A smug tone appeared in his voice. "Well, Miss Barrett. What do you think of the approach?"
I was stunned. "I. . .I think it's a fine solution, as no deliveries to or from the main store will happen in the customers' view."
"In addition . . . ." His hand swept along the drawing in the opposite direction as mine had. "Merchandise from the warehouse will travel down from the ten floors of the warehouse into the Tunnelway and be portered on mobile palates known as 'trucks' to the service elevators of the main building. Then they will be taken up to the various floors for sorting and pricing." He paused. "But you did not answer my question. What do you think of the concept?"
"Well, I thought I had. I think it's fairly well genius. No other department store in the world has such a sophisticated system. It's brilliant."
"Thank you."
My skin prickled with dislike for the man. What was his meaning?
"It was my concept, Miss Barrett, so it's nice to receive validation that it will function just fine – even if the opinion comes from a novice and outsider."
He made it near impossible for me to respect him. Self-aggrandizements in business dealings are at the very least unprofessional, and in the extreme, obnoxious.
I learned something about the man in that moment, and whether he wanted to aid me in my approach to 'handling' him or not, he did.
I slipped on a grin. "Very impressive, Mr. McIntire. When the store and warehouse are up and running, you will be able to walk the Tunnelway with pride and a feeling of accomplishment."
Bingo. He relaxed and drank the unctuous honey of my praise like a tree-bound bear.
I gestured to the signature box in the lower right hand corner of the drawing. "Please sign."
He rose nosily, pushing the wooden legs of his chair across the floor so suddenly, the screeching startled me somewhat.
He went to his desk and brought back pen and ink.
While he signed, I stood too and prepared the plan view for him to approve. I also thought my chances for finding out more about the mysterious boy were slipping away.
He glanced over the plans in silence, gripping the edges of the paper to hold up the blueprints.
"I believe . . . " I started tentatively, my voice and demeanor coy. "That congratulations are in order."
"Hmmm?" he intoned with distraction.
"Your wedding, to a young woman."
McIntire laid the plans down; his face was initially blank, but a moment later began to take on color. "How did you – "
"People mentioned it in the office. And I thought I'd wish you the best of luck."
"Miss Barrett, I'd appreciate your discretion in not passing along this rather private information."
I pursed my lips and made a slight bow of deference. "As you wish."
He signed the plans, and I seated myself across from him.
"Another matter, sir, is on my mind."
"And what is that?" He organized and rolled up the drawings.
"What exactly is your relationship with Arnold Bauer? I mean, why is he here?"
Through barely controlled anger, McIntire told me, "My motivation for keeping an eye on that boy is none of your business."
I must have looked dubious, for he continued.
"He's dumb, Miss Barrett. Can't write, gets his letters all mixed up. A vocational opportunity is the kid's only shot in life. So the orphanage took him out of class – he was wasting the teacher's time anyway – and did a work-release program with the store. As I was the one who requested it, as I was the one who signed him out, I was put in charge of overseeing Bauer, and that's what I have done, Miss Barrett. That's all I have done."
He stood, handing me the architects' designs, and our meeting was over.
Well, Mother, as you can see the confrontation was a tad on the dramatic side, but I still sense there is more to be uncovered. If one cannot find a truth by direct examination, then one must approach it from another angle.
In any event, the boy is not 'dumb,' and as a teacher, I am sure you could puzzle out a way to assist the child figure out his letters in the correct way.
For now I will content myself with our occasional lunches, but cannot take him to very many places dressed as he is in boots and overalls.
I will have to think of a solution.
That's all for tonight, dear Mother, so I will bid you sleep well and take care of yourself.
Your affectionate daughter,
Winifred
[1]An engraving of Famous' Great Centennial Arctic Soda Fountain from 1883.
And here is an agéd photograph of the fountain at the 1876 World's Fair
[2] Paraphrased from Ludwig Bemelmans' Introduction to Lüchow's German Cookbook (by Jan Mitchell, New York 1952)
[3] The oldest known image of ice cream cones: a snapshot from the Saint Louis World's Fair. This photograph was featured on a U.S. postage stamp as well.
Incidentally, the pizzelle gentleman's family is still in the ice cream business. I saw this on a recent television program – something like Guy's Big Bites – where the family's shop in a Southern state is featured. They are well aware of the real history of the treat, and proudly told the host all about it.
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