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Wini and the King of Someplace - 5. V. Part 3 – Spring/Summer 1913 Chapter 1: Holy Image
V. Part 3 – Spring/Summer 1913
Chapter 1: Holy Image
Saint Louis, Mo.
Tuesday, March 18, 1913
Dearest Mother mine,
Enclosed you will find a picture of Arnold Bauer, Esquire, Shipping Department. I apologize for him looking so dour. Usually he does not, but he refused to be amused by the photographer's 'childish antics,' a poor man who only wanted to raise some mirth in the eight-year-old's grownup heart. Oh, well. He smiles in person, which is what really counts.
You should have seen our serious-minded boy in his 'Sunday suit and tie' traipsing through the store with sniggers trailing in his wake from Famous folks only used to seeing him in coveralls. We made our way to the in-house photographer. Actually the man and his equipment are an old Barr's department, and he's set up a portrait studio in the store, although his lab has to be housed in the warehouse for now.
Bauer showed his usual curiosity coupled with adroitness in asking 'the right' questions. He was totally enthralled, in a polite way, with the picture-maker's equipment, flash powders, negative plates in their perfectly black housings, and on and on.
Mr. Jenkins, the photographer, seemed to take a shine to the lad's eagerness and patiently explained it all in the ways a young man's brain could absorb.
Eventually he was persuaded to sit and have his image captured for all times. A funny moment occurred afterwards.
"Miss Barrett," the boy said from his studio seat. "Won't you have one taken too?"
"Pshaw! My correspondents know what I look like, Bauer. It's your face they are most anxious to see."
Only later, during our walk back through the store, when all the chortles of those staring at his clothes and dolled-up hair did not seem to raise any ire in him anymore, did I learn something.
"Why so long in the face, young man?"
Saucer eyes lifted to mine. "I was hoping, miss, you would want to sit with me, you know, a joint portrait."
Well, Mother dear, that had the effect of halting my steps. "You want a picture of me, Bauer?"
"Yes, miss. I would like one very much."
"Then you shall have it. I have some in my hotel room, and will give you one."
"Thank you." But he did not look quite satisfied.
And true to my word I dug one out of my suitcase later on that evening and had to kneel by my bedside.
Should I be ashamed to admit, Mother, how the tears came to me? I was so sorry for the boy. Why must he be in such position, and why must so many paint him with the 'taint' of being his parents' offspring? He has done nothing but survive, and is that worthy of criticism?
Such a heady mix of emotions swayed my actions, I must say, for I did not give Bauer my picture the next day. I waited until Mr. Jenkins called and informed me Bauer's studio shots were ready for pick up.
Afterwards, I knocked on Mr. McIntire's door, and as usual, his face turned surly once he laid eyes on me.
I walked up to his desk. He rose, and I handed him Bauer's picture. He inspected it for a long minute, almost letting a crack of a smile appear, but in the end he glared at me and asked why I thought he'd want it.
My heart raced at his less-than-enthused reaction. I almost felt like snatching it from his clutches again, as if I needed to rescue the Holy Image from heathen hands.
Collecting myself and saying he may do as he pleases with the photograph, I punctuated his rudeness with a curt "You're welcome" as I vacated his office and closed the door a bit too loudly behind me.
On the loading dock, I found young Master Bauer at his usual afternoon task of disassembling cardboard shipping boxes and approached him.
He whipped off his cap, and despite my better instincts not to do it, my hand went out and smoothed his ashen hair.
"Bauer, I have a couple of things to give you."
I held out my picture, and the boy took it. For a silent moment or two I watched his eyes scan every detail, and enjoyed the flicker of a smile playing about his mouth.
"I have something else for you too," I said, offering him a postcard-sized carte de visite. He had seen them on offer in the photographer's studio and let his true kid-self shine through while looking at them.
They are a series of novelty headshots, some of men, others of women, but the one Bauer liked the most is of a mustachioed man in a bowler hat. Nestled in a heavy felt-paper frame, and a border with Famous-Barr on the bottom, the image is what they refer to as three-dimensional. Holding it angled to the left, the man's hat and mustache are in perfect focus, but as you slowly shift it to the right, his headgear and face hair begin to dissolve, until finally the man's picture is transformed; he's clean-shaven and hat-free.
Bauer regarded it and then blinked in tacit recognition that I had made his day, perhaps his week and month too.
"Thank you, miss," is all he could manage to say.
I placed his cap back on his head and assured him it was my pleasure.
Strolling away, I felt confident the two new items for Bauer's shoebox would become top-of-the-pile treasures for a while.
Naturally, more interesting and newer material will follow to bury them, but for the time being, we can be certain of a pleasured inspection now and again.
Oh, Mother, what should I do about all of this? About the way I feel? Am I too much a dreamer, and yes, despite how you roll your eyes, you are the correct person to ask this question.
It's hard to believe I have been here for one year already . . . .
I am tired now, and should go to bed. So, I will kiss you good night, and ask you to hold me in your dreams while I toss and turn in my indecision.
Sweet Dreams, Mother dearest mine.
Your affectionate daughter,
Winifred
˚˚˚˚˚
Saint Louis, Mo.
Saturday, April 12, 1913
Dear Thomas,
Well, it's official. The new store opening is delayed. Messrs. Salomon and May told us in our Friday meeting, and although the forced emotion was one of disappointment, the true feeling was relief.
The installation of the grandest features will need a few weeks more and the executives decided opening day must be an opportunity to wow the department store world, and our local shoppers as well. To 'open' without the soda fountain in place, and to operate without the ornateness of the ladies' fashion salon in perfect order would be to denigrate the efforts of so many for so long.
Personally, it gives me more time to do my work as well. Besides my Welfare Association efforts to track down and ensure Mr. Jenkins has a headshot portrait of all the managers and executive officers for our opening day souvenir edition, I must confess that the department integration is a slow-going enterprise. The smallest of details can cause either Famous or Barr people to dig trenches and say they have given enough by way of compromise already. I mean seriously, who cares if the ribbon ladies in Notions un-spool and cut to the left or to the right? The answer: someone is bound to cough up the tired old saw "But, that's how we've always done it, Miss Barrett."
Oh my, but I will survive the pettiness and rest assured knowing the hordes of money-spenders on opening day will force solutions onto every minor quibble.
And, since we've missed the spring window for the ribbon cutting, it was decided to avoid the lack of crowds due to summer vacations and open in the fall. First or second week of September is now the new target, and we will make it with all our t's crossed and i's dotted beautifully. The world won't know what hit it when Famous-Barr opens in our new digs.
Poor Mr. Salomon; he has so many beautiful fixtures and contractors to coordinate. The poor man – well, let's just say he's lived, slept and breathed nothing but Railway Exchange Building matters for the last twelve months. The good news is, Mr. May and company have rewarded his commitment handsomely. See, Salomon was titled 'Superintendent' of Famous-Barr, which is like the vice president role. Now he's been promoted to 'Manager' of May Department Stores Company, which is like V.P. not to one store, but a conglomerate of five! I saw the May Company is currently worth $23 million dollars, but the figure does not include the value of the Railway Exchange Building, its rental income, or the projected revenue of the greatly expanded Famous-Barr business when we move to our new facility.[1] The company's net worth in 1914 will be quite interesting; no doubt May will be the largest retailer in the world – but then again, we already are!
Paul Baker, who ran Carson, Pirie, Scott, and then moved up to manage Stix, Baer & Fuller, is now Famous-Barr's new Superintendent. He's a nice man, and will take us far.
Other interesting news I have to report is an outing last Sunday. Some of the ladies in the office treated me for my birthday by taking me to see Forest Park. The whole town is abuzz about the Louisiana Purchase Exposition Company's gifts to the city, which include the Art Museum, the Jefferson Memorial and home for the Missouri Historical Society's museum, and a massive open-air structure called the 'Pavilion.' It crowns a hill and looks over a vista to the water features of the former Fair. It's beautiful and understated, and ideal to host large gatherings, as I'm sure several hundred people can be seated for a meal under its tile roof.[2]
The main purpose of the ladies came to light after we boarded one of the charming green, double-decker busses that circle the park – a park larger than San Francisco's Golden Gate and New York's Central, by the way.
We sat on top and relished the spring sunshine. I do so love the blue skies and powder-puff clouds one so often sees in Saint Louis.[3]
When we got off at the intersection of Delmar and Euclid Avenues – which is in the heart of the wealthiest neighborhoods of the West – we stepped into a palace for lunch. With terraces and planted topiaries on the sidewalk, I thought it could be a Côte d'Azur casino.[4]
I enclose two postcards from Café Cicardi so you can judge for yourself – I also picked up a set for a certain young man in the Shipping Department. The reception area was in the height of the latest German Classical taste. Here we were served orange squash while our table was made ready, and I protested that the ladies had gone overboard, but they poo-pooed me and said it was their treat.[5]
The restaurant interior might have made the Emperor Hadrian feel right at home, for features of Tivoli were omnipresent. A great round dome rose with a myriad of blue-colored panels and raised plasterwork. Rusticated niches housed statuary with alabaster torchieres flanking either side. Flowering plants, the sound of tinkling water from somewhere, and the strains of music from a string quartet made everything feel complete.[6]
We ate and gossiped and had a remarkably fine time. The food, in case you are wondering, was divine. Lots of choice Italian wines, and seafood dishes done lightly but with the subtlest accents to bring out their freshness.
And yes, I know what you're thinking; I can almost see your scowling face from here. This event means I am now officially 'thirty,' so let the old maid jokes flow! I'm kidding; if you do, I may not speak to you again. Just kidding, ha-ha.
In your last letter you reminded me how I am talking more and more about Saint Louis as if it were my 'home.' And this letter will go nowhere fast to dissuade you of that notion, however, I feel vindicated in being able to say the same 'homey' feel is shining through your missives about Boston.
In closing, I will mention it's hard to believe your second year of college is almost at an end. I'm sure the prospect of sailing to Europe with Malcolm is spine tingling. You'll have so much fun, and his notion of sticking to the Iberian peninsula – where food and accommodation are low-cost – sounds marvelous. In your planned three-month visit, I do hope you get to Venice like you mentioned. Naturally, you have your whole life to get back there, but seize the day, I always say, for the truth of the matter is you are only young and in love once in your life, Thomas, so take Malcolm's hand and go!
Your grandmother sends her love, as always.
Your doting aunt,
Wini
˚˚˚˚˚
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1913
Thursday, May 22nd
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Marquette Hotel, Saint Louis, Mo.
Dear Diary,
The transition is complete; I have moved at last from 'plan view' into the real world of the new store; from the abstract following of details in elevation, to the three-dimensional reality of wet plaster and paint fumes.
I accompanied Mr. Salomon to his weekly jobsite meeting, and he wants me to be with him every time now until the store opens. These happen Wednesday afternoons, and are between the contractors, the building management people, and us. There is a mood of celebration between them, and rolled-up sleeves and a lack of formality tells me these folks have been working closely towards the same goal for quite some time now.
Touring the shell of the store, I saw many artists at work, not the least of which was a near army of stuccoists molding the deep egg and dart capitals of literally hundreds of columns. They will not be painted so the fine details remain exposed.
I saw my first example of the millwork cabinetry. This specimen, sitting proudly in a sheltered place on the second floor, is the 'approved one' by which all others must meet the same level of finish and quality, or run the risk of being rejected.
Eventually, each floor will have dozens of these. Not only do they hold merchandise, but provide flat tops larger than double beds to display the various items for sale. The wood is stained an attractive olive-green, and Salomon tells me it’s a nod to Barr's old corporate color. The same hue, he assures me, will appear as accents in the tile floors, on the ironwork of the open elevator cabs, and even the stripes of the awnings outside – all will be accented with the new FB-Green. I have to say, the contrast with the ivory-colored exterior will prove to be most distinctive and irresistibly festive to wandering shoppers.
I shall be seeing a great deal more of the interior from now on, as I have permission to escort various department heads so they can inspect their new homes. I expect the same level of energy and excited enthusiasm witnessed in the construction meetings to wheedle its way into everyone who sees the store nearing completion.
The six weeks leading to September 8th and the opening ceremony will be the busiest time in my life. However, Mr. May himself has insisted I take a week off next month and be the company's guest at the resort. So, before I make the final push, I'll do that. I will naturally be taking plans, my files and notes, because several of the department heads will be lodging with me on the Meramec at the same time. Since we'll be relaxed, I suspect we can amicably iron out a few of the last-minute details.
At least, I hope so.
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[1] The company valuation is the one reported in the Welfare Messenger Souvenir Edition to celebrate moving into the new facilities. To put $23 million in proper perspective, the entire federal budget of the United States in 1912 was $69 million.
[3] Postcard of The People's Bus
[6] Café Cicardi main dining room
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