The Auerbach Will Page 14
“Hush. Your father doesn’t want us to talk of him.”
“But he must have been special to you, being the first.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Will I ever be that special to you, Mother, being the last?”
“Oh, yes, always special to me, Josh. All of you are special, but you are the most special because you are the most like him.”
“Well, how did it go?” Mogie asks her.
“I asked for half a million, and came out with a blue cashmere sweater.”
“What about Arthur Litton?”
“She was rather secretive. Something she doesn’t want me to know. I must say she didn’t seem too concerned about what I’ve found out.”
“That’s why we’ve got to find out more.”
“Yes. I’ve got to find out if there was some kind of payoff, or cover-up. If I could only get at her books. But how can I do that? Mary Farrell keeps everything guarded like a hawk.”
“Well, on that score I happen to know something that you don’t,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“Mother and Mary Farrell are going to the opera next Thursday night. You could think up some excuse for dropping by the apartment. I’m sure Yoki would let you in.”
The following Friday morning, Mary Farrell says to Essie, “Somebody’s been in my desk, Mrs. A.”
“Why? Is something missing?”
“No. Nothing’s missing. Everything’s in perfect order.”
“Then what makes you think—?”
“It’s like a sixth sense. I sense it, Mrs. A.”
“Perhaps one of the maids, dusting.”
“The maids have strict instructions never to touch my desk.”
“It must be your Irish imagination, Mary,” Essie says.
Later, Mary Farrell says to Yoki, the little Japanese butler, “Did anyone come in to the apartment last night, Yoki?”
He shakes his head vigorously. “’Cept Miss Joan. She came by. She looking for gloves left here other night.”
“How long was she here?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. I go back to kitchen. Not see her leave.”
“Thank you, Yoki.”
Now Mary Farrell is faced with a moral and political and tactical dilemma of considerable proportions. She knows that Mrs. A would not take kindly to the idea of Joan rummaging through her desk and files, and she knows that Joan and Mrs. A do not always see eye to eye on every matter. On the other hand, she also knows that Joan is her employer’s daughter, and that in a number of battles in the past Mrs. A has wound up coming to Joan’s defense, particularly when she feels Joan may have been wronged. It is a natural, motherly reaction, and a demonstration of the proverbial truth that blood is thicker than water or perhaps any other substance. The lioness will spring to defend her cub, even when it is in the wrong. And of course it is also possible that Mrs. A, on learning of Mary Farrell’s suspicions, will fly into a rage at Joan. And it is certainly not Mary Farrell’s wish to do anything that will aggravate the frictions that already exist between mother and daughter.
And so, after weighing the matter in her mind for most of the afternoon, whether or not to bring this up, and recalling several occasions when she has seen her employer react like a cornered lioness, Mary Farrell finally decides not to tell Mrs. A what she suspects.
Nine
Years later, when Jacob Auerbach would be asked, as he often was, what he considered to be the secret of his success—how, from almost nothing, he had built Eaton & Cromwell & Company into one of the largest corporations in the world, headquartered in Chicago but with sales outlets in more than two hundred cities in the United States and abroad—he would routinely answer, “Hard work, trust in God, and my faith that the customer must always be satisfied with the quality of the merchandise he or she gets. Hence, our motto: Our Customer Is Our Only Boss.” Essie, of course, would recall certain other factors, including the early contribution of her brother, Abe, which was somewhat greater than the company now chooses to remember.
From the little house at 5269 Grand Boulevard which they had rented—Essie was determined not to dip into the wedding money, and that there would be enough left over at the end of each month to send Uncle Sol a check for the interest on the loan—Jake would write his letters, in careful longhand, to his uncles when he came home from the store at night.
December 2, 1907
Dear Uncle Sol:
I hope you are not disappointed with the November sales figures. We are really just getting started, and I know you cautioned me not to expect dramatic sales during our first months. Also, the heating bill ran high last month ($24.20) because of the very cold weather. It seems it can get much colder here than in New York in winter, since we are more northerly …
We are looking forward to a good Christmas season, though retailers here are hoping that there will not be too much snow, which will keep away trade. So far, no snow, just cold. Keep your fingers crossed.
Every day, it seems, a few more customers come into the store …
Esther joins me in love to all the Family.
Yours sincerely,
Jacob
And Essie would write her own letters home, which Minna Litsky would save, in a packet tied with string, in a dresser drawer.
(undated)
Dearest Mama:
What a strange city Chicago is. It is on a huge lake so wide that you cannot see across to the other side, and when the wind blows there are waves, just like the sea. But the water is fresh, and the lake provides our drinking water. There is a big beach, and in the summer people walk straight from the city streets onto the beach! The city is on flat land, and so the streets are very straight, with not so many bends as some of the streets in New York. I am having an easy time of it, learning my way around.…
The house Jake found for us is very nice. It is built of brick and is in what is called the bungalow style, as are most of the other houses on the street. On the first floor is a living room, with a corner for a dining table at the end. Then there is a cozy kitchen with a gas stove. Upstairs there are two bedrooms (one small, one larger) and a bathroom, and an attic space which could be turned into another bedroom. There is a nice yard in front, and a smaller one in back, where when spring comes Jake has promised to help me start a vegetable garden. We were very lucky to find this house for $37.50 a month. The rents here seem much lower than in New York, though the heating costs are high. We have not bought much furniture yet, just the essentials.…
The neighbors seem very nice, though I have not had time to meet too many of them yet. One lady who lives next door, Mrs. Nielsen, brought us a fruit cake when we moved in. I think there are not too many Jews here, but there are many Negroes. They work with the railroads.…
Jake works very hard at the store, six days a week, and sometimes until very late at night. Here it is necessary to remain open on the Sabbath, because all the competition does. I sometimes go in to help him, particularly at the end of the month when there are accounts to do and bills to be sent out.
Mama dear, it was not necessary for you to send me money, though I appreciate the thought. I miss you all, and wish I could be with you all this Hanukkah Season, but this is Jake’s busiest time.…
Give Abe a kiss, and tell him to study hard.… Give Papa a kiss and tell him it is from me.…
She did not tell her mother that she, too, often worked at the store with Jake on Saturdays, or that she was not keeping kosher. But she had found, at the shops in her neighborhood at least, that most kosher items were simply not available.
January 3, 1908
Dear Uncle Sol:
I think we should be pleased with the December figures, considering the fact that the blizzard we had on December 15, which you may have read about, made the streets all but impassable, and four or five good Christmas-shopping days were lost. All retailers here felt it, not just me.…
I think we should do well with the new foulard neck scarves.…<
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Yours sincerely,
Jake
January 19, 1908
Dear Uncle Sol:
A torrential downpour yesterday washed away most of the snow, and in half an hour I sold every umbrella in the store! And I couldn’t find a single supplier in the city who had more stock! If I had had more stock myself, I think I could have sold at least 50 more! But who can predict the weather?
One of the problems here, as I see it, is the tremendous loyalty Chicago customers have to the older established stores—Marshall Field’s and Carson’s, etc., etc. A couple of typical situations are these: A customer will come in and say, “I’ve looked all through Field’s and can’t find what I want—lets see what you have.” Or, conversely, if a customer can’t find exactly what he wants here, he’ll say, “Oh, Field’s will have it certainly.” Breaking down that loyalty to Field’s, etc. is turning out to be our biggest battle.…
I’m hoping to do well with the seersucker and alpaca suits for spring and summer, but when I suggested to one customer that the suit might look well set off by one of our white piqué vests and a straw boater, he said it looked “too sissy.” Chicago is a very He-man sort of town.
Yours sincerely,
Jake
Putting down his pen wearily after one of these late-night letter-writing sessions, Jake said, “I wish I could afford someone who could type these things.”
“I can type,” Essie said. “I learned in school. I could type your letters for you—all I’d need is a machine. I’ll be your helper!”
The next night, he brought home a typewriter for her. He started off by dictating his letters and orders to her, but within a few days the dictation was no longer necessary. All he had to do was tell her what he wished to say, and she would compose the letters for him.
New York City
March 15, 1908
Dear Nephew:
Among the expense items for February, ult., I came across an item in the amount of $29.50 for the purchase of a typewriting machine. Are you quite sure this purchase was strictly necessary?
“Christ!” said Jake, flinging down the letter. “Doesn’t he realize the bargain he’s getting? A free assistant? And all the time it saves me? All for a rotten thirty dollars!”
Your Uncle Mort and I have always felt that handwritten letters provide a more personal touch in the conduct of our business.…
“Fine,” Essie said. “From now on, all his letters will be handwritten. But only his.”
Incidentally, I have not yet received the final figures for February, which I had expected to have in hand before this date.
Yrs., etc.
Solomon J. Rosenthal
“The figures did go out, didn’t they?” he asked her.
“Yes, but they were a few days late. You got behind, because of the short month, remember?”
He folded his arms on the kitchen table and rested his head upon them. “Christ,” he said, “but I hate this business.”
She studied him for a moment. Then, in imitation of him, she flung her own arms across the table, sank her head onto them, and let out a long wail. “Oh, God!” she pretended to moan. “Oh, Riboyne Shel O’lem! The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved! What shall become of us? Alles ist endet!”
He sat up abruptly. “Essie?” he said. “Are you all right?”
She sat up too, and faced him. “As my mother would say, enough already—all right already! So go hit your head against the wall! Why this moaning and complaining? We have a roof over our heads and food in the larder. You have a job and a salary, what else do you want? Listen,” she said, jumping up from the table, “I have a bottle of Riesling in the icebox, so let’s have a party. Let’s celebrate our good fortune. And listen,” she said, as she fetched the wine, uncorked the bottle, and filled two glasses, “don’t forget that I’m a Russian Jewess, with mystic powers. I am a daughter of the Benjamites, for whom the Red Sea parted, and I can work miracles. So let’s drink to miracles! To success! To health! To money! To the end of the rainbow and the pot of gold! L’chayim! You at least know that Jewish word, don’t you?”
He was laughing now. “L’chayim,” he said, “to you and to me,” and they clinked glasses.
Later, a little heady from the wine, she was walking slowly back and forth across the kitchen linoleum, her glass held in front of her. “Something is happening to me, Jake,” she said softly. “Do you know what it is? I’ll tell you what it is. The Russian peasant is coming out in me. I can feel it coming out in me—the Russian peasant.” Slowly she began unbuttoning her blouse. “Ah, I feel it coming, Jake dearest—can you see it coming? Can you?”
He rose and began moving toward her.
She undid the last button. Then she sat, facing him, on the edge of the wooden kitchen table, and lay back across it. “Right here,” she whispered, “like the peasant girls did … right here on the kitchen table … like the girls did at home … in Volna … Ah, Jake!” she cried as his body sank across hers. “Make love to this poor peasant girl!”
On mornings when he did not need her at the store, she would rise ahead of him and prepare his lunch, a couple of hearty sandwiches and a piece of fruit, a banana or an apple, and a Dewar bottle of hot coffee, wrap everything in waxed paper and put it in a paper bag. Then she would fix his breakfast. During the mornings she would type his business letters and work on the billing and account books. The afternoons were her private times. Some of the magazines she read contained pages on the fashions of the day, and for a few cents you could send away for the patterns. But why, she asked herself, spend good money on patterns when she could sketch dresses herself and make her own patterns? And so she began designing and stitching together her own dresses and suits. A little outfit inspired by one she had seen in Harper’s Bazaar—and which cost forty dollars in the stores—Essie could make for less than six dollars.
Some of the books that she borrowed from the library now were books on gardening. In the small rectangle of earth behind the house, which Jake had spaded up for a garden, she set out tomato plants, and rows of carrots, radishes and lettuce. She also left space for some showy perennials—phlox, iris, and peonies. When the streetcar line that ran in front of the house was being torn up and relaid in the spring of 1907, Essie was able to salvage a few flat stones, and to build a short, winding path through her little garden. Her botany course was turning out to be useful after all! Wonder of wonders!
From the store, it seemed to Essie, the figures got gradually better as the weeks went by. Actually, she decided, Jake enjoyed the selling part of his work, and was very good at it. With his good looks and easy manner, and with his own good taste in clothes, he was a persuasive salesman. But it was the paperwork he didn’t like, and so Essie did that for him.
April 7, 1908
Dear Uncle Sol:
Enclosed, please find proofs of some new advertisements we plan to run in the Chicago Tribune. If you find them as exciting as I do, you may wonder who the talented artist is who has executed them.
Well, the artist is none other than my lovely wife who, to my added delight, offers her services completely gratis.…
New York City
April 11, 1908
Dear Nephew:
Thank you for sending me the proofs of the adv’ts.
At first I was puzzled by the fact that the faces on the figures wearing the clothes do not have features such as eyes and noses and mouths drawn in. But then I decided that perhaps this is rather clever, in that it calls to greater attention the garments themselves, and their details, rather than to the details of the human figure. The details of the garments seem to me to be well done.
I must offer a cautionary word, however, on the use of adv’ts in general. Even the cleverest adv’t cannot sell an unsalable garment. If the adv’t does not sell a g’mt, be sure not to make the mistake of spending money on another adv’t for the same g’mt. Instead, a sale tag should be immediately placed on said g’mt, or el
se it should be passed on to another retailer at the most favorable discount you can get. Do not make the mistake of buying a certain g’mt in large quantity based on the fact that you intend to run an adv’t on it, for the results may be disappointing and you will be left with a large overstock.
Meanwhile, I suggest you give more attention to your accounts receivable. Looking over last month’s figures, it would appear to me that Chicagoans do not apply the same meticulous care to paying their bills which New Yorkers do. Or the problem may lie in not sufficiently checking the financial status of certain customers to whom you are extending credit.…
April 30, 1908
Dear Uncle Sol:
Rosenthal’s advertisements are becoming the talk of Chicago!
Every day, in the mail, come more letters praising our advertisements for their stylishness and originality. My artist-in-residence deserves full credit.…
New York City
May 5, 1908
Dear Nephew:
I am delighted that Rosenthal’s adv’ts are “the talk of Chicago,” as you put it, but do not let that fact carry you away into spending more money on adv’ts than your sales figures warrant.
While having artistic adv’ts no doubt creates “good will” for the store, it is always difficult to place a dollar value on “good will.”
Yrs., etc.
Solomon J. Rosenthal