by Kirby Larson
“Did you know the Sky Ride towers are over six hundred feet tall?” Lois pushed a lima bean around her plate. “And the rocket cars are named after famous people?”
“They are?” Mom buttered a slice of bread and passed it to Lois.
Lois had been sitting on the pamphlet. She pulled it out. “Like Gracie Allen. And George Burns.”
Mom got up to reheat the afternoon’s coffee. “I wouldn’t ride in any of those things, no matter who they’re named after.” She shivered. “You’d be so high, people on the ground would look like cabbage worms.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” said Lois. She remembered Mabel’s advice and decided not to say anything more. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it: soaring along like a bird, with clouds drifting by under your nose. Being able to see far beyond Chicago. Maybe even to Kalamazoo! Of course, the rocket cars were connected to the Sky Ride by cables, so it wouldn’t be exactly like flying. But it would be closer to it than jumping off Swansons’ barn with an umbrella!
She wondered if Aunt Eunice would think that the Sky Ride was educational, like the rest of the fair. That would be Lois’ wish tonight, on the first evening star. “Do you think Dad will be home by bedtime?” she asked.
“You know he will be if he can.” Mom poured herself some coffee. “Why don’t you make him up a plate, just in case?”
Lois made up a plate, then helped Mom wash the dishes, finishing in time to listen to most of Buck Rogers on the radio. She read until eight-thirty. Dad still wasn’t home, so she said her prayers with Mom, ending with “And God bless Dad. Help him find a job,” before clambering into bed. After Mom kissed her and turned out the light, Lois thought about how many kids had prayed that same prayer tonight. Almost all of her schoolmates’ fathers were out of work. And it was that way all over the state. All over the country! How would God ever answer that many prayers? She knew that she and Mom and Dad were luckier than most. They wouldn’t lose their house. It was all paid for. And there were just the three of them. Not seven, like Mabel’s family, with all those big, strapping, eternally hungry boys.
Besides, Mom was so clever at making do. The hole in the sole of Lois’ oxfords was repaired with a thin piece of cardboard slipped inside the shoe. When the collar on Dad’s good shirt started to look shabby, she snipped it off, turned it around, and sewed it back on with the ragged edge to the inside. And she could make five pounds of lima beans go farther than anyone in town.
Mom and Dad had made it an adventure the first year after the plant closed, finding ways to make ends meet. Lois wasn’t bothered one bit to wear her boy cousins’ hand-me-down overalls. And Mom’s garden turned into jar after jar of canned food.
It was harder for Mabel’s family. They lived in a boardinghouse and had no garden of their own. Every Saturday, Mabel, Elaine, and their mother got up in the wee hours to make doughnuts that Kenneth, the oldest, sold three for a dime at the train station. Her middle brother, Benjamin, delivered papers. And Johnny, the youngest, ran errands for the Dinwiddie sisters for nickels. Lois knew that President Franklin D. Roosevelt was working hard to help people get back to work, but she hoped he would hurry up a bit. It seemed that Mabel grew thinner every week.
Lois tiptoed to her window and watched for the stars to come out. She made her wish on the first one she saw. Then she tiptoed back to bed, where she added a prayer for Mabel’s family. She dozed off and on, starting at every sound outside her window, thinking it might be Dad home from Joliet. She finally fell asleep and was wakened by the clinking of milk bottles on the front porch as the milkman made his deliveries.
After she heard the milkman’s heavy boots tromp down the steps, she heard a lighter set of shoes skip up.
“Dad!” She threw back the covers and hurried downstairs to the kitchen as fast as she could.
“Pumpkin!” Dad scooped her up and swung her around, settling her onto a chair at the kitchen table. He settled onto the chair next to her.
“Thank you, Ellie.” He took the cup of coffee Mom offered him, then smiled at Lois. “How did you manage on that spelling test without me here to quiz you?”
“Ninety-nine percent,” Lois answered.
“Practically perfect! That’s my girl.” He toasted her with his coffee. Even though he was wearing a big smile, his eyes looked tired and his face was shadowed with stubble. And something else.
“Grease!” She rubbed at the splotch on his cheek. “Dad! You got a job.”
Mom clapped her hands under her chin, as if she were praying. “You might have told me right off. Oh, Howard. A job!” She dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her apron.
“Well, it’s temporary,” Dad said.
“What is it?” Lois bounced on her chair. “Who are you working for?”
“Hansen’s delivery service. Mr. Hansen has a fleet of ten trucks.” Dad slurped his coffee, then grinned. “Lucky for me, each and every one of them is older than Henry Ford himself. They evidently break down on a regular basis.”
“Well, then, don’t fix them too good!” Lois said.
They all laughed. There would be no chance of Dad not knocking himself out to get each and every clunker up and running. “Browns always do their best” was the family motto.
“So that’s my news.” He tousled Lois’ hair.
“Well, I have some swell news of my own!” Lois told him all about Aunt Eunice and the fair and the Sky Ride. “But I wish I were going with you and Mom,” she finished.
“Ah, my girl.” Dad grabbed her hands. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth. You go and chew up every bit of grand adventure that day has to offer.”
Lois pictured herself traipsing at Aunt Eunice’s side all over the fairgrounds, listening to her complain about this, that, and the other thing. How many times would she scold Lois for not staying close? How many times would she cluck her tongue in disapproval of something Mom and Dad had done? How many times would they have to sit and rest because Aunt Eunice’s ankles had puffed out over her shoes, like a pair of toasted marshmallows? Lois sighed. But at least she would get to go. Not many other children in Downers Grove would be that lucky. Dad was right. Putting up with Aunt Eunice was a small price to pay for seeing the World’s Fair.
MISS KANAGAWA
The fair opens tomorrow and Mr. Beard is just now bringing in the last two dolls. Both cloth. One is dressed as a Red Cross worker and one as a character named Alice in Wonderland.
We are Madame Alexander dolls, the Red Cross doll announces.
The best is saved for the last, her friend adds.
Madame Alexander dolls indeed! Imagine being so full of oneself! Humph. I can’t help feeling like the cat that got the cream, however, because when Mr. Beard finished arranging us all, I was given the best spot in the exhibit: apart from the others, as is only proper, with a single spotlight showing off my gofun face, my graceful hands, and, of course, my elegant kimono. Mr. Beard’s gangly son hand-lettered the placards accompanying each display. He read aloud what he had written for mine: “Madame Ambassador. Admire here a doll handmade by a master Japanese doll-maker, dressed in exquisite silk and crowned with a head of genuine human hair. This is the most valuable doll in the collection. Please do not touch.”
Madame Ambassador! The words thrill me. At long last, I will be able to serve again as I was originally intended, hands extended in friendship to the people of America.
I certainly hope my visitors will pay close attention to those last, very important four words on my calling card: “Please do not touch.”
May
Fair day finally arrived, and Aunt Eunice along with it. Dad was already off to work at Hansen’s, but he’d left a note on Lois’ dresser. When she opened it to read what he’d written, a quarter fell out. She picked up the coin and held it in her palm. Twenty-five cents! It felt heavy and full of promise. She read Dad’s words: “For your grand adventure.”
Her wish had come true! Here was exactly the right amount to ride on the rocket cars
! Her hands trembled with excitement as she tied the quarter in the corner of her best hanky, the one with Amelia’s Canary on it, so she wouldn’t lose it. She double-checked the knot five times before they left the house. And she held it tight as she jounced along on the train, next to Aunt Eunice—whose head was back, mouth open in sleep—the whole way to Chicago.
Lois had the best father in the whole world. She thought about that as she fingered the knotted handkerchief. Mom used to say Lois and Dad were cut with the same cookie cutter. Full of big dreams and starry notions. He knew how much she wanted to fly across the fairgrounds in one of those double-decker rocket cars, looking down on the other fairgoers, who would look like cabbage worms, inching along on the ground far below. She smiled at the thought of the vast vistas she would see as she was transported through the blue Chicago sky. How was she going to stand the wait?
Nervously, she smoothed the skirt of her blue print dress. Mom had let the hem out for the third time. Even after a soaking in vinegar, the first two hemlines were still visible. Mabel had said, “It’s fine. You can’t hardly see anything. Besides, people are going to have their eyes on the sights at the fair, not on your dress.” She’d given Lois a big hug then. “You go and have a swell time.”
At this memory, the quarter grew heavier in Lois’ hand. Mabel was a true-blue buddy. She’d never told anyone about what really happened to Mrs. Whitford’s prize dahlias. Or why a board went missing from Mr. Stewart’s fence. Only Mabel could be genuinely happy for someone else getting to go to the World’s Fair.
Lois clasped the handkerchief between her hands, her feelings on a teeter-totter. Twenty-five cents would buy a nice souvenir for Mabel, who didn’t have an Aunt Eunice to treat her to “educational experiences.” But Dad gave her this money for her adventure. He would be so disappointed if she didn’t use it to fulfill her dream.
The train jostled her in her seat, jolting her out of her thoughts. No sense getting into a lather. She didn’t have to decide right this minute. She had the entire day ahead of her. A paper sack of cinnamon-sugar-dusted doughnuts sat in her lap. Lois ate the last one, not bothering to offer it to her dozing great-aunt. Lois studied her as she chewed. Maybe, just maybe, the Sky Ride was part of Aunt Eunice’s plan. That would make it easy to decide how to spend that quarter.
She nearly jumped out of her seat when the conductor called out, “Chicago!” Aunt Eunice stirred, then gathered herself to her feet, leaning on her walking stick to step into the aisle and detrain. Wobbling like a top that had been wound too tightly, Lois followed Aunt Eunice through the station.
Aunt Eunice waved her hanky at a porter. “Please call us a cab,” she said.
Lois quivered again. A cab! Wait until she told Mabel. Lois thought the cabbie was the jolliest man ever. But Aunt Eunice frowned and clucked when he burst out singing “Life Is Just a Bowl of Cherries.” Under her breath, Lois sang along:
“Life is just a bowl of cherries.
Don’t take it serious; it’s too mysterious.”
They rolled down Twelfth Street, passing the Field Museum. The minute the taxi turned the last corner, the song dried right up in Lois’ mouth. If Mabel had been there, they would have pinched one another to make certain they weren’t dreaming. Lois had to pinch herself.
“Stay close!” Aunt Eunice steered her way through the crowds squeezing into the North Entrance. Lois followed her great-aunt through the gates and onto the fairgrounds. Stretching in front of her, as far as she could see, was a wide avenue, flanked on either side by a row of red flags. At the far end of the Avenue of Flags, the tall blue tower of the Hall of Science was topped with even more flags. To her right stood the Sears Roebuck Building, a gleaming white modern-day temple.
“Close your mouth, Lois,” Aunt Eunice said. “You’re letting flies in.”
Lois closed her mouth but kept her eyes open wide. She’d never seen any place so shiny, so modern, so big. It was not yet nine o’clock in the morning, but neon lights blinked everywhere, reflecting off buildings painted in rich flat colors. The pamphlet she and Mabel had read and reread had described the fair as a “symphony of steel and stone and glass.” It hadn’t exaggerated one bit. Lois grew light-headed from trying to decide where to look.
“You, there.” Aunt Eunice stopped a fair employee once they were through the entrance gate. “Could you direct us to the Food Pavilion?”
Lois had memorized the map in the pamphlet and could have led Aunt Eunice around the fairgrounds blindfolded, but listened politely while the man gave directions. They started off down the Avenue of Flags, the way he’d indicated, but then Aunt Eunice kept heading straight, instead of veering left around the end of the North Lagoon, toward Eitel’s Rotisserie. Lois tugged her great-aunt’s sleeve. “I think it might be this way.” Her mouth watered at the smell of roasting chickens from Eitel’s and the salty smell of cheese from the Dairy Building. On top of all those aromas floated the warm, sweet scent of spun sugar.
“You do, do you?” At first Aunt Eunice didn’t seem inclined to listen. Then she shifted her pocketbook to her other arm and said, “Well, let’s see if you’re right.”
Lois dawdled behind her great-aunt, bent on taking in every sight, sound, and smell. She saw a sign that brought her to a complete stop: “Sky Ride: Supreme Thrill of the Fair.” Lois’ head swiveled back on her neck as she turned her eyes up, up, up.
“Lois!” Aunt Eunice called back to her. “Come along. I don’t want to lose you.”
Lois stood transfixed as the gleaming submarine shapes of the double-decker rocket cars skimmed the steel cables far above her. She would definitely want to ride in the top deck, as high as possible!
“It looks like you were right about the route.” Aunt Eunice pointed her walking stick at a building that looked to Lois like a candy-striped Pullman car. It was topped with a big sign: “The Foods and Agriculture Building.” They were soon inside, each enjoying a stack of pancakes—one dime for all you could eat. And Aunt Eunice was right: a woman who looked like the Aunt Jemima in the advertisements was there. She wasn’t doing much cooking, but she laughed and chatted with the fairgoers, helping to serve groaning plates of pancakes.
Lois was too excited to finish even one stack. But Aunt Eunice kept tucking in, evidently determined to get her ten cents’ worth. After what seemed like a century, she sighed and then patted her mouth with a napkin. “Shall we wash up and be on our way?”
“What would you like to see first, Aunt Eunice?” Lois asked politely, when they’d finished in the washroom.
“My garden club ladies told me all the children enjoy Enchanted Island,” Aunt Eunice said. “We shall begin there.”
Lois held the door for her great-aunt. “Let’s go out this way,” she said. There was so much to see and only this one precious day in which to see it. She didn’t want to waste any more time. Thank goodness she and Mabel had plotted out all kinds of ways to crisscross the fairgrounds. Lois scurried along the path between the North Lagoon and South Lagoon, past the Edison Memorial and then the Electrical Building. It was all she could do not to run ahead of her plodding great-aunt when they reached the bridge to Enchanted Island. Remembering her manners, she waited and they crossed together.
Lois felt as if she’d stepped into Storybook Land. Her attention snared by the twenty-five-foot-high cutouts of the Tin Man and the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz stories, Lois nearly collided with a costumed man careening around on stilts. “Lois, watch where you’re going,” scolded Aunt Eunice, but the man only laughed and threw confetti at them.
They tapped their toes while a troop of authentic Czechoslovakian dancers spun and twirled; shook hands with Peter Pan and his nemesis, Captain Hook—twice, once for Lois and once for Mabel—and toured inside the popular two-story model of the Radio Flyer coaster wagon. The ground-floor level was full of coaster wagons of all sizes, including teeny-tiny replicas selling for twenty-five cents. Lois thought of the quarter still knotted in her hanky. But, really
, she and Mabel had outgrown wagons. So the coin stayed snug in its knot.
When it was time to move on, Aunt Eunice had her own ideas about their next destination. She dismissed both of Lois’ suggestions—the Midget Village and the Prehistory Exhibit.
“It’s all jimcrackery and nonsense,” she said.
Lois bit her tongue, trying not to gaze too longingly at the domed building encircled by the words “The World a Million Years Ago.” She’d heard that inside were replicas of saber-toothed cats and mastodons, actual size, that really moved. That would be something to see. She swallowed down her disappointment. “Well, what would you like to do next, Auntie?”
“Have a cup of tea. There.” They had walked around the end of the South Lagoon, bypassing, to Lois’ great relief, the Horticultural Building, the Century of Progress Club, and the Infant Incubator. They found themselves on the fringes of the Streets of Paris. Aunt Eunice pointed to an outdoor café nearby. The day was warm, and they’d already covered a lot of ground. A cool drink would hit the spot. A quick cool drink. They sat and ordered tea for Aunt Eunice and lemonade for Lois.
“Would you like to tour the Streets of Paris next?” Lois asked, fretting because Aunt Eunice had ordered hot tea. Hot tea was something her great-aunt might linger over, waiting for it to be cool enough to drink. The morning was flying by too quickly as it was.
“Certainly not!” Aunt Eunice fanned her face with her hand. “It is not appropriate for young girls. Not with that Sally Rand in there, doing that vulgar dance.”
Mabel’s cousin had told Mabel and Lois about Sally Rand and her famous Fan Dance.
“Naked as the day she was born under those feathered fans,” he’d said.
“Have you seen her dance?” Mabel had asked. Her cousin said he tried to, but got kicked out for being under age.
“What about the Chinese Temple of Jehol?” Lois suggested. In the brochure, the temple had looked exotic and intriguing, with its brass gongs and Ming statuary.