What Growing Up Wasp Taught Me About... Growing Up Wasp

I've been reading a ton of memoirs as I continue to work on mine.  Currently I have three going: fellow Chicagoan Robyn Okrant's Living Oprah: My One-Year Experiment to Walk the Walk of the Queen of Talk; Cathy Alter's Up For Renewal: What Magazines Taught Me About Love, Sex, and Starting Over; and Mishna Wolff's I'm Down, about growing up white with a father who thought he was black. 

My story isn't quite as dramatic, but it was at times a fish-out-of-water experience. Outside our house it was the 1970s, but inside it was the 1890s, and we tended to talk about people who had been dead for a century or two as if they were there in the living room sipping tea.   For some strange reason, this made other people's eyes glaze over with boredom.  It's still a bad family habit, and when we visit each other's houses, we catch up with old pieces of furniture as much as with each other.  ("Why, if it isn't the Phelps divan! You're holding up well!") 

Here's a photo of my parents, my brother and me on the famous divan itself.  It came from my mother's father's mother's side in Richmond, Kentucky... oh never mind.

I'll be reading a piece about my eccentric upbringing, a modified version of the introduction to the book, at Essay Fiesta, a monthly personal essay reading series, at the Book Cellar in March.  Stay tuned for more information!

We Wuz Robbed (But not by Jesse James)

I'm working on the chapter of my book with this title, in which I introduce the character of my great-grandmother Minerva Parke Phelps Russel.  She was a Wellesley graduate, alleged genealogist, and even more alleged Southern belle. (She was more Wellesley than belle, much like a certain former first lady turned Secretary of State.) After her cousin Nettie died in childbirth, Minerva snatched up the much-older widower, John Hooe Russel, known in his youth as the dandy of White Sulfur Springs.

Prior to his marriage to Minerva, Russel was president of a bank in Huntington, West Virginia. His middle name was pronounced, most unfortunately, as “Ho.”  One day just after he headed out for lunch, his bank was robbed by masked gunmen, and Russel and a posse mounted up and chased the bandits.  (None of whom was named Jesse James.)  Minerva told it a little differently.  In her account, Jesse and his boys first cased the joint by pretending to stage a revivalist meeting.  My great-grandfather then ran into Jesse exiting the bank and realized he was no preacher when the gunman swore at him, saying "Well, young man, you are damned late for business!" Great stuff, right?  Too bad not a word of it was true.

Although I have Minerva's signed affidavit that both Jesse and Frank James were present in Huntington, most historians now seem to agree that the foursome consisted of Frank James, Cole Younger, Tom Webb, and Tom McDaniels.  McDaniels was killed by the posse. Webb, also known as Jack Keane, was captured shortly thereafter and served a number of years in prison. 

The three Younger brothers were wounded and captured a year later in what is now known as the James gang's Waterloo, the failed attempt to rob the First National Bank of Northfield, Minnesota.  Photos of the dead and wounded bank robbers were sent to my great-grandfather for identification, and later turned into souvenir postcards.  (The living were photographed fully clothed, but the dead were stripped to the waist with still-bleeding bullet holes displayed. The postcards terrified me as a child.  Ghoulish stuff.) 

Scrubbing Up

Ah, January in Chicago.  My hands are so dry that I got a paper cut the other day from a pink Post-it note.  (I bleed for my art, no?)

Here's how I survive: I make liberal use of the eucalyptus-scented steam room at my Equinox gym, then I coat myself in Creme de Corps by Kiehl's.  This is the richest body lotion I've found.  (As it should be, at $26.50 per 8.4 ounce bottle!)

To balance out the high cost of staying soft and hydrated, I advocate a simple, effective and practically free body scrub.  Just mix up Kosher salt and honey to your desired texture (test on back of hands) then add a few drops of essential oil.  (Lavender is nice since it contains natural antibiotic properties.)  This takes care of any rough spots.

But be careful if you write this recipe down on a sticky note.  Those things are hazardous!

A Plaza Tale

I've heard from a number of people who remember the Tailored Woman store and its mercurial owner, Eugene K. Denton.  I received the following message a few months ago from Diana Pons, who gave me permission to share her story.

My father, Victor Pons, was the maitre d' of the Oak Room at The Plaza Hotel on 59th Street and Fifth Avenue, just steps from The Tailored Woman. I am writing a book about my father's years at The Plaza (1953-1973) and the many experiences he, and I, had there. I was trying to remember when The Tailored Woman closed. I just Googled the store's name and I found your web site!

My father's years at The Plaza reflect my life from age 6 to 26. Your great-great-granduncle (Eugene K. Denton) came often to the Oak Room. He liked my father very much, and my father liked him. When I was 18 (that would be 1965), I was looking for a summer job. My father asked him if he needed help in the store. He gave me a job for the summer in the accounting department on the top floor. At the end of the day, all the merchandise ticket stubs from sales were brought upstairs (there were four of us in my department). We'd spend the next day adding them up to make sure that they matched the amount of money taken in. I had other duties too, but that was the primary one.

I read on your web site that you never met your great-great-granduncle. He was a character, and I mean that only in the nicest way. He was a tough taskmaster and kept everyone in the store on their toes. When he would get upset if something wasn't done right, he would bluster and yell. His face would get so red that I thought he would explode! He was, however, never anything but courteous and kind to me. When I left at the end of the summer, he took me to lunch (not in the Oak Room - women were only allowed in for dinner and supper until 1973) and he gave me a gift of a lovely brooch from the store, befitting a young girl, which I still have. My father told me that he said that I was a "smart girl and an excellent employee who would do well in life." Especially at age 18, I was very honored by his compliment.

I did run into him once more in a restaurant on Madison Avenue. He recognized me first and came to my table to say hello. I was pleasantly surprised that he would remember me, considering all the people he must have met over many years. He left before I did, and when I asked for my check my waiter told me that it was paid, compliments of Mr. Denton.

I thought you might enjoy my story, and I am so glad that I found your web site and learned a little more about your family and the history of The Tailored Woman. It was a wonderful store owned by a man I have never forgotten.
 
Isn't that lovely?  And isn't it fortunate that I didn't inherit the Denton temper?  (No comments from the peanut gallery, please...)

Meet John Insley Blair, Our Robber Baron

There I was, innocently leafing through Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, when I stumbled across my family's very own robber baron, John Insley Blair.  Imagine my surprise when I learned that Gladwell ranks him as the 52nd richest human ever.  In recorded history.  Upon his death in 1899, Blair left his direct heirs $70 million, the equivalent of many billions today.  He left my family a creaky old house, the Homestead, in Blairstown, New Jersey.

Blair was a cousin and business partner; my Vail ancestors helped him build the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western railroad.  My great-great-grandparents shared the Homestead with Blair when he was an elderly widower.  In this photo, Blair sits at the center of a family grouping in front of the house.  My great-great-grandparents are on the far left and right, respectively.  My great-grandmother, Mary Gregory Vail, is leaning on her father.  (She married Allen Collier of Cincinnati.)

Blair is wearing his shabby old coat in the photo.  Famously tightfisted, the multi-millionaire ate a cup of custard and coffee as his daily lunch.  There is a great family story about Blair dining at a railroad cafe while inspecting work on the line at west.  Upon noticing that railroad employees were entitled to a discount, Blair plunked down his quarter to pay for his meal.  The young woman at the cash register said, "Do you belong to the railroad, sir?"  Blair replied, no doubt with a miserly gleam in his eye, "No, but the railroad belongs to me!"

His descendants left Blairstown to join New York society.  Daughter Emma married publishing magnate Charles Scribner, and we have photos of their son (Charles Jr.) in short pants.  A great-granddaughter became Mrs. H.O. Havemeyer, Jr. Long before I knew of this connection, I admired items from the vast Havemeyer Collection (including magnificent Impressionist paintings) at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

As for the Homestead, my grandmother grandly gave it to the president of neighboring Blair Academy, who promptly tore it down. (Figures.)

The Tailored Woman store, circa 1967

I received permission from the generous and talented Dave Hay to post this photo of the Tailored Woman store, taken as part of a series of photos of Midtown when Dave was newly-arrived in the city in 1967.  I love this shot of the corner of 57th and Fifth.  The building, which still houses Bergdorf Goodman, looks very much the same today.

Take That Frown And Turn It Around: Wasp Botox

Sure, you could spend upwards of $400 a pop on Botox. But if the idea of shelling out that kind of dough to shoot a deadly toxin into your face makes you, well, scowl, pick up a box of Frownies facial patches instead.  (Find them for $14.99 at Whole Foods.)

Supposedly a Hollywood secret for decades—Renee Russo has copped to using them—these retro wrinkle remedies are just the thing for a needle-phobic Recessionista. The nifty adhesive patches smell like craft paper but work like a charm. I moistened the back of one and slapped it on my forehead before bed, and it smoothed out my brow crinkles by morning. The company claims that, over time, the patches will actually retrain the muscles of the face to reduce lines permanently.

One caveat: while the patches are pain free, the sight of your Frownies-covered face could cause your significant other to vanish along with your wrinkles. (Unless, that is, he thinks they make you look like Renee.)