American Dreams (7 page)

In the house he handed his automobiling clothes to Leopold, the steward.

Leopold was middle-aged, phlegmatic, less of a trial than his martinet predecessor, Manfred. Leopold hailed from Bavaria, but Joe saw none of the lazy traits he associated with Germans from that region.

In the kitchen, lisa and the cook, Trudi, were mixing batter for stollen, the traditional raisin- and sugar-dusted cakes of the season. Joe kissed his The General and His Children

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wife, who laughed when she saw she'd transferred flour to his chin. He said he'd be ready for Abendessen1 the evening meal, by eight o'clock.

'I'll be in the office going over sales reports. Sound the buzzer.' Joe operated the house with an elaborate system of bells and buzzers that suited his orderly nature, while annoying others. lisa buzzed at five past eight, and Joe proceeded to the dining room.

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The Crown mansion reflected the season. A nine-foot fir tree stood beneath the huge electric chandelier in the two-story foyer. A marvelously detailed wooden creche was arranged beneath. The tree wore a festive cloak of glass balls, enameled ornaments, gold chains, and silver tinfoil.

Scores of white candles were clipped to the branches. They wouldn't be lighted until Christmas eve; that was the German way.

In the dining room, two candles in the Advent wreath in the center of the long table were already lit. On the sideboard stood a carved St. Nicholas, two feet high with his long beard, miter, and bishop's crozier appropriately painted.

Joe sat at the head of the table. He heard his older son coming, announced by the scrape of his artificial foot and a hacking, phlegmy cough. Joe Junior smoked too much; nothing his parents said would make him stop. The General bridled his annoyance and unconsciously brushed nonexistent specks from his immaculate vest.

Joe Junior created fierce pity and anger in his father. The boy was a tragic misfit. Mired in socialist dogma -- he was friendly with the very red Gene Debs - he'd taken part in a strike at a shingle factory out in Everett, Washington, where he worked for a time. The strikers fought a bloody brawl with hired goons. Two of the goons threw Joe Junior onto one of the buzz saws that split cedar blocks into shingles; the saw tore off his right foot.

, Only the quick action of a Norwegian woman, Anna Sieberson, kept him from bleeding to death. He later married Anna, and was planning to adopt her son when influenza carried her off suddenly. The boy went to live with relatives, and Joe Junior slunk home to Chicago, a bitter and defeated man.

'Good evening, Joe,' the General said as his son limped in.

'Hello, Pop.' Joe Junior sat - no, that wasn't quite right, he took his seat and slouched, his right shoe stuck out as if to remind everyone defiantly of the cork foot it covered. Look at him, Joe thought. Dirt under his nails.

Sweat rings on his shirt. Joe Junior was always demonstrating that he was one of the 'common people,' although he lived under Joe Crown's roof at 36

Dreamers

no cost, and ate Dsa's food, and enjoyed a life monumentally better than any other man who did low work at the brewery. Joe Junior was thirty.

The same height as his father, he'd resembled Joe Senior until beer and overeating ballooned his stomach and dissipation put gray rings around his-blue eyes.

. lisa and Fritzi came in. lisa sat at the far end of the table. Fritzi kissed
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her father's forehead, murmured, 'Papa,' and took her place opposite Joe Junior on the side. The two serving girls set platters on the long table, a family heirloom of dark walnut with fat carved legs. lisa kept it covered with a lace tablecloth of intricate design.

Joe said to Fritzi, 'Did you and your mother see Paul's pictures this afternoon?'

'We did.'

'How was the theater?'

'Dark, but clean. Mr. Laemmle's recommendation was all right.'

'You know he named his own theater the White Front, hoping it would suggest cleanliness and respectability, and attract a better crowd. A vain hope, in my opinion. Thank you, Bess.' Joe nodded to the girl who set his stein of Crown lager by his right hand.

lisa said, 'Pastor Wulf claims picture theaters are spawning grounds for vice, but we saw nothing immoral. Just some loud boys wasting their afternoon.'

'Paul's films are really remarkable,' Fritzi said. 'They show places and events that people would never see otherwise. We watched the president operate the controls of a great big steam shovel.'

Joe helped himself to a large slab of lisa's dry pot roast and passed the platter. Careless, Joe Junior almost dropped it. Joe shot him a look, then said, 'Theodore's energy and curiosity are boundless.'

'It's a shame Paul's work is exhibited only in five-cent theaters,' Fritzi said. 'The other pictures, the ones that try to tell stories, are trash.'

'We agree on that,' her father said with an amiable nod. Joe Junior looked bored, sitting head down, devouring mashed potatoes. He continued,

'I saw a few story pictures a year ago. What a mistake. They offer nothing but low comedians chasing girls in scanty outfits or running around smashing down picket fences and trampling flower beds. Total disregard for property.'

Joe Junior snickered. 'Property. Of course.'

'We all know what you and your friend Debs think of the idea of property,'

his father shot back. 'I need no commentary from--'

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37

Loud knocking at the front door interrupted. lisa looked toward the
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foyer aS Leopold rushed to answer. The front door opened; Joe heard the wind, lisa said, 'Who on earth can be calling at this hour?'

Leopold rushed in. 'Sir - madam -- it's your son.'

'Carl? Mein GottS lisa leaped up, ran past Leopold exclaiming, 'Where did he come from?'

'Pittsburgh, Mama,' Carl's voice boomed. 'Pittsburgh and South Bend, on the boxcar Pullmans.'

Elated but baffled, Joe followed his wife into the foyer. Snow was melting on Carl's hair and the shoulders of his patched overcoat. A long red scarf wrapped round and round his neck trailed to the floor. Carl hadn't shaved in several days. His boots dripped water on the marble.

Carl rushed to hug his mother, swinging her off her feet and whirling her. lisa's flying heels nearly knocked over a tall Chinese jar. When Carl's clumsiness combined with his boisterous energy, there often was damage.

Tonight no one cared.

Carl released his mother and shook his father's hand. 'Greetings, Papa.

Hello, Joey. Fritzi, let me hug you.' She received a three hundred-sixty degree whirl like lisa's. She was breathless when he put her down.

'No one expected you, Carl,' she said.

'I'm on my way to Detroit.'

'Detroit?' Joe Crown said in a baffled way.

'To look for a job. I've been studying fast cars lately. I want to find out how they're built. I want to drive one.'

Joe said, 'You looking for employment? In an auto factory?' He was almost afraid that asking would hex the whole thing. Carl grinned, threw an arm over his father's shoulder, and leaned down to him.

'Yes, Papa, your wayward boy has found something he wants to do. It happened back East -- Baltimore. Tell you all about it later.'

'You'll be here for Christmas, won't you?' Fritzi asked with a curious look of expectancy.

'Through the holidays, but that's all,' Carl said.

"This is wonderful news,' lisa exclaimed. Only Joey, leaning against the door jamb at the dining room entrance, looked indifferent. It maddened Joe.

'Come in, come in, there's plenty of food left,' lisa said, fairly bubbling.

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'Could use some,' Carl said. 'No dining-car service on the boxcars.'

'You could be killed riding that way without paying,' lisa said.

'Oh, no, I had an expert teacher. Paul. He learned to do it in Berlin.'

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Dreamers

'Glad you're home, Carl,' Joe Junior said as the others trooped back to the dining room. 'But I'm bushed, we'll talk tomorrow.' He limped to the staircase with his crippled right foot scraping, scraping - Joe clenched his teeth as he watched his son drag himself up the long staircase.

He called for a bottle of schnapps and another place setting, lisa and Fritzi and Carl chattered away while he alternated sips of coffee and schnapps. Soon he felt much better. Carl had given them a grand Christmas present.

Joe observed Fritzi from the corner of his eye. With Carl's life unexpectedly going in a new and more positive direction, it was time to concentrate on her. He needn't leave matchmaking entirely to lisa. He would start looking among his well-to-do friends for eligible bachelor sons who might be interested in a fine match with a millionaire's daughter.

Fritzi needed a proper husband and a good home right here in Chicago. He wouldn't permit Fritzi to follow any other course.

What a happy holiday season this was turning out to be!

8 Courage from Carl

Next morning everyone rose early. After eating Friihstiick - breakfast

-- big enough for two, Carl took himself out of the house to shop for Christmas presents, extracting a promise from Fritzi that they'd play some ball later. It was a pastime they'd enjoyed together when they were children.

The morning's burst of sunshine and warmth quickly melted an inch or two of snow from last night. Nicky drove lisa to a board meeting of the Orchestra League. Left alone, Fritzi drew up her own Christmas list, then leafed through the mail that Leopold brought to the music room. Eagerly she opened a letter to the family from Julie.

She caught her breath when she read Julie's description of her treatment at the hands of London policemen in the Whitehall demonstration.

Fritzi admired Julie's devotion to the cause of woman suffrage. She shared
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Julie's enthusiasm for it, though so far she'd never taken part in any marches.

Julie's letter concluded with a paragraph about cousin Paul.

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For years, since that evil Jimmy Claws went to prison, he has carried and handled all his heavy equipment by himself. On his African trip he severely strained his back and suffered for weeks. Lord York has offered to hire an assistant, but Paul refuses. When I tell him a helper would be no reflection on his manhood, he turns a deaf ear. Germans can be maddeningly stubborn

-- and none more so than my dear husband!

Sending you all much love ...

Fritzi left the letter on a silver tray for her mother and, as the winter morning wore on, sat down to write a reply of her own. She asked Julie to use wifely persuasion in another area: Paul must write a book.

Why not? He's intelligent. His letters are lively and literate (when he takes time to put pen to paper!) -- I should think many people would like to read about all the fascinating sights and events he's photographed -- the difficulties and dangers he's faced and overcome. I lis friend Richard Harding Davis does very well with such books. Won't you convince him to make an effort? Say that if he doesn't, he will sadly disappoint his favorite cousin!

Carl smacked his fist into his fielder's glove. 'All right, Fritz, let's see if you have anything left in old age.'

Fritzi squinted against the afternoon sun. Across Nineteenth, a curtain moved in an upstairs window. Fritzi waved her calfskin fielder's glove, a simpering smile on her face. 'Hello, Mrs. Baum, you old biddy.'

She wound up and delivered the hardball with a wild curve that took it over Carl's head. He stabbed his mitt up and neatly caught it. For someone bulky and clumsy, he could be surprisingly agile. 'Hey, you're hot so, creaky,' he said, grinning.

The sun felt wonderful on Fritzr's face. The thawing earth of the side yard smelled rich and warm. They fired the ball back and forth, developing a rhythm that echoed moments in their childhood.

The ball smacked into the gloves with a clean, hard sound. Carl threw one wild pitch; Fritzi went after it in a dive and slide that dirtied her skirt.

Brushing herself off, she bowed toward Mrs. Baum's window. If they arrested girls for unladylike behavior, their neighbor would be calling for
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the Black Maria this minute. Fritzi's dinner-table impersonations of the nosy widow made even her father laugh.

'I'm thrilled you're going to Detroit, Carl.'

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Dreamers

'Pop made a point of congratulating me last night. He's happy too.'

That unnerved her. Would the General feel the same about her decision to leave? Doubtful; she was female.

'I made up my mind in Baltimore, where I watched that Fiat,' he went on. "I hung out with the driver and his riding mechanic for three days. I paid for so much beer I thought I'd wind up in debtor's prison. Learned a lot, though. Decided I had to drive one of those cars. Then I decided I should know how to build them too.' The smack of the ball hitting leather came at shorter intervals. 'I'll get a job in an auto plant, or one of the machine shops like Dodge Brothers that supply parts. There are dozens, I've studied up at libraries. Detroit's a boomtown. What about you?

Haven't given up acting, have you?'

'Never.'

'I didn't expect to find you in Chicago now that Pop's back in harness.'

'I've overstayed. I'm planning to do something about that.'

'Tell me.'

Fritzi smacked the ball into her mitt, took a deep breath and threw.

'I'm going to try Broadway'

Carl thought about that a moment, then broke into a smile. 'Sure, it's the obvious place for someone as talented as you.'

'It's a secret until I tell Papa.'

'That won't be so easy, sis.'

'Tell me something I don't know,' she said with a rueful pucker of her mouth. But I have to go, Carl. If I don't, I'll regret it always.'

He kept tapping the ball into his glove as he asked, 'How do you feel about it? Are you scared?'

'Terrified. All the actors I've met say New York's a cold, heartless city.

But I'm unbelievably eager at the same time.'

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