A series of essays.....
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| THE STATE THEATER ON SOUTH MICHIGAN STREET, SOUTH BEND, INDIANA |
Photo Courtesy The South Bend Tribune Archives
.....as seen through my eyes!
By: Jacqueline E. Hughes
My dear Mother couldn’t drive a car when we were growing-up. Whatever her lack of motivation was, fear of the unknown or generational apathy, we were, pretty much, transportation deprived and depended upon bicycles and our own two feet more often than not. Since Dad was on-the-road for work most weekdays, there wasn’t even a car in the garage for Mom to use if she had to. Public transportation often became our modus operandi and that’s just how we rolled!
As children, we became quite dependent upon Mom’s ability to take advantage of public transportation. Fortunately, we lived in large enough towns that offered convenient city bus service, electric cable cars 🚎 (when I was a small girl in the early 1950's), and even a train, the South Shore Line, that could take us into Chicago for the day and then back home again that evening.
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| CABLE CAR IN DOWNTOWN SOUTH BEND, INDIANA ~ CIRCA 1940'S |
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| INTRODUCTION OF THE NEW STREAMLINE CITY BUS IN JANUARY OF 1960 |
Upon these excursions into the city to buy school clothes, go Christmas shopping, and have lunch with Mom, we were given extensive rules and regulations to follow to the last letter. Basically, being a single Mom for most of the week, she never lost sight of the fact that gathering and keeping her small children close by her was of paramount importance towards the success of these outings. For the most part, we complied.
Chances are, you recall being a young child, seemingly left to your own devices while traversing the children’s department of, let's say, the downtown Wolf & Dessauers in Fort Wayne, or Robertson’s Department Store in South Bend, Indiana. If we were lucky and Mom could afford to splurge, we found ourselves having lunch at Robertson’s Tearoom and Luncheonette between shopping events. And, when we were very, very good, chances were we’d take-in a matinee at the Colfax theater or the State theater 🎭 on S. Michigan Street.
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| FIRST FLOOR OF ROBERTSON'S DEPARTMENT STORE. ~ 1963 |
Photo/Tribune Archives
Believing we were left to our own devices had its unpleasant consequences that, generally, broke any positive mood Mom may have been luxuriating in during our day downtown together. I seem to recall one of these examples and was always reminded of it when I would take my own young children shopping with me many years later.
It left me cold and disoriented at the vulnerable age of two or three when I lost my Mother for what seemed like...forever! I was a good kid and I tried to listen to my parents to the best of my ability. But, sometimes, even the best intentions go awry when you are so young and don’t understand why certain limitations are placed upon you. What evil lurks beyond sight of the hem of her brown, tweed coat and the sound of the familiar shuffle of the black pump shoes that carried her across the white marble floors? Life, at that time, seemed so settled, safe, and warm.
As in the pacification of a crying infant, my stifled sobs were soon appeased by the unfamiliar face of a store clerk who had heard unusual sounds coming from the closed cupboard below her cash register; a cupboard meant to store hangers, paper shopping bags with brown, twine handles and the store’s logo emblazoned across their front. And, obviously, wayward little girls who had lost their Mothers while playing hide-and-seek among the racks of hanging clothes on the congested floor of the children’s department.
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| LOOKING AT A CHRISTMAS DISPLAY IN A WINDOW OF WOLF & DESSAUERS IN FORT WAYNE, INDIANA ~ CIRCA 1950'S |
Photo Courtesy wboi.org
Little did I know that a full-blown APB had been issued by my Mother minutes beforehand. During those few moments of time, coupled with the fact that I was having a grand time dancing 💃 with the pink and blue snowsuits hanging down from their little white, plastic hangers one aisle over, all sorts of crazy, evil scenarios entered Mom’s mind like sticking points in a Truman Capote novel. You see, as I sat in the comforting darkness I’d placed myself in....if only to avoid the pain of loss and disorientation, my sobs obscured the calls of my name as my poor Mother and the nice ‘store lady,’ tortoise shell eyeglasses dangling from a silver chain around her neck, frantically looked for me.
At this point, I’m pretty sure my older brother was taking it all in from his cozy perspective while sitting on a chair situated near the dressing rooms not too far away. After all, poor Mom couldn’t afford to lose both of us and proceeded to anchor him down with her heavy coat and purse, and any packages she may have been carrying at the time of my disappearance along with the explicit instructions to stay put!
Even though I was oblivious to what evils might be lurking around us in the form of child snatching or human trafficking, my Mother was not. The pure relief on her beautiful face was more than obvious to me as she reached down into the dark cupboard only to whisk me up and into her protective arms....her tears saturating the shoulder of my little, navy blue coat. I didn’t believe my chubby, little arms could ever squeeze her neck as tightly as they did but my vice grip mirrored her own and we remained that way for quite some time.
Mother was a wise woman. She did not waste her breath on scolding me. Her intention was not to place the fear of God in me in the form of my Father’s wrath by saying, “Wait until I tell your Dad about this!” No, nothing like that. Chances are she truly wanted to, if only to relieve her own distress. My Mother knew that we had both experienced a valuable lesson that day. I would never again lose sight of my Mother in public places if only out of fear of being in dark spaces with hangers stabbing me in the side. And, Mother renewed her understanding of how precious the gift of life was in the form of her own flesh and blood. To even imagine losing that life was unthinkable, unbearable for her.
Thinking back, we may still have had lunch in Robertson’s Tea Room and Luncheonette....after Mom dug my brother, Ronnie, out from under his weighty coverings in the chrome-armed chair and she dabbed at the tears on our faces with soft, white tissues smelling of her cologne after having lived in her purse for a while.
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| ROBERTSON'S DEPARTMENT STORE TEA ROOM AND LUNCHEONETTE |
Photo Courtesy South Bend Tribune Archives
Now, you and I both know that my Father heard about my infantile misadventures not long after he arrived home from his long work week. I still don’t know if Mom told him the entire story or not. But, what I do believe is that chances are my older brother had something to do with passing along this information to him soon after he entered the back door. But, by that time, it didn’t matter. I already knew how much I was wanted. All I had to do was picture my dear Mother’s face in my mind and....I knew how much I was loved. Her generous spirit is alive and well in my heart to this very day!
Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved
