All My Love, Detrick (18 page)

46

D
orothy admired her cousin Hette, who worked downtown at Marshall Field’s and wore a hint of lipstick. Dorothy knew her father wanted her to finish high school, but she felt out of place. The other students dressed and acted differently than her friends in Germany. The girls shunned her. When the teacher called on her in class and she tried to answer, the other students giggled at the sound of her accent. She learned enough of the language to converse, but could not grasp reading in English. This made her schoolwork twice as difficult, and most days she walked home alone and depressed. And, even though she was Jewish, she was subjected to the national hatred and distrust that Americans had developed for Germans.

The only pleasure she found in this new country came from the wild and exciting rhythm of swing music. When her cousin played it on her phonograph, Dorothy loved to sing along. Her voice could tap with the beat or croon with the blues. Often she begged Hette to take her to a swing club where she could watch the dancers, but Hette just smiled and said, “When you get a little older.”

One afternoon in early November, Dorothy’s American history teacher asked her to stand and read from the United States Constitution. She stood and stammered over the words, her accent making much of what she said undecipherable. The anti-German sentiment was exacerbated by her accent. Few of the students realized that Dorothy, being Jewish, was just as much an enemy of the Third Reich as they were. Instead, they called her a kraut and focused their hatred of Hitler on her, the girl with the German accent.

As she read aloud, one of the boys in the back of the
room hit her with a rubber band. It stung where it made contact with her shoulder, but the pain it brought to her emotionally devastated her. Since she'd come to America, she’d felt out of place, alone and friendless. Tears came to her eyes. She looked around the room. At that moment, she made a decision. With trembling hands, she gathered her books and walked out of the room. Behind her, she heard the teacher. “Dorothy Silver, where are you going? I have not dismissed this class. Do you hear me?”

Dorothy heaved the heavy wooden door open and left the school. Outside she saw a large trash can, where she dumped her books. Then, wiping her hands on her wool skirt, she put her handbag under her arm and headed for the elevated subway station.

Dorothy’s heart raced with trepidation and excitement as she took her handkerchief out of her purse and wiped her face. Then she counted her money. Almost a whole dollar.

She paid her fare and boarded the train downtown to Marshall Fields. Dorothy knew that Hette got off the train at State and Washington.
So, Dorothy carefully watched the stops and listened to the conductor. When she heard the announcement for State and Washington, she stood ready at the automatic doors. After she disembarked, she walked up the stairs to the street where saw the tall building with the green lettering. It looked just the way that Hette had described it. She turned to an old woman who sat on a bench at a bus stop.

“Excuse me please.” Dorothy pointed to the building she suspected might be her destination. “Is that Marshall Field
’s?”

The old woman nodded. “That’s it right there.”

“Thank you.” Dorothy walked quickly to her destination.

On the first floor, to the left of hosiery,
the Marshall Field’s hat department boasted some of the loveliest headpieces in Chicago. Hette stood behind a glass counter helping a woman to secure a fedora with a hatpin. When she saw Dorothy, she smiled and walked over.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Hette asked her cousin.

“I need a job.”

“What happened?”

“I walked out. Besides, we can use the money.”

“Yes, I suppose that is the truth. Your father will kill me, but let me see what I can do. When I go on my
break, I’ll go down to personnel and see what’s available. Come back at two-thirty?”

“Alright, I will. Thank you so much, Hette.”

Dorothy wandered up and down State Street for several hours. The shop windows were decorated like works of art; Dorothy had never seen so many beautiful things. When she saw Grant Park, she bought a hot dog, and then crossed a busy intersection to sit on a bench next to the art museum, where she ate her lunch. At two-thirty, she returned to the store.

“I have good news. They want to see you.” Hette gave her an orange-red lipstick smile.

“Where do I go?”

“Second floor.
Take the elevator over there. Let me know what happens.”

“I will.”

47

“Good afternoon, may I help you?” The girl at the desk wore a white cashmere sweater and gray wool skirt. Dorothy loved the way the sweater fell loosely, just showing a hint of the receptionist's figure.

“Yes, thank you. My name is Dorothy Silver. My cousin Hette Silver said that I should come here and talk to someone about a job.”

The girl nodded and handed Dorothy a group of papers and a pencil. “Fill these out. When you’re through, bring them back to me.”

Dorothy sat down in the waiting room and tried to read the application. Her writing and grammar left much to
be desired. The tiny print was impossible for her to grasp. It seemed as if there was so much to read, but she hoped her enthusiasm would make up for her lack of competence in the English language. She reread her application twice, sounding out the words, trying to comprehend the meaning at the same time. Over and over, she erased and corrected until the paper tore. Then she finally got up and handed the document to the receptionist.

After Dorothy waited twenty minutes, a
well-dressed woman with bottle-red hair in perfect finger waves appeared. The receptionist handed her Dorothy’s papers, which she glanced over quickly.

“This way, my dear.”

They walked down a long corridor surrounded by desks on either side. The clicking of typewriters filled the halls. Finally, at the end they entered an office. The fire-haired lady closed the door and motioned for Dorothy to sit.

“Hello, my name is Gloria McMillian. I am the head of personnel here at Marshall Field and Co. Your cousin speaks highly of you.”

Dorothy smiled.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry?”

Dorothy wasn’t sure what that statement meant; she looked at Gloria McMillian blankly.

“It’s just an expression.” Mrs. McMillian smiled. Once she’d heard Dorothy’s accent, she realized the girl had no idea what she’d said.

“So, your name is Dorothy Silver.” She studied the application. “It seems to me that you have difficulty reading and writing English. I am afraid this is a very necessary part of the job you are applying for.”

“I can learn…I will work very hard.”

For a moment, Dorothy thought she detected a hint of sympathy race across Gloria McMillian’s face. Then, rising from her chair, Mrs. McMillian walked to the window facing away from Dorothy.

“I am sorry, dear. I really am. But I don’t think that this is a good idea for either of us. I am sure you understand.”

Tears stung Dorothy’s eyes. She rose from the chair.

“Thank you.” Before the interviewer could see that Dorothy was crying, she left the room and walked as quickly out of the building as she could, not meeting anyone’s eyes on the way.

The fresh air stung Dorothy’s face as she raced away from the department store.

Her heart ached with rejection. She could not return to school after disposing of all of her books, so where was she to go? If her father learned that she left her education behind, without any prospect of employment, he would be furious. Frustrated, she paced the sidewalks, not realizing how far she had traveled from her original downtown location. When she finally looked around, she realized that the neighborhood had changed. Some of the windows bore cracks where they had been broken, others stood covered by protective metal bars. A large pawnshop occupied the corner of a busy intersection, beckoning the down and out to bring their possessions for a quick sale. Dorothy hurried along, her eyes scanning the streets nervously in search of a bus stop; although she could not be sure, which bus would deliver her back to her uncle’s home. A man appeared from the dark recesses of an alleyway.

“Hello, little lady.
Where you going?”

She turned away from the stench of alcohol on his breath and ran, with the vile echo of his laughter ringing in her ears.
Lost
. The reality hit her like a boulder tumbling upon her head. How would she ever find her way? A wave of panic clutched at her. Her accent and her inability to read English made her situation even more perilous. Whom could she trust to ask directions? She scanned the street for a woman, deciding it would be safer to talk to a female than a male. But, dusk had begun to settle and she found the street empty.

In the window of a tall building, she saw a sign. In an attempt to read it, she sounded the words out as she spoke them aloud.

“Singer wanted -one flight up.” For a moment, she forgot her distress. Dorothy knew herself to be limited in her employable skills, but she also realized that if she had any talents at all, the one she could most assuredly count on was her voice. After taking a deep breath and crossing her fingers, Dorothy opened the door and began to climb the stairs.

When she reached the second floor, she saw at least ten women in worn evening gowns dancing, with their bodies pressed closely to men who slithered close beside them. Some of the fellows hung on the girls, groping at the dancers' buttocks and barely moving to the music.

Dorothy found herself unable to take her eyes from the spectacle as she walked to the information booth.

“Excuse me. My name is Dorothy Silver. I read your sign downstairs, that you need a singer.”

“Where you from?” The girl with striking silver-blonde hair curling about her tiny face asked.

“I am from Germany.”

“Oh…well.” She shook her head. “I don’t think the boss is gonna wanna hire a kraut.”

“Please
, miss. Give me a chance. I need a job.”

The
blonde saw the tears filling Dorothy’s eyes and she nodded. “Yeah, all right, let’s face it. I’m a sucker. Let me go and get the boss. I ain’t sure what he’s gonna say, honey, but you just sit right over there and let me go and find him.”

Dorothy lowered herself onto a rickety stool. Until now, she had not been aware of the pain the heel of her shoe had caused when it cut into her flesh. It seemed she’d grown so fast that her shoes no longer fit. With her family’s lack of finances, she had opted not to ask her father for money to purchase a new pair. All of her life, she and her father had been close, so close she’d felt his pain as her own. Now she saw his struggle and would rather suffer than give weight to his feelings of inadequacy as a provider. And she knew if she asked him for money, somehow, someway, he would get it.

Mr. McGleason limped with his pant leg dragging over his shoe to the stool where Dorothy waited.

“Carol here tells me you need a job.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the rolled-up sleeve of his white shirt. “Says you wanna be a singer? Hell, you don’t look old enough to be in here, let alone to be out at night.”

“Oh, but I am…
I am twenty-one,” Dorothy lied.

McGleason let out a laugh that came straight from his large, rolling belly. “Yep, I sure heard that one before. Well, all right, I guess you can audition. Go on up on the stage and tell Jeb what song you want to sing, and he’ll play piano for you.”

Her knees trembled as Dorothy walked up the three stairs at the corner of the stage. She went over to the piano player, and asked if he knew any love songs by the famous Helen Morgan. He smiled an almost toothless smile, and whispered to her that he did. They decided upon a song, and Dorothy walked to the center of the stage. She took the barrette out of her long curls, and let them hang loose to her waist. Then she unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse. When she opened her mouth and began to sing in her deep rich alto voice, everyone in the club turned to pay attention to her.

Pleasantly surprised, Mr. McGleason winked at Carol.

After she finished singing, Dorothy walked back down to where Mr. McGleason and Carol stood.

“You got yourself a job, kid,” McGleason smiled. “You start tomorrow. Be here at 8:00 p.m., sharp. And listen, this is a 10-cents-a-dance club, so learn that song, huh?”

“Yes, of course.” Dorothy stammered with elation.

“Hey, Fred,” Carol called out to Fred McGleason. “I wanna go and get somethin’ to eat. I ain’t had
no break all day.”