“Where is this?” I asked. “And why is it so blurred?”
“I took it from a moving car…my car. I was stopped at the light at 59th Street and Fairfield. I saw that doorway and it looked so familiar. Then I remembered those pictures in the scrapbook. I have a memory like that. By the time I got my phone ready to take the picture, traffic started moving again.”
“What were you doing down there?” I asked. “It’s not the best neighborhood.”
“I like to explore,” she said. “I dropped a friend off at Midway Airport and meandered back to Lake Shore Drive through the neighborhoods. I grew up on the south side, you know.”
“How come you’re a Cubs fan then?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I have a thing for lovable losers,” she replied. “Hey, maybe that’s why I like you.”
I gave her a look, but she came and put her arms around me. “Just kidding, sweetie.” This time she said it with affection.
“I’d like to take a ride,” I said after kissing her.
“Where to?”
“I’d like to see that building.”
“You would?” she asked. “You know, we could just try and bring it up on Bing maps, street view.”
“Where’s that sense of adventure you just told me about?” I asked. “Besides, I just want see it, you know, sort of breathe the same air as…”
“Bet… right?” she asked. See Kenny, you are in love with her.” She smiled.
“Yes, I’m in love with a ghost from the past. You have heavy competition.”
“So does Raymond,” she said laughing. “Okay, let’s go see if this really is the same place.”
We grabbed the scrapbook and drove south down Lake Shore Drive, exiting to meander through the Hyde Park neighborhood until we got to 59th Street. Right between Washtenaw and Fairfield Avenues was the building Megan had told me about. It had changed significantly, but there was no doubt about it; it was the same building.
As I stood there looking at the site, I could imagine Ray and Bet posing for pictures near the front door. But why did they? Why this beauty salon? Did she work here? Did he? I looked down the street. Some of the buildings would have been there in the 1940s. Some were torn down, while some were rebuilt. But in my mind’s eye, I could see it as Bet did. I could see her and Ray holding hands and laughing while walking this street.
For some reason, I wanted to walk west, down 59th Street. I grabbed Megan’s hand, but was still in my 1940s frame of mind. We walked across Fairfield and I knew I was in the same footsteps as my Great Uncle as he may have lovingly held Bet’s hand. We came upon some typical Chicago storefront row houses. They were the type with the store on the lower level and apartments above them.
I looked at one address, 2748. The business establishment was a restaurant/night club called Ritchie’s LTD. But it was the apartment above that drew my attention. I don’t know why, but I had the strongest feeling that Bet lived there once. I typed the address into my phone’s note pad.
A Latino looking man stepped out of the restaurant and lit a cigarette. I could tell he wondered why Megan and I were there, looking up at the apartment.
“Can I help you?” he asked with a strong accent.
“Thanks, no,” I answered. “Unless you would be able to tell me who may have lived here around 1942.”
“1942?” he questioned. “How old do I look?” He laughed. “Sorry, I live there now. This is my club. Would you like to come in for a drink?”
“No thanks,” I said.
“Well then, have a nice day and be careful around here. I hope you find what you are looking for,” he said as he snubbed out his cigarette and walked back in.
It was obvious he was just suspicious of people staring up at his place. But as I stood there looking at the nightclub, my mind filled in a butcher shop instead, and a deli next to it.
I wanted to go around to the back. Megan didn’t feel comfortable, but I needed to see it. I held fast to her hand as I looked up at the gray back porch. I swore I could see Bet standing there and smiling down at me, with both her hands on her hips. What was going on?
I didn’t tell Megan what I saw, at least not right away. She already thought I was too fascinated with my scrapbook lady. I took a picture with my phone.
When we walked back to the car, I tried to look inside the iron grates that covered the windows of what was once the Fairfield Beauty Salon. There was a small rip in the plastic covering behind the wrought iron. But it was dark inside.
On the trip home, Megan questioned me.
“Why was that night club so important to you?” she asked as she paged through the scrapbook on her lap. “What makes you think she lived there?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Something just drew me to it. It’s almost like Bet or my mom …or something is guiding me to find out what became of Bet and the truth about my Great Uncle Raymond’s disappearance overseas. My Aunt Jean sure believed he left his fiancé. Sort of makes sense, too.”
“Wait a minute, Kenny,” she said looking hard at a group of photos. “Let me see your phone.”
“What is it?”
“Oh, my God,” she exclaimed. “This page has photos of Bet and Ray holding a baby and goofing off. It’s behind an apartment. There’s one of her pulling clothes from a laundry basket and another of her standing at her back porch. Honey, it’s the same porch.”
I pulled the car into a parking space on the street and looked at the scrapbook page. There was a photo of Bet standing on the porch, smiling down with her hands on her waist. She captioned it, saying: ‘I told him not to snap it.’ She looked so pretty. Did I remember seeing this picture and imagined it when I saw the porch? Or was it something else? Was I seeing a glimpse of the past?
I looked at the other photos. She was standing with a dog and a young boy in one and the baby in some others. I do believe the boy and baby were her siblings. Ray held the baby, too. She captioned it, ‘Left holding the baby.’ She was certainly a product of her time. He stuck his tongue out in one and her caption was, ‘This tongue won first place – Ahem!!!’ Again, there was such an innocence about their relationship.
“Now you’re spooking me,” Megan said. “How could you possibly know that second floor apartment was hers?”
“I don’t know, I just did somehow.”
“Are you still having fitful dreams?” she asked.
“Yeah, almost every night,” I answered. “But I still don’t remember them, I only recall the feelings they leave me with.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“They vary. Sometimes I feel good and warm, you know, feelings of love. Other times I wake up feeling emotionally drained and incredibly sad. Yet, I don’t know why. I still feel it has something to do with Ray and Bet.”
Megan glanced at me with a sad look. “Maybe the warm, loving feelings are coming from me.”
I smiled at her and put my arm around her to pull her in. “Maybe they are.” I hugged her tightly as traffic whizzed past us on the street. “And hey, thanks for coming here with me and putting up with all this…even though you sort of started it again.”
“I did, didn’t I?” she stated. “I really do hope you find the answers. I think not knowing is blocking you from your true feelings. I also think you’ll sleep better.”
“I might be able to find out something about Ray, but once he disappeared and she gave up the scrapbook, she was lost to history. I don’t imagine I’ll ever find out what became of her.”
I looked into Megan’s sad blue eyes and then kissed her.
****
Chicago, June 1942
Ray picked Bet up for their weekend date. He planned on taking her to the Paradise Theater for a show and a special dinner. They were celebrating their second courtship anniversary which occurred in May, but also Bet’s high school graduation. He wore his best suit and polished shoes, and she had on a black skirt with a nicely pressed white blouse and embroidered neckline. She also
wore saddle shoes with black bobby socks, as nylons were becoming scarce because of the war. The outfit wasn’t new, but she liked to wear it on special occasions.
“Hiya, Bet,” he said as he kissed her hello. Do you have anything to snack on, I’m starved.”
“You’ll ruin your dinner,” Frieda called from the kitchen. She was feeding five month old Katherine. Kat was born in early January. Bet loved her dearly.
“It’s okay, Mum,” Bet yelled back. “We won’t be eating for a couple of hours.” She turned to Ray. “We have some Oreo Sandwiches. Would you like some?”
“Sure, do you have any coffee made?” He asked, patting Kat on her head.
“I think we do.” Bet then brought her voice down to a whisper. “President Roosevelt would like us to reuse our coffee grounds, but mum refuses to do it, so I brew it with half used and half new grounds. So far, she can’t tell the difference, especially if I put a little less water in the percolator.”
“Speaking of Oreo Sandwiches,” Ray said after taking a sip from his coffee cup. “The National Biscuit Company started building their new factory, just over on Kedzie Avenue. When that’s built, I may try and get a job there. I know it would smell a heck of a lot better than the stockyards.”
“And so would you,” Bet joked as she held her nose.
“Oh, hardy har har,” exclaimed Ray. “Believe it or not, it’s still not as bad as how I smelled coming out of a coal mine.”
“I like the way you smell with your Old Spice and hair tonic,” Bet replied.
“It’s Vitalis,” said Ray, sheepishly. “Are you still wearing the perfume I bought you?”
Frieda cut in, “Je je, you both smell nice, but you better get going or you’ll miss your show. You two be careful.”
Bet didn’t tell Ray that she was wearing Tabu because the Evening in Paris was a bit too heavy for her. She suddenly felt bad she didn’t put it on for their special night.
As Ray finished his cookies, he noticed the rationing book sitting on the table. It reminded him of something. “Oh, Frieda, Harriet asked if you needed any more sugar. She said you were the baker in the family.”
“Je, sure, but only if she can spare it,” Frieda replied. “I will make them a strudel.”
“I wish I could bake like my mother,” said Bet. “I tried to make a cake the other day and it went as flat as a pancake. I’m not going to try again until flour and sugar become more available.”
Ray had taken the streetcar that evening because James took the gasoline rationing seriously. Bet didn’t mind, she was used to traveling through the city that way.
“Before you leave,” Frieda said. “Go outside and make some pictures.”
“Why don’t you join us?” asked Ray.
“No, I’m not dressed up like you two. Go on. Betty, pick me up some beer at the corner before you go.”
Ray grabbed the camera which more often than not, was kept at their apartment. They headed out the door.
On the way back from getting the beer, they stopped at her mom’s Fairfield Beauty Salon which was only a few doors down 59th Street, across Fairfield Ave. “Let’s take a few pictures here. It will make for a better background,” suggested Bet.
Ray got the camera ready as Bet looked in the store window. She thought she saw something and was intensely looking through the glass. She turned to try and see what could be making the reflection.
“What are you looking at, there, kiddo? Ray asked. “The Clairol ad?”
“No, I thought I saw someone in the reflection. It was a man and he appeared to be searching for something. It was very odd. Oh well, he’s gone now. Come on, take my picture.”
Bet and Ray took turns snapping photographs of each other in front of the store. They even solicited the help of a passing gentleman to take one of the both of them.
“That’s enough,” Bet said. But Ray playfully pointed the camera at her as she was walking away. “Don’t snap that picture, Ray, I’m warning you.
But he clicked it anyway, just as she was looking back over her shoulder.
“AWW!” She exclaimed.
They went back to the apartment and Ray ran back up the stairs to drop off the beer and his camera.
They took the Crawford Avenue street car all the way up to the Garfield Park neighborhood and got off at Washington Boulevard. The Paradise Theater was only a block away near Maypole. The picture playing was Yankee Doodle Dandy with James Cagney as George M. Cohan.
Ray had heard it was a good film. He read that it was becoming popular for people to see pictures about the first great world war, while the new one was going on overseas.
As they neared the theater, a pushy woman, who was obviously in a hurry to purchase her ticket, bumped into Bet and nearly knocked her to the ground. The woman kept going and didn’t even look back. Ray became furious.
“Hey!” he yelled towards the woman’s back. “Bet, can you believe the nerve of that woman? Hey!”
“Leave it alone, hon.” Bet said, grabbing his arm tighter. “There’s no harm done.”
“But the nerve of some people,” he continued.
“Ray, honey, it’s alright. We don’t know what sort of day she had. Maybe she’s looking for a lost child. We just don’t know and shouldn’t assume anything. It’s fine, let’s not get our panties in a bunch.” Bet blushed after saying this.
“You’ve never said a bad thing about anyone since I’ve known you. Even when they almost knock you for a loop.”
Bet just shrugged.
“I’m sort of glad you’re my gal,” he said.
“Sort of?” she questioned. “Come on, I would like some popcorn and a box of Raisinets, please….oh, and a Squirt.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Chicago, Present Day
I woke up having another dream. Something was unsettling about it. I glanced at my alarm clock. The light from it hurt my eyes in the dark room. It was 2:37 a.m. As I laid my head back down on the pillow, I suddenly was able to recall the dream. This was the first time I could. I saw my great uncle Ray and Bet on a street corner. It was winter. Bet was wearing a fur jacket and Ray was only in suit pants and a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up. He was obviously cold. Bet was snuggling into him and laughing, but I couldn’t hear any sounds coming from them. I also recalled the look on her face. It said to me, how silly she thought Ray was to be dressed like that in such cold weather.
The scene looked so real and unlike the black and white photos in the scrapbook, I saw them in perfect living color. I saw him with his gray suit pants and shiny black shoes, and her brown fur jacket over a navy blue dress with a white collar. She wore a hat which matched the dress. I could see rosy cheeks on both of them and wisps of steam coming from their breath as they talked. There were 1940s cars on the street, also in surprising colors, such as pale yellow, blue, and green.
I felt like I was standing there with them, only I didn’t feel the cold. I was just a silent observer when all of sudden, Bet turned her head and looked right at me. Her green eyes were warm and caring, full of light and excitement. She smiled and I saw how pretty her youthful face was when she did. Those green eyes lit up as she looked right into my own eyes. As warm as the feeling was, it became clear, this was the unsettling feeling I had when I woke up.
I got up and went to get the scrapbook. I paged through until I found a group of photos that matched my dream. I saw the same the fur jacket on Bet, and Ray standing in the snow with only a white shirt. She captioned it saying, “Polar Bear Ray”.
Also in this particular group of photos was one of Bet with her mom and baby sister, Kat. They were obviously dressed up for something. She had all of them dated as December 20, 1942. I reached for my phone and looked up the calendar page for that date and saw it was a Sunday. Were they dressed for church, a show, or dinner? Or were they just wearing their Sunday bests? In my dream the sun was centered in the sky, yet offset for the winter solstice, so I figured it was around noon.
I wasn
’t sure what any of this meant, I just wanted to try and get the whole picture in my head. I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of having Bet turning and looking at me. How was that possible?
I decided to do a trial subscription to Ancestry.com. I put in Raymond Speck, West Virginia, USA, and got a couple of hits. I knew one of them was correct. The 1930 census showed my grandmother, Virginia, plus all his siblings including James and Vernon. Cool! I thought. From there, I could click on his name and found his birth certificate. He was born on December 25th, 1922. That made him the same age as me when he was with Bet. His middle name was Lee. I spent the rest of the morning searching through records. I was hoping to see if he died in the war, but couldn’t find anything. I tried to see if he came back to another state and lived out his life in secret. Just like Megan had found in a regular Bing search, I found a lot of guys with the name Raymond L. Speck, which could have been him. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.
The Old Scrapbook Page 5
