by Terri Lee
***
It was way past Frankie’s usual time to return and supper had long grown cold. She kept getting up and looking out the window, staring off into the October night as if she could will him to magically appear. She hugged her arms and rested them on her protruding belly, trying to remain calm as her fears gathered steam.
It was almost nine o’clock before she heard his key turn in the door, and she ran to meet him. He looked disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through his hair for hours.
“Frankie, my God, where have you been?” She followed him into the room as he shuffled over to the leather chair.
“Are you alright?” She pressed. He stared straight ahead, right past her. He looked like he’d seen a ghost and had not quite recovered.
“No,” came his mumbled reply. “I’m not alright. Nothing is alright. In fact everything is wrong.”
THIRTY ONE
He slowly began to unravel the story of this Tuesday, which turned out to not be like any other Tuesday, after all. He sat with his head in his hands.
“Frankie what’s happened? I’ve never seen you looking like you’ve just given up. What’s happened since you left home?”
He finally mumbled, “I don’t think you’d understand.” But what he meant was, he didn’t understand.
Frances knelt on the polished wood floor before him and placed her hands on his knees, looking up into his face with determination. “Well then, make me understand,” she said.
“It was a crash.” Frankie said as if trying to explain the foggy images of his nightmare.
“What do you mean a crash? Did you have an accident?”
“No.” He was so tired. “Not a car crash. The market. Stocks crashed.”
“Oh.” Frances sat back on her heels. And he knew she didn’t fully comprehend the meaning. But the look on his face must have told her more than his words were capable of.
“I’ll be right back.” She rose from the floor and returned with a drink. Liquor could still be found if one knew where to look and in this moment he was glad she had something to offer him. He accepted the drink with a shaking hand.
He took a few sips and leaned back in his chair. His head rested on the cool leather and he let out a sigh that sounded as if he had been holding his breath for most of the day. He looked down at Frances who had taken up her spot beside him again.
His beautiful Frances with her round belly announcing the impending joy in their lives. He didn’t know if he had the strength to tell her everything, but she deserved some sort of an explanation. Besides, she’d find out soon enough when the morning papers hit.
“It started first thing this morning.” He began slowly as he took another sip of his drink. “You couldn’t even hear the opening bell over the shouts of ‘Sell, sell’.” He shook his head, recalling the black scene. “In the first hour, millions of shares were traded.”
Frances sat there with her mouth open as the story unfolded, each addition worse than the last. He told her of the chaos that soon ensued, as brokers could not keep up with the frantic pace of the transactions. The ticker tape which could produce two hundred and eighty-five words per minute was quickly falling behind. By the end of close, it still lagged two and half hours.
“There where fist fights right there on the floor.” Frankie was incredulous. “And no one cared. No one stopped them. There was no stopping any of it.”
“Oh my God,” Frances said and he could see her imaging the scene.
“It really started last Thursday.”
“You didn’t mention anything funny at the time.” “I was hoping it was an anomaly. There was some panic on the floor at opening bell Thursday, but things had calmed down by closing.”
He went on to explain how several of the leading Wall Street bankers had met that day, eager to find a solution to the panic and chaos that had quickly bubbled to the surface. Thomas Lamont, the acting head of Morgan Bank, had met with other industry leaders. The men chose Richard Whitney, the vice-president of the Exchange, to act as their proxy.
With the banker’s money to play with, Whitney purchased huge chunks of stocks in several blue chip companies. The notion that the bankers were willing to invest their own money in the market succeeded in convincing others to stop selling. It was enough to stop the bleeding, but apparently not for long.
The market had actually been volatile since September, when the crash of the London Stock Exchange started the domino effect. But hopes in the American market continued to surge as she fought her way back. The ups and downs continued throughout the next few weeks, but always with the belief that the American economy would survive intact. After Thursday’s quick look over the edge into the abyss, by Monday, more investors were deciding to get out of the market and the slide continued.
“That’s why I went down to the floor this morning. There was still some uneasiness hanging in the air from last week. I wanted to get a feel for things myself. If I thought I had seen panic before, I was naïve. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw today.” Frankie tried to paint the picture. “The Rockefellers and others tried to rally the market again by buying up stocks, but it was too late. It wasn’t going to work this time.”
Frances listened as he continued telling her that by the afternoon, the rumors were swirling fast and furious. He wisely decided to withhold the hearsay about stock brokers committing suicide. There was no reason to burden her with more than she needed to know.
Once the reports picked up steam that the bankers were actually selling, all bets were off. The smell of panic was in the air. Everyone was selling, and the only ones buying were buying for pennies on the dollar. Collapse was inevitable. What started off as a snowball ended up as an avalanche.
Just last year, when President Calvin Coolidge delivered his 1928 State of the Union address, he noted with pride that America had never “met with a more pleasing prospect than that which appears at the present time.” America was popping at the seams with prosperity. It was only natural that a bubble that big must burst.
But before that, everyone wanted to get in on the action. The stock market was no longer simply a rich man’s game. Small-time investors were lured into the markets with the ability to invest with borrowed money on margin. The buyer was only required to put down ten to twenty percent of his own money, the rest borrowed from a broker.
Buying on margin was obviously risky. If the price of the stock fell lower than the loan amount, the broker would issue a margin call. But the fever swept across the country like a pandemic as stories were shared in barber shops and around kitchen tables in small towns all over America how janitors, maids, and teachers made millions off the stock market. In fact, two out of every five dollars that banks loaned were loaned to purchase stock. No one wanted to be left behind in this get-rich-quick scheme and people continued to place dicey bets with money they didn’t have.
The lure of easy money was too hard to resist, companies invested in the stock market, and even banks got in on the action as they invested their deposits. Everything was going up, up, up until it all came crashing down.
“I just wanted the day to end.” Frankie shook his head again and closed his eyes. “Brokers called in margins and people couldn’t pay up, so the stocks were sold, and entire life’s savings were wiped out in one transaction.” Here he paused, not saying what he was sure Frances already knew. Every trace of their hard earned-investments had been erased too, carried away on this ill wind as if it never existed.
“There were so many trades being made, there was nowhere to put the slips of paper, they were filling up trash cans with them. We’re talking about billions of dollars, gone. Just gone.”
Frances’s hand covered her mouth. He knew he was painting a very grim picture for her. He could see the sense of panic in her eyes.
“Aside from the amount of money we’ve lost in the market, what does this mean for your job? Are we going to be all right?” She ventured.
It took him a more th
an a second to answer as he struggled to dig deep for the phony smile to paste on his face. “Of course. We’re going to be all right.”
THIRTY TWO
Though Frankie had promised her that they would be alright, for the first time, Frances sensed that he didn’t believe it himself, so the words that had always been an incantation lost a bit of their magic on that night. She knew it was a promise he might not be able to keep.
The next day brought an anemic uptick in the market, but it was obvious the faith was gone. The Exchange was closed for the next couple of days, ostensibly to allow everyone to get back up to speed. As if closing the door and turning off the lights would shut out the truth of what had happened. The newspaper headlines screamed so loudly there was no need for paperboys to hawk their wares on street corners. People couldn’t get their hands on the newsprint fast enough to read the latest horror stories.
Black Tuesday was not just one cataclysmic event, but the beginning of a death spiral. It was a black hole that sucked in all the light and all that was good. Anything near it was swallowed up and disappeared, taking hopes and dreams with it.
It was a beast that survived on fear and there was no shortage of that in the next days. The telling and re-telling of stories took on a life of their own and there was no knowing what was true. Time alone would sort out fact from fiction and when enough time had passed it was obvious that fact needed no embellishment. The mood of the country took on a darkness left over from Black Tuesday. Even those not initially affected by the turn of events on Wall Street felt the sense of doom.
Frankie managed to hold out for a couple of weeks. But when the bottom fell out of the market on November thirteenth, it took his job with it. Overnight, the cocktail parties, dinner and dancing with friends, and the sense of invincibility came to a screeching halt. They had been riding high on a carnival ride that had no end when suddenly the wheels came off.
“You don’t need to worry, doll face.” Frankie had reassured Frances over the loss of his job. Even though they had lost a substantial amount of money as their investments went up in smoke, Frankie had always been a prudent saver. He assured his worried wife that they were in better shape than most. Unfortunately, many of his colleagues bragged about investing every penny in the market while they teased him about his old-fashioned savings account.
Thankfully, there was a nest egg to rely on while he searched for new employment. He hadn’t had any luck in landing a position yet, but it had only been a few weeks and she was sure things would settle down eventually. And Frankie told her that his eyes and ears were open for any possibility.
In the meantime, Frankie’s top priority was to keep Frances calm and free of stress in the last weeks before her delivery date. And while the news that blew around them was certainly bleak, he did his best to see that things at home remained on an even keel.
Frances was growing more uncomfortable every day, although in Frankie’s eyes, she continued to glow with a beauty he couldn’t have imagined. He would sit with his hand on her stomach and feel the life swelling within her, amazed at the human participation in the creation of life.
And for those brief moments he would allow himself to forget about the reality outside his tiny apartment.
***
“Frankie, wake up.” Frances shook her sleeping husband.
“Wha…huh?” Squinting, he made out Frances’s anxious face staring at him in the dim light. “The baby?” He knew immediately.
She nodded. “Yes. My water broke a little while ago. I’m not really having a lot of pain yet, but I think it might be time to go to the hospital.”
He could tell she was trying very hard to sound calm. He was up like a shot and dressed in a few minutes flat. “Everything is going to be alright, honey.” Frankie looked down into her worried brown eyes. What the heck did he know? He knew nothing about babies, but his calm assurance soothed her, anyway.
It was a quick drive to St. John’s Hospital. Frankie helped Frances from the front seat and he could hear her breathing hard.
He didn’t know why he was so nervous, she was the one expected to do all the work. He leaned down and kissed her for luck. She looked up at him with a bit of a wild look in her eyes as they wheeled her away, and he saw the slim veneer of control slip from her grasp. But for him, she managed a quick smile and a wave before she rounded the corner.
It was unfair that he was segregated from the activity taking place in the delivery room, as if he had nothing to do with it. He paced and jingled the change in his pocket until he caught a glance from one of the other outcast fathers and he realized he was being annoying.
“First one?” the clairvoyant dad asked.
“Yep.”
“It gets easier over time.”
“I suppose so.” Frankie concurred, but that didn’t do anything to help this time around.
Before long a nurse entered the waiting room and each of the expectant fathers looked up hopefully.
“Mr. Lee?” she looked over the group.
Frankie stood up. “That’s me.”
“Follow me,” she said without fanfare, and Frankie’s heart sank.
“Is my wife alright?” He was afraid to ask as he tried to keep up with her hurried pace.
“Oh yes, she’s fine.” She waved away his concern. “And you have a healthy little boy.” She pointed through the nursery window. Frankie could have slapped her for scaring him half to death on this brisk march. But those thoughts were lost the moment he looked through the glass.
“I have a son,” he whispered, and wiped away the first tears he would shed over this boy.
The sound of his son’s cries from the other side of the glass triggered something in his heart, something he hadn’t known was there until that moment. The nurse carried the swaddled infant closer to the window so the new dad could get a good look.
Frankie tapped on the glass as they were introduced and grinned a big goofy grin, “Hello, my boy.” He was sure that the baby noticed him and smiled in return. Yes, the child was already a prodigy. The newborn was placed in a bassinette with the little nametag, ‘Baby Lee’ affixed to the rim.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the child, his very own flesh and blood. His son. He had a family.
Frankie walked away with the swagger of every new father, chest puffed out ever so slightly. He felt very much like a proud rooster and if he could have crowed, he would have.
***
“Frances, you did a wonderful job.” Frankie praised her as he rushed to her side when he was finally allowed to see her.
“I did?” she looked up hopefully. She was worn out but even her tousled hair looked beautiful to him.
Frankie curled her fingers in his, “He is absolutely perfect. Just like his mother.”
He looked down at her with all concern, “How are you feeling, Doll Face?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.” She looked up at him searching his face, “Today is December eighth, our son was born on Lucy’s birthday.”
Frankie smiled. “I think that must be a good omen. But for now, you get all the rest you can. You deserve it.” He leaned in and kissed her softly, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered to her, “Thank you.”
She closed her eyes, in search of the sleep she had earned, knowing she had given him his heart’s desire.
The next day when Frankie visited, he was thrilled to be allowed to hold the baby. Frances giggled as he fumbled with the bundle and the nurse barked orders on the proper way to hold a baby’s head. But like any good Marine, he listened closely and performed to satisfaction.
The nurse and Frances may have found the scene amusing, but when Frankie actually held Robert Francis in his arms and looked into that tiny face, for one brief instant, his doubts about God were swept away. He looked across the room and his eyes locked on Frances’s.
“I know,” she nodded, able to read his heart.
The new family went home to their apartment, with Frankie hovering over F
rances’s every step and where Sophia was there to greet them like the conquering heroes they were. Frances was more than grateful for the help, advice, and wisdom of her older friend. Sophia tucked Robert expertly in the crook of her arm and cooed over him as if he were her own grandchild.
***
“How have things been for Frankie?” Sophia asked one evening after Frankie and the baby had been put to bed.
“We’re holding on,” Frances said. “Frankie says we have a pretty good nest egg to see us through and hopefully, he’ll find another job soon.”
“Yes, let us hope.” Sophia agreed. “It doesn’t look good out there.”
“Were you hit by any of it?”
“Actually, yes. My Leonard left a good pension and that, coupled with the dividends from several investments, provided a comfortable living. But now the dividends will cease. I received notification that the stocks I held are practically worthless.” Sophia wrapped her thin hands around her warm cup of coffee.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I am not alone.” Sophia shook her head. “I will just have to live very frugally. Luckily, I am an old woman who doesn’t require much.”
Frances sighed, “I’m so tired of hearing this same bit of news from almost everyone I know.” She reached across the table and patted Sophia’s hand, “Tell me a story. Tell me something wonderful.”
“A story?” Sophia smiled.
“Yes, tell me another story about your time on the stage. I need to hear something beautiful.”
Sophia reached up and played with the silk scarf knotted at her neck as she opened the door to her memories. “Alright then…” Sophia led her away to St. Petersburg and the grandeur of the Bolshoi Ballet.
The old woman became visibly younger as she told stories that had been stored away in dusty trunks in the attic of her mind. Frances marveled at the courage the young prodigy must have possessed to leave her home in Poland to attend school in Vienna. From there, she traveled the world and danced for heads of state and dignitaries in a dozen countries.
