Franklin Wilkes
I didn’t just fall in love with Laura; I fell in love with her family also. Emory is a man I’d be proud to call Dad. And I can say the same for Mother Hawthorne. She and Laura are cut from the same cloth. I consider myself lucky to be marrying into such a family.
Neither of my parents came to the wedding. I sent invitations to both of them, but I guess they were afraid people would talk. More than that, they were probably afraid they’d run into each other. When they got divorced they didn’t just end the marriage, they chopped it into a million angry little pieces. They fought tooth and nail over who was going to get the house, but neither of them fought for me. I was the leftover baggage they passed back and forth like a hot potato.
I left Cleveland the day after I graduated high school and never went back again. Sad to say, there’s no reason to go back. To Mom and Dad I’m a walking reminder of their failures, and that’s something they’d rather forget.
I promised I’d take care of Laura, and I meant it from the bottom of my heart. When you come from a broken home, you know what angry words and thoughtless gestures can lead to. I’ll never let that happen to our marriage.
Emory Hawthorne needn’t worry about me. I said I’d love Laura until the day I die and that’s exactly what I intend to do.
Happily Married
After the wedding, Franklin and Laura drove to Richmond and spent four days at the Algonquin Hotel. They stayed in the bridal suite, slept late each morning and stayed up until all hours of the night dancing to the music of an eight-piece orchestra in the grand ballroom. On their last night in Richmond the band played Sleepy Time Girl, and Laura lowered her head onto Franklin’s shoulder with a sigh.
“This has been so wonderful,” she said. “I hate to see it come to an end.”
Franklin held her close as they swished across the floor moving with the music.
“It’s never going to end,” he replied. “Every year we’ll come back here and do this all over again.”
She gave a soft chuckle. “You say that now, but when we have a family—”
“We’ll bring them with us.” He bent, kissed her forehead and cupped his hand around the small of her back. “And when the children are old enough to understand, we’ll tell them of how we fell in love and spent a magical four days in this very same place.”
The next morning as they climbed into the car and headed back to Wyattsville Laura could almost see her whole life stretched out in front of her, more wonderful than anything she’d ever imagined.
* * *
Holding true to his pledge, Franklin rented a lovely little three-room apartment that was less than five blocks from Chester Street. In the morning he and Laura would leave for work together. They’d walk over to Broad Street holding hands like the young lovers they were, and there on the corner they’d kiss goodbye. She would turn down towards the bank, and he’d walk three blocks over to the Morgenstern building.
Several times a week Laura would arrive home and find a still-warm casserole or a basket of Rose’s fresh-baked muffins sitting alongside the door. She’d scoop up whatever was left there and then hurry inside to call her mama.
“However did you know chicken noodle casserole is Franklin’s favorite?” she’d ask.
On evenings when the weather was balmy, they’d have dinner then walk over to spend an hour or two with Emory and Rose. Whatever concerns Emory had regarding Franklin were gone in no time. As soon as they returned from their honeymoon, Franklin took to calling Emory “Dad.” The first time he said it, Emory swiveled his head and looked around as if he expected to see someone else standing there.
That spring while Laura and her mama fussed about the kitchen or worked at tatting another new doily, Franklin sat across from Emory and listened to the baseball games on the radio.
“Can you believe those Yankees?” Emory would say with a discouraged nod.
Franklin would bobble his head in almost the same manner. “With this lineup, they’re sure to take the pennant. The Senators haven’t got a prayer.”
Although at one time Emory resented the thought of giving up his daughter, it had come to be exactly as Franklin had forecasted. He hadn’t lost Laura at all, and he had gained a son-in-law who was happy to sit and talk about things the ladies had no interest in.
Shortly after their first anniversary, Franklin and Laura invited Rose and Emory over for Thanksgiving. Laura set the table with the china they’d ordered from J.C. Penney and roasted a turkey filled with bread stuffing. Starting early that morning she made a bowl of candied sweet potatoes, a dish of corn pudding and pickled green tomatoes. Rose brought a basket of biscuits and a maple walnut cake.
When they sat down at the table, Franklin said grace then took out the bottle of wine he’d hidden away and poured a glass for everyone.
“Wine?” Rose said. “Isn’t that against the law?”
“Drinking it isn’t,” Franklin replied with a grin. “Just making it and selling it is. But let’s forget about prohibition today and have a toast, because we’ve got something to celebrate.”
“Celebrate?” Emory and Rose echoed in unison.
A secretive glance slid back and forth between Laura and Franklin.
“Do you want to be the one to tell them?” he asked.
Her mouth curled into a grin, and she nodded. “I’ve quit my job because we’re expecting a baby.”
Rose squealed. “Oh, how wonderful! When?”
“The doctor thinks it will be the first week of June.”
“That’s not all,” Franklin added. “We bought a three-bedroom house on Madison Street.” He grinned at Laura. “We wanted enough room for children.”
Rose heard the plural and smiled. “So you’re planning on more?”
They both nodded.
“At least three,” Franklin said.
Laura laughed and added, “Maybe four.”
* * *
Madison was a quiet street lined with white clapboard houses and fenced-in yards. Although it was five blocks in the opposite direction, it was closer to Chester Street and the Hawthorne house. A week after they moved in, Laura began stitching curtains for the baby’s room. Not knowing whether the baby would be a boy or girl, she decided on white with a border of brown bunnies at the bottom.
Once the curtains were done and the walls painted, they began shopping for a crib. Laura’s first thought was to order something inexpensive from the Sears and Roebuck catalogue, but Franklin shook his head.
“We’ll go downtown, buy a first-rate crib and a chest of drawers to match,” he said. “If we buy something sturdy enough, we can use it for this baby and the others that are yet to come.” He gave a grin and added, “Luckily we can afford it.”
That much was true. In the five years Franklin had been with Sampson Investments his earnings had gone up steadily, and in 1925 his commissions had more than doubled.
“These are good times,” he said, “and it’s only going to get better.”
A month before the baby was due, he bought a shiny new Chrysler sedan. Three weeks later at 3AM on a Sunday morning, Laura went into labor and he drove her to the hospital. On the way her water broke, and she started to cry.
“I’ve ruined our beautiful new car,” she said through her tears.
Franklin reached across and took hold of her hand.
“You having a healthy baby is the only thing that counts,” he said. “This car’s just a car.”
Laura winced her way through another contraction but managed to smile back at him. At five minutes before seven their baby girl was born.
Years later, after everything happened, Laura would still remember hearing the church bells that morning as she sat propped against the hospital bed pillows with the baby held to her breast. They named the child Christine. It was Laura’s choice, inspired by the sound of those bells. When people asked how she came upon the name, she’d proudly answer, “It means follower of Christ.”
Pro
mise of Prosperity
Just as Franklin had predicted one good year rolled into another, and with the sale of stocks rapidly climbing he earned a year-end bonus that enabled him to pay down over half of the mortgage on the house.
Before Christine turned two he paid off the remaining balance, and they celebrated by spending the weekend at the Algonquin Hotel in Richmond. Together the three of them strolled Gerard Street browsing the shops; then they returned to the hotel for afternoon tea in the grand salon. Before starting for home, Franklin bought Christine a doll nearly as big as she was, and he bought Laura a gold heart-shaped locket.
“This is to remind you of how much I love you,” he said and hooked it around her neck.
With sales continuing to spiral upward, weekends at the Algonquin Hotel soon became a regular thing, and on each trip they returned with a small gift for Christine’s grandparents. When Emory was handed his customary box of cigars, he smiled, squared his shoulders and stood proudly. Times like this he knew Lady Luck had tapped him on the shoulder when he said yes to Franklin marrying his daughter.
* * *
Franklin’s best year to date was 1928, and in December when he received his annual bonus check he invested most of it in the same stocks he’d been selling to his clients. Not only did he invest, he also convinced Emory to take the money he’d set aside over the years and do the same.
Emory had no reason to doubt his son-in-law. The proof was in the pudding. There was no arguing with such success.
That Christmas Franklin brought home a tree tall enough to touch the ceiling, and there were more presents than a person could count. The week before Christmas, Laura and Rose took Christine downtown for a visit with Santa at Miller’s Department Store. They shopped for a while then had lunch at Anne’s Tea Room. Afterward they browsed the festively decorated windows along Broad Street, and when Christine saw the displays of toys her eyes sparkled.
“Are you excited to see Santa?” Laura asked.
Christine nodded and happily hiked her shoulders toward her ears.
Rose laughed. “Laura, this child is you all over again.”
It was true enough; although she was still a toddler Christine was the spitting image of her mama.
When they finally got to Miller’s and she saw Santa dressed in his red suit and surrounded by elves, Christine could barely contain her excitement. She climbed onto his lap and chatted happily, but when he asked what she wanted for Christmas she couldn’t think of a single thing she didn’t already have.
* * *
In January the year started off with the same robust sales, but near the end of March stock prices began to fall. Like many of the Sampson clients, Franklin had invested most of his money in the market and the slowly declining prices made him sit up and take notice. At first he’d figured it to be nothing more than the natural fluctuations of the buy and sell market, but after a week of closing on the down side every day he started to get apprehensive. He thought about it for most of the weekend, and on Sunday evening as he and Laura were climbing into bed he told her of his concerns.
“We’ve been lucky,” he said, “but maybe it’s time we took some of that money out of the market and stuck it in a savings account.”
Laura agreed. Remembering her mama’s frugal nature, she said, “You should also telephone Daddy tomorrow and have him do the same.”
“Okay,” Franklin replied; then he snapped off the light and went to sleep.
On Monday morning Franklin went into the office with that intention, but before he got situated at his desk all hell broke loose. Stock prices plummeted. Late in the afternoon he started calling clients who had bought stocks with a partial down payment to tell them the firm was calling their margin. This meant they now had to pay more than what the stock was worth.
George Feldman, a welder who worked for the Reliable Steel Company, was one of those clients. When he’d heard his friends brag about making money hand over fist in the market, he’d taken a mortgage on his mama’s house and invested every last cent. Hearing of the firm calling in their margin, he flew into a rage.
“You saying you sold me no-good stock?” he snapped.
“That’s not it at all,” Franklin said and again explained how buying on margin worked.
“You bought Broadhurst at seventeen dollars a share,” he said.
With a snarl in his voice George said, “Yeah, but now you’re telling me it’s worth eight dollars and fifty-seven cents! I ain’t paying seventeen dollars for something worth eight-fifty-seven!” With that he slammed down the telephone.
It was the same story all afternoon. Some clients blew up and shouted; others, like the elderly Louisa Burns, cried. When Franklin arrived home that night, he told Laura of the day he’d had.
“It’s a good thing you transferred our money into a savings account,” she said.
Franklin put a hand to his forehead and rubbed his fingers across his brow.
“There was no time,” he said. “I didn’t get to it.”
“But you did call Daddy, didn’t you?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t do that either.”
“Dear God,” Laura said with a moan. “Mama is going to have a conniption.”
On Tuesday the trading activity was considerably calmer. Although there was no upswing in prices, the downward spiral had slowed to a crawl. As soon as he got to the office, Franklin telephoned Emory.
“You’ll take a hit but better safe than sorry,” he said.
“A good point,” Emory said. Then he remembered the inheritance he’d gotten because of his daddy’s stocks. He changed his mind and told Franklin to hold on to the blue chips.
“I doubt anything can happen to those,” he said.
Before noon Franklin had sold the majority of stocks in his account and a percent of what Emory had. He transferred the money into individual savings accounts. They’d taken a hit, but neither of them had gone into debt.
Franklin spent the remainder of the day calling clients. Those with blue chip holdings he told to sit tight; others with more speculative stocks he advised to sell and cut their losses. On Wednesday morning Charles Mitchell, a highly respected banker, held a press conference and told reporters that the downturn was nothing but a hiccup in the market.
“I intend to continue lending money,” he said and reassured those listening that the market would rebound before the week was out. The evening newspapers reported the story word for word, and by Friday what Mitchell forecasted had come to pass.
The following Monday George Feldman called Franklin.
“What kind of shit are you giving me saying my stock’s no good? The newspaper says Broadhurst is selling for seventeen sixty-three!”
“The market rebounded at the end of the week,” Franklin replied. “But since you’re in such a speculative position, I’d suggest you sell the stock and break even while you can.”
“I ain’t gonna sell nothing!” George replied. “My money’s good as the next man’s. I ain’t looking to break even; I’m looking to make money. If you got a nickel’s worth of brains, you’ll make sure I do.”
Four times Franklin explained that there was no guarantee with the market and twice he added that he didn’t feel good about what was happening, but George refused to listen.
That evening Franklin waited until Christine was tucked into bed. Then he sat beside Laura and told her that despite the market surge, he was not feeling good about things.
“I think we should leave our money in the bank,” he said.
Laura nodded and said she was fine with whatever he decided to do.
Franklin stuck with his decision even after the market soared in June and July. With his brows pinched together and a worried expression tugging at the corners of his mouth, he advised many of his clients to do likewise.
“Don’t you read the newspapers?” Emma Pearl asked. Then she went on to tell him the market was at an all-time high, and indications were it would keep on going.
<
br /> “Read the article on page seven of the News Leader,” she said.
Of course Franklin had read the article. But he’d also been keeping an eye on other indicators. The steel mills were cutting back on production, not as many new homes were being built and automobile sales, which had skyrocketed for the past five years, had now slowed dramatically.
After almost three months of advising clients to sell despite the boom market, Franklin was tagged a pessimist. A few of the clients listened to his advice but most did not, and a few even moved their accounts to a different brokerage firm.
Highs & Lows
That summer Laura and Franklin made just one trip to Richmond. It was to celebrate Christine’s fourth birthday. Again they stayed at the Algonquin and took tea in the grand salon, but instead of browsing the shops along Broad Street they went to the city park and rode the carousel. It took three tries but Franklin finally caught the brass ring, and Christine was given a free ride on the white horse that moved up and down in time with the music.
Franklin lifted her onto the horse, buckled the strap around her waist and stood beside her as they circled around and around. Laura stood beside the carousel and snapped a picture each time they came around.
After dinner, with Christine tucked safely into bed and the third-floor maid keeping an eye on her, Franklin and Laura went downstairs to the Madison Ballroom and danced. As the evening grew late, a willowy blonde stepped to the microphone and sang Someone to Watch Over Me. As they moved with the music, Franklin tightened his arm around her waist.
“I’ll always be here to watch over my two beautiful girls,” he whispered.
She leaned her head onto his chest and sighed. “I know you will.”
* * *
In the first week of September, the Dow Jones hit an all-time high. Despite his son-in-law’s apprehension, Emory took the money from his savings account and reinvested it. That same week Franklin lost three more clients. They claimed when it came to predicting the market he didn’t know his ear from his elbow, and at that point he was beginning to wonder if perhaps they weren’t right.
Beyond the Carousel Page 5
