He nodded. “If it’s a genuine need, but don’t be calling me for every little thing. Your mama wanted you to be independent and find yourself a happy life, and that’s what I expect you to be doing.”
Although Christine didn’t say it, she seriously doubted happiness was a thing that could be found without her mama and granddaddy.
The Boarding House
Although it took Christine nearly three weeks to pack her mama’s belongings, in a single day she stuffed everything she was going to take to Richmond into an unwieldy assortment of suitcases, boxes and bags. On Thursday morning she kissed her granddaddy goodbye, promised to call as soon as she’d found an apartment, then backed out of the driveway and started off.
Christine had no plans other than to arrive in Richmond; then she would figure out what to do. The Algonquin Hotel held fond memories but it was $26 a night, which was too pricey for her budget. With the things she’d brought from home rattling around the trunk of her mama’s car, she drove up one street and down the next until halfway down Bailey Street she happened to spot a sign that read “Feeney’s Boarding House, Rooms for Rent, $3 Daily, $15 Weekly.” She pulled into the driveway and followed it around to the back of the house.
Christine parked the car then walked around to the front of the house and knocked at the door. After a short wait, a woman with red hair and a bridge of freckles across her nose opened the door.
“Missus Feeney?” Christine said.
“That I am,” the woman said and gave a nod. “And who might you be?”
“Christine Wilkes. I’m looking for a room to rent.”
Missus Feeney wrinkled her brow and eyed Christine head to toe.
“All my other boarders are gentlemen,” she finally said. “I doubt you’d fit in.”
The bright smile Christine had forced into place disappeared.
“It would only be for a short while,” she pleaded. “Just long enough for me to find a job and get an apartment.”
Irene Feeney thought back on the two female boarders she’d had the previous year. That had not worked out well. The girls hung stockings on the towel bars in the bathroom, smudged lipstick on the fresh-washed pillowcases and kept her up half the night with their giggling and chatter.
A look of trepidation tugged at the right side of her mouth.
“How long you figure that will take?” she asked.
“A week. Two at the most.”
The desolate sound of Christine’s voice weakened Irene Feeney’s resolve. She pulled the door back and gestured for her to come inside.
“I’ll give you two weeks, but that’s it. Meals cost extra. It’s twenty-five cents for breakfast, seventy-five for dinner.”
“I don’t mind paying extra,” Christine said.
“Okay then. And there’s to be no stockings left in the bathroom.”
Christine shook her head. “You can be sure of that, ma’am.”
Irene Feeney eyed Christine with a steely gaze.
“Like I said I’ve got all men boarders, so the language at the dinner table gets a bit salty at times. I hope you’re not easily offended.”
“No, ma’am,” Christine replied. “I’m not, not at all.”
She was none too certain exactly what salty language consisted of, but right now she was desperate for a place to stay so it didn’t matter. She opened her purse and paid Irene Feeney $15 for the room plus $7 for seven days of breakfast and dinner. After that she sighed with relief.
“Well, at least I’m sure of a place to stay,” she said.
“Temporarily,” Missus Feeney reminded her.
“Yes, of course. Temporarily.”
Christine returned to the car and carried in one suitcase, leaving everything else in the trunk. She was only going to be here for a short while, so there was little sense in unpacking everything. She pulled her blue dress from the suitcase and hung it in the closet. She would start looking for an apartment the very next day, and as soon as she was settled she’d go in search of a job.
That evening she met the other boarders at the dinner table, five men in varying shapes, sizes and ages. At the head of the table was Irene Feeney.
“Gentlemen,” Missus Feeney said, “this young lady will be rooming with us for a short while, so I’m expecting that for the duration of her stay you will all keep a civil tongue in your heads.”
One by one she introduced the men to Christine, and each in turn nodded at the mention of his name.
Whatever salty language Irene expected never came about. In fact, to a man, they were downright courteous. When Christine mentioned she’d be looking for a job, Lawrence Hawkins, the eldest of the group, offered to reach out to Hiram Mosley and ask if there were any openings at the Atlantic Savings and Loan.
“He’s my associate and a supervisor,” Hawkins boasted. “So if there’s a job to be had, he’ll know about it.”
Edward, a small man with a round face and an even rounder stomach, rolled his eyes.
“Associate my foot,” he quipped. “You left that job ten years ago.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t still have connections,” Hawkins replied indignantly.
Christine spoke up quickly and said she’d appreciate any help they could give.
“Coming to Richmond was my mama’s idea, and—”
This was the first time she’d had to explain about losing Laura, and the words stuck in her throat. Although her voice wobbled a bit, she told of all that had happened. Once the tale was finished she added, “So you see with being off on my own for the first time, I feel rather lost.”
Before the table was cleared four of the five men were acting like doting uncles, offering directions, job suggestions and lists of places suitable for a young woman to live.
“Stay away from River Street,” Edward said, and Hawkins agreed.
“South of Gerard, now that’s a nice area,” he advised.
A lanky young man called Stick said nothing. He kept his eyes focused on his plate, and the moment it was emptied he excused himself and left the table. Christine turned her head to watch him leave the room.
“Stick’s not much of a talker,” Edward explained; then he said if she took the crosstown trolley it would take her smack into the center of town.
“That’s where you’ll find a job.”
That first evening seemed so promising, but after two weeks of looking Christine had found nothing. No apartment; no job.
Every evening her self-designated uncles arrived at the dinner table with a dozen more suggestions. A men’s wear shop in town might be hiring. There’d been a rumor that the water company was looking for a receptionist. When Edward suggested the tavern where his lady friend worked, the others looked at him askew.
“Christine doesn’t want to work in a tavern!” Lawrence said sharply.
“Actually, I’d be willing to consider it,” Christine replied. “Mama’s money won’t last forever.”
For the first time in the whole two weeks, Stick spoke up.
“The telephone company is looking for switchboard operators.”
“Really?” Christine said.
Stick nodded and kept his eyes on his plate. “’Specially on the split shift.”
“What’s a split shift?”
“You work when it’s peak calling times. Four hours in the morning and four in the evening.”
Christine gave a bright grin. “I’d be willing to do that!”
“The thing is,” Stick said, “Southern Atlantic Telephone is over on the far side of town. Five, maybe six blocks past the Algonquin Hotel.”
Lawrence frowned. “She’d have to take the streetcar and the bus to get there! Doing that twice a day would be—”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Christine said. “During the afternoon break I could look for an apartment over in that area.”
Missus Feeney said nothing, but her eyes darted back and forth as she watched the words coming from each of the roomers. A dozen different suggestions w
ere offered up, and by the time coffee was served Christine had decided to apply for the job.
The next morning Christine came to breakfast wearing her blue rayon dress and a small hat with a cluster of cherries pinned to the side.
“You look lovely,” Missus Feeney said. She set a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her.
“How come she gets eggs and bacon, and we get oatmeal?” Edward grumbled.
“Christine has a long day in front of her and needs nourishment.”
“I got a long day too,” Edward groused, but when Irene Feeney gave him a warning glare he stopped complaining and went back to the oatmeal.
That morning all of the men wished Christine good luck, and when she started for the door Irene Feeney pushed a brown bag into her hands.
“A ham sandwich,” she said. “In case you get hungry.”
Although buses now shuttled people from place to place in the downtown area of Richmond, in outlying areas such as Bailey Street people still rode the streetcar. Two blocks from Feeney’s Boarding House, Christine caught the trolley and took it to the Clancy Street Station where she transferred to the downtown bus. She slid into an empty seat beside the window and watched as the houses gave way to shops and office buildings. Thirty minutes later when the bus passed by the Algonquin Hotel, Christine was reminded of her mama’s letter.
“Find the magic,” it had said.
She gave a sigh. “I’m trying, Mama. I’m honestly trying.”
Two stops later she climbed down from the bus and walked four blocks west to the six-story building that housed the Southern Atlantic Telephone Company.
Christine hesitated a moment before entering, smoothed the wrinkles from the front of her skirt and brushed back a wispy curl that had slipped from beneath her hat. She pushed through the revolving glass door and saw it: a large chalkboard perched on a wooden easel. “Switchboard Operators Needed,” it read. “No Experience Required.”
Squaring her shoulders and summoning as much courage as she could muster, Christine approached the reception desk.
“I’d like to inquire about the switchboard operator position,” she said.
The receptionist edged her glasses lower on her nose and peered over them.
“It’s split shift,” she said warily. “You okay with that?”
Christine nodded and answered with an enthusiastic yes.
After filling out the two-page application and taking what was called an aptitude qualification test, Christine met with Miss Forrester who asked a handful of questions and then passed her on to Florence Platt, the team leader. Miss Platt was a thin woman with a sharp nose and mousy brown hair pulled straight back into a bun.
“They tell you this is the split shift?” she asked.
Again Christine answered yes and said she had no problem with that.
“I’m happy to work split shift. Happy as can be.”
Florence nodded. “Fine. Be here at nine o’clock Monday morning. The first week is training. You’ll work nine to six. The next week you start split shift, six AM to ten AM, then six PM to ten PM. Now you sure you’re okay with that?”
Christine gave a broad smile and again answered yes.
It was nearing three o’clock by the time Christine left the telephone company. She glanced at her watch then turned and walked back toward the Algonquin. At the hotel she crossed the lobby, entered the grand salon and sat on one of the red velvet sofas she and Laura had often shared.
She ordered the same thing they had always ordered: rose hip tea and watercress sandwiches. The tiny sandwiches cut into triangles without a hint of crust had always been something to look forward to, but now they seemed tasteless and the tea was not nearly as sweet as she remembered. She stirred a second and then a third spoonful of sugar into her cup, but it didn’t help.
Tears welled in her eyes, and in a whisper no louder than the flutter of a dove’s wing she said, “I’m afraid, Mama. I’m afraid that without you I’ll never be able to find the magic.”
As she stood to leave, she felt the feathery touch of an arm circling her shoulders. She whirled around but no one was there.
“Mama?” she said, but there was no answer.
Training Class
The Sunday evening before she was to start her new job, Christine was as fluttery as a robin in a snowstorm. She’d brought in the second suitcase and picked out five outfits for the coming week, a fresh one for each day. For Monday she selected a yellow suit with shoulder pads and a nipped-in waist. Hopefully it looked cheery but not too frivolous.
She remembered how her mama always claimed the first impression was a lasting one, yet try as she may she couldn’t recall any specific instructions about what to wear, say or do. She did recall the one directive to look straight into a person’s face and smile as she spoke, but that too was a problem. She couldn’t seem to find a way to set her mouth in a smile when her lips were moving.
That evening at the supper table, she mentioned she was a bit nervous about her first day on the job. The gentlemen boarders, who by now had become friends of a sort, were quick to offer advice.
“Don’t worry,” Lawrence said. “You’ll do fine. The key is to grab the upper hand and act as if you already know this stuff.”
Christine frowned. “But I don’t.”
“You don’t have to actually know it, just make them think you do.”
“Don’t listen to Mister Big Shot,” Edward said. “He thinks he knows everything, but he don’t know nothing. What you’ve gotta do is not chew gum, and answer ‘Yes, ma’am’ to whatever they say.”
Irene Feeney stated that in her opinion having such a long workday necessitated a hearty meal and possibly an afternoon nap.
“Perhaps you should ask if they have a little lounge where you could rest in the afternoon,” she suggested.
Christine gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “I doubt—”
“Just be yourself,” Stick spoke up.
He gave a quick glance across the table, and when his eyes met Christine’s he lowered his gaze back to his plate.
“You don’t have to do nothing,” he said softly. “They’re gonna like you just because you’re who you are.”
Christine smiled and tucked his words away in her mind for safekeeping.
“Thank you, Stick,” she said.
He glanced up, and again their eyes met.
* * *
On the day Christine had gone for the interview, the trip on the trolley and then the bus had taken one hour and twenty minutes. On Monday morning she allowed herself an extra twenty minutes. She left the house at 6:50 and arrived at the telephone company office a half-hour early. Following Florence Platt’s directions, she entered the side door and took the elevator to the second floor.
“Good, you’re early,” Florence said. “Gives us time to get you settled.”
She led the way to a back room where Christine was given a locker to store her purse and a coat or jacket in the wintertime.
“You might want to take off your suit jacket,” Florence suggested. “Working a tandem board entails a lot of stretching and reaching.”
Christine reopened the locker, hung her yellow jacket inside and then followed Florence back to the training room.
The class consisted of three women plus Christine. Each of them was given a headset that clipped across the crown of their head with an earphone on one side and a speaker circling around in front of their mouth.
“Make certain your headset is adjusted comfortably,” Florence said. Then she seated them in front of a switchboard that stood six feet high with row after row of lights and holes. Once all four women were in position, Florence began her instructions.
“Each hole, or jack as they are called, represents a household. When the customer picks up their telephone receiver, a light flashes. When you see a flashing light, push the talk key open, pick up the back cord, plug it into the jack above the light and say, ‘Number, please?’”
She eyed the four girls and asked, “Any questions so far?”
Angie, one of the trainees, grunted uh-uh, and Christine and the others shook their heads.
Florence smiled. “Okay then. Now, once they give you the number they’re calling, locate it on the board, take the corresponding front cord, plug it into that number then close your talk key and move on to answer the next call.”
In theory it sounded simple enough, but the tandem board was huge and the banks of jacks were stacked one on top of another until they stood as tall as a man. Just locating a specific number could take as long as five minutes.
All morning the women practiced connecting calls, sometimes tangling the cords before the lines could be plugged together.
“Don’t worry,” Florence said, “you’ve got a week to practice.”
At ten-thirty the group took their first break.
“You’ve got precisely fifteen minutes,” Florence said then disappeared into a back office.
The four trainees headed for the employee lounge. Eleanor, the woman who’d inadvertently listened in on two conversations because she’d forgotten to close the talk key, poured herself a cup of coffee and sat on a stiff wooden chair. With her shoulders slumped and her mouth turned down at the corners, she had the look of someone ready to give up.
“This is not as easy as I thought it would be,” she said.
“It’s not so bad,” Christine replied, trying to make the situation sound a bit more positive. After three solid weeks of looking for work and finding nothing, she was determined to make a go of this job. “Once you start to remember how the numbers are arranged—”
“That’s impossible,” Barbara Ann cut in. “There’s thousands of numbers in every panel.”
“Yeah,” Eleanor said with a sigh. “How are you supposed to remember that many? I’m starting to think this job ain’t for me.”
“I got two kids and a husband with a broken leg,” Angie said. “I gotta have this job, or they ain’t gonna eat.”
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