30 Kasım 2012 Cuma
Christmas at Randhurst, Early 1960's
Randhurst. In its early years it was an appealing sight, regardless of the time of year. At Christmastime that appeal was magnified in many ways. A glittering new shopping center it was, the world’s largest…where we lucky Northwest Suburbanites got fresh new gift ideas from sparkling new stores…where we found gifts galore from token to treasure…all under one roof, in 72-degree comfort.
When November rolled around, though, things took on a new air of excitement. Each Christmas purchase we made there, for example, was affixed with the gleaming “Randhurst Seal” - an evergreen-shaped foil sticker-thingy sporting the center’s winsome triangular logo, to glisten on our gifts as a symbol of our good taste and thoughtfulness.
And there were special events in abundance. What with school choir performances, ice skating shows (on temporary portable rinks), celebrity appearances, and a homestand by Jolly Old St. Nick himself, a trip to Randhurst became a must on everyone’s Christmas list in our corner of the world. Topping it off were the decorations – Christmas trees big and small, beautiful lights, animated displays and poinsettias in profusion, all of which combined to produce a magical effect.
Realizing that this holiday magic was by no means limited to Randhurst or the other ‘historically significant’ malls, of course. To be sure, “attention to detail” was the watchword for many of the early enclosed shopping centers, partly from a desire to compete favorably with the pomp and circumstance of the downtown department stores and their classic display windows. The victory of the suburban “branch stores” over their downtown flagships wasn’t yet complete, but by the mid-60’s the music had started playing and the end credits were about to roll.
As nice as many modern-day retail Christmas displays and events are today, and some are fantastic, there’s just something about the Christmas shopping experience of decades past that stands out. No doubt a major reason for this is our tendency to view this time of year through “nostalgia glasses”, to make endless comparisons with Christmas past. It’s an ingrained part of the American holiday experience. (One thing I know for certain – that department store gift boxes used to be a lot nicer than the flimsy things given out today. Don’t need my nostalgia glasses to see that.)
I suspect at least some of it may be due of the passing of an era – in this case, the era of the great display houses. For decades, the retail holiday decor business was dominated by a handful of firms whose origins dated back to the early years of the 20th century. These companies combined a theatrical flair with old-world craftsmanship to create charming and memorable scenes that became a vital part of a store’s image, year in and year out.
Most prominent among these firms was the Bliss Display Corporation of New York City. Founded by Lord & Taylor display designer James Albert Bliss in 1929, the Bliss company built elaborate displays for most of the key New York department stores – Macy’s (including this 1959 stunner), Gimbels, Abraham & Straus, Lord & Taylor and Bloomingdale’s, along with Philadelphia’s legendary John Wanamaker stores. Bliss’ reach extended well beyond the eastern seaboard, including work for St. Louis-based Stix, Baer and Fuller (I guess New Yorkers would consider St. Louis “the sticks”, right? Ok, I’ll stop that now.), among many others. A fascinating profile of the Bliss company and some of the other major display makers can be found in the book “Holidays on Display” by William L. Bird, Jr., a perennial coffee-table book at our house at Christmastime.
But Chicago had its own Duke of Display. The Silvestri Art Manufacturing Company was founded in 1901 by George Silvestri in 1901 and operated by his son, George Jr., during the exciting years of the 1950’s and 60’s. Silvestri’s plant was located at 1147 West Ohio Street, just blocks away from the best restaurant that ever existed - the late, great Como Inn. (As voted by me, that is. Whenever our family ate out for a special occasion and the choice was mine to make, that’s where we went.) The Silvestri company made a wide range of decorations, including “the white reindeer tethered to State st. lampposts”, as the Chicago Tribune put in one of a near-annual series of articles on the “fascinating” firm, the lighted trees and wreaths at O’Hare Airport ($15,420 worth in 1966 alone), and scores of elaborate, animated holiday window sets for such Chicago luminaries (pun not intended, but I’ll take it) as Marshall Field & Company, Wieboldts, Goldblatts and Carson Pirie Scott, including several years’ worth of jaw-dropping faux-European storefronts for the latter.
Silvestri had an interesting sideline that profoundly influenced Christmas decorating in general, both commercially and at home. In the mid-1950’s, they introduced the Italian miniature Christmas light to the American public, importing them and selling them in department and discount stores under the Silvestri name. Prior to that time, most indoor or outdoor lights available were the big honkin’ “C-7 style” GE or Noma lights. (Don’t misunderstand me. I still love ‘em.) The new lights, jewel-like and much smaller, proved to be such big sellers that the Italian government bestowed a special award upon Mr. Silvestri in 1957. Until the advent of LED lighting (Maybe my eyes will get used to those things one of these days.), they were what most of us thought of as Christmas lights, though more than a few folks still call them “Italian lights” (made in China for eons now, of course) and packaging still often refers to them as “mini lights”.
I’m not sure if the Randhurst decorations pictured above were Silvestri products, but because of their extensive work for Carson Pirie Scott, it’s a strong possibility. Carsons, of course, was “first among equals” in the Randhurst Corporation partnership, with the lesser among equals being Wieboldts (another Silvestri customer, as mentioned) and The Fair/Montgomery Ward. It’s safe to assume they had lots of influence in the matter.
The photos above were taken at Randhurst between 1962 (its first Christmas season) and 1965, and appear here courtesy of the Mount Prospect Historical Society. Greg Peerbolte, the society’s executive director, wrote a great book about Randhurst that was published this past spring (and is selling very well, I’m told) and can be ordered directly from the society. If you’re interested in shopping center history (and who isn’t, I beg?) or grew up in the area and want to reminisce, you’ll enjoy it thoroughly.
The scenes give a nice feel for the festivities, including the throngs lined up to meet Santa in front of Kresge’s (dig the Aztec-sun background and the space-age outfits of his teenybopper “helpers”). And yes, the impeccably dressed man in the suit, tie and pocket square is none other than actor Cesar Romero, in between his role in the movie “Ocean’s 11” (the Sinatra original, not the Clooney remake with 400 sequels) and his iconic role as The Joker in the 1966-68 Batman TV series. In the early 1960’s, Romero was the traveling “Ambassador of Fashion” for Petrocelli’s, a line of men’s suits.
There’s an indoor skating show, starring two ladies trying to defy nature and become twins, a fairly scary skating hippopotamus (I hesitated to include this photo for fear of a “New Zoo Revue” flashback. I may delete it yet.), and an angelically-robed children’s choir in front of The Fair’s interior entrance. (Check out the backwards “n’s” on the ‘Open Tonight’ banner in back. Cute.)
Several general views follow, depicting various areas of Randhurst bedecked in Christmas finery. At least one year (1963), they featured a set of 11 “traditional” downtown store-style display windows, constructed as free-standing dioramas, one of which is pictured above in photo number 12. Lastly, the landmark Randhurst water tower is converted to a special “holiday hot-air balloon”, years before The 5th Dimension made such things fashionable.
Below, two Christmas-related ads from the early days – a newspaper ad from 1962 (the source for my hyperbolic first paragraphs – I’d love to find one of those Randhurst “Christmas seals”!) and an interesting trade ad from a late 1963 issue of Display World, offering that year’s Christmas dioramas for sale after completion of the holiday run. It was commonplace in those days for big-name department stores or shopping centers to sell their used Christmas displays to smaller-market counterparts as every year something new was needed and the displays were far too costly to toss. The old “direct from Broadway” concept, although in this case it was “direct from Mount Prospect”.
Here’s hoping your Christmas shopping is almost done!
It's a Wonderful Life at Penney's
Looking at this, I just know that Lancaster must have been home to a gracious soul like George Bailey, protecting the town's virtue and helping people in need so they didn’t have to “go crawling to Potter” or whoever the local robber baron may have been.
A good thing, too - otherwise the neon sign here would have read “Dime a Dance” instead of “Penney’s”!
Shopping in Los Angeles - The 1950's
There’s a ritual I never fail to observe when traveling to Los Angeles on business. I’ve done it for years now. Once I land, usually at LAX, grab my rental car and hit the road, I call home to let everyone know I arrived safely (transcontinental flight, you know), and at some point in the conversation I exclaim “I love L.A.!” in my best, most frazzled Randy Newman voice. It’s the title line from his 1983 hit song, and sometimes I’ll throw it in more than once. It’s an old shtick, but my wife still humors me each time.
And I really do love it. Not because I’m driving a convertible (just an “intermediate” car, which is rental car company language for “yogurt cup on wheels”) or wearing a Hawaiian shirt (“business casual” isn’t that casual, I’m afraid) or accompanied by bikini-clad women (the call home would be awkward to say the least), but because of all of the great-looking old retail buildings there: Spanish-style, mid-century modern, bizarre and uncategorizable, you name it. Sure, scads of them have been torn down over the years, but there’s still a lot to see - simply because so many were built there in the first place.
Thankfully, much of this is well-documented in still photographs, but I can’t help but wonder what it all must have looked like from the windshield perspective in its heyday. The amazing film clip above, from 1954 (sincere thanks to Julie for bringing it to my attention) is the closest thing I’ve found to that. Only 1:50 long, it provides a great, if fleeting, full-color snapshot of the City of Angels at an exciting point in the early postwar era.
I don’t know the origin of this particular clip, but it was likely made for a commercial purpose of some type. It’s a nice example of a genre known today as “ephemeral films” – educational films for classroom use or promotional movies produced for tourism bureaus, trade associations or corporations. They were glowing salutes to The American Way - progress and prosperity, the natural result of virtue, ingenuity and hard work. These films provide a fascinating, if not complete, slice of life from those times. And they always seemed to feature bouncy, optimistic soundtracks with plucking strings and insanely peppy woodwinds. I’m tempted to think that music like this just played in the air in those days, and could be heard whenever you stepped outside. (Someone, please tell me this was true!)
The local icons are well represented here - starting out with the approach to downtown L.A., we see the famous City Hall in a perfect “Dragnet establishing shot”, followed by the Angels Flight inclined railway in the Bunker Hill area of town. Then on to some of the main drags, including South Broadway in downtown L.A., Wilshire Boulevard and Hollywood Boulevard, where a crowd is lined up outside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre (only the side of the building is shown – the Kodak theatre now sits in that spot next door, square atop the intersection of Hollywood and Orchid) for a showing of “The Robe”, one of those films the late movie palace historian Ben Hall would have called “the latest version of the Bible according to Cinemascope”.
And then (you knew we’d get around to this, didn’t you?) comes the really fun stuff, as far as those who regularly visit this site are concerned. In addition to the “postcard scenes” described above, the film depicts some of the L.A. area’s most noteworthy retail properties of the day, which by default means some of the most noteworthy anywhere. A few notes:
Two years earlier the intersection of Crenshaw and Santa Barbara Avenue (renamed Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd in the 1980’s) was home to only trees, grass and assorted wildlife, but the nearby population was beginning to boom. When The May Company announced plans to build a large branch store there, the Broadway reciprocated with plans for a huge Crenshaw location of its own, with a strip of some 15 supporting stores in tow, right across the street. Among the other tenants were Woolworth’s, Lerner Shops, Owl Rexall Drugs, Silverwoods (a downtown L.A.-based men’s clothing store) and a detached Von’s supermarket.
The design of the center was the work of architect Albert B. Gardner, who also had a hand in designing the circa-1928 City Hall seen at the beginning of the clip. One of the very largest shopping centers in the country at the time it opened, Broadway-Crenshaw yielded some important lessons for future retail development. I’ve summarized a few of them from Richard Longstreth’s great book “City Center to Regional Mall: Architecture, the Automobile, and Retailing in Los Angeles, 1920-1950” which devotes several pages to the center: For one, the head-to-head competition that both May Co. and The Broadway were dreading turned out to be a net plus, an early example of the drawing power of multiple large department stores in close proximity. Secondly, there was no need for the “duplicate storefronts” along the street line. Most customers drove to the center and used the parking lot, so “sidewalk shoppers” accounted for a low percentage of sales. Future shopping centers like this, for the most part, were slid to the middle of the parking lot. Third, Broadway-Crenshaw really needed a second large anchor to balance the traffic flow to the other stores. (The May Co. store didn’t count in that regard, of course.) This helped lead to the opposite ends or “dumbbell” configuration for 2-anchor malls seen countless times in the ensuing years. It also became clear that anchor department stores of this type could handle, and really needed, far more than 15 supporting stores.
The shopping center is now known as Baldwin Hills Crenshaw Plaza, which encompasses both the former Broadway and May Company properties. The Broadway store building still exists as the best-looking Walmart that will ever be, while the May Co. store is now a Macy’s. The smaller stores were torn down and replaced years ago. The photo above (same pic, two different “zoom levels”) is from the 1951 book “Shopping Centers – Design and Operation” by Geoffrey Baker and Bruno Funaro, a vital early text on the subject.The Von’s (apostrophe long since dropped) supermarket at Crenshaw Center was not designed by Mr. Gardner, but by another L.A.-based architectural heavyweight, Stiles Clements. Mr. Clements had already done a great deal of work for Ralphs, one of Von’s main competitors, with designs ranging from exquisite Spanish-styled markets to some of the most striking streamlined buildings ever seen in retail. In later years, Clements played a key role in refining Sears’ distinctive “West Coast look”.
Lauded in an August 24, 1950 Los Angeles Times article as being “Rated the World’s Largest Grocery”, the store was indeed huge for the times at over 58,000 square feet (roughly half of that selling space), and it featured a mural depicting scenes of California history along the entire back wall, painted by artist Bert Makos. This photo also comes from the Baker and Funaro book cited above. Note the windmill on the corner - the beloved trademark of Van de Kamp’s, operator of supermarket bakery departments all over SoCal as well as their own coffee/bakery shops. Then, a brief glimpse of an early fifties Safeway store from an unidentified location. (I first assumed it was the nearby 39th and Crenshaw location that opened in 1952, but an opening day photo in the Los Angeles Times proved otherwise.) This store is typical of those Safeway was opening in many locations at that time, before the yellow-pyloned exteriors of the mid-fifties and the Marina family of designs launched at decade’s end. With over 10,000 feet of selling space, these stores must have seemed immense compared to the small, white-painted masonry units the company favored (note the first photo here) just a few years earlier.
The similarly-designed store pictured above was located in Lancaster, California. This photo appears here by the kind courtesy of Jacques Gautreaux, and is part of his great collection of retail photos from northern L.A. County’s Antelope Valley, taken in 1966.
The legendary Westwood Village Ralphs market appears next, a subject already covered in some depth here. Many thanks to “vieilles_annonces” (check out her astounding collection of vintage slides and magazine articles here) for use of the photo above. It predates the film clip by more than a decade, but offers a wonderful color view of the approach into town on Westwood Boulevard. Among other iconic structures are the Ralphs store to the right, Westwood’s unique Sears store in the middle, and the A&P (only the spire is visible) to the left.
A relatively minor entry in the SoCal retail history books is long-gone independent supermarket chain McDaniel’s Markets, which featured a jaunty Scotsman as their mascot and a tartan pattern as a key design element in their ads and on stores. By mid-1957, McDaniel’s had six stores, located in North Hollywood, Beverly Hills, East L.A. (famous as the birthplace of Cheech Marin), Maywood and Baldwin Park, according to the Los Angeles Times. That year, McDaniel’s bought out the six-store Walker’s Market chain, and between those stores and additional units built over the years, the company eventually grew to almost 25 stores.
In the early 60’s McDaniel’s went bankrupt, selling their choicest locations to Food Giant Markets. I wonder if some creative sloganeering would helped, like “Visit the Plaid Pylon, where we pile on the deals!” or “More buying power under the Tartan Tower!” (Or maybe it would have hastened their demise, you say.) The photo above, an artist’s rendering of the Oxnard, California location, appears here courtesy of the Los Angeles Public Library.
After that comes the sleek, curved facade of the Owl Rexall Drug at the corner of Beverly and La Cienega Boulevards (near the border of West Hollywood and Beverly Hills), which opened in the fall of 1947 and is shown here in a publicity photo taken shortly thereafter. The huge, ultramodern drugstore was only the (curved) tip of the iceberg in this case, as it was attached to the new world headquarters of United-Rexall Drug Inc., which relocated there from Boston. The move was the brainchild of company president Justin Dart, a dashing, enigmatic former Walgreen executive (and former Walgreen son-in-law) who came to United in 1941 and wasted no time casting the company in his own image. Indeed, the firm would eventually be known as Dart Industries, with interests that ranged far beyond drugstores.
Owl, Rexall’s major west coast banner, was closely controlled by the parent company, as was its eastern counterpart Liggett, and hundreds of Rexall drug stores were operated under these two names. While neither Owl nor Liggett were strictly confined to the coasts, most Rexall stores in between (in what hipsters like you and I call “flyover country”) were more likely to sport one of multitudes of franchisee names on the familiar orange-and-blue signs.
The four-day grand opening kicked off on September 15, 1947 and at the podium, along with Dart himself, was California Governor Earl Warren (this was six years before he was appointed Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court and had better things to do, like reshaping American life), Wisconsin Governor Oscar Rennebohm (Because he owned 14 Rexall drugstores in Madison, that’s why!), the mayor and the sheriff of Los Angeles, executives from Eastman Kodak, Coca-Cola and Lambert Pharmacal (later known as Warner-Lambert) and other dignitaries too numerous to name here.
And there were celebrities galore, owing to Rexall’s prominence as a national sponsor and advertiser in those years when radio was the undisputed media king and many people went to the movies every single week – Jimmy Durante emceed each of the four days, and there were appearances by Dorothy Lamour, Red Skelton, Mickey Rooney, Peter Lawford, Pat O’Brien, Alan Young of future “Mister Ed” TV fame, Lynn Bari - a beautiful 20th Century Fox contract actress who deserved greater fame, and legendary newspaper gossip columnist Hedda Hopper. (Gosh, you’d think they would’ve put some more thought into this. I mean, drugstores don’t open every day, you know.)
Today the location is home to a CVS Pharmacy, Marshalls and a number of other retail tenants. The corner facade is still curved, leading me to believe the building shell may be original, but I don’t know that for a fact.
Another drugstore icon immediately follows. We see the Thrifty Drug location at the corner of Rodeo Road and La Brea Avenue in the Baldwin Hills area of Los Angeles, just a mile and a half from Crenshaw Center. By this time Thrifty, a fixture of the L.A. retail scene for decades, was well underway with a program to open larger stores in shopping center settings versus the traditional smaller streetfront units, although the latter type still made up the bulk of Thrifty’s then 100-plus stores.
Thrifty’s largest store yet, it was part of a shopping center developed by the company that also boasted a new Alpha Beta supermarket as a key tenant. As with the Owl Rexall store above, the store was built in conjunction with a new home office for the company (Thrifty was the third largest drug chain in America at that time) on the property.
The Baldwin Hills Thrifty attained instant landmark status due to its massive sign tower, affectionately named the “Trilon”. At 65 feet tall with three 15 by 35 foot faces (Weighing in at 12 tons, according to the Los Angeles Times. Did somebody throw this thing on a scale?) and a unique, funky steel structure design that brings to (my) mind some of Alexander Calder’s “stabile” sculpture pieces, the Trilon certainly served its purpose as an attention-getter for Thrifty.
The shopping center’s “premiere” (I just thought of that. Nice, huh?) took place on November 13, 1952 with actress Anne Baxter performing the ceremonial duties, an experience I’m sure she ranked right up there with her recent Oscar nomination for “All About Eve”. (Well, kinda sure, that is…) The next evening, singer/actor Tony Martin performed live at the Thrifty store. Mr. Martin, still kicking at age 99 and performing as recently as 2010, is one of the last survivors among America’s great crooners. He was married to Cyd Charisse, the great star of such classic MGM musicals as Singin’ in the Rain, The Band Wagon and Silk Stockings, (shown all the time on TCM – if you haven’t seen them, you should) for 60 years until her passing in 2008.
The sign, which survived the infamous 1963 Baldwin Hills dam break and flood, still stands while the accompanying building bears scant resemblance to the original. It now sports the name of Rite Aid, Thrifty’s successor. The picture above is a detail from the store’s grand opening ad.
Last is an interesting curiosity - the Big Owl Market, or as the sign reads, “The Market of Tomorrow”. This venture by Owl Drug (United-Rexall) was a very early, largely forgotten attempt at a supermarket-drugstore combination, a format that would catch on big in the following decade, and indeed remains the template for the industry today.
Tested out on a smaller basis in Ontario, California a few months previously, the Big Owl opened on November 1, 1951 at the corner of Laurel Canyon Boulevard and Kittredge Street in North Hollywood, just a couple of blocks up from the giant new Sears store on Victory Boulevard. The opening-day celebrity here was Lorraine Cugat, singer and (soon to be ex-) wife of bandleader Xavier Cugat. The store really did foreshadow some key elements of the combination store/superstore idea, with “a See’s candy shop (Is it legal to leave the State of California without a box of See’s candy? I don’t want to find out.), Van de Kamp’s bakery, dry cleaning shop, a liquor, tobacco, pen and camera room (all you need, right?), a gift shop and a 12-chair barber shop with a jet fire engine chair for the youngsters”, along with “a watch and jewelry repair shop, a check-cash service, a bill-paying service and a soda fountain grill.”, according to a pre-opening write-up in the Los Angeles Times. To my knowledge, they never opened another one.
The clip’s closing scenes reinforce the “America, land of plenty” theme, starting with a really nice shot of a grocery store checkout lane in action. It’s interesting to note the still-familiar brand names as they whizz past the wood grain-painted metal cash register. What’s striking is how small the package sizes were in that era before “economy size” became the rule. Ironically, with manufacturers reducing package sizes as a response to the current economy, we just might be trending that way again.
From there, there’s a glimpse of the Ford Assembly Plant in Long Beach, followed by one of its General Motors counterpart in Van Nuys, two important cogs in the economic engine that helped make all of this prosperity possible. Both have long since closed, and sadly we won’t be trending that way again. Then it’s back on the open road, a fine place to be indeed.
I think next time I’m out that way I’ll try to whistle a few bars of the “insanely peppy woodwinds” theme. I’ve been practicing. Or maybe I should just stick with Randy Newman.
"The Beat Goes On" at Dillard's
Here’s a set of vintage snapshot photos I purchased severalmonths back. Taken in Austin, Texas in April 1967, they depict famed pop stars Sonnyand Cher on a bandstand in front of a Dillard’s department store. The photosare a bit overlit and fuzzy (not unusual for outdoor shots from an inexpensiveKodak 126 Instamatic – like millions of others in those days, most of mychildhood photos were taken on this exact type of camera), but you can tellthat Sonny and Cher seem to be having a good time and the crowd is excited.
When I first saw these photos I was intrigued, and twoquestions came to mind: What brought these entertainers, L.A. denizens to thecore, to Texas? And what prompted a personal appearance at Dillard’s, thenamong the smallest specks on America’s department store landscape? (We’ll getto that in a minute.) Through a bit of research I found a satisfactory answerto first question and reached a fairly obvious conclusion about the second.
It turns out that Sonny and Cher were in town for a moviepremiere. On April 11, 1967, the world premiere for the movie “Good Times”, thefirst picture to feature the couple in starring roles, was held in Austin. The premierewas part of a weeklong promotional Texas trek that, according to an April 29Billboard magazine article, included stops in Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston,Abilene and El Paso. (“A cowboy’s work is never done”, they say.) My guess is afashion show at Dillard’s was added at some point to the duo’s itinerary.
The “rock and roll movie” was a fixture of American cultureby 1967, and if an artist had a few hits under their belt (Sonny and Cher hadscored a number one smash with “I Got You Babe” in 1965, one of five Top 20 hitsfor the pair in just a little over a year), some personality and a unique presence(Cher’s dusky voice and exotic looks, Sonny’s fur vests and bowl haircut), amovie offer was usually a solid bet. These movies varied wildly in quality, andmore often than not were “star vehicles” with minimal, hackneyed plots. “GoodTimes” featured the rock and roll singers in a movie about…well, rock and roll singers becoming movie stars. (Viewing it today, it’s a fun, much better thanaverage sixties romp. And the styles were incredible, topped off by GeorgeBarris-designed his-and-her Mustangs specially built for the film. Long clipscan be found on YouTube, but you didn’t read that here!)
History shows that 1967 was the start of a long dry spellfor Sonny and Cher. “Good Times” bombed at the box office, and “The Beat GoesOn”, a number 6 pop hit, would provide the Bonos’ last Billboard chart actionfor a very long time. So they headed for Las Vegas.
Audiences loved it, and in 1971 CBS came forward with anoffer for an hour-long summer replacement series. “The Sonny and Cher ComedyHour” quickly became a national sensation, a Top 10 show for several seasons ina row, and a weekly fixture of millions of TV viewers’ homes, mine included.
When the couple announced their divorce in 1974, it was apalpable shock. Their lives took very different courses over the ensuingdecades, with Sonny eventually entering Republican politics, winning the officeof Mayor of Palm Springs, California then a seat as a U.S. congressman. In1998, he died in a tragic skiing accident. Cher, no last name necessary,remains an entertainment icon, with at least number one hit in each decadesince her first emergence on the scene. I still think of her 1999 hit “Believe”as “the inescapable song”, because unless you stayed in your house all yearwith a supply of food, windows and doors duct-taped shut and the lights turnedoff, you couldn’t escape it. We took a family vacation to California that yearand heard it at least once every 15 minutes, including while standing in linefor the mine train at Calico. Somehow it made perfect sense.
All right. Lest you think this site has turned into “RetroEntertainment Tonight”, I figure it’s about time I said something about that statelystructure behind our Hollywood heroes. That, my friends, is the first “real”Dillard’s store, which opened in February 1964 in Austin’s Hancock Shopping Center.
It was a far cry from the first store opened by William T.Dillard in Nashville, Arkansas, a rural town southwest of Hot Springs, in thelate 1930’s. Born in 1914, Dillard grew up in the tiny town of Mineral Springs,Arkansas, where his father owned a dry goods store. His early years weretypified by hard work at the family store and a desire to learn the retailingbusiness inside and out, the quintessential American story of a young mandiligently following in his father’s footsteps.
By his mid-twenties, however, Dillard had earned adistinction that set him apart from most American young men of the day,certainly those from rural Arkansas. In 1938, he earned a masters’ degree inbusiness from New York’s prestigious Columbia University, where he attended ona scholarship. Valuable as a Columbiaeducation was, however, Dillard’s exposure to the Big Apple’s legendarydepartment stores – Macy’s, Gimbels and John Wanamaker (Dillard worked at theirManhattan branch while in school there) – arguably did as much to shape hisfuture career.
Leaving New York, Dillard pursued management trainee jobswith Sears, Roebuck and Co. and J.C. Penney, and received offers from both. Penneyoffered Dillard positions in Walla Walla, Washington, of all places, and themuch closer to home Topeka, Kansas. Dillard took Sears’ offer, which was closerstill –a Tulsa, Oklahoma store. He stayed there only seven months beforeleaving to open his own store, in Nashville, Arkansas, as mentioned.
The store did well, but over time Dillard grew restless. Mostof all, he was eager to avoid his father’s mistake of “wast(ing) many of hisabilities because he was confined to a small town”, according to author LeonJoseph Rosenfeld in his brief but excellent 1988 book “Dillard’s: The FirstFifty Years”. In 1948, Dillard purchased a 40 percent in Wooten’s departmentstore in Texarkana, -- miles to the southwest on the Texas border, a muchlarger market with a population of 55,000. The following year, he bought theremaining interest in the Texarkana store (by then called “Wooten &Dillard”) and sold off the Nashville business. Within five years it became the leading storein Texarkana, and Dillard, who had relocated his family there, was one thearea’s prominent citizens.
Interestingly, Dillard reversed course in a sense when hebought back into a small market with the March 1955 purchase of adepartment store in Magnolia, Arkansasfrom a friend. It was back to bigger things the following year, however, whenthe opportunity arose to acquire a well-respected East Texas department store. For years, Dillard hadadmired Mayer & Schmidt, the leading store in Tyler, Texas, a town with apopulation similar to that of Texarkana.
Mayer & Schmidt, founded in 1899, was a well run storewith a fine reputation, drawing customers from a radius well beyond the city ofTyler. In 1956, however, they were in trouble. The previous year, Mayer &Schmidt opened a second store in town “to capitalize on its prosperity”, but thenew location turned out to be a flop, and “within a year it was closed anddeeply in debt”, according to Rosenberg. Based on his success in Texarkana,Dillard was able to line up financing, and in April 1956, acquired a majoritystake in the Mayer & Schmidt store. Dillard immediately embarked on acomplete remodeling and expansion of the store, adding furniture, appliance,jewelry, records and hi-fi departments along with leased shoe, book and fur operations.The revamped Mayer & Schmidt debuted on September 17, 1956, and would proveto be a great success under Dillard’s ownership.
In 1959, a banker friend of Dillard’s informed him of anotherwell-regarded department store recently befallen by rocky times. Brown-Dunkin Companywas Tulsa, Oklahoma’s largest department store (more than twice as large anenterprise as Mayer & Schmidt), founded in 1924 by brothers-in-law John H.Dunkin and John A. Brown, and “occup(ied) the first nine floors of thefifteen-story Hunt building at Fourth and Main streets, the city’s busiestcorner”, Rosenberg states, and “had become a household word in northeastOklahoma”.
Brown-Dunkin’s problem was one of succession. Dunkin hadpassed away in 1958 and Brown some years before that, and the store went intodecline under the management left in place by the founders’ widows. Intrigued bythe challenge of running a well-known store and the chance “to prove hisabilities before a national audience” as Rosenberg put it, Dillard set off onan arduous seven-month process of negotiations with the Brown and Dunkin widowsand numerous banks. Ultimately, he was required to put up the Mayer &Schmidt store as security for the transaction. Knowing he could fall back onthe Texarkana and Magnolia stores should things go awry, Dillard pressedforward confidently. On the last day of February 1960, Dillard took control ofthe Brown-Dunkin store.
Initially there were headaches – after the ownership changewas publicized, picketers from the local Building Services Union showed up onthe sidewalks outside the Brown-Dunkin store. Unbeknownst to Dillard, theprevious ownership had recently dismissed the store’s cleaning ladies and elevatoroperators, contracting out those functions to outside firms. Dillard refused toreopen the issue and eventually the picketing stopped. Then there was thematter of $150,000 worth of unpaid invoices discovered in a drawer, whichforced Dillard to obtain an additional line of credit.
On top of these hassles was one more that ended up turninginto a considerable plus. In sharp contrast to today, mid-20th century America was dotted with department store companies that ranged in sizefrom single-store outfits to 20-plus-unit multi-regional chains, with mostfalling somewhere in between. To increase their negotiating power with clothingmanufacturers and other suppliers, many department store firms signed up with(usually New York-based) buying cooperative agencies. These agencies strove torepresent one department store chain in each major city, while doing their bestto avoid any competitive overlap between clients. When Brown-Dunkin’s buyingagency, Mutual, caught wind of the buyout, they figured Dillard wasn’t capableof pulling the potatoes out of the proverbial fire and dumped Brown-Dunkin infavor of Vandever’s, another Tulsa department store.
Not long afterward, Dillard joined up with the FrederickAtkins Company, “one of the more prestigious buying houses in the country”, asRosenberg put it. The Atkins firm represented a host of marquee names includingJohn Wanamaker (Philadelphia), B. Altman (New York), Hochschild-Kohn(Baltimore), Miller & Rhoads (Richmond), Ivey’s (the Carolinas and Florida), Pizitz(awesomely-named, Birmingham), Chas. A. Stevens (Chicago – did you really thinkI’d leave that out?) and The Broadway (of latent “Mad Men” fame, Los Angeles),among many others. When he signed on with Atkins in 1962, Dillard was theirsmallest client. By the early 1980’s, he was their largest.
Two years on and these problems behind him, Dillard waseager to expand. Dillard had “recognizedthe shift of the population to the suburbs and the need to provide stores closeto them” as far back as his brief tenure with Sears, Rosenberg noted, and he“had wanted to open a unit in a mall for some time to see if it would work”. For this exciting new venture he partneredwith Homart, a recently created mall development subsidiary of Sears, thenferociously active in the Southwest. Dillard initially considered Homart’s first mall project, the just openedSeminary South Shopping Center in Fort Worth, Texas. (Many years later, in1987, Dillard finally put in a store there.) Also in the running was Homart’s still-in-developmentCoronado Center in Albuquerque.
Instead, he chose a third Homart project, the HancockShopping Center, to be located in Austin and co-anchored, of course, by Sears(second photo here). Dillard’s methodology behind this choice was novel, to putit mildly. From Rosenberg’s book: “Dillard had been visiting in the city(Austin) and was waiting for his flight to Albuquerque when he happened tothumb through a telephone book. He noticed there were more Lutheran churches inAustin than any other denomination and associated the churches with Germans,who had always impressed him with their work ethic and honesty. On that basis,he decided that Austin would be an excellent place for his store.” (And here I always thought the Methodistswere the benchmark for retail site selection. Shows you what I know.)
Obviously the Lutherans and a great many others likedDillard’s store. It was an unqualified success, resetting the template for allof the company’s future growth. From that point forward, Dillard “took everyopportunity in subsequent years to co-anchor new malls with Sears or Penney’s”,Rosenberg wrote, “…he was not in direct competition with either store, and theyboth made good mall partners for him”.
Importantly, the store was the first to carry Dillard’s ownname, not counting his early dry goods stores in southwest Arkansas. (As a sidenote, Dillard sold the Texarkana and Magnolia stores in 1962 to Aldens, aChicago-based catalog retailer then seeking a piece of the brick-and-mortarside of the business. Aldens had recently bought out Shoppers World, and woulditself be absorbed by Gamble-Skogmo in 1964.) Although he would continue to puthis own name on stores in markets that were new to the company (Austin, forexample), for years he maintained the names of acquired companies in theirrespective markets, such as Mayer & Schmidt and Brown-Dunkin, even whenadding new mall-based stores in their areas.
As mentioned, the Austin, Texas Dillard’s store opened inFebruary 1964. Later that year saw the return of Dillard and his family (fromTulsa) to Arkansas, this time to Little Rock, the state capital, where he had recentlyassembled a considerable retail enterprise. Over the previous year, Dillardbought out the Gus Blass Company and Pfiefer’s, two of the three largestdepartment stores in the area, the other being M.M. Cohn. The buyouts werecarried out with the help of funds from the Mayer & Schmidt stockholdersand $1.5 million kicked in from Sperry & Hutchinson, who invested on thecondition that Dillard hand out their S&H Green Stamps in his stores. BothBlass and Pfeifer’s were large downtown stores with one branch apiece – Blassin Pine Bluff and Pfeifer’s in Hot Springs. In 1965 a mall-based Blass storewas opened at Park Plaza in Little Rock, and two years after that, another atthe then new (and just recently torn down, except for Sears) Indian Mall inJonesboro. Starting in 1967, Dillard’s Little Rock-based operations werecombined under the name of Pfeifer-Blass, although I don’t know for surewhether this change was extended to store signage.
The late 60’s and early 70’s were a furious period of growthfor Dillard’s companies, and virtually all of it took place at the malls. 1965saw a Brown-Dunkin store at Southland Shopping Mall in Tulsa, followed byanother at the Northland Shopping center the following year. In Oklahoma City,he opened a “Dillard’s Brown-Dunkin” store at the Sheppard Mall, “a first stepin phasing in his own name for all his stores”, according to Rosenberg’s book.In 1968, two Dillard’s stores were opened in San Antonio, at Central Park Malland what is now known as South Park Mall. And the growth continued from there –the first Missouri location, at Springfield’s Battlefield Mall was added in1970, as was the first Louisiana location at Shreveport’s Shreve City Center.
In 1974, the various Dillard-controlled stores all took onthe “Dillard’s” name, reflecting the incorporation of Dillard’s enterprisesunder one financial umbrella. More importantly, it provided a consistent brandimage for marketing purposes. While many (including me) lament the passing ofso many great department store nameplates in recent decades, it has proven to bean unstoppable, irreversible trend. It’sinteresting to note, however, that even Macy’s, the proverbial poster child”for department store rebranding, owned Davison’s (Atlanta) for 61 years beforeconverting them to Macy’s in 1986 and Bamberger’s (“New Jersey’s greateststore, and one of America’s finest”) for 57 years before finally hanging the red star onits front door that same year.
When William T. Dillard passed away at age 87 in 2002, hisnamesake company that began so humbly was America’s third largest departmentstore chain, according to his New York Times obituary. Today, among “luxury” departmentstores (i.e.: not including Sears, Kohl’s and J.C. Penney), they remain numberthree, behind Macy’s and Nordstrom and ahead of Neiman Marcus and Belk, perStores Magazine’s latest rankings. Today, Dillard’s boasts over 300 stores in acoast-to-coast empire. And the beat goes on.
Below, a 1972 newspaper ad hailing the new Dillard’s storeat the Northwest Arkansas Plaza, as reproduced in the Rosenberg book - anenjoyable hodgepodge of names and architectural styles if there ever was one.
Bring Back the San Fernando Penney's!
You know, there must be some people who read this siteregularly and wonder – “Dave, you’re a blogger. Why don’t you ever take a standon anything? You never weigh in on the big issues of our time. You’re always onthe fence. Asleep at the wheel. Out to lunch. AWOL!”
Well, friends, I want you to know that I hear you, and todayI’m answering the call! And the issue I herewith weigh in on is one that is, orshould be, near and dear to our classic retail-loving hearts. It can be summedup in one phrase:
Bring back the San Fernando J.C. Penney.
When a national retail chain closes shop in a long-standinglocation, it’s typically news – in the local area, that is, and not far outsideit. But this summer, when J.C. Penney ended an 80-year tenure in San Fernando,California (the city of San Fernando, specifically, which lies within the SanFernando Valley, part of Greater L.A.), it set off a furor that popped in andout of national headlines for weeks.
On Saturday, July 28th, despite rallies in thelocal community, online petitions, celebrity pleas, tons of local news storiesand national coverage from the likes of the Huffington Post, the public radioshow Marketplace, Bloomberg Businessweek (Plain old “Business Week” was muchmore concise, right? But hey, it’s his magazine now!) among others, J.C. Penneyshuttered the San Fernando store, which had existed in its current locationsince February 1953.
Official comment from JCP on the matter has been terse,putting it charitably. “We would not have moved forward with this difficultdecision if we did not believe it was absolutely necessary for the futuregrowth of our company”, the company’s press response read.
Speculations behind the closing have been raised (and shotdown) from several angles, with some alleging the closing was part of an effortto trim costs in light of huge losses JCP has experienced this year as aconsequence of its controversial rebranding/repositioning efforts. Others contend the small store (60,000 squarefeet with just over half of that space devoted to selling, three floors, noescalators), long an anomaly for Penney, is a poor fit for the rebrandingconcept. Still others claim the San Fernando location itself has beenunprofitable for years.
It’s easy to understand why San Fernando residents are upsetabout losing their Penney store, an obvious point of pride for the community.The store has been an anchor for their downtown at a time when most big-nameretailers long ago abandoned downtown locations for the “wide open spaces” werefer to today as malls and shopping centers. Certainly it was handy – whilePenney has no shortage of huge stores in The Valley, it’s hard to beat “downthe block” for convenience, even though selections were limited compared tostandard Penney stores. There’s the longevity factor – the San Fernandolocation far outlasted the hundreds of downtown Penney stores built through thedecades up until the late 50’s. Indeed, had JCP opted to close it down in 1970or 1980, the uproar might never have materialized.
Lastly, the store’s timeless deco-influenced facades, frontand rear, remain a thing of beauty. Most late 1940’s/early 1950’s Penney storesacross the country were very plain in appearance, while the San Fernando unitexemplifies the extra effort that many national retailers poured into theirCalifornia locations. Just two years ago, the building’s owner, AshkenazyDevelopment, spent some $350,000, including the services of a historian, torestore the facades and the “Penney’s” blade sign, which reportedly hadn’tworked for nearly forty years.
The story took a nasty turn on the second night after thestore’s closing, when residents discovered sign crews (after dark, with the companyname on their truck covered up) pulling the “J.C. Penney Co.” lettering off theback of the building and one worker preparing to go after the neon blade signwith a torch, all in violation of an order to leave them alone pending ahistorical preservation hearing. The removed letters were reinstalled the nextday.
At this late date, it seems unlikely that J.C. Penney willreopen the store, but you have to admit it would be a great public relations gestureand would serve to counteract some of the negative publicity the company hasreceived in recent months. The “Save San Fernando’s JCPenney” site features acouple of interesting concepts for expansion, should JCP reverse theirdecision. At any rate, the store’s designation as a historic site appears to beassured. Rightfully so.
Our goal here, of course, is to depict great stores likethis in their heyday, and once again I thank the J.C. Penney Archives at theDeGolyer Library at Southern Methodist University for their invaluablecooperation in supplying these photos – festooned in Grand Opening glory, followedby an interior view, then front and rear facade views from after thefestivities cooled down.
As a postscript, here’s a sidenote from the “Basic DataSheet”, a centrally-maintained dossier of sorts, for this store, last updatedin 1971 and now part of the JCP archives. It’s interesting to note who Penney’s regarded as competition in thosedays -within a four-mile radius, there were department stores: Ohrbach’s, TheBroadway, Robinson’s, a small Sears “hard-lines” store, discounters White Front,Kmart, Gemco and Cal Stores (sister division of Baza’r stores). “Fantastic Fair”one of my ultra-faves, is also listed, but I’m pretty sure they were gone bythat time. (I’ll have to do a 10-part series on that one someday.)There were alsothe variety stores Grants and Newberrys, and apparel stores Scotts, the Melody Shopand Sally Dresses. The Penney’s unit outlasted them all.
29 Kasım 2012 Perşembe
Christmas at Randhurst, Early 1960's
Randhurst. In its early years it was an appealing sight, regardless of the time of year. At Christmastime that appeal was magnified in many ways. A glittering new shopping center it was, the world’s largest…where we lucky Northwest Suburbanites got fresh new gift ideas from sparkling new stores…where we found gifts galore from token to treasure…all under one roof, in 72-degree comfort.
When November rolled around, though, things took on a new air of excitement. Each Christmas purchase we made there, for example, was affixed with the gleaming “Randhurst Seal” - an evergreen-shaped foil sticker-thingy sporting the center’s winsome triangular logo, to glisten on our gifts as a symbol of our good taste and thoughtfulness.
And there were special events in abundance. What with school choir performances, ice skating shows (on temporary portable rinks), celebrity appearances, and a homestand by Jolly Old St. Nick himself, a trip to Randhurst became a must on everyone’s Christmas list in our corner of the world. Topping it off were the decorations – Christmas trees big and small, beautiful lights, animated displays and poinsettias in profusion, all of which combined to produce a magical effect.
Realizing that this holiday magic was by no means limited to Randhurst or the other ‘historically significant’ malls, of course. To be sure, “attention to detail” was the watchword for many of the early enclosed shopping centers, partly from a desire to compete favorably with the pomp and circumstance of the downtown department stores and their classic display windows. The victory of the suburban “branch stores” over their downtown flagships wasn’t yet complete, but by the mid-60’s the music had started playing and the end credits were about to roll.
As nice as many modern-day retail Christmas displays and events are today, and some are fantastic, there’s just something about the Christmas shopping experience of decades past that stands out. No doubt a major reason for this is our tendency to view this time of year through “nostalgia glasses”, to make endless comparisons with Christmas past. It’s an ingrained part of the American holiday experience. (One thing I know for certain – that department store gift boxes used to be a lot nicer than the flimsy things given out today. Don’t need my nostalgia glasses to see that.)
I suspect at least some of it may be due of the passing of an era – in this case, the era of the great display houses. For decades, the retail holiday decor business was dominated by a handful of firms whose origins dated back to the early years of the 20th century. These companies combined a theatrical flair with old-world craftsmanship to create charming and memorable scenes that became a vital part of a store’s image, year in and year out.
Most prominent among these firms was the Bliss Display Corporation of New York City. Founded by Lord & Taylor display designer James Albert Bliss in 1929, the Bliss company built elaborate displays for most of the key New York department stores – Macy’s (including this 1959 stunner), Gimbels, Abraham & Straus, Lord & Taylor and Bloomingdale’s, along with Philadelphia’s legendary John Wanamaker stores. Bliss’ reach extended well beyond the eastern seaboard, including work for St. Louis-based Stix, Baer and Fuller (I guess New Yorkers would consider St. Louis “the sticks”, right? Ok, I’ll stop that now.), among many others. A fascinating profile of the Bliss company and some of the other major display makers can be found in the book “Holidays on Display” by William L. Bird, Jr., a perennial coffee-table book at our house at Christmastime.
But Chicago had its own Duke of Display. The Silvestri Art Manufacturing Company was founded in 1901 by George Silvestri in 1901 and operated by his son, George Jr., during the exciting years of the 1950’s and 60’s. Silvestri’s plant was located at 1147 West Ohio Street, just blocks away from the best restaurant that ever existed - the late, great Como Inn. (As voted by me, that is. Whenever our family ate out for a special occasion and the choice was mine to make, that’s where we went.) The Silvestri company made a wide range of decorations, including “the white reindeer tethered to State st. lampposts”, as the Chicago Tribune put in one of a near-annual series of articles on the “fascinating” firm, the lighted trees and wreaths at O’Hare Airport ($15,420 worth in 1966 alone), and scores of elaborate, animated holiday window sets for such Chicago luminaries (pun not intended, but I’ll take it) as Marshall Field & Company, Wieboldts, Goldblatts and Carson Pirie Scott, including several years’ worth of jaw-dropping faux-European storefronts for the latter.
Silvestri had an interesting sideline that profoundly influenced Christmas decorating in general, both commercially and at home. In the mid-1950’s, they introduced the Italian miniature Christmas light to the American public, importing them and selling them in department and discount stores under the Silvestri name. Prior to that time, most indoor or outdoor lights available were the big honkin’ “C-7 style” GE or Noma lights. (Don’t misunderstand me. I still love ‘em.) The new lights, jewel-like and much smaller, proved to be such big sellers that the Italian government bestowed a special award upon Mr. Silvestri in 1957. Until the advent of LED lighting (Maybe my eyes will get used to those things one of these days.), they were what most of us thought of as Christmas lights, though more than a few folks still call them “Italian lights” (made in China for eons now, of course) and packaging still often refers to them as “mini lights”.
I’m not sure if the Randhurst decorations pictured above were Silvestri products, but because of their extensive work for Carson Pirie Scott, it’s a strong possibility. Carsons, of course, was “first among equals” in the Randhurst Corporation partnership, with the lesser among equals being Wieboldts (another Silvestri customer, as mentioned) and The Fair/Montgomery Ward. It’s safe to assume they had lots of influence in the matter.
The photos above were taken at Randhurst between 1962 (its first Christmas season) and 1965, and appear here courtesy of the Mount Prospect Historical Society. Greg Peerbolte, the society’s executive director, wrote a great book about Randhurst that was published this past spring (and is selling very well, I’m told) and can be ordered directly from the society. If you’re interested in shopping center history (and who isn’t, I beg?) or grew up in the area and want to reminisce, you’ll enjoy it thoroughly.
The scenes give a nice feel for the festivities, including the throngs lined up to meet Santa in front of Kresge’s (dig the Aztec-sun background and the space-age outfits of his teenybopper “helpers”). And yes, the impeccably dressed man in the suit, tie and pocket square is none other than actor Cesar Romero, in between his role in the movie “Ocean’s 11” (the Sinatra original, not the Clooney remake with 400 sequels) and his iconic role as The Joker in the 1966-68 Batman TV series. In the early 1960’s, Romero was the traveling “Ambassador of Fashion” for Petrocelli’s, a line of men’s suits.
There’s an indoor skating show, starring two ladies trying to defy nature and become twins, a fairly scary skating hippopotamus (I hesitated to include this photo for fear of a “New Zoo Revue” flashback. I may delete it yet.), and an angelically-robed children’s choir in front of The Fair’s interior entrance. (Check out the backwards “n’s” on the ‘Open Tonight’ banner in back. Cute.)
Several general views follow, depicting various areas of Randhurst bedecked in Christmas finery. At least one year (1963), they featured a set of 11 “traditional” downtown store-style display windows, constructed as free-standing dioramas, one of which is pictured above in photo number 12. Lastly, the landmark Randhurst water tower is converted to a special “holiday hot-air balloon”, years before The 5th Dimension made such things fashionable.
Below, two Christmas-related ads from the early days – a newspaper ad from 1962 (the source for my hyperbolic first paragraphs – I’d love to find one of those Randhurst “Christmas seals”!) and an interesting trade ad from a late 1963 issue of Display World, offering that year’s Christmas dioramas for sale after completion of the holiday run. It was commonplace in those days for big-name department stores or shopping centers to sell their used Christmas displays to smaller-market counterparts as every year something new was needed and the displays were far too costly to toss. The old “direct from Broadway” concept, although in this case it was “direct from Mount Prospect”.
Here’s hoping your Christmas shopping is almost done!