The Red-Gold Flowered China

As I sit at the beautifully arranged table enjoying Thanksgiving dinner, I am surrounded by happy grandchildren and their light-hearted parents. I look at the fifty year old china on the table, only the wide red border and the slim gold line on the edge of the plate visible. The flowers in the center of the plate are hidden by the half-eaten food. "Why are you so serious? What are you thinking?" my daughter Evangeline breaks in on my reverie. "Is something wrong?"

I smile, half-laughing. "No, I was just thinking, who could have thought, or imagined, a half-century ago, we would still be using these plates."

My mind went back to the summer of l935. I was eleven years old, and the country was just beginning to emerge from the Depression. My father had a dry cleaning establishment on Easton Avenue in St. Louis. Five doors away was a small neighborhood theater, appropriately called the Easton Theater.

The building that housed the Easton Theater was brick, with no distinguishing architecture. It had no marquee, but there was a slender sign about ten feet high and two feet wide far up on the building with the letters placed vertically, spelling Easton. The cashier sat in a half-glass enclosure, flush with the front of the building. The entrance to the theater reminded one of a dark, yawning mouth of a cave. There were no decorations on the walls, only a few glass framed posters displaying coming attractions; the rest of the walls were painted a dark color. There were very few lights in the lobby as we handed our tickets to the usher. Even the candy and popcorn stand looked forlorn, with very few items for sale, giving the impression as if they had been an afterthought.

The theater changed its bill of films every three or four days. First run films with such stars as Joan Crawford, Clark Gable, Robert Taylor, would be shown along with an A Class and a B film. A cartoon or two were added to complete the program.

During the Depression years, the poor economy affected movie theaters along with other sectors of the business community. Throughout the hot summer months, before the time of air conditioning, and at a period of time when movie goers preferred other forms of entertainment, the owners of the shows decided an incentive was needed to induce people to attend the theater. In order to stimulate attendance some theaters offered glassware, others dinner dishes, free with the price of admission.

The price of admission was ten cents for adults, five cents for children. Only adults qualified to receive the free gift. However, if a child paid the full price of admission, he or she was entitled to the free gift. Each week a different piece of china was offered. A cup, soup bowl, salad plate, dessert plate, dinner plate, bread plate, vegetable platter, meat platter; one piece for the price of one adult admission.

That summer, during the months of June, July and August we had a steady treat of going to the movies. We didn't miss a show. It was I who accidentally discovered this treasure that turned out to be a bonanza. It was my mother's practice to go to the cleaners to drive my father home in the evening. He would open the store in the morning at eight o'clock, and close in the evening at nine o'clock. He did not wish to leave any earlier in the evening for fear of missing any customer who might arrive and find the shop closed. He was also aware of the store directly across the street from our cleaners. The name on the plate glass window stated the name of the business, Sam the Tailor. Besides tailoring, Sam also took in cleaning of clothes, clearly in competition with us.

My father, ever conscious of Sam's presence, would not close for the evening until he saw the lights turned off at Sam's. Then my father would announce to us, "We can close now. Sam has turned out his lights."

I would often drive down with my mother, and while waiting for my father to close up, I would walk the short distance to the show to see what films were playing, and if any of my favorite movie stars were featured.

It was just such a time that I saw a special that china was being offered the following week. A platter was displayed. To me it was the most beautiful pattern I had ever seen on china, a wide red border with gold geometric design, and a slim gold line on the edge of the plate. There was a pink rose and a purple iris surrounded by yellow daisies, blue cornflowers and pink and blue morning glories gracing the center of the plate.

The theater was just completing a promotion of dark, smoky-colored Libby glasses. I knew that my mother had not been interested in those, she had more than enough glasses. But I walked back to the store excitedly and said, "Mom, come down to the show. Next week they are giving away dishes. They're very pretty, you'll like them."

My mother answered, not really interested, "We're almost ready to go home now, I can see them some other time."

"No, Mom, come now", I pleaded. "It'll be just a minute, It's not far to go." With a reluctant look at my father, she said, "All right, just for a minute." Then she said,

"We'll be right back."

We hurriedly walked the few steps to the show. My mother looked at the sample plate displayed, and her face broke into a smile.

"Very nice", she commented, "H-m-m, very nice. We don't really need dishes, but maybe we can come and get a few of these."

The truth was, we didn't need any more dishes. A few years before, after the christening of my youngest brother, my father bought her a complete new set of fine china. In the tradition of Greek celebrations, during the festive dinner after the baptism, happy guests and elated hosts alike threw dishes in joyful exuberance, a few at a time, crashing to the floor.

My parents, being Greek immigrants, enjoyed entertaining their friends in the same manner as if they were still living in the old country. They believed in having a good time.

The first piece of china that my mother got from our initial visit to the theater she inspected carefully. I turned the plate over, and read from the backside, Royal Rajah Maroon, 22 K Gold, The Cronin China Co., Minerva, Ohio. There was also the stamp of a union label, National Brotherhood Operative Potters.

That summer, and for almost every film showing, two or three times a week, my mother would pile my sister, my two brothers, me, and herself into Henry, our two-door, blue Ford, and drive us to the Easton theater. My father didn't attend the movies with us because of the confining hours of the cleaners. He also had to revert to public transportation to go home, the streetcar.

My mother would buy five adult admission tickets, and then hand the tickets to the usher at the entrance. He in turn would reach into a corrugated cardboard box perched on a chair by his side, and hand each of us our piece of china. For certain pieces that my mother desired more of, she would also recruit my two cousins for that mission. This way she was sure of getting the desired number of a particular item. No piece of china was ever broken. My mother would thoughtfully bring a brown paper bag with her. In the darkened theater, she carefully placed the china in the bag, and then under the hard, wooden seat, on the floor where the china would be safe until it was time to go home. In this manner, our family managed to accumulate place settings for twenty-two people. For the serving platters, vegetable and meat, for the salt and pepper shakers, the project was scaled down accordingly, since too many pieces were not required. On those occasions only a few adult tickets were bought from the cashier, the remainder of the tickets were for children.

As the years progressed, the Depression dishes became her good china for company and special occasions. The set my father had gotten for her took second place. The red-gold border, the colorful flowers in the center of the plates with her fine crystal on the lace tablecloth made an attractive setting.

The china graced my mother's table for many successive Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters and a host of other occasions. She never seemed to run out of dishes as the guests seated at the table over the years went from six to an expanded and extended nineteen. The only casualties to the china over the years were the cups. For some reason, they were not able to withstand frequent use. There are only five cups now left.

My mother used those dishes to the very end of her life.

My daughter Evangeline, in the many years of visiting her grandmother, admired the dishes greatly. Often she would remark to her grandmother, for whom she was also named after," Yiayia, when I get married, I want you to give me these dishes." And Yiayia would remark, "Evangeline, they are yours, no one else can have them." The china set survived the move intact from St. Louis to Kent, Ohio. My daughter, now in her own home, has her own set of fine china. However, she still maintains the

Thanksgiving tradition begun by her grandmother a half-century ago. "Evangeline," I said to my daughter at the end of the meal as we carefully cleared the table of the red-gold flowered plates, "Yiayia knew you loved these dishes. She must be very pleased, knowing you cherish and are using her precious china in your own home."

© 2003 by Jennie Constantinides Vlanton

Arrival | Alex John | Nerazakia | Backyard | Platon’s Birth | Greek School | Swimming
Fare Saved, Five Cents | Lost Money | Venetia and Niko | Tony, the Ice Cream Man | Muny Opera
The Red-Gold Flowered China | 4480 Easton Avenue | Maro | Truck Ice | College
Dandelions | Quarantine | Mission Accomplished| Picnics| Home Page