4480 Easton Avenue: Stefan's Enterprises
In the early 1920's, at one time my father owned three businesses. The first one was the Broadway Shoe Shining Parlor, at 613 North Broadway Boulevard, which was located in the downtown business district, a few blocks from the Mississippi River and present day Busch Stadium; which he bought from my mother's brother, John Glitsos. According to the St. Louis City Directory of 1920, John Glitsos is listed as the owner. The year is not clear when my father bought that store, since the City Directory of 1922 still lists John Glitsos as owner, although by that time John had moved with his family and was living in Phoenix, Arizona. His sister, Katina and her family had moved to Phoenix in 1920. In the year 19??, my father is listed as the owner.
The second business my father had was a dry cleaners and hatters. In the St. Louis City Directory for the years 1921 and 1922 there is a listing for Stephan Constantinides, shoe polisher at 5881 Delmar Boulevard. The third business my father was involved with was Progressive Hatters and Cleaners, (with partner Nestor Papaspanos and later sole owner) at 4480 Easton Avenue (now Martin Luther King Drive).
Gradually my father sold the first two businesses, although there is some question if he was ever totally paid for them. The shoe shine parlor on Broadway Boulevard he sold to his brother George.
Olympia remembers when she was about fourteen years old, in the thirties, taking the Hodiamont street car, east, and going downtown to the Broadway store, to get money owed to my father for the business. Sometimes, she says, Uncle George bought meat from Union Market on Delmar Avenue and 6th Street and gave her that to bring to my father, instead of money. Those were partial payments.
Platon says he also remembers going three times to Uncle George's store on Broadway to shine shoes. The agreement was Platon was to keep the money he made, but Uncle George took most of the money and gave him very little. When dad found out about the way Uncle George was treating Platon, he forbade him to work for Uncle George anymore.
My father sold the Delmar Avenue store to my mother's brother Demo. It was also very doubtful that he was ever paid for that store, because after a few years Demo was forced to close the business because a competitor, a Greek, opened the American Cleaners directly across the street from him and was able to drive Demo out of business.
Both of these situations took place in the late twenties or early thirties.
My father and his partner, Nestor Papaspanos, did very well with the Easton Avenue store. Up until the early thirties, that business sustained two growing families very well. But I recall when Johnny, who was born in 1932, was about two years old, the Depression hit. The business at the Easton store went down to almost nothing.
My father and his partner decided to sever the partnership; one to buy the other out. I recall hearing my parents discussing the situation at the time. My father decided he would try to keep the business, but in order to buy out his partner; he did not have enough money on hand to pay for the partner's share. He decided to borrow on his life insurance, a John Hancock policy. Thus, Progressive Hatters and Cleaners became his.
On the large plate glass window store front, in a half circle in gold letters, was the word Progressive, and below in a straight line, Hatters and Cleaners. Progressive Hatters and Cleaners. 4480 Easton Avenue. From the early 1920's it was a meaningful and important place in the life of my family.
To my family it was known as the "magazi".
The "magazi", the store, as my brother Johnny has said, was an institution central to the family of Evangelia and her husband Stefanos, their children, grandchildren and their relatives. The magazi was an institution, an entity, very demanding and very generous in its benefits. None of the family was immune to the impact of the magazi.
For my father the magazi meant security, pride, independence. It gave him the satisfaction of knowing he was capable of providing for his family a good living. He knew his family would have food, a roof over their heads, even during the worst period of the Depression. His family would not need to go on public relief or depend on handouts from others.
My father was a kind, compassionate, mild-mannered man. He was a man of refinement, not vulgar; he never insulted or struck or reprimanded his children; even when Platon and Johnny were horsing around, wrestling, my father would say to them in a joking manner, "You' re going to destroy the house!"
I can never recall that he ever complained of the long hours he put in at the cleaners. When he had a partner they had a schedule where they each worked half-days. The magazi was still open thirteen hours a day then, from eight o' clock in the morning to nine o' clock at night; but the working day was split into two shifts. One week my father would have the early shift, the next week he would have the late shift.
Once he bought out his partner and was the sole owner, he put in the full thirteen hours himself. My father would open the magazi promptly at eight in the morning, and close at nine in the evening. That was during the week and on Saturdays. He also had the store open Sunday from nine in the morning to one in the afternoon.
Since the store was not doing well when he bought out his partner, he could not afford to hire any help. He did everything himself, shine shoes, clean and block hats, press clothes. How many times I felt sad watching him shine the shoes of a customer who was sitting on a chair, with his feet on the foot rests. How humiliating, degrading and demeaning for my father to lower his position to shine shoes. It hurt me. My father had dignity, he was too good to have to do that, to be reduced to polishing someone else' s shoes. And yet, I never heard him complain about shining shoes, or the long hours he was putting in at the cleaners.
When he got home from the store at nine thirty in the evening, he would eat dinner. He would stay up for about an hour, and then go to bed. The next morning, when he got up he was always in a good mood. Sometimes he even sang while he shaved. One of his favorite songs was "La Donne Mobile" from the opera Rigoletto. I recall that was the first time I had ever heard that song, even before I ever had any idea what an opera was.
Then at seven thirty in the morning, he would leave the house, walk north for half a block on Aubert Avenue to the Hodiamont street car line on his way to the magazi. His duty, his responsibility were clear to him. There was no question in his mind about his role, he was the head of the family, this was the lifestyle for him, and he did it willingly and happily; because it sustained and nurtured his family.
In recalling all the years I worked for my father, I am amazed he never once yelled at me or corrected me, or said anything cross or embarrassed me. He was always a gentleman. He might become perturbed or irritated with a customer, but he never said or reacted negatively. He would just light a cigarette and smoke silently. Smoking was his only vice.
Having been an accountant in Smyrna by profession before coming to the United States and becoming a dry cleaner, my father kept accurate and systematic business records. After we bought the house on Kingshighway Boulevard, in 1944, the Internal Revenue Service called for an audit of my father's income tax return. This was done often right after World War II, particularly of small business men, to see if they had reported all their income during the war years. I took his books to the Internal Revenue Service office in the Federal Building in downtown St. Louis, on Market Street. When the auditor looked at the order and neatness of the books, he commented how well the books were kept. Even though the ledger was kept in Greek, the auditor, after skimming over several pages, told me the audit was over. He was satisfied that everything was complete and in order, and I left the office.
One of the proudest moments for me, in my association with my father, was when he had become an American citizen, in 1941, and I drove him to the polling place to vote for his first time. Missouri was voting for a Senator to Congress. A newcomer, Harry Truman, was the Democratic candidate. My father voted for Truman, and he explained to me, "The Democrats are for the working man. The Republicans are for the rich people". I have never forgotten his words.
In our home there was no bitchiness or complaining on the part of either parent. My mother often said that bitchiness brought evil (grousouzia) into the home, and the fortunes of the family suffered.
My mother was also a refined person, not vulgar, a kind and generous person, compassionate. After World War II she helped many unfortunate relatives and friends in Greece. Her method of discipline to me was to say, "A good girl does not act like that. Don' t let it happen again". She never struck any of her children.
My parents had good habits and standards that their children follow today. They had the spiritual gift of administering correction to their children, with gentleness.
For my mother, the magazi was everything. It was her lifeline, it meant financial security, it meant prestige to her in her circle of friends, and among the seventeen Greek families on Aubert avenue where we lived; her husband was the most successful. He owned his own store, a successful enterprise, in business for himself. He was not a salaried employee, working for someone else. She would often say, "a man who is on a weekly salary cannot achieve financial success". Meaning, a salaried employee cannot begin to compare financially with someone who is in business for himself.
After my mother reconciled herself to the fact that the United States was to be her permanent home, she made an effort to learn the English language. I have a copy of a Certificate of Award, stating that AAngela Constantinides, during the year 1925-1926 has been faithful in her attendance upon the English class conducted by the Board of Religious Organizations of Saint Louis, Missouri and has been present at the number of sessions required for the attainment of the certificate. Awarded on this twelfth day of June 1926. Signed, Mrs. Clara W. Hopper, Teacher; and Irene T. Kuhn, Director of Americanization, Board of Religious Organizations.
This activity was at the time my mother had two young children, my sister and me. I was just one year old. She made another attempt at learning English in the early thirties, before the Depression made its forceful impact. She attended English classes at Washington school on Euclid Avenue. They were held after the regular school day, and Platon remembers going with her to the school, and waiting for her.
In spite of these attempts to learn English, she very rarely ever spoke the language. I feel she was conscious of her limited knowledge, and perhaps felt she didn't really need to express herself in English.
My mother was very proud of the fact that she became an American citizen. I recall the time she was studying the information given to her concerning the examination. We all tried to coach her, giving her a little history of the different presidents, some background information, etc. In exasperation one day, she informed us, that if the judge denied her American citizenship, she would tell him "If you want to make me an American citizen, all right. If you don't, I am a good woman. I have four good children. I am a good person". Needless to say, that explanation to the judge was unnecessary; my mother passed her citizenship examination without any problem, and with much pride, became an American citizen. She regularly voted in political elections, a Democrat.
After my father became the sole owner of Progressive Hatters and Cleaners, my mother discussed with him to let her work part time at the magazi, doing alterations and mending. I recall he put up some resistance at first, his manner as always was quiet, not loud or virulent, no angry outbursts. Quiet was his way. She insisted on going to work at the cleaners; she prevailed, and started working with him.
The magazi gave my mother pride that she was supportive of her husband, and helped in the business to make it successful. She set an example for several other Greek women whose husbands had cleaners; they started being seamstresses in their husband' s businesses too.
My mother' s hours working at the magazi were not the same as my father' s, because she still had four children to care for at home, ages 2, 4, 10, 13; and a home to manage. Her schedule was to stay at home until 3:30 in the afternoon, until my sister and I came home from school. This way she could cook and prepare the meals for the family, do her household chores, and care for my two younger brothers who were still at home.
At 3:30 in the afternoon when my sister and I arrived home from school, she would leave for the magazi. She would board the Hodiamont streetcar at the Aubert Avenue stop, going east, get off at Taylor Avenue and transfer going north on the Taylor street car to Easton Avenue, get off and walk past several stores, a shoe store, a dress store, a restaurant, a grocery store, another store which was empty, then 4480, the cleaners. At the cleaners she worked until she and my father closed the store at nine in the evening.
There was a store directly across the street from the cleaners, with the name Sam the Tailor posted across the plate glass window. It was operated by a husband and wife. It was primarily a tailoring shop, but Sam also took in dry cleaning of clothes. Sam' s closing hour in the evening was also nine o' clock, and my parents would never close the store unless Sam closed first, in case a customer would go and find Sam closed, our store was open to accommodate the customer. My father was ever observant of Sam' s movements; and when there was no longer any light burning in the store across the street, my father would say, "Sam has turned off his lights. He has closed. Now we can close the store too and get ready to go home."
Every evening, after closing the cleaners, my father would go into the partitioned, back work area of the store where he could be alone, stand facing the east, and pray. On several occasions I accidentally protruded on his concentration. When he was finished praying, we would leave; he would lock the front door, and make the sign of the cross over the lock. Before we got our first automobile, we would take the street car home. We would cross the street to the corner of Easton Avenue and Taylor Avenue, to take the Taylor streetcar going south, and get off at the Hodiamont street car line to go west. By then it was about 9:15 in the evening. The street car was usually slow in coming at that hour, and on bitter cold nights in the winter, my parents and I huddled in the doorway of the corner drugstore, trying to keep warm from the freezing weather. When the Hodiamont street car finally arrived, we gratefully boarded it riding to our stop, Aubert Avenue; get off and walk to the middle of the block to 761, home.
During the summer months, traditionally slow periods in the dry cleaning business, there were many times we walked home from the cleaners, a distance of about three miles. My father, my mother, and I, or any other sibling who had been at the cleaners that day, would leave the cleaners at 9 o' clock, and walk home; regardless if my father had put in thirteen hours of work; regardless of the hours my mother had worked at home and at the cleaners, and regardless of the heat and humidity that is found uniquely only in St. Louis weather. Streetcar fares at the time were ten cents for adults, five cents for children twelve years of age or younger. That was a considerable amount of money in the period of the Depression and an amount that could be saved if a person was willing to walk.
We would walk down Taylor Avenue going south, to Page Boulevard. We would go west by turning right, walk down about a block to West End Avenue, then to Newberry Terrace, right for several blocks to Walton Avenue, turn left going south for a block to Fountain Park, west again for three blocks to Aubert, and finally turn left for a block to our home. Never did I hear either of my parents complain about walking home after working so many hours at the magazi.
How many times in our lives, did my sister Olympia, my brothers Platon and Johnny, and I, hear the word, magazi? That word kept us, sustained us, nurtured our family since the early 1920's, and most importantly since the middle 1930's, to the present time, through three generations.
Johnny wisely observed that other benefits accrued from the work at the magazi. We gained an understanding of the meaning of family. Family. The family grew together, and each of us understood the importance of family; love and respect for each other in the family brought positive results in a crisis; knowing that in working together as a unit, every member of the family benefitted. The family was all important, not the individual whim or selfish desire of one member. Everyone shared and worked toward a common good; one goal, the good of all; unity of purpose was most important, for the future well being of everyone. Life was a team effort. The preservation and common welfare of the family was the collective goal, an enduring quality of love and commitment.
As each of the children, Olympia, Platon, Johnny and I reached the age of twelve, we took our turn working at the cleaners. For the children, individually, the magazi was a duty we had to perform. As time went on, each child was given more responsibility and more effort was expected of us.
I don' t ever recall saying, or hearing any of my siblings, complain about going to work at the cleaners. It was a given. It was as natural as eating, sleeping, a normal function. When our parents told one of us we were expected to go to the magazi to work, we did not whine or complain. We went. Perhaps it was the unspoken feeling that we were a unit as a family, and we all worked for the common good; or perhaps it was seeing our parents working and struggling so hard to earn a living for us, that touched us; or perhaps it was the refined, matter-of-fact manner in which they told us. Many afternoons after school, if told, one of us would go to the cleaners and work until closing time, nine o' clock. If we had homework, it was to be done after 9:30 in the evening, when we got home. No one ever said, "I' ve got homework to do, I can' t go to the cleaners". We went, and after we got home, it was up to us to do our homework. I recall also, when I was a teenager, that I wanted to go out on Sunday afternoon with friends. My father would tell my mother, "Why does she want to go out? She should stay home and go to sleep!"
Particularly for my sister Olympia, who shouldered the responsibility of taking care of all four of us when my mother first began to work in 1934 at the cleaners, I don' t ever recall that she complained about supervising us. Or, when she and I were in highschool, and we wanted to stay for after school activities, the Service Club that Miss Forbes had, she had to hurry home to babysit our brothers. She did it willingly, with no whining.
While my mother was gone, working at the cleaners, my sister Olympia was in charge at the house. Food was no problem, dinner had already been prepared by my mother earlier in the day.
Looking back now, I can see that Olympia had her hands full with my brothers and me. But she managed us all well.
For my part, I also went to the magazi willingly. My parents asked me, I did it. My only real problem was years later, after my highschool years and beyond, I recall, that if I had to go to the cleaners and open up in the morning with my father, I couldn' t wake up. I was a heavy sleeper. My poor father would call me and try to awaken me, but many times I wouldn' t budge. He would become frustrated, but never cursed, or vented his frustration in any way.
Also, the magazi gave all of us an education. True we all worked all the years that we attended school, but the magazi was there, available, a facility at our disposal, and because of the unselfishness and generosity of our parents, to see us through our education. Not one of us left school because we had to get a job to support our family. As far as I know, Olympia, Platon and Johnny' s feelings about working at the cleaners were the same as mine.
I worked at the magazi all through school, and after, until I got married. Olympia did too, as Platon and Johnny. Later on, in the 60's and 70's, Olympia' s son Stefan worked at the magazi, as did my son Elias, and a few years later, Platon' s two sons, Stephan and Christopher. My daughter Evangeline, of the St. Louis grandchildren, managed to avoid working at the magazi.
Working At the Magazi
In late 1936 or early 1937 my father employed a black man, Troy McCall, who was originally from the South, the state of Mississippi. He must have been in his late twenties or his thirties. Troy was with us for many years. Johnny recalls that Troy was the first black person he was close to and befriended, he doesn't remember how old he was, he states he just doesn' t remember not knowing Troy; pressing clothes, cleaning and blocking hats, and shining shoes, Troy did it all.
Johnny recalls that my father preferred to do all the maintenance work and jobs at the cleaners that came up, himself. He would on occasion hire others to do them, but if he could do the work, he preferred to do it until Troy started working for us. One day my father told Johnny that a boiler connection was leaking and Troy made a comment about the leak. My father dismissed the comment with the intent of repairing it himself soon. He left the store one day for a short time. When he returned, Troy had fixed the leak. Afterwards my father would mention items that needed attention and Troy would fix them. Johnny feels Troy was involved in everything.
For my sister and for me, the first thing we learned to do at the magazi was to mark the clothes for cleaning; later on Troy taught us how to press the different articles of clothes.
We also assisted our mother with minor sewing. I recall many an hour sitting by my mother' s side, as she worked at the sewing machine, she taught me how to sew the missing buttons on the clothes, and how to do simple straight hand stitching by sewing cuffs on pants. On occasion she would say to me, in an affectionate way, "kai to katourlio tou botikou, kalo einai kai afto" ( even the urine of the mouse is useful too.)
For my brothers, their tasks were a little different. They too did the marking and pressing of clothes, but they also had to learn how to clean hats and block them. Later on, when we got our own dry cleaning machinery, they also had to learn how to spot and clean the clothes as well.
Johnny has remarked, when the boiler shut down, no effort was spared to get it working again with the satisfaction of knowing you did a good job and the cleaners was now productive. Or, the frustration of ruining someone' s clothes and having to deal with a dissatisfied customer. "I understood my importance to the operation of the magazi and why I had to hop the bus from school and go to the magazi. We worked until quitting time and then went home to do homework."
Housework
On Saturday, my mother would leave early in the morning with my father, and she would tell Olympia and me what chores we had to do in the house. Cleaning the house topped the list. Every week there was the bathroom to be cleaned; the linoleum of the long hallway that stretched the length of the house, to be mopped, from the front door to the kitchen; plus the mopping of the kitchen linoleum floor. Dusting furniture in the living and dining rooms was also on our schedule.
I would write my chores down. Needless to say, I never completed all the jobs I had to do. When my mother came home in the evening and saw that I had not accomplished all she had asked me to do, she did not raise her voice, or become irritated with me. All she would say to me was, "Monon pou ta egrapses kato". (It was enough for you to write them down.)
I recall Olympia and I doing the laundry. First, we would have to light the gas heater for hot water, so the water would be the right temperature for washing the clothes. My mother had a washing machine; in those days the machines were very different from the kind we have now. It consisted of a tumbler, a round drum where the clothes would be put in. The tumbling action would wash the clothes. We would have to take the clothes carefully out of the hot water while they were in the tumbler, by hand, put them through the wringer into the rinsing tub, then by hand again pass them through the wringer to have the rinse water squeezed out. Now the clothes were ready to be hung up to dry.
If the weather was nice, we would hang the clothes to dry on the clothesline we had strung up in the back yard. We had a big wicker basket, with a handle at each end. Olympia and I unloaded the clothes from the washing machine, placed them in the basket, we each grabbed a handle, and carried the basket up the three steps from the basement to the backyard. Then we hung the clothes on the clothesline. To keep the middle of the clothesline from sagging, with the risk of having the clothes drag on the ground, we had a long pole with a v notched in one end. We would slip the v under the clothesline, and raise it several feet off the ground.
If it was winter, or the weather was bad, there were lines already strung in the basement for us to hang the clothes.
My mother never imposed on the neighbor upstairs, Mrs. Laskaris, or on my uncle Demo or his wife, aunt Anna, or the next door Greek neighbors, to keep a watchful eye over us. I guess she felt Olympia could handle three younger siblings, although Olympia herself was only thirteen years old when my mother started working at the magazi.
The Magazi
The " magazi", the store, had a personality of its own, unlike so many other businesses of the time. On entering the store, the wall on the left had mirrors, from about two feet off the floor, rising to the ceiling. The frames around all the mirrors were varnished a dark color, almost black mahogany. Further in by that wall was a pressing machine, and clothes racks held the cleaned clothes, covered by paper bags.
On the opposite side of the store, towards the front, was the hat blocking equipment, next to the window. There was a showcase for the hats to be placed in when they were cleaned and blocked.
Next to the showcase, was the shoeshine stand. On it were four black chairs, with arms that were carved at the ends like animal paws. The back and seat were of black leather. The chairs were set on a marble stand, with brass foot pedestals, where the customer rested his feet while his shoes were shined. Above the chairs were mirrors, about four feet high, going to the ceiling.
There was another showcase, next to the shoeshine stand. This one was about seven feet high, and built to specifically hold long evening dresses. Next to the evening dress showcase was a curtained booth, about two feet wide, three to four feet long, with a chair where a customer sat while his pants was being pressed. This little booth was occupied often on rainy days, from people who had gotten their suits or overcoats wet and wanted them pressed right away. The partition separating the front of the store from the back work area had full length mirrors, starting from the floor to about eight feet high.
In the winter, when the pressing machine was in use, the window in the front of the store would steam up, no one could see outside, or anyone on the outside could look in. I always thought it was kind of funny to see customers who wore glasses come into the store, and immediately have their glasses fog up. They would have to take them off, wipe them, and put them on again before they could transact their business. This always made me secretly smile.
Advertising The Cleaners
I recall hearing my mother tell my father that we would have to do some type of advertising in the neighborhood, to let people know of the cleaners. One of the most common forms of advertising at that time were handbills. My parents decided to use that method. One of the points stressed on the fliers, as an incentive to lure the customer to the magazi, was that missing buttons on the clothes would be replaced free of charge.
Where would they find youngsters to distribute the fliers to the homes on the streets near the magazi, on Aldine Avenue, Cote Brillante Avenue, Evans Avenue, Page Boulevard, Taylor Avenue? The elected youngsters, at the beginning, were Olympia and me, ages about 13 to 10. Later on, both Platon and Johnny were recruited to pass out the handbills, too. The Cumbarelis girls also helped for some of the work, Penelope and Julie. We in turn, did the same for their father' s cleaners, around the Cumbarelis store neighborhood on Delmar Avenue and Sarah Boulevard.
I didn' t mind distributing the leaflets, sometimes it was fun because we did it in pairs, two of us together, never alone; but I do recall thinking at the time as I was distributing the handbills, that I was glad the cleaners was not near my school, Washington school on Euclid Avenue. I did not want any of my school friends to see me going up and down steps of the different houses, placing circulars in the mailboxes, or under the front door. We usually did the delivering of leaflets after school, in the late afternoon; and I remember going up and down steps of the homes, occasionally, even in the dark.
The handbills were a successful enterprise, because business did pick up. My mother had a lot of alterations to do, and the free sewing of buttons added to her large pile of work. At different times, both Olympia and I were recruited to sew the missing buttons on the clothes. What The Magazi Did for Us
For the family, the magazi saw us through the Depression with dignity and sustenance. The magazi taught us hard work was rewarding. The magazi afforded us luxuries.
In the beginning, when my mother started working and before business had picked up at the magazi, once in a while, Platon and I would go down the street to 793 Aubert Avenue to my uncle Demo's and aunt Anna's house and play with our cousins Joanna, Marie and Dessie. Later on, when my aunt and uncle moved next door to us, at 759, Platon and Johnny would go over to their house and spend time with their cousins, or to gently antagonize them, as the case may be.
In the middle thirties, as the family economic situation began to improve, still in the Depression, for the pleasure of their children my parents were able to buy a radio console, not just a table radio model. It was made of high quality wood, with a beautiful mahogany finish. It stood on six legs. It had doors in the front, and when opened, exposed the knobs to turn on the radio. Among the Greek families on Aubert Avenue, we were the first to buy an electric refrigerator, a Norge. Because of its large size, it didn' t quite fit in the kitchen. My mother had the idea of having a section cut in the wall, in the hallway by the kitchen, to accommodate the refrigerator. My parents even did a little remodeling in the house. They eliminated the sliding wooden doors between the dining room and living room, and had an archway put in.
Even though the Depression continued into the late thirties, around 1937,the magazi was doing so well that we were able to buy a used car, the second Greek family on Aubert to own an automobile. Johnny and Platon say the car was a Pontiac. It had four doors. The thing was neither of my parents knew how to drive a car. However, Troy did, he had been a chauffeur in the South before coming to St. Louis. So Troy ended up driving our car, picking up my father in the morning and taking him to work, and bringing him home again in the evening. Then Troy would take the car to his home overnight. Johnny remembers that during the week, Troy would chauffeur individual members of the family, but on Sundays, Troy would drive the Pontiac with the whole family to different places. Troy taught my father how to drive, although I always thought my father was not comfortable behind the wheel.
Down the street from the cleaners was the Joe Simpkins Automobile Agency which sold used cars. In the spring of 1938, they had a 1937 Ford that had been repossessed and was selling at a reduced price. Johnny remembers going during the week with our mother to the Joe Simpkins Automobile Agency. He said she pointed to the car and told him, "This is the car we are getting." He recalls Ford had made a radical change in the design of their cars in 1937, and "I thought it was a `dumb` looking car. I kept my mouth shut knowing it would do no good to give my opinion." The Pontiac was traded in and we took possession of the new car, our new 1937 two door Ford, blue in color that went like a jack rabbit, Johnny recalls.
Olympia then was seventeen years old, just a few months shy of eighteen. Troy taught Olympia how to drive, and she for all intents and purposes, became the official family driver. I don' t recall my father ever drove after Olympia took over the wheel. Then when I turned sixteen years of age, Olympia and Troy taught me how to drive, and I shared driving responsibilities with my sister for the family.
As the magazi prospered in the late thirties, my mother bought a set of gold jewelry, a necklace with matching earrings. One day she took me and we went to a jewelry store on Delmar Boulevard, past Euclid Avenue and next to the West End Theater, and looked at the jewelry. She placed a deposit on it, and a week later we went back again to the jewelry store and she paid the balance on it. I don' t believe my father ever saw the jewelry before she brought it home. This was the only expensive jewelry that she ever bought for herself that I know of. She gave them to me soon after my father died. I in turn gave them to her namesake, my daughter.
The Magazi Nurtured and Supported
In later years the lives of other relatives were touched by the magazi as cousins, aunts, grandchildren and even friends worked there; their well being was dependent on the prosperity of the magazi.
For a short period, our cousin Dessie worked at the magazi. When she left, my parents hired Katherine Petrides, the daughter of a friend. Even Mary, Harry and Denise Panayotopoulos, thea Marianthe' s grandchildren, her daughter Io' s children, did not escape their stint at the magazi. They had come to St. Louis in the middle fifties from Greece. They lived with my mother for a few years, and when they were able, they too worked at the magazi.
To help with the sewing, my mother had thea Cornelia, the wife of my father' s brother George, helping her. She worked there for several years, and later, Despina Lazanas assisted my mother. Even thea Marianthe, when she came from Greece on several visits, helped my mother out, during particularly busy periods, with the alterations at the magazi. When World War II was over, the magazi also nurtured and supported our destitute and displaced relatives in Greece. Not only was money sent generously to relatives for rebuilding their disrupted lives, but other help as well. We were fortunate that the cleaners had unclaimed clothes that had been cleaned and pressed, hanging in their paper bags. Countless boxes were filled with those clothes, including many of our personal clothes; packaged, and mailed to Greece, to relatives on both sides of the family, my father' s and mother' s. My mother even sent to destitute people she did not know, people who had gotten our address and written to my mother, asking for help.
Thea Marianthe had also written and requested a welding machine for her son Niko, so he could restart his business devastated by the war. Fortunately, through the financial help of our and various members of the family, a welding machine was found, bought, packaged and shipped to Greece. This kindness was never forgotten by Niko, and years later, when I went to Greece on a trip, Niko insisted on giving me money to buy gold jewelry for my sister Olympia and for myself.
Even before that generous gesture, grateful relatives from Greece sent us beautiful handmade silk blouses, Greek plates and vases. They never forgot our help to them in their hour of need, and reciprocated our kindness. Even in 1965 on our first family trip to Greece, Niko' s son Foti, gave us the use of his newly built apartment to stay in. We stayed there for two months.
A second welding machine, a year after the one sent to Niko, was shipped to Greece to thea Marianthe' s younger son Kosta, through the generous financial contribution of the same family members.
Moving
We moved away from Aubert Avenue to 5021 North Kingshighway Boulevard in August 1944, after Olympia and Joe were married in June of that year. The cleaners was moved to 4510 Easton Avenue. Platon and I believe it was the summer of 1946 when we bought the 4510 building in the next block and moved from 4480. Platon says when we moved the shoe shining part had been done away with. Some of the old chairs had been originally stored in the basement of the house on Aubert Avenue.
Alterations and modifications were done to the existing building, machines for cleaning put in, and to accommodate them the building was extended in the back. The building was bought originally for $19,000 or $20,000. The addition added in the back of the building cost about $15,000 to $20,000. Concrete was laid approximately for 80 feet. The building is about 100 feet from front to back, and about 30 feet wide. A boiler room was added. The third floor was completely torn off plus a section of the second floor, which was the back porch.
With the expansion of the building we were able to do wholesale cleaning of clothes and hats, 200 to 300 hats a week. One of our customers was the White Line Laundry. We did very well until some of our competition started to undercut our prices on the clothes and hats.
The cleaners is in a designated historical area of St. Louis. The Visitation Catholic church located in the back of the cleaners on Taylor Avenue, became a historical landmark, and the area encompassed the cleaners; so the cleaners now is technically in the historical area. The area is from the south side of Martin Luther King Drive to the north side of Page Avenue, all of Evans Avenue, beginning from the west side of Sarah Avenue to 80 feet west of the store, which also is the end of the church yard.
© 2003 by Jennie Constantinides Vlanton
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