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NANA

We went by train to the city. Before we reached the terminal Mom told us that Nana was going
to meet us by the Wanamaker Eagle. My brother looked at me smiling and I started laughing
thinking how many times Mom told us in the same tone and the same manner how we were
meeting Nana by the Eagle like it was some kind of secret mission and we were doing it for the
first time. Truth is we met her there so many times it had become a family tradition we looked
forward to.

My brother and I never questioned it, we knew, that Nana would be there waiting for us by the
Eagle, and we could never understand why our Mother always worried about her being there.
Before we excited the train, she would said, I certainly hope your silly Grandmother remembers
what time I told her. She pulled a cigarette from her handbag and lit it. You both know your
Grandmother. Of course we did.

Mom fretted and worried about everything. It was just her nature. Towards the end of her life
she developed Parkinsons disease and I believe she was partly responsible for bringing that
disease down upon her from all the unnecessary fretting and worrying. Mom never seemed quite
certain or confident about anything and always acted like she didnt trust the next moment or the
next turn around the corner. This was not a great way to go through life, but she just couldnt
help it, and thats just how it was.

We walked beside the train cars and along the empty tracks through the open air barn of Reading
Railroad. It was filled with the smell of ozone and kerosene. It smelled of burnt up brake linings
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and engine oil. Back in the early sixties almost everybody smoked when the passengers got off
the train they all lit up cigarettes, cigars and pipes, filling the barn with vapors and smoke
creating an atmosphere and a scene more from the 1930s or 1940s than the 1960s. Mom said,
What if they moved the Eagle? If the Eagle isnt there anymore, there where it is supposed to
be how are we going to find Nana. Allen and I both knew it was best not to say anything. The
Eagle would be there. It would always be there.

From the Reading Terminal Train Station at 11th and Market we walked two blocks west toward
13th and Market heading for that giant revolving door entrance of Wanamakers Department
Store where Nana would be waiting patiently by the Eagle.

It was late December and there were only a couple of days left before Christmas. It was cold and
grey and gust of wind blew off the Delaware that was strong enough to spin you around and
knock you over. We walked past the pretzel vendors with their little glass enclosed carts, and we
walked past the guys who roasted chestnuts on these special tripod stoves and sold them in paper
bags. Blind men leaned against buildings and stood in doorways selling colored pencils from a
tin cup.

Nana said most of those guys werent really blind, that they were just a bunch of bums
pretending to be blind so people would feel sorry for them and give them money. When we were
with her and she saw one shed tell us, Go ahead, take a couple of pencils and throw a slug in
the guys cup and see if that sonofabitch doesnt notice. Thats how Nana talked.

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The Old Man, thats what we called our Dad, swore up and down the pretzel vendors were all a
millionaires. They dont trust banks, he would say. And he said, Their all misers, the whole
lot of them. They hide their money in Chock Full of Nuts Coffee cans, inside mattresses or wrap
the money up in old rags. Allen and I were a bit skeptical about this. We were only kids and
neither of us was that good at math, but we could still multiply nickels, which is what a pretzel
sold for in those days. We really didnt know what a million was, but we figured it would take a
lot of nickels to get a million.

The central part of Philadelphia is cradled between the Delaware and Schuylkill River. Like
rivers in most large cities they were polluted years ago from industry, the water turning to a dark
thick opaque liquid that kept the eye from seeing beyond the surface. They both smelled,
especially in the summer. But today we inhaled the smells of Christmas and didnt think about
the bad breath of the rivers.

As we neared the entrance of the Department Store I could feel the excitement rise inside me as I
began to see the gilded sign above the main doors painted in a magnificent gold leaf signature
which was that of John Wanamaker. It was one of those great signatures of all time, one that
dwarfed John Hancocks, and the rest of those guys who signed the Declaration of
Independence.

John Wanamakers legacy was a twelve story gothic colossus that rubbed shoulders with City
Hall at the east of Center City Circle. City Hall with its famous clock and pigeon nest
observation tower fixed to the base of the William Penns Statue towered over the city refusing
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to play second fiddle to another Philadelphia buildings height, but it was willing to share its
elegance with John Wanamakers Department Store. On one small corner of the city sat the
perfect merger of Government and Business, Capitalism and a Free Society.

City Hall and Wanamakers was built of granite and grey stone, gesso and slate. Structures such
as these will never be assembled again with the same skill of artisanship, material, or sense of
style and good taste. There was an unspoken integrity about them as they were not set to rival
one another - nor to outdo, one was simply there to complement the other.

Both buildings were erected in the most strategically awkward place possible at the exact center
of the city, where North meets South and East meets West. Cars circled around these monoliths
on two narrow lanes fashioned for horse and carriage like a swarm of angry bees.


Nothing but constant tumult existed on the circle where jam ups and accident were built into
the daily confusion. The circle was another obstacle and bone of contention for the natives but as
with most Philadelphians they somehow accepted it as a part of life. Where else were they
supposed to put Wanamaker and City Hall? Most of the living couldnt imagine it being any
other way.

As expected, Nana was waiting for us by the Eagle. We ran up to her screaming like two little
happy piglets and she hugged us and kissed us and gave us Wrigleys Chiclets out the green box.
I took a few steps back and looked the Eagle right in the eye while Mom and Nana discussed
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their shopping strategy. This enormous bronze bird, straddling a marble wishing fountain where
people tossed in coins for wishes, stared back at me looking proud, imperious and fearless.

Allen pulled his coat over his head, sticking his hood out to make it look like a birds beak. He
ran around the Eagle with his arms outstretched and flapping them like wings. Allen shouted
out, I am the Eagle and I am greatness. I will always be greatness. I am the Eagle and I am
here. I will always be here. He ran over to me poking his hood in my face and I heard him
breathing heavy and laughing. He started circling again and singing out, Understand that I will
always be the Great and Powerful Eagle. Throw a coin in my fountain if you wish, but
remember, it makes no difference to me if your dream do or dont come true. Your wish is your
concern, not mine.

Nana looked over at my mother and said, Is that kid nuts? Come, Nana said. Its almost on
the hour and the organ is about to play.

It was called The Wanamaker Grand Court Organ, the largest pipe organ in the world, set on a
seven story stage court in the center of the store. It was built by the Los Angeles Art Organ
company for the 1904 Saint Louis Fair. When the fair was over it wound up in a warehouse in
Saint Louis, and in 1909 John Wanamaker bought it. He needed 13 box cars to get it to
Philadelphia and it took a whole crew of men two years to set it up. They brought it to its spot,
and they put it together, and to keep it maintained Mister Wanamaker opened a shop in the attic
of the store where they worked constantly on improving and maintaining the organ. It was
loaded up with 28,543 Pipes in 462 ranks. The console was made of six manuals with all kinds of
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stops and controls that made the organ play and stop and go. Its division of stings formed the
largest single organ chamber in the world with eighty-eight ranks of string pipes, and when it
opened up it sounded like a full orchestra of instruments that filled the air with richness and soft
tones that came from those long and extended pipes. They played it all year round on certain
days of the week but it was during the Christmas Holidays when they really opened it up.

Within the shadows of the stage court sat the organist. There had been many famous organists
who took the seat before him but this figure had no name; he was an enigma. Allen and I called
the donned tuxedoed organist the Ghost.

We waited in nervous anticipation until a note rang out. The Ghost had awoken and he bred life
into that organ filling the pipes with air that sent sounds, music so beautiful and astonishing. It
sounded as though heaven opened up its heart completely, and the songs of the angels poured
out, bleeding through the marvelous mysteries of the beyond, coming down from on high, down,
down to fill our ears and our hearts with song, as we stood mesmerized on the marble floors of
Wanamakers.

The heavens rang out in confirmation, and we were left doubtless of its existence. Because
there was nothing, no nothing that was completely man made or earthly that could sound so
beautiful. None of the witnesses that shared that same moment in time could deny this with a true
sense of honesty or sincerity.

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We stood speechless as the Ghost played Christmas Carols and songs of Christmas, and as you
looked around you noticed the store was decorated to the nines with everything that was
Christmas and this drew your heart even further toward the spirit of Christmas. The Old Man
said that Christmas was for Christians, and it was a holiday that celebrated the birth of Christ
who, as Jews, we did not believe was our savior. We believed he was just a man. We were not
supposed to have anything to with Immaculate Conception, Resurrection or in the Holy Trinity,
but at that moment, who cared what the Old Man had to say.

We were captivated by the music flowing from the organ and we were caught up in the spirit of
Christmas, a feeling which cannot be denied. It was an emotional, heartfelt experience, partly
created by decorated evergreen trees, tinsel, mistletoe, giant gift boxes wrapped and decorated
with big red bows, and of course the organ. Let there be no mistake, at least in the heart of this
little Jewish boy, there was a deep burning desire to have a Christmas Tree and all of the
trappings that came with it. There was nothing that anyone could come up with that could stack
up to or compete with Christmas.

We all listened, hundreds of us congregated on that floor. Nana had her head cocked to the side
like a curious parakeet, a cigarette dangling from her mouth and a look of awe in her eyes. A
woman who in her lifetime would see the first Ford Production Cars rolling down the street, and
before the end of her life watch man walking on the Moon, but til her dying day the organ
would always be one of the greatest marvels.

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The organist played his final carol and Nana said it was time to get something to eat. We went
downstairs to the basement where they had the lunch counter. We were waited on by a waitress
who looked just like a Nun. All of the waitresses at the counter looked like they could have gone
either way between the lunch counter and the convent. All these women with the same sexless
square body shapes and facial hair. Sexless looking women looking neither happy nor sad, they
were just there to take your order.

Many of them had been there since the day the counter opened; their skin color blending in with
the faded off-white colors of the walls. The glare of the fluorescent lighting added special
touches to the effects of their pale and pasty skin tones. These women made real careers out of
being waitresses. This was not a stepping stone for them. This was the stone on which most of
them stood for life. They were a unique breed. We no longer have too many of those who
dedicate their lives to working behind a lunch counters serving homemade soups and humongous
sandwiches that could choke a horse. These women, although sad, like anyone with limited
options, were still an interesting lot.

They kind of half smiled when you were finished eating and asked you if you wanted desert,
back when people actually ate desert after a casual meal. They were fixtures, and they would
always be there, like Cloistered Nuns who never leave the convent, because their souls belonged
there.
We finished eating and Mom told us we had to make a choice about what we would do for the
rest of the day. We could tag along with her and Nana and watch them shop, or we could take the
elevator to the ninth floor and play in the toy department if we promised to be good and not
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break anything that she would have to pay for. Once in awhile she did come up with some
beautiful choices.
Allen and I boarded the elevator car headed for the ninth floor. This was back in the days where
an actual human operated the elevator. The Operator looked down at us with a grin and asked if
we wanted the ninth floor. It made us feel special, like we had our own private elevator car. We
shook our heads yes and told him the ninth floor, please yes the ninth floor. .
The doors opened and we stepped off the elevator car into another dimension. We had entered a
world that was created and existed for one purpose and one purpose alone; to help push, entice
and bring out to the maximum degree that built in desire children have for toys and toy fantasies.
And oh, did they do their job; they did their job so well.
The ninth floor didnt have just everyday ordinary toys these were exotic toys. There were life
sized stuffed animals, gorillas and lions that looked like they coming straight at you on attack.
There were life-sized wooden soldiers locked up in glass cases, and train sets built around full
sized miniature cities.
We couldnt afford these types of toys and Allen and I speculated on what kind of rich kids
could. Ive seen kids who could own toys like this, Allen said with this air of authority. Ive
seen them pull up to the front of the store in limousines with butlers. They live right here in the
city in the high-rises and the town-homes. They have parents that are different than our parents.
Their parents look more important and talk more important than Mom and Dad. They even dress
different and I bet they know all of this secret stuff that none of us know.

Allen went on to tell me there was a whole other world out there that he could feel existed but
didnt know anything about. He said he was bound and determined that someday he was going
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to figure the whole thing out. But until then he said we would just stay on the ninth floor as long
as we could and drool over the toys.
The day ended and we were back on the train heading home. It was the weekend and Nana said
she would come home with us and stay until Sunday. I loved when she came home with us.
Nanny would make sure to torture the Old Man with lots of laughs and dirty jokes. She would
play with us endlessly board games, card games. She would summon the spirits of the dead
from the wee gee board. She would tell us stories of gin joints and smoky backrooms where men
in dark suits made deals with each other. There were tales of the speak easies and the floating
crap games that my grandfather and her brother used to run. She would tell us all about her
husband Charlie and our grandfather. He was a compulsive degenerate gambler that lost
everything he had, including Fanny, to the temptations of chance.
In spite of the Old Mans relentless insistence that Allen and I turn in early, Nana would have us
up late at night watching the Late Show and the Late, Late Show with her. When she was with us
she commanded. We were hers when she was there and the Old Man could take a back seat and
screw him if he didnt like it. She wasnt afraid to stand up to him. She had his number and he
knew it. Its really hard to square off with somebody once they have your number.
We pulled out of the Reading Terminal and as the train rounded the track we came around City
Hall to catch a view of William Penns Statue. Nana pointed to the statue and said, look. We
craned out necks to see. Look, she was laughing. Its William Penn pissing on the city.
Quakers dont have any class, no class at all. She said it loud enough for everyone on our car to
hear. Mom turned red with embarrassment as usual. She never got used to being scandalized by
her mother. She kicked Nana in the shin and called her an asshole and a fool. Nana just
shrugged it off. Her daughter was a Puritan, what could she do.
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We looked up at William Penn and Ill be damned if the deed to the city which he held in his
right hand didnt look, from our point of view, like his dick was hanging out of his pants and he
was taking a squirt on his beloved city. If it wasnt for Nana we probably would have never
noticed.