What’s in a Name?

I heard on the radio the other day that Federated Department Stores Inc. was going to change the name of the traditional store in Chicago from Marshall Fields to Macy’s. The story was interviewing people from Chicago being upset about the change and then talked to the public relations person for the company who explained that the old name was actually hurting the store and changing it would make it better – and all of the traditions that people liked would stay.

Why does it matter? Why do we care about a name that doesn’t mean anything anymore? I’m sure Marshall and/or Field are long gone.

But we should care. And let me tell you why.

Names do matter. Names give us a connection to history. In Portland the same corporation has bought Meier and Frank in February. They have not announced a change of the name (M&F has been owned by outsiders since 1966) but I can imagine it. But let me preemptively say why we shouldn’t change it.

Aaron Meier, a Jewish emigrant from Germany, worked his way north in the mid-1850s from the Sierra gold fields to new mines in the Rogue River Valley. He carried needles, thread, buttons, and bolts of cloth in his traveling dry goods business. He worked hard, saved, and in 1857 opened a small retail store in Portland, then a town of 1,300 residents. The city's boom during the 1860s with opening of new mining fields in the interior and the flow of capital through the emerging city gave him the chance to expand his business. In time Sigmund Frank, his son-in-law, joined him. Meier & Frank Department Store was on its way to becoming one of the nation's largest retail outlets.
http://bluebook.state.or.us/cultural/history/history13.htm

Meier & Frank's downtown store was a shopping mecca to Portlanders for decades before the advent of suburban and urban malls. An invitation to tea there tended to be formal.
For decades a date to "meet me under the clock" needed no elaboration. It was the one on the main floor of the downtown Meier & Frank.

Work on the current building began in 1913. Over the years other buildings were bought and demolished for additional space, and the building, as it stands on a full city block, was completed in 1932.

http://www.katu.com/stories/75319.html

There are two things that stand out for me. One is the idea of a downtown store that people gathered at in the growing city of Portland. By the time that Portland hosted the World’s Fair in 1905 (The Lewis& Clark Exposition, celebrating the 100 years since the explorers came) Meier & Frank had existed for 50 years. A meeting place where one can imagine people in cool retro clothes shopping and having tea. Eight years ago, while shopping for my sister’s wedding at Meier & Frank, my sister, my mom and I went up and had lunch at the “Georgian Room” and I was amazed at the sense of connection. How many other mother and sisters had been shopping for a wedding and stopped and done the exact same thing for 150 years?

The other thing is one of the few examples of Jewish immigrants to Portland. The community here is very small and Aaron Meier was here at the beginning.

In 1942 Aaron Meier Frank, the son of Sigmund Frank and grandson of Aaron Meier was the head of the company. He was very involved in the Portland community and clearly had a lot of influence on it’s shaping. One major way was that he sold (for a very good deal) his magnificent estate (built by his brother) Fir Acres to what was then Albany College. That means that Lewis & Clark College’s main offices are located in a magnificent house in the Southwest Hills. It has terraces and reflecting pools leading from it’s back door down to a unbelievable view of the Willamette.

The history of Fir Acres and it’s relationship to the Jewish community in Portland (a place for those people not allowed in Waverly Country Club and others) is discussed at the Lewis & Clark Chronicle web site: http://www.lclark.edu/~public/CHRONICLE/Fall1999/specialsection.html

So getting rid of the name Meier & Frank name would mean so much more than just the name of a store. Meier and Frank the men, and their families, made Portland what it is in many ways. So if Federated would like to make all of their department stores to be named Macy’s it would change things a lot. Not that Macy’s doesn’t have history, but it’s not ours. Macy’s can make money off of us, but let us hold onto the memories of the people who shaped out city.

Trying to be a City but not quite making it

I try not to be a snob. I want to experience many places and things and like them all for their wonderful uniqueness. But you know, sometimes the citygirl snobbery just comes out.

Hillsboro. A suburb of Portland. Best known as the location of the Intel campus.

I wanted to enjoy it. They have built an area just in the last few years called Orenco Station (a MAX station is located there). It has good planning; with cute architecture, a mix of businesses, a real urban feel.

What's weird about this oasis of urbanity is the empty lots and farmland that you pass on the way to it - but that's okay. I can see where they are going. And I want to encourage it.

Several years ago we went to a restaurant there called The Merchant of Venice. (I had to go there because of my name - I was hoping for something free!) I remember really liking the set up of the location even though it was far out. But the food and dining experience was so-so. At least I never had a burning desire to go again.

Last weekend we took the trip out again. This time we were going to the Orenco Station Grill. And the ambiance was nice - nicely decorated, decent crowd, friendly server. I was slightly disappointed when I looked at the menu. It seemed to be the menu of a nice restaurant from 20 years ago. But you know, the standards are fine. I ordered sauteed scallops while my husband ordered a New York Steak, medium rare.

The first major problem came with the salads. They were among the worst I have ever seen. Mostly iceberg, dry and wimpy. 3 wrinkly cherry tomatoes. A couple of strings of carrots and slivers of cabbage and 4 croutons. Dressing in a plastic cup on the side.

I couldn't eat it. I tried. I like salad and I like eating. But it was so bad. After searching for the most green -looking pieces of iceberg and drenching them with dressing, I just couldn't do it. After years of being spoiled with interesting, flavorful and fresh salads, I couldn't go back.

Maybe it was the sophisticated atmosphere. If I had gone to a roadside diner would I have been disappointed instead of a fancy place with warm bread and whipped butter?

Yeah I would've been. First of all I would've ordered Thousand Island instead of Rasberry Vinaigrette, but no decent roadside diner would sell this dry wimpy stuff.

Then my husband's steak came out well done. Very well done. The server was great - took it back - it wasn't his fault. But come on!

(BTW - scallops were fine)

So we leave the restaurant and across the street we see something cute - The Renaissance Wine Bar and Cigar Store. It's Saturday night - we might go in and taste something. We discovered "flights" of wine at a wine bar last year and enjoyed them - we discussed having a flight at this place.

Cute place - nicely decorated. A woman on the phone. Walked around, looked at the wares. She's still on the phone. Stood by the counter. She seems to be talking about a man and what he did - not work. Hovered a little bit more. Walked out.

So will we make the 45 minute trek back out to Orenco Station anytime soon? Not likely.

I wanted to support the new area - I wanted to think it was cute. I wanted to enjoy myself. But Hillsboro didn't quite make it.

Emotional

I knew I shouldn't have been listening to NPR this morning. So I was driving to work, and first they had two segments from StoryCorps. That is a booth can be set up for people to record their stories. These two were from the booth at Ground Zero in honor of the 4th anniversary of 9/11.

The one that really moved me was from a guy who lost his fiance. He talked about how they met in a great Brooklyn accent and talked about their great times. He ended with saying how he would always love her and he hoped he would be good enough to see her someday. So I am crying in the car.

Next a commentator from New Orleans has gone home and describes what he sees and feels. He starts talking about what is still there, what can be fixed and what is gone forever.

Finally Randy Newman comes on. He wrote and performed a song about the flood in New Orleans in 1927 a while back. That was playing in the background while he talked about the city. It was so beautiful and melancholy and the words fit so well. And I was almost to work by this time. I don't know if my students would feel comfortable if I walk in crying.

Meanwhile every once in a while a regular on NPR would make a pitch about contributions. And of course tonight is the telethon. My gosh. I am so overwhelmed.

Impotence

So the city of Portland and several local agencies got really excited about helping hurricane victims. We set up a shelter on Sunday for 1000 people and everyone was excited about having people come and cots and computers and showers and all that.

Then the word came that the people from the Gulf didn't want to come here.

It's a funny thing - I can see it because I feel the same way. Impotent. I want to help - but I am all the way over here. I can send money - but I see people who have lost everything and I want to DO SOMETHING.

So what a let down! We want to help so that we can feel better about the whole thing. We want to feel like Americans reaching out to other Americans. We would like to think that people would do the same for us. We want to pamper people who have been screwed.

But I sure can't blame people from Louisiana and Mississippi - we are so far away. And in so many ways we are VERY different from those southern states.

But really - I know us in Portland - we really have good intentions. We might try really hard to overcome our racial ignorance in an obvious way - but I think they would be treated really well.

So I hope they come.



(Like an hour ago I heard that people would be coming. We'll see.)

The Depth of Despair

There are so many reasons why the news from the south have been depressing in the last few days.

Ode to New Orleans

As a historian I am heartbroken to think about the potential damage to places that have such an interesting and amazing history. New Orleans is unique among American cities in many ways - its creation, architecture, ethnic groups, food, and music are special and different. My gosh - the creation of jazz alone makes it a very important place. I had heard recently about the risk to the old buildings in the French Quarter and I fear that those relics are ruined under all the water.

But most of all, and this is completely selfish, I have never been there! I have planned to visit someday and I am afraid that I will never get to see what I have heard so much about. On my 8th birthday my parents took me to a Dixieland Jazz Band performance here in Portland and it was a magical experience for me. I was even invited onstage to dance! I am so sad that I may never get to see where it came from. Even if New Orleans rises again, it will never be the same.

Ode to the Forgotten Towns

In the midst of talking about New Orleans, it is also disheartening that we have forgotten about the many small towns in Lousiana, Mississippi and Alabama that have also been devastated. Some towns are gone completely. The rural communities that already struggled with poverty are incredibly damaged. I hope in our rush to save the big cities that we don't forget about the rest of the affected area.

There But For The Grace of God . . .

It has been scary and saddening to watch and hear about the looting and violence that is happening more and more. But I keep thinking what if it were me?

What if I lived in New Orleans and didn't have a car because of their good public transportation system. So instead of driving out of town I go to the Super Dome like I was instructed. After the excitement of the initial attack comes what has got to be the more frightening experience - nothing. No lights, no water. No INFORMATION. It's incredibly hot, humid and stinky. Everyone is scared and confused. And no one knows anything. We just know that we can't leave. What would I do?

Or what if I couldn't leave because of taking care of a sick relative and thought - my house is pretty strong and New Orleans has been spared so many times before. And even though the storm is brutal my house survives. But then comes the water. Soon my house floods and my sick relative and I are on the roof with no food, no water and no communication. I think that of course the authorities will come and pick us up. But hours go by and nothing happens. My relative sinks closer to death as I watch dead bodies float by and can do nothing. What would I do?

Or suppose I got out of the house and into a hotel. But when the flooding started we were told to go to the Super Dome. But a river of water separated me from there. I have no food, no water, no clear instructions and am getting desperate in the intense heat. What would I do?

This isn't even looking at the best case scenario: If I evacuated the city and had a car I would be stuck where I was. I would have no knowledge of the state of my house and everything I own (let alone the state of my friends and loved ones). And to get gas I would have to wait in line for hours to pay an incredible amount. And what if I ran out of money?

What Do We Do?

I know that there are so many government and private agencies that are right now desperately trying to reach and help people. But the problems are so scary. Do they rescue the people on roofs or stop the looting? Do they pick up everyone on the road or deliver the food? Do they evacuate people from the increasingly desperate Super Dome or start taking the dead bodies from the streets and water? And how the heck do they get the water drained?

And I can only imagine the desperation and frustration of the confused, hot, hungry, dying refugees. Why are trucks and helicopters and boats going by me without helping? It probably feels like no one cares, while the helpers feel impotent to stop the rising tide of catastrophy.

I can only pray that somehow soon that someone can get a handle on the situation. I hope that the refugees don't give up. I pray that the entire area doesn't turn into a war zone of desperate angry people. And I pray that someday, that section of the United States will recover.