Covering the Ugly

Frederick Bond walked briskly down the sidewalk heading for the pharmacy. It was unseasonably warm in Chicago for mid-October, and his fine wool topcoat was unbuttoned and swung freely as he walked. Still, gloves felt good.

Heavy gray clouds pushed back on the sun’s attempts to get the day started, but the city ran on its own schedule. Delivery trucks and vans were starting to fill the streets and alleyways, supplying all manners of produce and products to Chi-Town businesses. The quantity of things a person might acquire still fascinated Frederick.

He had grown up as a middle child with ten siblings on a small farm in rural Illinois. They had each other, not things. He might still be there, he reflected, but his world shattered when he was 13 and his 11-year-old sister, Emmy Lou, died of the croup. She had been his friend, his confidante, his favorite. She was pretty in a pale, delicate way and she was wicked smart. She borrowed books and read aloud to him. She made him read. She made him like it.

The following winter his father left suddenly. Frederick remembered the knot of men milling about, scuffling, a knife, and a huge, red-stained patch of dirt in front of the old shed. The sheriff came to the house and his mother stood at the door of their shack in her cotton shift as the cold blew through the room where they huddled together. That night the snow came hard, covering the shack and the yard. His mother stood at the window and said, more to herself than to the children, “Snow covers the ugly with a blanket of grace.” He didn’t understand what she meant. He thought it might be from the Bible. But he understood that his father would not be back. He left soon after that.

Loud clanging filled the air as a trolley stopped a half block ahead of Frederick and discharged the early birds, the openers. He was one of them, arriving early, bracing for a busy day. He shivered involuntarily. What had prompted thoughts that felt like premonitions? It was natural, he told himself, to be nervous about a new venture. His nerves coupled with the unusual weather and the increased scope of business had triggered unbidden memories from long ago. He needed to focus. He was expecting deliveries today, legal and otherwise. Both Andrew and Dorothy would be coming in to help.

Frederick unlocked the front door of the pharmacy. He made his way through the store to his private office, hung up his coat and hat, then grabbed a broom and cleaning cloths from the small utility closet. He unlocked the door to the chiro suite and started cleaning. The physical act of sweeping the floor calmed him. Just two years before he had been sweeping the floors in the Marigold Room, dragging huge blocks of ice upstairs into the bar service area and polishing glassware for the bartenders. A bar boy with few prospects. And now here he was, appropriately licensed and fully prepared to exploit the multiple opportunities provided by the increasingly unpopular Volstead Act.

Frederick’s first office was not far from this one. It had been cramped with just enough room for a tiny waiting area and a small treatment room. Chiropractic training had cost him two weeks and $150. That included a diploma, a treatment table, a book and a wall chart. It also included tips on how to hard sell people and advice to refer really sick people to real doctors. There was no license required. But suddenly you were Dr. Bond.

He got lucky, he reflected, when Mrs. Algernon Hart had walked into that small office one morning, accompanied by her niece, Dorothy Louise. Mrs. Hart was a wealthy widow whose inheritance included three houses, several commercial buildings and a lot of railroad stock. Dorothy Louise lived with her grandmother. She was rebellious and had the morals of a very pretty alley cat. Her grandmother disapproved of her conduct but spoiled her, trying to compensate for the accident years ago that had taken both her parents.

Mrs. Hart was referred to Frederick Bond, D.C., by one of his former patients. She suffered from aches that responded well to Dr. Bond’s soft tissue manipulations, spinal adjustments and heat therapy. His personal charm, good looks and willingness to listen pleased her.

Dorothy Louise returned later without her grandmother, a rather cheeky move for a young woman of the day and Frederick correctly diagnosed and treated her malady with a nice dinner that evening and a special treatment session in the bedroom of his home. She rather liked him and let him call her Dot when they were alone.

Dorothy Louise found most of the men she knew shallow and foolish. Frederick was different. She listened raptly to his plans and was intrigued to learn that he would be – in four short months – a fully licensed pharmacist. It was her enthusiasm that got him this very desirable six-room suite from her grandmother at a special family and friends’ rate. Dorothy Louise dressed like the heiress she was, but she could act like a cheap floozy. Frederick was pretty certain she just needed attention and thought that she might revert to her roots if she had a purpose in life beyond wearing the latest fashions. He was beginning to think that marrying her might be a good thing for both of them.

The front doorbell jingled. Frederick started. The pharmacy did not open for another hour, and he thought he had locked the door behind him when he came in. The store was warming up and Street Corner Tom, having just filled the newspaper racks on the sidewalk corner outside, had probably come in to escape the chill for just a moment.

Frederick greeted him. “Good morning, Street, how’s it going today.”

“I’m good, Doc,” replied the newsboy. Street was tall and lanky, about 20 years old, with sandy brown hair and a thin face. He seemed serious for such a young man, but he was always pleasant and was respected on the street for his hard work.

“One for you,” he said as he turned to leave, indicating a copy of the Chicago Daily Tribune folded in half and lying on the soda fountain counter.

“Much obliged,” replied Frederick.

Street left the shop, the bell jingling again. Frederick checked the time and decided to just leave the door unlocked. He propped the broom against the wall and piled cleaning supplies on top of the pharmacy counter. He would leave the main store cleaning to Andrew. He moved behind the counter and leaned over the newspaper. Large headlines caught his attention.

Tuesday, October 16, 1923

ST LOUIS REPORTER EXPOSES MEDICAL LICENSE MILL.

ARRESTS PENDING PER D.A.

Center front and above the fold was a picture of Dr. Ralph, the man who had guided him out of the Marigold Room and made him the chiropractor and the pharmacist he was today. The story covered the entire first page. Apparently it had debuted yesterday in St. Louis and was being picked up by newspapers nationwide. Everyone was going to know about this. Frederick was horrified.

He skimmed the page. There was a detailed account of how the reporter for the St. Louis Star and Times, posing as a coal salesman with no high school diploma, had received a high school diploma, a chiropractic license and a medical degree with a Missouri medical license in less than a few months and for less than $1,000.

For a moment greed trumped fear. It had taken him almost two and a half years to achieve the same path with the difference being a pharmacy license instead of a medical license. Had they swindled him? He had paid $100 for a high school diploma, then $150 for two-weeks of chiropractic training, and the year at college cost well over $1,000.

ARRESTS EXPECTED SOON!

Fear returned and was mixed with apprehension. Frederick’s gut tightened and he thought he might throw up. Dr. Ralph, Dr. Alexander and Professor Sachs were all mentioned by name. Three men – up until now distinguished in their communities – were in serious trouble. Three men whom he had served many times in the Marigold Room. Smart, prescient men who had correctly predicted the effects of the Volstead Act before it was passed, and who had offered him a way to a prosperous future when his dreams of being head bartender at the Marigold Room were crushed as newly enacted federal law closed bars.

Dr. Ralph bragged that he was the brains of the operation, and was quoted as saying, “I can make anybody anything!” Frederick had heard him say that countless times. No mistakes, it was Dr. Ralph! He further denied any guilt, then proclaim that he had obtained over 200 medical licenses and 100 pharmaceutical licenses for bartenders who wished to go into the drugstore business.

Panic set in. Frederick felt exposed, as if there was a huge target on his back, a bright light surrounding him, arrows flashing red and pointing at him. Mrs. Hughes would boot him off her property. Dorothy Louise would never speak to him again. He would go to prison. He …

The bell on the door jingled. He started visibly and immediately closed and folded the newspaper. Andrew walked in with his usual upbeat smile and greeting.

“Morning, Doc.”

He hung up his coat and hat, put on a shop apron, and grabbed the broom. “We waiting for a delivery today?”

“Yes, we are. I’ll need your help with that, so get the store cleaned up as soon as possible. Oh, and I’ve already done the chiro office.”

Andrew got right to work. Frederick liked the young man and knew that he could have been Andrew – 22 years old with no prospects after working hard to establish himself at a local bar near the Loop. He was a little older than Andrew, a little better positioned when Amendment 18 was ratified, and lucky to fall in with some movers and shakers. Well, maybe lucky. Maybe not. Dr. Ralph loved to talk. And Frederick wondered what records he had kept. Were there lists of names somewhere? Would the police find them?

Dorothy Louise would be arriving soon. What if she had already seen the news? He felt as if his guilt was evident, oozing out of his pores and visible to everyone around him. Andrew glanced his way and stopped sweeping.

“Are you okay, Doc,” he asked, concerned.

Frederick realized he was sweating profusely. He started to answer but was interrupted by the loud chime of the cellar bell. Simultaneously the bell on the front door jingled. A symphony of salvation. He glanced towards the back of the store, then turned and looked at Dorothy Louise as she walked in. Then he looked at Andrew. “I’ll go accept the order. Come down as soon as you can.”

He bolted for the cellar stairs but caught the look that passed between Andrew and Dorothy Louise.

Frederick and Andrew spent the next two hours verifying, logging and storing the liquor order. Frederick’s signature was required on all federal forms, so he checked the shipping documents and completed the controlled inventory forms while Andrew moved the bottles upstairs.

There wasn’t a lot of discussion. Frederick had time to calm down and think about the drama. He had been surprised to read that Professor Sachs, a former head of the Missouri Department of Education, had been found with officially pre-signed high school diploma forms and official Department Seals. When asked how many fraudulent diplomas he had produced over the past eight years, Prof. Sachs’ estimate of 15,000 seemed impossible.

Frederick knew that Dr. Alexander controlled the college and Dr. Ralph’s fingers were everywhere.

He heard footsteps, but this time they were not Andrew’s. They were light, hesitant. Dorothy Louise called out quietly. “Freddie?” She was the only person in the world who called him that.“Freddie, you need to come up here now.There is a policeman and some other men. One of them is from the Pharmacy Board. They say they need a mugshot. Golly, Freddie, are you okay?”

He turned towards the boxes and bought some time fiddling with the flaps and moving bottles around inside the nearest crate.

“On my way, Dot. It’s okay,” he said. “Go upstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”

He took a couple of deep breaths. Might as well get it over with. He grabbed a couple of bottles of Yankee Rye Medicinal Whiskey just to have something to physically hold on to and walked upstairs.

A uniformed police officer stood near the front door. A slender man with shirt sleeves rolled up was busy adjusting the lens of a box camera on a tripod. His suit jacket and coat were thrown on one of the fountain stools. A large sheet of black fabric had been raised in front of the camera. Frederick was confused. Mugshots, he thought, are normally done at the precinct station, aren’t they?

A tall, distinguished gentleman in a nice suit approached him, hand extended. Frederick handed the Yankee Rye to Andrew, shook the man’s hand and said, “Frederick Bond. What can I help you with?”

“James Rivers, Director of the Illinois Board of Pharmacy. Hey, only you are licensed to handle that alcohol, you know.”

Frederick reached over and took back one of the bottles from Andrew, holding it out towards Director Rivers.“New stock,” he said. “Seal’s not broken. Andy is helping me with stock and inventory. That’s allowed, right?”

“Right you are. Good to know we have men who know the law and follow it!”

Frederick’s mind was racing, trying to read the clues. He decided the direct approach was best. “So, Mr. Rivers, what bring you out my way today. And what is this all about?” He motioned to the camera and its operator standing by patiently.

“We are tightening the system, Mr. Bond. I am sure you read the papers this morning about that scandal out in St. Louis. Seems it has spread to Kansas City also, and Lord knows where else. But we are going to keep Illinois honest. We are updating all of our pharmacy license files and yours, Mr. Bond, does not have a photograph.”

Frederick stood still thinking as things started to fall into place.

“Mr. Rivers,” he stated, “I am sure I submitted a photograph – a head shot, they called it, when I applied to take the examination.”

Frederick was half-bluffing, searching to flesh out long-harbored suspicions. He had paid Dr. Ralph $300 to take the examination for him and Ralph had insisted on another $50 for a photograph. Frederick had never seen a photographer – there had been no picture as far as Frederick knew – and that had always bothered him.

“Oh, you absolutely did, Mr. Bond,” replied Mr. Rivers, nodding his head for emphasis. “You would not have been admitted to the exam room without photographic identification. But the photographer did shoddy work! Look at this!”

Rivers opened a leather folder and pulled out a photo. “Look at that,” he said with disgust, handing it to Frederick.

What had been a photo at one time was all pale yellow and tan within ivory borders. There was only the ghost of an image remaining.

“I paid good money for this,” commented Frederick sadly.

“It’s not just you, if that is any comfort,” replied Mr. Rivers. “We are seeing quite a few of these here and a large number of them in Missouri. We think the locus of all this is probably St. Louis. The photographer didn’t put his name on the back of the photo as usual, so we surmise that the work has been intentionally sabotaged and he is probably part of the ring they have busted down there.”

“Hmm,” said Frederick, “That makes sense then. I recall he told me he was traveling. Well, let’s get this done.”

He moved into position in front of the black cloth. The photographer was professional and quick. When he finished Dorothy Louise and Andrew helped him fold the backdrop cloth. Frederick resumed the small talk with Director Rivers. “Nice that Chicago’s finest is helping out,” he stated, giving a small salute to the police officer. “Have you encountered any danger?”

“No, and don’t expect any. It’s just easier and quicker to travel in a vehicle with flashing lights that gets the right-away. Chicago is a bit bigger than Springfield.”

The photographer, ready to go, was standing at the door. “We need to go now, “he said. “It’s starting to snow.

“It won’t be much,” commented the policeman. It’s only October, but it will tie up traffic. Let’s move.”

After they left, Frederick stood at the door looking out. It was gray and tiny snowflakes were falling fast. There was a thin scrim of icy snow already on the ground. Frederick didn’t believe it would last – too early in the season and it had been too warm – but it signaled a change.

He turned to Dorothy Louise. “Thank goodness the other shipment wasn’t delivered while they were here!”

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you when I first came in.” she responded. “I saw Boney downtown. The product is being delivered directly to the house, and me and Andrew will sort things out tomorrow. We have about 100 people coming on Friday. They all know to speak easy.”

Frederick looked back outside. His mother’s words floated through his mind like a blessing. ‘Snow covers the ugly with a blanket of grace.’ He thought he might understand.