The Muny - Part 2
I entered the stage during the 1950’s. As all St. Louisans do, I came to know the heat and humidity of St. Louis summers quite rapidly. At the age of 7 or so, I received an invitation to attend the Muny, or perhaps more accurately, I found myself being stuffed into the back of the family wagon for the ride over to the Park. I remember wearing tie and coat and feeling as hot as I ever had in my short life. I do not remember the show but the name of Bob Hope kept arising as he was the lead in Roberta that summer.
In order to combat the heat, Muny officials elected to install mammoth steel tower fans with huge Air Force like blades, situated up and down each side of the Muny seating area. They reminded me of Rod Serling and The Twilight Zone; unfortunately, the fans really didn’t work. In truth, what good is it to just push around 90 degree air? Even more troubling was the deafening noise emanating from the well meaning fans laboring above the crowd. This, of course, led to the decision to cease operation of the fans during the show, which represented about 80% of the time spent at the Muny. When the fans did resume blowing at intermission, I have never seen such a mad dash to the concession stands located at the flanks of the seating area, all in search of ice cream and cold drinks.
The Muny played a significant role in Schlafly family life during the summer. My father used the tickets for both business entertainment purposes as well as entertaining friends. The “Muny experience” developed into a finely honed production. With my mother running the show, guests would arrive at 6:30 pm for cocktails, served on the screen porch of our Pershing Place house in the Central West End. Dinner, featuring tomato aspic and chicken salad, followed cocktails no later than 7:15.
I knew these times well as I was on duty as a quasi-waiter for cocktails and serving dinner. Within the family, we were very cognizant that the overriding goal was to get the guests out of the house no later than 8:00 pm as the Muny national anthem commenced at 8:15 pm sharp , when the summer evening light had receded just enough to commence the production.
The Muny routine played out each Thursday night during the summer. It had to have been a burden for my mother to organize it; however, her tomato aspic dish was incomparable. Nonetheless, to be fair, my father played a key role in one vital element of the process: being in the seats by 8:15 pm. As a good Swiss-German, he had figured out, to the second, how quickly one could travel from 4946 Pershing to Row 5 of the Muny. At his best in the 50’s and early 60’s, he could pull it off in under 8 minutes.
Only later did I learn that his secret revolved around parking. From the back seat, I watched in awe as he zoomed through the Park from Kingshighway and approached the strategically located lower parking lot of the Muny. It was five minutes to the Anthem, when magically the barrier to the lot swung open and Dad greeted Billy, one of the St. Louis Police Department’s finest.
Billy directed us to a perfect parking place, which seemed reserved, and my father reached out of his window and sort of shook hands with Billy while thanking him. It was not totally clear, but I believe I saw something change hands between them. When I asked Dad, he replied cryptically that I had just witnessed the “Green Thumb”. Only a short walk from there to our seats, we could hear the orchestra tuning and we had a full minute to spare.