DATE: Monday, November 17, 1997             TAG: 9711140870

SECTION: LOCAL                   PAGE: B3   EDITION: FINAL 

TYPE: Column 

SOURCE: George Tucker 

                                            LENGTH:   71 lines

A LOW-LIFE EARNS A HIGH COMEUPPANCE FROM A "CONTENTED" LADY

One of Norfolk's oldest and most attractive downtown commercial structures, now known as 100 E. Main St., was the scene of an impromptu comedy during the early days of the present century. At that time it was occupied by the dry goods and ladies millinery firm of Watt, Rettew & Clay, popularly known as Watt's. Before imparting the yarn, however, I'd like to preface it by giving a few facts concerning the history of the building.

Erected in 1869 by S.A. Stevens and his business partner, J.A. Ames, on a lot at the northeast corner of Main and Granby streets that had formerly been used by traveling circuses, the mansard-roofed building housed the Stevens Furniture Co. until 1896. Interestingly, the structure was already 13 years old when Oscar Wilde introduced Norfolkians to the gospel of aestheticism from the stage of the nearby Academy of Music on July 10, 1882, during his widely publicized American lecture tour.

Its next tenant was Watt's, the arena of the mini-farce referred to above. It remained in the building until the firm became a victim of the Great Depression in 1929. Later the premises were occupied by the Willis Furniture Co., and when that firm moved to the Virginia Beach area in the 1950s, they were taken over by the Haynes Furniture Co., which remained there until 1975. Finally, after standing idle for a long period, the present owners reactivated the building for professional and commercial uses, one of its present occupants being Toysmiths, whose fabulous playthings never fail to attract me when I am in that neighborhood.

So much for moth-eaten historical data. Now for the hilarious yarn.

One summer afternoon during the period when the Gibson Girl was the ideal of every American female no matter how plain, a spirited Norfolk matron was sashaying along Main Street when she noticed something unusal in Watt's window. Raising her lorgnette, she saw a handsome Singer sewing machine on display with a sign attached to it reading: ``This elegant sewing machine will be given to the first contented lady who applies for it.'' Since the machine at home she had been using for many years had seen better days, the woman immediately envisioned it being replaced by the one in the window.

As the brightness of the afternoon had lifted her spirits, she walked into Watt's and asked to speak to the head floorwalker. A few minutes later she was confronted by an oily specimen, outfitted in a Prince Albert coat, striped trousers, patent leather shoes and a bat-wing collar that accented an ascot tie set off by a flashy stick pin. Massaging his hands and bowing obsequiously, he asked what the woman would like.

``Oh,'' she said brightly, ``I've come in to claim that sewing machine in the window.''

``Has madam read the sign attached to the machine?'' the man asked.

``Certainly,'' she replied. ``It says it will be given to the first contented lady who applies for it.''

Cocking a knowing eye at his victim, the man continued, ``And are you perfectly contented, madam?''

``Of course I am,'' she answered defiantly. ``Otherwise I would never have come in and asked for it.''

``But I still question if you are perfectly contented,'' the man insisted.

``But I am,'' the matron declared. ``I have a good husband, a nice home, loving and obedient children, good health and no financial worries. What more oculd I ask for?''

``That's the point of the matter, madam,'' the floorwalker said. ``Even though you think you are contented, you are still hankering for our sewing machine. And since that is the case, I'm afraid Watt's can't oblige you by presenting it to you.''

Then, after a slight pause, he added, ``Now if you are interested in buying a sewing machine . . .''

But he didn't get a chance to finish his sales pitch. Drawing herself up to the full extent of her pompadoured height, the matron trumpeted, ``You low-life cur!'' and swept out of the store.

All of which proves that the women of our grandmothers' generation knew how to put a bounder in his place without losing a scintilla of dignity.

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