49 - Thanksgiving: Ruth and Dickie... and more about Mother

THE MILLENNIUM BILTMORE, Los Angeles

Ruth, circa 1932

    The longer I live away from the States, the less resonance I feel with Thanksgiving.  It is such a particularly American holiday, with all of its food and family implications, that when you are out of the context as I have been, living abroad these past 45 years, it is easy to get out of the habit, if not entirely out of the spirit.

Still, I do retain an early lifetime of memories associated with Thanksgiving family meals.   My Aunt Ruth could often be counted on to join us for the holiday spread, particularly after her own children had left home.   I remember how supportive she was of Dickie when he started shining as a cook.

Chef Dickie, starting out at a hash house

  Mother had a real knack for baking cakes, but for much of the rest, she was just so-so.   We liked her food just fine, that is after all what comfort food is all about; but when Dickie came along, that was something else!   

By the time Dickie reached twelve, he was already showing signs of a special talent.  Mother welcomed his enthusiastic participation in the preparation of holiday meals, to the point of gradually pretty well turning the kitchen over to him.  She sometimes had difficulty, however, in totally conceding the credit.

Ruth, Mother’s aunt, had reared her during most of her high school years and afterwards.  She was only ten years older, and although somewhere between sister and mother for her, was still a respected figure of authority.   A career school teacher and known as a stern disciplinarian, she was for years tagged by students as "The Blade."  To describe her as outspoken would be an understatement; she had exceedingly strong viewpoints on most matters.

Mother and her aunt Ruth(r) in the late 1930's

To my brothers and me, Ruth was another grandmother and a special Auntie Mame.  We welcomed her non-conformist ways, compared with the more traditional Pleasants side of the family.  I spent many weekends with her in Southern Pines, and opening tins of pork and beans at any hour of the day or eating breakfast in mid-afternoon was then a special treat.

She knew Mother better than most, and she wasn’t apt to let her get away with too much.  I remember one Thanksgiving when Dickie was just coming into his own, and he outdid himself with a feast of traditional plates to which he added his personal touch to make each dish special –sweet potato “soufflé” (at least that is what we called it in Aberdeen), asparagus casserole, creamed carrots, wonderful coconut cake (though in that department, Mother’s was just as good), and of course the pièce de résistance, butterball turkey with good old Southern-style sage and cornbread stuffing.  

Ruth with the ubiquitous Camel cigarette

 Mother was in a bad humor that year, I certainly don’t remember why, and Ruth’s repeated compliments to Dickie were not easing the atmosphere. 

“This is absolutely the best Thanksgiving turkey I have EVER tasted,” said Ruth to Dickie.  “Where in the WORLD did you learn to cook like that?  Why, you could open your own restaurant.” 



Dickie about that time ...

Mother tried to intercept in order to minimize.  In her very Southern manner, she said:  “Yes, he has certainly been a big little helper.” 


I remember Ruth’s reply, because she had this larger-than-life way of punctuating her ideas, of which I have a clear mental video, even today.   

She could be very argumentative, and had a tendency to take over conversations and get really passionate about whatever she was talking about, frequently jabbing her cigarette in the direction of her interlocutor for emphasis.  She was a perpetual crusader against whatever she saw as injustice, and on this Thanksgiving she definitely saw that my brother was not getting his rightful share of the credit: 

Mother a few years later

“Help?  What ARE you talking about?  Did you say Help?  Why, it looks to me like Dickie has done every single thing!"  I can still hear her throaty, gravelly cigarette voice.  "Every single, solitary thing, and it is DE-LI-CIOUS!  All I can say is, bravo, Dickie!”  

Mother would rarely declare defeat, but with Ruth, she sometimes realized that to declench further argument would be counterproductive, and I recall her ultimately shaking her head in resignation, in much the way today one might say, “Whatever!” 

Ruth with Mickie (left) and Dickie, Aberdeen 1957

The Biltmore Hotel ... back to Hollywood's Golden Age

1937 Academy Awards ceremony in the Biltmore's Crystal Ballroom 

     Brenda and I found ourselves in Los Angeles a few years ago on Thanksgiving.  We were taking a boat from San Diego which took us around part of Mexico and Guatemala, through the Panama Canal, a bit of Colombia, and on to the East Coast.

We spent a couple of days beforehand at the old Biltmore (now The Millennium Biltmore) in downtown L.A.   No longer quite the exquisite hotel of the stars it may have once been, it has nevertheless been remarkably well kept up, and in recent years increasingly dusted off and uplifted.  



Our spacious room at the Millenium Biltmore, November 2010

The largest hotel west of Chicago when it opened in 1923, there are still an awful lot of rooms to fill; and that means some tempting prices, particularly at off-season moments.

Contrary to what some might think, Thanksgiving and Christmas can be very off-seasonal.  In America there are probably no days in the year when more people go back home, wherever that might be, and that leaves plenty of hotel rooms vacant.

A typically art-déco nook in the Biltmore's bar

  So the Millennium Biltmore had too good a price to pass up, and we decided to stay there before embarking on the Holland America cruise.  Also, they advertised an enticing Thanksgiving meal which was billed as “the famous L.A. bountiful buffet brunch not to be missed!”     

For an old time movie buff like myself, the primary appeal of the Biltmore was its historic connection with the Academy Awards.  It was here in the hotel’s Crystal Ballroom that some of the iconic moments of the the Oscar’s history occurred in the late 1930’s and 1940’s.

The banquet hall where the event took place is still there, intact and in excellent condition.  It wasn’t open for visiting the week we were there (as it was being prepared for some event, probably a wedding reception), but we sneaked in without difficulty.

The Film Academy was in fact founded in 1927 at a luncheon in the Biltmore’s ballroom.  All the heads of studio were represented, and it is said that MGM art director Cedric Gibbons scribbled his design for the Oscar statuette on a linen hotel napkin.

The ornate ballroom is constructed a little like an opera house, with grand, carved columns and Austrian-crystal chandeliers.  The second-story balconies which surround the circular room offer the best viewing point, and the room still boasts a hand-painted 30-foot ceiling. 

As for the Thanksgiving feast, this was our only disappointment.  The food was about as uninspired as you could ever imagine, though the restaurant was packed with enthusiastic looking diners, both tourists and Angelinos.   We didn’t really care; there would be other, better Thanksgiving meals.  

Who knows?  Maybe even one of these days another prepared by Dickie.

Quite a bit of its past grandeur still on show (note ceiling)

Your input is welcomed:  frank.pleasants@libertysurf.fr

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

"Mother" is also featured in blog No. 46, "Grandmother Vivian, Doc and the Others" and No. 51, "A Christmas Gift ... the little red lamp"; Aunt Ruth was mentioned in the sidebar to blog No. 4, "Miss VFW 1951 at the Stork Club"   (to access, click on highlighted titles).