The Queen Comes to Chicago!

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Chicago

July 1959 

Peggy Standish

       

At the beginning of every school year, the nuns gave us the same assignment, a composition to be titled, “What I Did Over My Summer Vacation”.  This year, I'm determined to have something exciting to write about, though I’d yet to discover what that was.  So far, the most interesting thing that happened was the Fourth of July, and that was only because of my Uncles, Frank and Ernest.  They always managed to surprise us with their competitive pyrotechnics and were the envy of the neighborhood fireworks fanatics.  But, that was about it.  September would be here before I knew it. I was on high alert for anything that wouldn’t make me appear like the dullest student of St. Sebastian’s sixth-grade class.

It was on the morning after the Fourth that I found what I’d been looking for. Instead of staring out the window at the breakfast table, or reading the back of the Rice Krispies cereal box for the umpteenth time, I gazed over the top and at the front page headlines of the newspaper Dad was reading.

BEVY AND BALLYHOO Expected AT BUCKINGHAM!!!

Chicago rolls out the RED Carpet

for the Queen and her Prince

This Monday, July 6, 1959, Chicago is to have a royal day indeed. Queen Elizabeth and her husband, Prince Phillip, will arrive on their yacht, the Britannia, on their first visit to our city.  There will be much fanfare and celebration as she steps onto a specially built “Queen’s Landing” to view Buckingham fountain where she will be greeted by the Mayor’s wife. The festivities will continue…

        It was only a glimmer, but by the time I got to the bottom of my cereal bowl, a bright idea lit up my mind.  I knew just what I was going to do. The only trouble was, I had to convince my parents, then beg my best friend, Kenna, to come with me.  And, I had only one day in which to do it!

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“Even if you can manage to convince Kenna’s parents, I’m still not quite sure about this.  You’ve never gone downtown without an adult. And to such an ostentatious event? They’ll be thousands of people there.  I don’t think it’s a good idea,” said Mom.      

          Here’s the thing about it; I half agreed with her. It would be my first time venturing into the Loop on my own, if you don’t count Kenna.  But, I didn’t dare show a single shred of uncertainty. That would have killed Mom’s confidence in me, and my plan would be no more.

            “Babs, was my age when she went with her friends downtown on the bus, I deserve the same chance,” I said, holding that fact over my mother’s head.

             She didn’t deny it. “Yes, that’s true your sister did,” she said, and then added, “but there wasn’t such a large crowd expected in the heart of the city that day.”

            “A lot of those people will be there just to gawk at the Queen, there’ll be police all over the place,” I told her. “I couldn’t be safer.”

            And so, like all parents, who really want to say “no”, but don’t want to be the ones to actually come out and say it, she gave that job to Kenna’s parents. Without much conviction in her voice, she told me, “If Kenna’s folks say it’s OK with them then I guess it’ll be OK with me.”

           Surprised at my luck, I mumbled under my breath, “That was a breeze.” And headed out the back door towards my best friend’s house.

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  Kenna, however, wasn’t as easy to persuade. She was a homebody and not prone to exploration the way I was. The idea of going downtown amongst a large crowd was bad enough. Doing it on our own (not to mention for the first time) well, let’s just say I got the feeling that she would have rather kissed the class nerd, Covington Fletcher, flat out on the mouth!(well, maybe)

            “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to do it.” I kept after her.

            “I’d rather it be later,” she quipped.

            I didn’t ask her where her spirit of adventure was. I knew she had little of it.

Trying a different method, I went from begging to whining, and finally resorted to guilt-goading. “Awwwwwwww comeon’ Kenna, you owe me.”

            She pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest.

“I went for a whole week with you to your Grandparents dairy farm in Wisconsin. Remember?” I asked, and continued, “You said you’d be bored to the brink all by yourself. Remember? I got butted by a goat. But did I complain? When I was chased down by angry wasps after I bumped into their hornet’s nest, did I hold it against you? And what about letting me think we were going out to their barn to have dessert after dinner.  Cowpies? Really? Even after being the brunt of that joke, I helped you shovel out their stalls. Didn’t I?”

            “I knew you’d bring that up one day.” She scowled at me.

            Though I never consciously stored those things in the back of my mind, I supposed she was right. Whatever the case, she agreed to go with me.

          We had no trouble convincing her parents who said that, "if it was OK with my mom, it was OK with them”.  Of course, I never divulged that they were just repeating Mom’s strategy. There are some things better left unsaid. 

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            Everyone knows when you go downtown you have to wear your Sunday best, so it goes without saying we were prepared and would be more than ready. There was always a (slim) chance that we might get to shake hands with the Queen.  If we did get that lucky, would we have to curtsy too? I put that horrifying thought out of my mind as quickly as it came in.

The pair of us rose early in the morning. We’d been to other parades and knew from experience they could draw huge crowds. The evening news said that as many as 50,000 spectators were expected. It was important to get a head start.

            Kenna clung to my side, and for her sake, I put on a totally brave front (even though I was shaking in my summer-white patent leather shoes). I’d written down directions, the buses we were supposed to catch, kept extra change in my purse for the fare and a dollar in my sock (mom’s solution to making her feel better in case we lost our purses). 

 A special landing spot was built next to Lake Michigan, as well as a special crossing. Lake Shore Drive always hummed with traffic.  And if the Queen was going to tackle that busy road to get to Buckingham fountain, she’d have to have a more elegant way to maneuver it. I couldn’t imagine her running across holding on to the hand of her husband, Prince Phillip, dodging cars like commoners.

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By the time we arrived and found our way to Congress Street, people had already staked out and claimed their spots. It was a sea of humanity, one that Kenna and I slowly waded through.  We managed to get relatively close, but were heads and shoulders beneath the crowd. 

Blocked from seeing most of the Queen’s Landing, we barely got a glance at the barge that carried the royal couple from ship to shore. At least I got a glimpse of the Queen’s yacht, Britannia.  Its flag flying high above the deck; the big cross flapped in the wind, and the colors were the same as ours, red, white and blue.  I guess that was pretty understandable since Americans were practically related to the English. After all, we spoke the same language (sort of), didn’t we? Suddenly, military planes zoomed overhead and the fire boats sprayed geysers almost as high as the aerial display.

 “Here, take my hand Kenna,” I commanded her. This was no time to be polite and ask, please. “Let me hold on to it for balance.”

She stretched out her arm and asked, “What for?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I stepped on top of the fireplug next to me, raised my hand that held my Kodak Brownie camera above my head, and blindly snapped pictures in the general direction of the landing.

“You’ll waste all that film,” Kenna said. “You can’t even see what you're shooting at from there.”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and get a good shot,” I told her, my hand still high above my head, hoping for the best.

Then, it happened.

“It’s the Queen’s hat!” a voice hollered.

A blustery breeze blew across the choppy waves and snagged the Queen’s white lace brimmed hat. It lifted from her chestnut brown hair, swirled around above the crowd, and floated on the wind.  In the wise words of my cousin, Wendell, “just leavin’ the house, can sometimes bring you an adventure”. Being here with my hand in the right place and at the right time, was about to bring me one. The Queen’s hat hooked on to the edge of my camera.

“She’s caught it!” called out the lady standing next to me.

“Caught what?” asked Kenna, tugging on the hem of my dress.

I held on to it and hopped off the red step stool.

How? I asked myself in shock. How could something like this have happened to me? Me, ordinary Peggy Standish, amongst thousands upon thousands of people.  Why me? But other than that small amount of contemplation over the miracle of it all, there was little time to think about it.

A tall policeman had pushed his way through the tight mob and loomed over me. I looked up at him, the sun reflecting off his gold badge, the visor from his cap shading his eyes.

“Young lady,” he spoke in a deep voice.  “Please come with me.”

Though I’d done nothing wrong, I felt as if I was going to be arrested. Fearful of losing my friend in this crowd, I grabbed Kenna’s wrist and followed closely behind him. The people parted for us like the Red Sea, and we tread our way to the front.  Not more than a hundred feet away from me, and in full view, sat her royal majesty, Queen of England.  I had read her full title in the newspaper before we left the house this morning, ‘Her Majesty Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and of Her other Realms and Territories, Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith’, but was sure I’d never be able to get it out in one breath correctly. It was a perplexing feeling; I was both terrified, yet hopeful that I’d be introduced to her.

“Wait here,” were the next words to fall from the officer’s lips.

Kenna and I stood as if someone had put glue on the soles of our shoes.

“What are they going to do to us?” she asked, her eyes wide.  “Maybe, you weren’t supposed to touch her hat. Maybe, it’s like some kind of holy relic or something like that. Maybe it’s forbidden, maybe…”

Personally, I looked at that hat differently. To me, it was like a trophy, like a ball that I might catch right after Ernie Banks slammed a homer across Wrigley Field. I could just about hear the audience cheering and Jack Brickhouse shouting, like he always did on the best plays, “Hey! Hey!”

            So, I felt pretty safe in telling Kenna, “Look, I caught that hat totally by accident. Actually, I did the Queen a favor…”

             The policeman interrupted by tapping me on the shoulder and held out his hand. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.  Disappointed, I placed her royal highnesses’ hat on his palm. There would be no introduction, no formal thank you, no shaking of the Queen’s white-gloved hand.

            Kenna saw the expression on my face. “Well, at least we have a great view of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip,” she said, trying to cheer me up.

            And that we did.  The weather was “fit for a Queen”.  She sat in a convertible limousine with Mayor Daily right next to them. One of the military aircraft buzzed above us, looking like it might knock off the antenna of the largest skyscraper downtown, the Prudential building.

            My disappointment soon faded when I realized Kenna and I were given a place of honor at the curb of the crossing. At least we got to see everything front and center. As the Queen drove off, she waved and nodded in my direction – I swear it was meant just for me!

  “Anyway,” I muttered to myself waving back, “That’s just how I'm going to write about it in my composition.”

                               THE END

Queen Elizabeth actually did visit Chicago the summer of 1959. Here’s a link to the video regarding the actual event.

http://www.britishpathe.com/video/chicagos-queen-for-the-day