My only claim to fame is that I’ve put three downtown department stores out of business. Let me clarify that: of course I didn’t have anything to do with closing them down, but they’re gone, and a part of me has gone with each one of them, especially L. S. Ayres & Co.
Those of us who grew up in Indianapolis remember that going Downtown was a special event, especially at Christmastime, when all the department stores had their windows full of magical, animated displays. I always had to dress up and behave when I had lunch with Mother and Grandma in one of the Tea Rooms.  And Ayres Tea Room, of course, was my favorite because they had special dishes for the children, and a toy chest that held wondrous treasures that I could take home with me. It wasn’t ‘til much later that I learned to love the Chicken Velvet Soup. Yummm!
I graduated from Indiana Central College with a degree in Psychology. After spending a year in a related field, I decided that was not my calling. I’d always had an interest in writing, had worked on my high school and college newspapers, and had been editor of my college yearbook. When I saw a want ad in the paper for an advertising assistant at L. Strauss & Co., I applied for it and was hired. I spent most of the next 20 years as a copywriter in the advertising departments of  Strauss, William. H. Block, and L. S. Ayres.
When I was at Block’s, there was a standard joke: if you got an advertising position at Ayres, you’d died and gone to heaven. I left Block’s to start my family, and when I was ready to go back to work, my former boss at Block’s had moved on to Ayres. He contacted me to say that a copywriter’s position had opened up, and he wanted me to come and apply for it.
At the time, Ayres was still under the direction of one of the “Ayres Heirs,” David Williams. I’ll never forget the winter when it snowed almost every day (very much like our January-February-March of 2014). I drove a Chevette, which I’d named The Silver Bullet. That little car was a trooper; there were many snowy days when I would be one of the few who could get to work.  One of those days ~ after driving for what seemed like hours across the North Pole ~ when I stepped on the elevator, there was Mr. Williams, looking like he had also driven through the morning snow and ice. I apologized to him that I’d come to work late, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.  He sneezed and said, “I’m just grateful you came to work on such a miserable morning.  Thanks for being here.” Not too many CEO’s these days would even talk to one of their worker ants, much less thank her or him for simply showing up for work.
I loved writing copy for the Special Events Department. Among my favorites: the cherub that magically appeared on the Ayres Clock every Thanksgiving Eve, Breakfast with Santa, Breakfast with the Easter Bunny, inviting kids to come face to face with Darth Vader, and announcing the opening of Santaland each year.
I always told my own children that the real Santa Claus was at Ayres ~ all the others were just helpers.  One year, on the day before Thanksgiving, after the Display Department had created Santaland, they invited the advertising staff to come up to the 8th floor and ride the Santaland train. It brought out the kid in all of us, and it seemed as if we were still children who traveled through that sparkling, shining wonderland.  Buying a morsel of Godiva chocolate afterwards (one piece was all the average mortal could afford, even with an employee discount) was a perfect ending for that particular morning.
One of my great disappointments is that I always wanted to be the Story Lady at Christmastime and wear the long red dress with white fur trim.  Alas, my first commitment was to write copy, and Christmas deadlines had to be respected, so there was no time to be the Story Lady.
In 1985, a large, successful, impersonal East Coast conglomerate bought Ayres’ parent company, and we watched, sadly, as everything changed. The merchandise was lesser quality, and there was more of it. Clothing racks were packed so closely that a shoplifter got tangled up in one as he was trying to run out with what he’d taken. While it certainly discouraged shoplifting, it also seemed to discourage shopping.
The highest profit-margin department in the store had been the Crystal Room, which offered women’s expensive designer clothing and provided personalized shopping service. The new owners closed the Crystal Room, under the rationale that Indianapolis didn’t have “that kind of customer.”
When the plans for the Circle Centre Mall began to appear, the new owners decided that Ayres would not be a part of it. Their intention was clear: to close the downtown, flagship store that had been there for over 120 years, a wonderful tradition that had been so much a part of the lives of the people of Indianapolis and those of us who were privileged to work there.
I left in 1987.  The art department made me a huge, poster-sized card, the front of which had a picture they’d taken of me when I dressed as a clown for a special event.  The greeting inside said, “Clare… the only clown in history known to leave the circus to go home.” I’ve recently reconnected with some of my friends from Ayres. And I realize, anew, that it wasn’t “just a job.” It was a place where you were appreciated, where you could make friends with your co-workers, where you were free to be creative and funny, and genuinely care about what you were doing.