Stamp Collecting Without a Babysitter or why Famous Barr has rubber doohickeys on their escalators

Once upon a time, my mom worked at the Famous Barr downtown. She frequently told us about the emergency stop button on the escalators, and the accidents she saw while working there. Then dad left, stuff happened, and we wound up living in a 1 bedroom apartment on California.

Mom had long since stopped working at Famous Barr. Now she worked for Royal Papers. They were located downtown, around the corner from Manhattan Coffee, and a mere 2 blocks away from Busch Stadium. Sometimes my sister and I would take a bus downtown and surprise mom at lunch time. This was always a good way to score some chili from O. T. Hodges, makers of the best chili in St. Louis. Mom was always happy to see us. We would show up at her desk, grinning; then we'd all walk to Hodges to eat massive bowls of all-meat chili for $1.20 a bowl. I never really connected those trips with mom eating peanut butter sandwiches for the rest of the week. (Geez, now I'm ashamed at my 11 year old selfishness)

Anyway, someone had given my sister and I stamp collecting kits for Christmas the year before; and it became tradition to surprise mom for lunch, then visit Famous Barr to (maybe) buy a new stamp. My sister was always finding ways of making money. That year she was a coat check girl at an Italian restaurant. She'd spend her tips on stamps.

The collectibles department was on the 8th or 9th floor, which meant a lot of escalator riding. We used to play around on the escalators, walking backwards, jumping the last few steps, etc. Nobody really cared, and we behaved ourselves when the escalator was crowded.
Most of the escalators were wide enough for us to stand side by side easily, but the 7th floor one was narrow. We had perused the stamps and were tired from all the walking we'd done that day. On the 7th floor escalator, we both sat down. J was in front, I was behind her. Near the bottom, I jumped past my sister, clearing the magic disappearing stairs easily. I turned in triumph to say, "Didja see that jump?!" to my sister, expecting some snide 'I jumped farther when I was 3' kind of comment.
Instead, I saw my sister crouched in front of the escalator for some reason. Even at 11 years old, I knew when something was wrong. Alarm bells started going off in my head, and I ran to the escalator. J had somehow managed to get her hand stuck in the space where the handrail goes into the escalator. She said, calmly, "Ow."
I completely forgot that all escalators had an emergency stop button. I grabbed the black hand rail and pushed with all my might, trying to make it go backwards so my sister could pull her hand out. The rubber slid through my hands. I couldn't stop it. I tried pushing harder. No results. I was starting to panic. I looked around and saw that we had drawn a crowd. My sister said, again quite calmly, "This really hurts. Could someone get my hand out?"
I knew there was an easy way to stop the escalator, but I couldn't remember how. It sat, nagging, in the back of my head. Visions of my mom telling us about the accidents she had witnessed while working at this very store popped into my head; but I couldn't remember the easy way to make the belt stop. I kicked the hand rail, thinking the jolt would trigger some hidden stopping device, then I stepped back to appraise the situation. I thought that just pulling her hand out would hurt it worse, so I looked at the crowd of adults for help. J said again, "This really hurts. Could someone help me?" The grown ups were so far away. There was a huge space between us and them. J's hand was slowly getting sucked deeper into the machine. The whole hand was buried now, and I couldn't stop the belt. I pleadingly said, "Help us. Please help my sister."
The crowd just stared. Then a man leapt from the crowd like Superman. He was of medium height. He was neither fat nor thin. He had a brown beard with a little bit of grey here and there. He was wearing a tie, but no jacket. He had blue eyes. I'll never forget him.
He didn't pause as I mentally photographed him. He went straight to my sister, grabbed her arm and yanked her hand free.
For a few seconds, the world slowed down. I had plenty of time to see the bloody, mangled mess if my sister's hand. I thought I could see some bone on two of her fingers. I completely lost control of myself. I felt faint, and I sat down cross-legged and started crying into my hands. I couldn't stop crying. My mind calmly stated, "You're having hysterics." Then, "This is what hysterics is like. J needs you. Help J." But I couldn't do anything except cry into my hands.
An employee came over and made me stand up. Then he (she? That part is gone from my memory) took my sister away. The man who saved my sister looked into my face and said, in the most gentle voice I'd ever heard, "Her hand is fine. They took her to (don't remember) floor. This man is going to take you to her. She'll be alright."
Someone led me to a service elevator. I looked back as we headed away from the crowd, but the man with the beard was gone. I never got to thank him, and he'll never know the end of the story. -but you will-

They took my sister to the nurses office and poured iodine on her hand. I sat on a chair in the dimly lit hallway, listening to her scream. The employee who brought me to the nurses hall sat with me for a little bit. He kept asking me, "Are you ok?" I kept telling him that I was. It was a lie, of course. I was not ok. I suggested that he had better things to do than sit with a kid, and eventually he went away.
A lot of this is blurry for me, and I'm sorry I can't share every excruciating detail. Really.
I remember the nurse asking J for mom's phone number. I vaguely recall hearing that mom was on her way. The only bits that come back to me with any intensity are me biting the heels of my hands every time I heard my sister cry out, and how incredibly lonely it was in the corridor.
Mom showed up after what seemed an eternity, but couldn't have been more than 15 minutes. She was a little winded; she had just run 6 blocks in high heels. She Looked at me, said, "Thank God you're alright," and went into the room where they were taking care of J.
I wish I could remember the reaming she gave the people on the other side of the door, but I can't. It's a shame. I'm sure her words were choice. I waited some more, feeling lost and unloved; with nothing but the walls for company. I tried to be mature about the whole thing. I was unhurt, my sister was in agony. Of course mom was going to rush to the injured child. I didn't expect her to take care of me too, but I really wanted to hear her say, "It's not your fault."

Mom called a cab to take us to Cardinal Glennon hospital. She and J came out, and we took the service elevator to the first floor. My sister's hand was heavily bandaged, and a little bit of blood was starting to seep through. We were escorted to the entrance, and waited for the cab on the sidewalk.
At the hospital, we were greeted by one of the owners of Royal Papers. He had brought along his brother, who was a lawyer. The lawyer didn't usually work in personal injury, but he thought this was worthy of a lawsuit. He explained that Famous Barr would not correct the escalator problem unless it went to court. He told mom that my sister was the perfect way to make sure something like this didn't happen to anyone else.
My sister's hand was photographed, x-rayed, splinted and re-bandaged. She was seen by a specialist, who declared that she would lose her middle fingernail, but should have full use of her hand. The lawyer waited while all this was going on, and he drove us home.
J's fingernail did come off, and she grew a new one. For a while, the nail was only attached on one side. She would chase me through the house, opening and closing her fingernail like it was a door. I'd run away screaming, "You're gross, you're so gross!"

We took Famous to small claims court, and won easily. When my sister testified, it was a sight to see. She was an A-B student with a big vocabulary and a lot of poise. She sat in the witness chair, swinging her feet and looking cute as can be. The judge was incensed that such a thing could happen to such a bright girl. He was also pissed at my mom. He told her she should have taken the case to civil court and asked for millions. Mom said, "I don't want millions. I just want Famous Barr to use safe escalators."
The judge awarded us the maximum amount allowed, $1600. He also ordered Famous to replace or repair the escalator in question. A few years later, we went shopping there, and noticed big rubber pads tied to the base of the hand rail. You would have to work hard to get your hand in there now. They never replaced the escalators that had been installed in the 1920's. My sister has scars for the rest of her life, and Famous Barr is out $1600, a few dozen foam pads, and our insurance co-pay. Woo-de-hoo.

On a brighter note. My sister works in the medical field now. She's a PA, certified for surgery. She does everything a doctor does, except write prescriptions. Missouri doesn't allow PA's to write scrips. She's damn good at her job, and I'm friggin' proud of her.