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Reinventing St. Louis: 1945–Present
After World War II, St. Louis’ booming population spun off in several directions. Florissant farmland was developed with a vengeance; rural St. Charles evolved into the area’s fastest-growing town. Streetcars disappeared; by and by, the MetroLink was built. The Arch went up, becoming a literal Gateway to the West. St. Louis got and lost one football team, then got another. Baseball fans said a sad goodbye to the Browns, and the Cardinals won the World Series five times. Areas once in decline (Forest Park, Tower Grove Park, Washington Avenue, the Delmar Loop) were reclaimed. St. Louis’ universities grew and gained prestige; arts organizations drew international attention. There were problems, always—shape-shifting racism, homelessness and poverty, and schools in crisis—but the era was filled with personalities who redefined St. Louis and drove the city forward.Joseph Elmer Cardinal Ritter (1892–1967)
Who he was: Progressive archbishop from 1946 until his death in 1967. Elevated to cardinal in 1961. What he did: Fought discrimination and desegregation. In 1946, endorsed the Sisters of Loretto’s wish to enroll black women in their Webster College (which his predecessor had ruled impossible); a year later, racially integrated all archdiocesan high schools and parish schools. Why it mattered: In desegregation, he was both early (Brown v. Board was seven years away) and steadfast (parishioners threatened suits; the P-D called him “a man of courage and a man of determination”). When the city caught up with his ideas, he was acknowledged as a critical agent of change.
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Raymond Tucker (1896–1970)
Who he was: A mechanical engineer turned mayor. What he did: As assistant to two mayors, Tucker helped clean up a city as dark at noon as it was at midnight. In three mayoral terms beginning in 1953, he stabilized the city financially, supported fluoridation of the water, helped establish the Metropolitan Sewer District and revised the city’s building code. He leaned for support on groups of business poo-bahs, such as Civic Progress (b. 1952). Why it mattered: He cleared the air in more ways than one—but by opposing plans to restructure the city-county relationship, he guaranteed we’d still be jawboning about a
merger today.
James S. McDonnell (1899–1980)
Who he was: Indisputable ace of air-and-space technology. What he did: Piloted St. Louis fighter-plane production from WWII through Nam, helped launch the Space Age with the Mercury and Gemini programs and, during the ’60s, headed the state’s largest single employer. Why it mattered: “Mr. Mac”: Even in his company’s cavern–ous, jet-strewn hangars—the realm of rivets and blue-collar “don’t blow smoke up my dress, pal”—employees used that nickname with reverence. Mr. Mac enjoyed uncommon loyalty at the aviation giant he founded as McDonnell Aircraft Corporation in 1939. Only Gussie Busch topped him as St. Louis’ most beloved CEO—and Gussie, God bless ’im, only put humans into orbit metaphorically.
James “Cool Papa” Bell (1903–1991)
Who he was: Negro League center fielder for the St. Louis Stars and “the fastest man in baseball.” What he did: It’s said Bell could reach first base in 3 seconds—faster than Mickey Mantle. Satchel Paige boasted that Bell could “turn off the light and be in bed before the room got dark.” Mainstream press coverage of Negro League games in the Jim Crow era was scanty to zero, so many of Bell’s early stats will never be known—but he may have been baseball’s fastest player ever. He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1974. Why it mattered: Though Bell never had the opportunity to play pro ball himself, he mentored Jackie Robinson, who would go on to break baseball’s color barrier in 1947. Bell’s talent, juxtaposed with the fact that he was never allowed to play in the majors, highlighted the irrationality of prejudice in American baseball. Dickinson Street, where Bell was living in the early ’90s when he passed away, was renamed “Cool Papa Bell Avenue” in his honor.
Marlin Perkins (1905–1986)
Who he was: Director of the Saint Louis Zoo from 1962 to 1984. What he did: Perkins started out in the reptile house at $3.25 an hour and worked his way up (via zoos in Buffalo and Chicago) to head our own menagerie of exotic species. For years he was the face of Wild Kingdom, a wildly popular TV show on which Perkins and sidekick Jim Fowler tracked animals down in their habitat. Perkins also served as the zoologist for Sir Edmund Hillary’s Mount Everest expedition. Why it mattered: Before the silver-haired and silver-tongued Perkins took over, the Saint Louis Zoo was headed south to second-class status. He U-
turned the institution and established the zoo as one of the nation’s best.
Katherine Dunham (1909–2006)
Who she was: Dancer, writer, Ph.D. anthropologist, voodoo priestess, Haiti-phile, activist and star. Called an “ambassador with hips” by one dance critic because of her ability to unite people of the African diaspora all over America and Europe. What she did: In the ’30s she convened The Dunham Company dance troupe, and in 1945 she opened the Dunham School of Dance. Dunham’s “technique,” which is still taught worldwide, married Caribbean and African dance forms with balletic styles from Europe. Inducted into the Black Filmmakers Hall of Fame in 1974, she not only appeared in films, but also choreographed for them (watch Abbott and Costello’s Pardon My Sarong). Why it mattered: Dunham’s museum and school in East
St. Louis exposed children to an international roster of dancers as well as to Dunham herself, an unapologetically confident woman.
Eero Saarinen (1910–1961)
Who he was: Controversial, technically innovative Finnish-American architect and designer. Few fans early on; now celebrated as a 20th-century master. What he did: Beat out his prominent architect father (and 170 others) to design the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial, the most recognizable object in our city, now visited by roughly 3 million people every year. Why it mattered: Several of his projects—such as the TWA Terminal in New York City—have shown the world America. With the Arch, whose 1967 public opening he didn’t live to see, he’s shown the world St. Louis.
William Adair Bernoudy (1910–1988)
Who he was: Modernist architect who brought Frank Lloyd Wright’s vision of “organic architecture” to St. Louis. What he did: After flunking out of his first year at Wash. U. in the late 1920s, Bernoudy hiked, fished, wandered and whiled away his time, finally applying to Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin Fellowship. In 1932 he and his classmates quarried stone, sifted sand and cut down trees to build Wright’s Taliesin studio. Three years later, Bernoudy returned to St. Louis and embarked on a 50-year architectural career that had him designing everything from Joseph Pulitzer’s pool pavilion to the monkey house at Grant’s Farm. Why it mattered: Bernoudy did more than just import a bit of Wright’s genius to Missouri. Through the merits of his own genius, he created a Modernist style indigenous to St. Louis.
Richard Amberg (1910–1967)
Who he was: Publisher of the St. Louis Globe-Democrat from 1955 until his sudden death in 1967. What he did: He ran the Globe like Hearst handled the Examiner—but with a markedly different political ideology. A staunch conservative, Amberg ran the afternoon Globe back when the Post was one of the country’s top-tier newspapers. But while the Post blazed journalistic trails nationally, Amberg made the Globe the city’s paper, staunchly promoting and opposing local causes. Why it mattered: Amberg’s deft touch can be still seen everywhere—from the medians he helped get built on Lindbergh Boulevard to the institutions he founded: including the BackStoppers, Old Newsboys Day, the Woman and Man of the Year awards and the Herbert Hoover Boys & Girls Club.
Tennessee Williams (1911–1983)
Who he was: One of America’s greatest playwrights. Southern-born, grew up in St. Louis, attending U. City High, then gladly left the city behind. Awarded four Drama Critics’ Circle Awards, two Pulitzers, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and—this would have been a knife in his side—a star on the St. Louis Walk of Fame. What he did: Transformed his demons into dialogue and stage direction. Why it mattered: Enriched our literary scene—early plays premiered here, and he contributed poems to Wash. U.’s Eliot Review and left a bit of St. Louis in his lasting work (especially The Glass Menagerie). He called St. Louisans “cold, smug, complacent, intolerant, stupid and provincial”—but we honor him anyway.
Paul Reinert (1910–2001)
Who he was: President of Saint Louis University from 1949 to 1974, chancellor until 1990, chancellor emeritus until his death in 2001. What he did: Led the university with intelligence, gentility and humility. During his tenure, Reinert admitted women, reached out to African-American students with scholarships and tutoring, revamped the board of directors to include lay members and non-Catholics, expanded the campus by 20 acres, added 10 new buildings, established three redevelopment corp–orations to shore up derelict areas bordering the campus—oh, and he brought KETC to St. Louis. Why it mattered: Because without him, the Grand Center arts district wouldn’t have existed, and SLU might still be the second-rate city school it was when he assumed the mantle.
Morton D. May (1914–1983)
Who he was: Like his grandfather David May and father Morton J. May, president of May Department Stores—and a philanthropist and king-size art collector. What he did: Helped raise the Arch and fill the Saint Louis Art Museum (and what’s now Wash. U.’s Kemper Art Museum) with world-class works. Why it mattered: For decades, May’s Famous-Barr was where you went when you couldn’t find what you needed anywhere else. Now the store’s sold, but May has left an enduring mark on the city through his art. Simply put, SLAM’s internationally renowned collection of German Expressionist, pre-Columbian and Oceanic art wouldn’t exist without him.
William S. Burroughs (1914–1997)
Who he was: Drug fiend; Beat novelist; gentleman outlaw; grandson of William Seward Burroughs, inventor of the adding machine. What he did: Though Burroughs is known for his novels, he worked as an exterminator and a marijuana farmer before going literary in his mid-30s. His writing career was constellated after he shot his wife in the head during a drunken game of “William Tell”: In self-exorcism, he began to write, and the result was Naked Lunch, a lewd, violent and decidedly ugly book that combined satire and Surrealism to skewer the most rotten aspects of 20th-century culture. The novel changed the course of American literature. Why it mattered: Had there been no Burroughs, there’d be no Beats; had there been no Beats, there’d be no Gaslight Square, at least not as we knew it.
Bill Veeck (1914–1986)
Who he was: Owner of the St. Louis Browns and promoter extraordinaire. What he did: If P.T. Barnum had had an illegitimate son, it should have been Veeck. This is the man who hired a little person (Eddie Gaedel) to pop out of a cake and then take the plate (wearing the number 1/8) at Sportman’s Park; the man who brought baseball the exploding scoreboard, planted ivy in Wrigley Field and was the first owner in baseball to recognize the need for ladies’ rooms. Why it mattered: Because if he hadn’t sold the Browns to Baltimore, this city could have had two baseball teams to support; Sportsman’s Park might not have been the site of the Herbert Hoover Boys’ Club; and October would have been considerably more exciting.
Lawrence K. Roos (1918–2005)
Who he was: A banker who was St. Louis County supervisor (today the office of county executive) from 1963 till 1975. What he did: During Roos’ administration, parks acreage quadrupled, and the county administration building and courthouse, the juvenile justice center and the prison in Gumbo Flats were all built, as were 210 miles of roads and parts of I-170. He modernized and moralized what had been a haphazard, scandal-ridden government. Why it mattered: As retail king and civic leader Howard Baer once commented, “He came in to bring the county into the 20th century. St. Louis County today is what Larry Roos made it.”
Bob Hyland (1920–1992)
Who he was: General manager of KMOX from 1955 to 1992. What he did: Made KMOX a force to be reckoned with—and a huge financial success—at a time when AM stations were failing. He not only hired Jack Buck, Jack Carney, Harry Caray, Bob Costas (right out of school), Dan Dierdorf, Joe Garagiola, Anne Keefe and Bill Wilkerson, but also introduced talk radio and At Your Service—notions initially deemed to be idiotic. Why it mattered: Because Hyland was a workaholic—for CBS, for St. Louis and for local nonprofits. He helped establish the Regional Medical Center and founded drug and alcohol treatment facilities at St. Anthony’s Medical Center. He was the undisputed power behind “The Voice of St. Louis,” brusque to the point of rudeness but easily one of the city’s most influential movers and shakers.
Alfonso Cervantes (1920–1983)
Who he was: St. Louis–born, parochial-schooled, served in the Merchant Marine in WWII. Became our 43rd mayor (1965–1973) after 15 years as alderman. What he did: He improved race relations with talk and walk (he appointed 95 African-Americans to city commissions, for example). He pushed through crime-fighting legislation that covered everything from equestrian cops to snapshots of pawners. He also succeeded in passing bond issues to finish the Arch grounds, light the streets and build juvenile halls. Why it mattered: He managed the city’s affairs with a certain ingenuity; for example, he figured out that bonds could be paid off through convention revenue and business taxes rather than property taxes.
The Mutrux Brothers
Who they were:: Entrepreneur Paul Mutrux (1922–1989) and his architect brother Dick (1923–2006), pioneers of the long-gone Gaslight Square. What they did: In 1953, transformed a decrepit Musical Arts Building—where Tennessee Williams and William Inge attended “expression school”—into the Gaslight Bar, the catalyst and namesake for Gaslight Square. Why it mattered: Aside from the fact that it attracted tourists from as far away as Scandinavia (and was the only place Lenny Bruce could perform in the early ’60s), Gaslight Square became a touchstone, like the World’s Fair, proving that St. Louis is no flyover city.
Miles Davis (1926–1991)
Who he was: East St. Louis jazz trumpeter whose notes were so clear and true, they had an almost vocal quality. What he did: His 1954 hard bop album, Walkin’, reclaimed jazz from the roast-beef clubs, making it dangerous and cool again. Three days after Woodstock, he recorded his wild, improvisational Bitches’ Brew, fusing jazz, outer-space music and rock—and despite its shocking title and psychedelic cover art, became the best-selling jazz album of all time, giving rise to the jazz fusion movement. Why it mattered: If anyone cemented St. Louis’ title as a “City of Gabriels,” it was Davis.
Where would we be without … the Rev. William Bowdern, S.J., who made St. Louis the destination of choice for an exorcism. Locked in a room at Saint Louis University, Bowdern finally managed to drive out a child’s demons—but he couldn’t stop the book and movie deal that followed.
Kathryn Nelson (1926–2006)
Who she was: Missionary in Haiti, college dean, teacher, children’s advocate and the city’s gentle conscience. What she did: Founded a pre-kindergarten, developed educational programs, campaigned for a Com–munity Children’s Services Fund and inspired progress in one nonprofit after another. Why it mattered: She changed the lives of thousands of kids, and insiders say Forest Park’s master plan couldn’t have been realized without her. Nelson shrugged off the glory and focused everybody on real change.
Thomas F. Eagleton (1929–2007)
Who he was: Arguably Missouri’s highest-profile U.S. senator in the 20th century. What he did: Sponsored the 1973 Eagleton Amendment (to halt U.S. bombing in Cambodia) and backed other landmark legislation like the Clean Air Act and the Clean Water Act. Why it mattered: “He set the pattern for what a senator should be,” Ted Kennedy said at Eagleton’s funeral. More than 1,200 people came to mourn this Harvard Law grad, who served on Capitol Hill from 1968 to 1987. Beyond all of the uncharacteristic Sturm und Drang of his career (yes, yes, yes, for pity’s sake, the McGovern presidential campaign), Eagleton’s quiet dignity, considerable intelligence and formidable diplomacy gave voice to St. Louisans in D.C. and made him that rarest of creatures nowadays: a statesman.
Where would we be without … Tony Bommarito, who in 1946 opened a Produce Row spaghetti house that would give the St. Louis restaurant scene international cachet.
Al Fleishman (1905–2002)
Who he was: Co-founder of Fleishman-Hillard; secretary to Civic Progress; a man who knew how to work not just a room but a city. What he did: Wielded influence. Helped kids in Pruitt-Igoe and Jewish refugees. Cut through pretense. Finessed everything from race-relations training for city police to brewery strikes and the media barrage when Peter Busch shot a friend in his bedroom. Made his switchboard operators learn Hebrew. Why it mattered: Wise enough to earn the nickname “Moses,” Fleishman handled and contained the city’s most volatile personalities. (“Gussie Busch didn’t say good morning unless Al Fleishman told him to,” Monsignor John A. Shocklee once told the Post.)
George “Buzz” Westfall (1944–2003)
Who he was: Raised in the Clinton-Peabody Projects, a SLU and SLU Law grad who became county prosecuting attorney, then rose to county executive—the first Democrat to hold the job in almost three decades. He held the job from 1990 until his sudden death in 2003. What he did: Helped keep the Cardinals downtown and finance the new Busch Stadium, woo and house the Rams, build a new county jail and establish the Metro Education and Training Center. Why it mattered: The scope of his decisions and projects—not all of them admired—went well beyond the county. As Thomas Eagleton put it, “He will be remembered as a great regionalist.”
Carl (1896–1984) and Gerty Radnitz Cori (1896–1957)
Who they were: Biological chemists with medical degrees who lived for their research (oh, and mountain climbing). What they did: During WWI, Carl chafed at the limits of doctors’ abilities to control disease. He and Gerty married, emigrated from Austria and, in 1931, joined the faculty of Washington University School of Medicine. In 1947, they shared half of the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine “for their discovery of the catalytic conversion of glycogen.” Gerty was the third woman to receive the Nobel Prize. Why it mattered: The Coris’ presence in St. Louis pushed research forward at Wash. U. and magnified our role in the worldwide scientific community.
Johnnie Johnson (1924–2005)
Who he was: The “greatest sideman in rock ’n’ roll,” according to Rolling Stone. What he did: Played piano and collaborated on such early rock anthems as “Nadine.” Why it mattered: “I was fascinated by those huge hands, doing such incredibly precise, delicate work,” Keith Richards once confessed. Only one thing rivaled Johnson’s piano virtuosity: his perspicacity. On New Year’s Eve 1952, he ensured St. Louis’ place in rock history by hiring an untried guitarist for a gig at the Cosmopolitan Club on the East Side. His name? Chuck Berry.
Jack Buck (1924–2002)
Who he was: Sports announcer known nationwide as the “Voice of the Cardinals.” What he did: He told Redbird fans to “go crazy, folks! Go crazy,” and he concluded games with “That’s a winner!” Buck called the games from 1953 until 2001, and unlike his predecessor, Harry “Holy Cow” Caray, he did commentary that was even-keeled, lucid and witty. He was elected to the broadcast wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1987. Why it mattered: Because Buck never took time off. While the team rested up between seasons, he used his voice and reputation to raise millions for a number of causes. He was a huge booster of St. Louis, and the affection was mutual.
