the Soderbjergs. They started with a restaurant and went into radio and then they tried to clean up in real estate. Old men sleeping on broken glass. No, sir. No thank you.â
âThink about it. Take your time. Itâs a good idea.â
âIf thatâs a good idea, then Iâm a full-blooded Chippewa Indian.â They argued for a few days, and then Royâs attention waveredâthat was his wayâthe flame flickered and he drifted along to something elseâthe windmill, the lithograph, the ball-float toilet. Perfecting the arm-action ball-type reciprocating flexer. The search for the y-joint grouter. He drifted back to his workshop.
The âAir Castle of the Northâ was wrapped in tissue paper and packed away in a box, and one day Ray shot billiards at the Athletic Club with John S. Pillsburyâs brother-in-law Bud. âIf youâre looking for quarters, Jackâs got two floors to rent in his hotel,â he said. And that night, Ray signed a ten-year lease on the second and third floors of the Hotel Ogden on 12th and LaSalle, across the street from the MacPhail School of Music. It was a narrow, six-story, two-toned building, tan on the bottom floors and the top floor, red brick in the middle, like a Soderberg sandwich. He spread the papers in front of Roy, as if showing a winning hand. âRight close to the source of supply. Tuba players, trombonists, violins, you name it. Singers by the hundred. We can audition them in July when the windows are open. You want a park with a pond? Loring Park is a stoneâs throw away. They even have horseshoe pits. The Auditorium is walking distance, and the Physicians & Surgeons Building. The Foshay Tower is right there.â
âYou canât go off and sign a lease without talking to me about it,â said Roy. âIâm your partner.â
âWe discussed it last week. You talked about buying a potato farm, you made a little toy town out of balsa wood, you wanted to build a church. It was crazy talk. Somebody has to take care of business here. So I took care of it. Nice building, the Ogden. Fireproof. And I found a buyer for the restaurant. He takes over on Tuesday.â
And that was that. Roy was deeply wounded, of course, but then he often was. He retreated to Moorhead and didnât come back until spring. A cartage company hauled WLT out of the Court in one truckload and Roy Jr. wired up the studios and a control room in rooms 215, 217, and 219 of the Ogden, and they were in business. Ray hired a woman named Ethel Glen to manage the place. She was six feet tall, a bookkeeper, and she could play the piano and the marimba, which might come in handy. Ethel brought in The Bergen Brothers, Carpenters, and they tore out walls and installed a waiting room, two big studios, a practice room, dressing rooms, a Green Room. Fresh pine, fresh paint, new carpets, and the waiting room was lined with seven rose-petal wing chairs and sofas and walnut side tables with tall brass lamps with lavender linen shades and a bookcase with leatherbound sets of Shakespeare, Milton, Dickens, Thackeray, Trollope, the Brontes. Upstairs, on the third floor, six offices, including two big ones for Roy and Ray, adjoining, identical, except Rayâs looked toward Nicollet Avenue and the Foshay and City Hall, and Royâs looked at MacPhail and he got to hear the sopranos. Rayâs was six feet shorter, due to the stairwell being on his side.
âYou take the big one,â he told Roy. âYouâre the brains of the outfit, you need more room to pace up and down and think up your great ideas.â
Roy didnât notice, until years later, that Ray had an extra office for himself, a bedroom actually, up the stairs, on the fourth floor. Ray told Miss Glen it was for naps, and she almost believed him until she noticed one day that when Alma Melting arrived for The Excelsior Bakery Show , the elevator was coming down, not up.
He
âThink about it. Take your time. Itâs a good idea.â
âIf thatâs a good idea, then Iâm a full-blooded Chippewa Indian.â They argued for a few days, and then Royâs attention waveredâthat was his wayâthe flame flickered and he drifted along to something elseâthe windmill, the lithograph, the ball-float toilet. Perfecting the arm-action ball-type reciprocating flexer. The search for the y-joint grouter. He drifted back to his workshop.
The âAir Castle of the Northâ was wrapped in tissue paper and packed away in a box, and one day Ray shot billiards at the Athletic Club with John S. Pillsburyâs brother-in-law Bud. âIf youâre looking for quarters, Jackâs got two floors to rent in his hotel,â he said. And that night, Ray signed a ten-year lease on the second and third floors of the Hotel Ogden on 12th and LaSalle, across the street from the MacPhail School of Music. It was a narrow, six-story, two-toned building, tan on the bottom floors and the top floor, red brick in the middle, like a Soderberg sandwich. He spread the papers in front of Roy, as if showing a winning hand. âRight close to the source of supply. Tuba players, trombonists, violins, you name it. Singers by the hundred. We can audition them in July when the windows are open. You want a park with a pond? Loring Park is a stoneâs throw away. They even have horseshoe pits. The Auditorium is walking distance, and the Physicians & Surgeons Building. The Foshay Tower is right there.â
âYou canât go off and sign a lease without talking to me about it,â said Roy. âIâm your partner.â
âWe discussed it last week. You talked about buying a potato farm, you made a little toy town out of balsa wood, you wanted to build a church. It was crazy talk. Somebody has to take care of business here. So I took care of it. Nice building, the Ogden. Fireproof. And I found a buyer for the restaurant. He takes over on Tuesday.â
And that was that. Roy was deeply wounded, of course, but then he often was. He retreated to Moorhead and didnât come back until spring. A cartage company hauled WLT out of the Court in one truckload and Roy Jr. wired up the studios and a control room in rooms 215, 217, and 219 of the Ogden, and they were in business. Ray hired a woman named Ethel Glen to manage the place. She was six feet tall, a bookkeeper, and she could play the piano and the marimba, which might come in handy. Ethel brought in The Bergen Brothers, Carpenters, and they tore out walls and installed a waiting room, two big studios, a practice room, dressing rooms, a Green Room. Fresh pine, fresh paint, new carpets, and the waiting room was lined with seven rose-petal wing chairs and sofas and walnut side tables with tall brass lamps with lavender linen shades and a bookcase with leatherbound sets of Shakespeare, Milton, Dickens, Thackeray, Trollope, the Brontes. Upstairs, on the third floor, six offices, including two big ones for Roy and Ray, adjoining, identical, except Rayâs looked toward Nicollet Avenue and the Foshay and City Hall, and Royâs looked at MacPhail and he got to hear the sopranos. Rayâs was six feet shorter, due to the stairwell being on his side.
âYou take the big one,â he told Roy. âYouâre the brains of the outfit, you need more room to pace up and down and think up your great ideas.â
Roy didnât notice, until years later, that Ray had an extra office for himself, a bedroom actually, up the stairs, on the fourth floor. Ray told Miss Glen it was for naps, and she almost believed him until she noticed one day that when Alma Melting arrived for The Excelsior Bakery Show , the elevator was coming down, not up.
He
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