Bye-Bye Ayres: Demise of Another Hoosier Standout
By P.R. Parker

    "That Ayres' Look..."

     Long ago, during my high school days, I perused for the first time, a copy of Vogue magazine. Browsing the numerous advertisements for stylish clothes I could never afford, I stopped on one page. There she was, a most beautiful model clad in a Bill Blass suit. Just a simple black and white photograph – no jet-set backdrop or garish colors – conveyed the three-word caption: "That Ayres Look."
    That simple slogan fully illustrated Indianapolis' premier department store. The downtown flagship store, on the southwest corner of Washington and Meridian Streets, served as the anchor for that stretch of fashionable stores selling everything from haute couture to exclusive home furnishings. A trip to L.S. Ayres was a treat. That, of course, meant dressing appropriately: dresses, hats, gloves for the ladies; suits and ties for the gentlemen.
     I remember as a child going to Ayres for school clothes and shoes and Girl Scout paraphernalia. While sitting in the shoe department, I took in all the sights and sounds: the elegantly dressed people scurrying here and there, the numerous elevators with the glass doors, the quiet splendor of the building itself. On the way out the store, we would pass the many cosmetic and perfume counters; I would breathe in the many expensive fragrances and watch elegant ladies purchase the latest in beauty products. All that fancy packaging, the attentiveness of the salespersons, the wide variety of merchandise offered from the mundane to the exclusive.
Of course, until high school, trips to Ayres downtown were always in the company of parents. Usually, it was to buy school clothes or Easter outfits; maybe my mother had to return an item. However, come Thanksgiving weekend, the journey to Ayres was extra special. On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, my mom and aunt would herd us onto the bus for a day of shopping and, perhaps, see the animated holiday windows. As always, we had to dress in our best; this was downtown Indianapolis back in the early 1960's – No slouchy jeans or T-shirts allowed.
     The windows, usually adorned with the latest fashions, took on an enchanted look. At least four or five windows would be filled with animated holiday scenes, each telling a story. Imagine seeing mechanical people and animals in a storybook setting complete with Christmas decorations. Looking up momentarily, I would see the massive clock which held court at the corner of Washington and Meridian. This enormous timepiece of bronze and glass was never wrong. However, as if by magic, a cherub perched atop the clock, remaining there until New Years Day. I was told that the cherub was kept in a vault somewhere in the store. It was brought out only during the holidays. With the imminent demise of the Ayres name and all it stood for, no one knows the cherub's fate.

     In addition to the animated holiday storybook windows, Ayres had another Christmas tradition: Santaland. For the duration of the holidays, until Christmas Eve, Ayres converted the eighth floor auditorium into a winter wonderland. Snow-kissed trees and meadows greeted us as we stood in line to ride the Santa Express, a miniature kid-friendly train. Then, naturally, there was the tiny fairytale North Pole village and Santa himself.

Going to Ayres during the holidays not only involved visiting Santa or riding the train. We got to see and do things we would normally skip any other day. I had no idea there was an eighth floor, let alone a world totally different from the rest of the store. On this floor there was a beauty salon (my mother and I would eventually patronize it exclusively), gourmet shop of which my aunt was buyer, and the tea room.

     Once I became of age and was able to travel downtown alone, the tea room was a particularly favorite destination. Ayres' Tea Room was famous for delicious, elegantly prepared food. While most offerings were really what one would term as "comfort food", it was the atmosphere of the tea room itself that elevated simple fare as chicken pot pie to something special.
     Taking up the entire south end of the eighth floor, the tea room had an air of elegance yet very much "Hoosier Hospitality". A piano playing soft dining music; attentive waitresses in black dresses and crisp white aprons silently and efficiently taking an retrieving orders; the "salad lady" ensconced in her own open space busily preparing fruit and vegetable creations enhanced with homemade dressings; the treasure chest from which children would choose a post-meal toy. I especially loved the chicken velvet soup, the seafood quiche, pot pie, and Monte Cristo sandwich. Many a Christmas lunch was celebrated in the tea room. Often I would go just for watching well-to-do, stylishly dressed ladies who "do lunch". After lunch, one could not leave the store without a stop at the gourmet shop.

     My first experience with the gourmet shop was not all that pleasant. During the 1960's through the 1970's, Ayres offered odd items such as canned whale meat, chocolate-covered ants, tiny jars of rattlesnake meat, fried grasshoppers and butterflies (with wings attached!), and other comestibles one would look upon with certain disgust.
     During the early 1980's, after Ayres merged with Cincinnati's Pogue's, the gourmet shop underwent an extreme makeover. Gone were the weird, repulsive food items. These were replaced with more upscale foods, something we could actually eat. Ayres offered English-branded teas and Belgian chocolates, freshly ground coffee, tea biscuits, a full-service bakery, plus items from the tea room. Ayres' gourmet shop was my first exposure to Lindt and Godiva chocolate, Twinings tea, Silver Palette sauces, and fine California wines. That was another plus when Ayres merged with Pogue's: the addition of an extensive wine and liqueur shop. To celebrate this merger, and the resultant expansion of upscale food offerings, Ayres hosted several promotional events, usually food fairs and wine tastings to sample new and delicious things to eat. The 1980's was this country's great awakening to regional cooking, nouveau cuisine, ethnic foods. Ayres kept in step with the times by offering the more adventurous something different – beyond the standard meat and potatoes. These food fairs and wine tastings certainly expanded my own food preferences. I never tasted herbed brie, tortellini, or good Cabernet until I discovered (or, to be more precise, rediscovered) the gourmet shop. Many a trip to the downtown flagship store, even it was just to buy pantyhose or lipstick, ended with an elevator ride to the eighth floor. Often I would come away with a bag loaded with tea, wine, and chocolates.

     However, things began to change, and not for the better. May Company bought Ayres in the late 1980's and soon began making drastic changes in what the store offered. In time, entire departments were either contracted out to other entities or removed altogether. The beauty salon, for example, which boasted the best in hair, skin care, and total personal attention, was sold off to Glemby International. Disgruntled with the accent on impersonal customer relations and the ever-increasing attention to the bottom line, several long-time stylists left Ayres, taking their faithful (and wealthy) clients with them. The wine shop and bakery closed, the gourmet shop's extensive offerings diminished. The latter would close altogether, forcing loyal customers to search elsewhere for speciality food items. There was no more Santaland, train, or fantasy North Pole village.
     The cruelest blow came in 1989 when May Company decided to close the famed, venerated Tea Room. The reason? It did not make any money. What May did not understand was why the Tea Room was there at all. It was understood, in those days when the local department store was still under family control, such amenities were not intended to turn a profit. The fact that a store offered food services was to turn a profit within other departments. After lunching at the Tea Room or Tray Shoppe, people would most likely linger in the store, perhaps making an impromptu purchase even if it was just one lipstick or a bag of candy. Perhaps those folks would have enough time to browse and purchase Coach bags, Aigner shoes, top designer clothing from the Crystal Room, furs, electronics, and other high-priced items.
     May Company also discontinued the animated holiday windows, and nearly got rid of the Christmas cherub. The latter decision resulted in community outrage. Closing the tea room was bad enough, but to do away with another time-honored tradition was too much.
     Gone also was the community involvement. In the past, Ayres sponsored numerous community activities such as the Christmas Angel Project. This partnership between Ayres and special education programs across the state was especially supported by the wider community. Special education students designed cards and gift wrap which would be used by the store during the holidays. The designs chosen would appear on shopping bags, print and television advertisements, on in-store displays. May Company dropped this and other community programs. What happened with Ayres was on par with other local businesses being swallowed up by sprawling conglomerates and big box stores. Once a long-term business ceased to go by its name and changed hands, the community involvement also ceased, or was greatly curtailed.

     However, Hoosiers seem to take it all in stride. In time, the Tea Room, or at least a scaled down replica, would find a home at the new state museum, drawing capacity crowds. A cookbook of the Tea Room's most beloved recipes is still a local best seller. One can walk through the old downtown flagship store, now occupied by Parisian, and still remember where things used to be – although the selling floors (cut from eight to three) have been gutted to connect and open up to Circle Centre Mall.
     While we miss Ayres as it was, we still treasure the memories of special shopping trips, those easily identifiable blue bags and boxes that told us, "A gift from Ayres means more."

Copyright © 2005 by P.R. Parker. All Rights Reserved.