Dankmar Adler, the twelve-storey, terracotta-clad corner site, with its elaborate ironwork ornamentation on the lower façade, had taken five years to complete. By the time it was finished, Adler had died, Sullivan’s practice was in decline and Mayer was broke.
In the spring of 1904, as building work neared completion, Henry Siegel must have been only too pleased to consign the lease. For Selfridge, it was a huge step. He was risking everything on a single throw, but for a man with a gambler’s soul, who lived and worked in the then capital city of gambling, it was worth it. Selfridge was now faced with the task of stocking and staffing his own store, as well as finding tenants for the upper floors. He also had to explain his decision to Marshall Field. The atmosphere in Field’s office that day must have been icy. Having admitted that he was leaving, and that he had bought Schlesinger & Mayer, Selfridge offered to stay and train his replacement. Field’s chilly reply to the man who had worked for him for twenty-five years was: ‘No, Mr Selfridge, you can leave tomorrow if it suits you.’ With that, Harry cleared his desk.
When the paperwork involved in his settlement from Marshall Field was completed, Harry Selfridge had liquid assets of well over a million dollars as well as ownership of two substantial houses. His plans made news, but neither he nor Field gave much away about what had happened. Interviewed by the media, Selfridge merely talked about ‘his great desire to become head of a business of my own’, saying he was ‘absolutely confident of success’ and that it was ‘time to take the step as he had just turned 40’ – shaving eight years off his age. Marshall Field remained tight-lipped when journalists questioned him about the loss of his star executive. Indeed, he rarely talked about it even to his own colleagues, other than saying to John Shedd, ‘We’ll have to get another office boy.’ Selfridge was more gracious. Field had been a huge part of his life, the dominant albeit distant father-figure he had craved to please. He never forgot him. When he opened Selfridge’s in London, a portrait of Marshall Field took pride of place in his office.
With a fanfare of brass-band music and flags flying, Harry G. Selfridge & Co., Chicago, opened its doors on 13 June 1904. It was an auspicious time to be opening a new business. Affluent consumers had taken to the road in their new automobiles and were driving them out to newly opened country clubs where they eagerly took up the fashionable game of golf: both hobbies necessitated extensive, not to mention expensive, specialist wardrobes. Automobiles had hit the city like a whirlwind. In 1900 there had only been 100 permits issued for motor vehicles, but by the time Harry Selfridge opened his store, there were nearly 1,500 registered drivers in Chicago. The City Council, perturbed by the trend for ‘scorching’, as driving fast was called, set a speed limit of ten miles per hour and required drivers to have ‘full use of arms and legs and be free of a drug habit’. In a city where rich and poor alike enjoyed their drink, no mention was made of alcohol.
Selfridge had long specialized in store windows that presented a themed story. Now his beautifully dressed opening displays paid homage to the latest fashion in ladies’ and gentlemen’s ‘motoring clothes’. Female mannequins were dressed like the subjects of Sir William Nicholson’s exquisite painting
La Belle Chauffeuse
, in duster coats, huge gauntlet gloves and big hats tied under the chin with a chiffon stole, while the male mannequins were shown in ‘go faster’ goggles and belted tweed driving jackets. Picnic hampers and leather-strapped luggage completed the picture.
Selfridge must have gone through a great deal of anguish in the run-up to the opening. It would have been hard for him travelling to work each morning, walking into his own elegant building, but wishing it was the bigger
In the spring of 1904, as building work neared completion, Henry Siegel must have been only too pleased to consign the lease. For Selfridge, it was a huge step. He was risking everything on a single throw, but for a man with a gambler’s soul, who lived and worked in the then capital city of gambling, it was worth it. Selfridge was now faced with the task of stocking and staffing his own store, as well as finding tenants for the upper floors. He also had to explain his decision to Marshall Field. The atmosphere in Field’s office that day must have been icy. Having admitted that he was leaving, and that he had bought Schlesinger & Mayer, Selfridge offered to stay and train his replacement. Field’s chilly reply to the man who had worked for him for twenty-five years was: ‘No, Mr Selfridge, you can leave tomorrow if it suits you.’ With that, Harry cleared his desk.
When the paperwork involved in his settlement from Marshall Field was completed, Harry Selfridge had liquid assets of well over a million dollars as well as ownership of two substantial houses. His plans made news, but neither he nor Field gave much away about what had happened. Interviewed by the media, Selfridge merely talked about ‘his great desire to become head of a business of my own’, saying he was ‘absolutely confident of success’ and that it was ‘time to take the step as he had just turned 40’ – shaving eight years off his age. Marshall Field remained tight-lipped when journalists questioned him about the loss of his star executive. Indeed, he rarely talked about it even to his own colleagues, other than saying to John Shedd, ‘We’ll have to get another office boy.’ Selfridge was more gracious. Field had been a huge part of his life, the dominant albeit distant father-figure he had craved to please. He never forgot him. When he opened Selfridge’s in London, a portrait of Marshall Field took pride of place in his office.
With a fanfare of brass-band music and flags flying, Harry G. Selfridge & Co., Chicago, opened its doors on 13 June 1904. It was an auspicious time to be opening a new business. Affluent consumers had taken to the road in their new automobiles and were driving them out to newly opened country clubs where they eagerly took up the fashionable game of golf: both hobbies necessitated extensive, not to mention expensive, specialist wardrobes. Automobiles had hit the city like a whirlwind. In 1900 there had only been 100 permits issued for motor vehicles, but by the time Harry Selfridge opened his store, there were nearly 1,500 registered drivers in Chicago. The City Council, perturbed by the trend for ‘scorching’, as driving fast was called, set a speed limit of ten miles per hour and required drivers to have ‘full use of arms and legs and be free of a drug habit’. In a city where rich and poor alike enjoyed their drink, no mention was made of alcohol.
Selfridge had long specialized in store windows that presented a themed story. Now his beautifully dressed opening displays paid homage to the latest fashion in ladies’ and gentlemen’s ‘motoring clothes’. Female mannequins were dressed like the subjects of Sir William Nicholson’s exquisite painting
La Belle Chauffeuse
, in duster coats, huge gauntlet gloves and big hats tied under the chin with a chiffon stole, while the male mannequins were shown in ‘go faster’ goggles and belted tweed driving jackets. Picnic hampers and leather-strapped luggage completed the picture.
Selfridge must have gone through a great deal of anguish in the run-up to the opening. It would have been hard for him travelling to work each morning, walking into his own elegant building, but wishing it was the bigger
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