WHAT AN EYE!
“Let me see that card!”
Minnie Percival snatched a card from the hands of painter Sam Wilson and
held it up to the newly painted wall.
“There are at least 20 shades of difference between this card and the
wall. They are as close as London is
from Tokyo!”
“Miss Percival, all I can say is that I did the very best I
could to match the wall with the color of the card.
Sam Wilson’s helper Greg joined in. “Mizz Percival, we’ve repainted this room
four times. We want you to be happy, but
there is only so much we can do.”
“I guess it will have to do.
I know I’m picky. My sense of
color is very strong and I notice the minutest differences, It drives me crazy. Once I get the furniture back in the room and
with paintings, mirrors, and drapes less of the wall will show. I know you did your best. Thank you.”
Minnie Percival left the room. Greg Barkus remarked to his boss, “That’s one
eccentric old woman.”
“She’s odd, Greg, not eccentric. There’s a difference.”
“Like the difference between the color of this card and the
color of the wall?”
“No. She really does
see the finest differences between shades. It’s always been a problem for her, sort of like a person who hears the
smallest differences in musical tones. I
think that’s called perfect pitch.”
“I don’t mean to make a fuss about this Sam. The only thing is that we have spent four
days on this room and I doubt we’re getting paid much for it. I’ve got a family to support, and so do you.”
“It’ll be okay, Greg.
We’ve had some great jobs this summer.
Let’s get this room cleaned up.
It’s early, so why don’t we stop by for a beer before we go home.”
“You buyin'?”
“Of course.”
“You’re on.”
Sam and Greg pulled up the drop cloths, cleaned up the
room, and headed for their favorite watering hole.
“Did I ever tell you about Minnie Percival, Greg?”
“No. What’s there to know? She’s an eccentric, I mean odd, old lady.”
“I’ve known Minnie Percival all my life. My father, and grandfather, knew her
parents. My grandfather did lots of work
for them way back.”
“So, she’s an old family friend then. That’s why you put up with her.”
“She puts up with me is more like it, Greg. Her mother and father came to Charleston from
Boston in the early 1940s. They were
tired of the cold. He was a physician
and she was a gemologist.”
“You mean a jeweler?”
“Not exactly. She was
an expert on minerals like crystals and gemstones. My grandfather said they were very nice
people, but they stayed to themselves. Dr.
Carlton liked to sail, but wasn’t really into the social side of sailing. That’s
the reason they chose Charleston.”
“So Miss Percival must have been married. I guess I figured her to be an old maid.”
“She was married, to an Arthur Percival. That’s part of the story.”
“Have we gotten to the interesting part of the story yet,
Sam?”
“No, but I guess we’d better get on home. I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow. It really is interesting.”
The next day, Sam and Greg started on a new job. At lunch time, Sam decided to stop by Mrs.
Percival’s to see how she was doing.
“Oh Sam, it’s so nice of you to come by. Please forgive my outburst yesterday. You know how I am."
“Don’t think anything of it, Mizz Percival. I hope you can live with the room.”
“Now that the room is filling up again, it’s okay. I don’t think that room had been painted in
20 years.”
“Well, I’m happy you’re satisfied.”
“Oh yes, I need to pay you.
We agreed on 15 dollars I think.”
“That’ll be fine, ma’am.”
“Well, I’m going to add 5 dollars. Give that to your helper. I’m sure he thought I was quite rude.”
“Not at all. Greg’s a great worker. He just gets impatient.”
“Well, I apologize anyway.
It’s always so good to see you, Sam.
Do you mind if I call you if I need something else painted?”
“I’d be very disappointed if you didn’t”
Minnie Percival gave Sam a genteel hug and Sam went to the
bank to deposit the check. When he
returned to the new job, Greg was busy completing the prep work.
“Greg, here’s a check for your work for Mizz Percival.”
“$175.00. That’s more
than I expected. Are you sure you’re not
giving me everything she paid?”
“Of course not, Greg.”
As they began their work, Greg commented, “I’ve been waiting
to hear the interesting part of Mrs. Percival’s story.”
“Okay. I’ve given you
a bit of history.”
“Yeah – couple from Boston, physician, gemologist – but not
a jeweler --, moved to Charleston, he liked sailing, your grandfather worked
for them.”
“Thanks for paying attention! Okay, this is back in WWII times. Minnie Carlton was a teenager. Like most teenage girls, she was obsessed with
fashion. But it was the depression, and
even physicians didn’t have much money to spend on things like fashion. Minnie made her own clothes. My grandfather liked to talk about how she
even dyed the fabrics she would use to make dresses and shirts and
jackets. You know about her eye for
color. He said she would have these big
pots on the back porch where she would dip the fabric and then hang it up to
dry. Not only that. She made her own patterns. She would go ‘round to all the stores and
closely examine everything. But she
didn’t just make her own clothes. She
made clothes for her mother and father and for lots of people. There were lots of needs in those days.”
“Still are. Gotten to the interesting part yet?”
“We’re getting there.
Because she made lots of things for her father, she spent lots of time
at men’s clothing stores. She studied
the way shirts were made, the fabrics, but also jackets, trousers, socks.”
“And underwear?” Greg chuckled.
“She didn’t take it that far, that I know of.”
“Okay. One day, these
two FBI agents showed up at the Carlton’s house and asked for Mrs.
Carlton. They wanted her to assist them
in an investigation of the possible smuggling of gemstones out of the country
to support the German effort in the war.”
“Okay, now you’ve got my interest. I’m a WWII buff.”
“As they spoke to Mrs. Carlton, Minnie sat quietly and
studied the two men. Because she was
this mousy teenager, the two agents didn’t pay any attention to her. But she was paying attention to them. She noticed things about the cut of one of
the agents’ shirts and also his socks. They seemed unusual to her and aroused her curiosity. The two agents left but came back the very
next day. Minnie noticed that the same
agent was again wearing an unusual shirt and that was, to her, an odd shade of white. Men in those days only wore white dress
shirts but, as you well know, she could spot differences in shades. She also
noticed once again, the socks he wore. This time, she also noticed cufflinks he wore. They seemed to her like gift cufflinks and
not ones he would have likely bought for himself. After they left, she asked her mother, “Mom,
did you happen to notice one of the agent’s cufflinks?”
“Of course I did. The
gemstones immediately caught my eye. I
tried not to pay attention, but gave them a glance every so often.”
“There’s just something a bit off about his clothes, and
those cufflinks.”
“Minnie, me thinks you’ve been reading too many spy
thrillers.”
“You know I don’t read that stuff, mom.”
“Honey, they seem to be dedicated agents and are looking to
see if I can help them with their investigation. Your imagination is running wild.”
“I suppose so.” But
Minnie was convinced that something about the agent was off. She went to the library and found the address
for J. Edgar Hoover, director of the FBI.
She wrote him of her suspicions but kept the letter purposefully vague
as to her mother’s name and her last name, but she did give the agent’s
names. She didn’t think about the fact
that he could easily find out her and her mother’s names. She did receive a
letter from Mr. Hoover, which she luckily intercepted before her mother looked
through the mail. Part of it read:
“We have one of the agents you named under scrutiny and
appreciate the details you noticed. We
are on top of this and will keep you informed.”
“So one of the agents was a double agent?” Greg asked.
“Yes. Minnie’s mother
was curious as to why the agents never returned to their home but just assumed
the FBI didn’t need her. About a month
after all of this, J. Edgar Hoover himself came to their house. It was all very hush-hush at the time. He explained to Mrs. Carlton what Minnie had
done. Minnie was presented with a
certificate of appreciation, a letter from President Roosevelt and one from Mr.
Hoover, and a check. It was an exciting
day, but one about which they had to be quiet for years.”
“Now, that is interesting.”
“There’s more. My
grandfather told us all of this for years as a backdrop to a very personal
story. One of my granddad’s brothers was
stricken with polio. Every spare penny
my family had went for his care. The
Carltons were well aware of this and did what they could. Minnie stunned
everyone by signing over her check to my family to help pay for my
great-uncle’s treatment. He survived and
lived for quite a while. I got to know
him a little when I was young.”
“That’s tremendous, Sam.
Now I know why you love Mrs. Percival so much.”
“Well, there’s another twist to the story. The second agent who visited the house, the
one who was honest. His last name was Percival.
He had a son about Minnie’s age. The
son’s name was Arthur. Arthur went to
The Citadel and met Minnie at a mixer for cadets with locals. Minnie was a student at Winthrop College, but
was home for the weekend and went to the mixer.
Arthur knew nothing about what had happened a few years before, and Minnie
had forgotten the name Percival. But
Arthur’s father never forgot, and when Arthur told his father of his interest
in Minnie, the father instantly remembered the name and told his son that he
needed to marry Minnie. They married
and, as Arthur was an officer in the Army, they lived all over the world. Arthur was killed in Vietnam and Minnie
returned to Charleston, and to the house she had called home when she was a
teenager. She never forgot the color of
the living room and, when it came time to repaint it, she wanted to return it
to the color it had been when the family first moved in the house. She remembered the exact shade.”
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