Number, Please

Really, despite my Washington birthplace, I'm just another Virginian at work.

So why not take a gallery walk at the Virginia Historical Society to escape the heat and hear about the exhibit "Virginians at Work"?

Our guide Chris was on the education staff and was knowledgeable and full of stories he'd heard from previous tours, making him a terrific person to shepherd us through the many objects in the exhibit.

He began by explaining that Virginia had been founded, not for the sake of religious freedom (good god, no; you had to be an Anglican!) but as a business venture.

They may have called the participants "adventurers," but the fact is, they were financial investors, plain and simple.

It wasn't until 1624 that the king started noticing how valuable the company was becoming and promptly made them a royal colony.

I was fascinated to learn that Virginian Cyrus McCormick had no luck selling his newly patented reaper to Virginia planters because they didn't need it.

Why would they with all the slave labor they had?

Fortunately, the mid-west farmers didn't have the same problem.

When Chris showed us a wooden corn sheller contraption, he said a visitor had told him that his uncle had lost part of his arm in just such a device and stuck his own arm down the chute.

I was one of several females who openly winced at that mental picture.

He said another visitor recognized the nearby straw cutter  from his youth and held up his thumb, minus the last joint, to demonstrate why.

"And back in those days, there were no recalls," Chris said. "The companies figured if you bought it, you knew how to use it."

Boy, those were the days.

We heard about the massive debt Virginia took on to build an elaborate canal system, only to see it replaced by railroads for moving goods.

Then there were the hundred or so companies making cars in Virgina, many at a time when the state had one of the worst road systems, mostly rutted dirt.

Fortunately for safety's sake, there were reflector rings, large piece of red glass on a piece of jewelry that a motorist wore on his finger to make his turn signal movements more visible to others.

Bicyclists, take note.

Another delight was an old photograph of two of Richmond Police's bike patrol astride their cruisers in 1942.

I have to admit, I was amazed to learn that the bike patrol had begun in 1900.

You can imagine my thrill when I saw my neighborhood represented in the exhibit.

On display was the magnificent hearse of A.D. Price, the premiere funeral home in African-American Jackson Ward.

With large windows on the sides and back, red velvet curtains inside and gold fringe all the way around the outside, it was the grandest possible way to go to the cemetery.

I mean, if you had to go.

I was just as excited to see an old telephone operator switchboard because both of my grandmothers had been switchboard operators, one in Washington and one in Richmond.

What I hadn't know until Chris told us was that back in the day when telephone service was beginning, the phone company originally hired young men to be operators.

As he pointed out, how customer-service oriented are most teen-aged boys?

Exactly.

Once the companies had grown tired of the young men fighting with and yelling at people on the phone, they wisely began hiring young women for their superior skill at handling customers.

I remember thinking as a child how unlikely it seemed that not one but both of my grandmas had been operators their whole lives.

But Chris explained that women's options in the '20s and '30s were pretty much limited to teaching and nursing until men's jobs began giving way to women, much like those two professions had.

Likewise back then, secretaries were men and called clerks until women started taking over that menial task, too.

So while I might have come to the gallery walk to get out of the heat, I ended up having one of my eternal childhood questions answered.

Thanks, Virginia Historical Society, for giving me a reason to think of New Grandma and Old Grandma today.

P.S.: The neighborhood hearse was pure gravy.

Lunch Period at The Cellar Door

Back-to-school week. Labor Day. Signing a petition for the Richmond Transit Riders Union. Who knows what inspired me to check out the gallery walk at the Virginia Historical Society today for the new exhibit Organized Labor in Virginia?

And considering my knowledge base on the subject of labor and unions, I was bound to learn something, always a good thing. As is typical of me (or perhaps anyone), I was most engrossed in the things I could relate to.

A 1948 strike by the Virginia Dairy milk delivery men was caused by the dairy raising product prices but not milkmen's wages. The picture of a milkman in his uniform, sleeves rolled up and holding a rack containing eight glass bottles of milk next to a horse-drawn dairy wagon reminded me of my milkman grandfather.

Another enormous image of menhaden fishermen on the Northern Neck, part of the Reedville menhaden fleet, was captivating. The old boat, with laundry strung up to dry and surrounded by fishermen working for a pittance under deplorable conditions was a reminder of the fishing culture that, for many years, sustained the area where my parents now live.

Despite the disruption of many people's daily routines, there was apparently overwhelming support for the streetcar strike against Virginia Passenger and Power Company. The headline showed the strikers with a headline proclaiming "Yesterday's Scene of Excitement at 7th and Main." They don't write headlines like they used to, that's for sure.

The whole exhibit was enlightening and fascinating in that way that history tends to be when well-presented. And now I know what a whitesmith does, something I didn't know when the gallery walk began. Nerds love that kind of satisfaction.

After history class, it was lunch period and I was eager to check out Monument Avenue's only restaurant. That would be the Cellar Door in the basement of the big white apartment building at Stuart Circle, home to countless previous incarnations.

The last time I'd been in there was when it was still Artists' Underground Cafe and it had been for a show on a hot, sweaty summer night. The first band thrashed hard and loud two feet from me, they only served beer and the place was sticky with sweat and beer. The band I'd come to hear, though, delivered a great set in a room almost too crowded to move. Ah, memories.

The Cellar Door is nothing like that. The place has undergone a renovation that leaves it looking sleek and somehow warm at the same time (a nearby bar sitter told me "You should see it at night. The walls just glow."). It even seems bigger without the tables in the center.

The star of the menu is Pollo a la Brasa, Peruvian style chicken served with two sauces. A variation of that chicken also came in soup, salad and sandwich options, but I figured it best to try it in its basic form first.

That meant I ordered the quarter chicken, a thigh/drumstick combination (it also comes as a half chicken) and for my side, went with the roasted white corn salad (other sides: steak fries, potato salad, jicama "fries" or rose kettle chips).

The crispy-skinned chicken "packed some heat" as the bartender told me, and both sauces had something to recommend them. The red was a Peruvian Ranch with the same spices as the chicken's rub. The green was a jalapeno, cilantro, olive oil and garlic sauce. I couldn't decide which I liked better, so I alternated dipping bites in both, all the while wishing I'd ordered the half chicken so I could keep eating longer, not that I didn't have more than enough to eat.

Worth mentioning is how fresh and well-seasoned that roasted white corn salad was and while corn is still so good, it's an atypical side worth checking out. It was a perfect accompaniment to the chicken, flavor-wise.

I had the pleasure of sitting next to the electrician who'd done the work there and at Sprout (although I would have guessed he was a student because he looked so young), so he'd already eaten there repeatedly and made several recommendations for my future visits, including how terrific the desserts were.

The four sweet options included two chocolate choices: Godiva Chocolate Bombe and Mexican Chocolate Torte and he personally loves the Espresso Cheesecake; they also had a Southern Pecan Tart. Not to be overlooked is a wine list that runs $6-$8 a glass and $18 - $30 a bottle.

Clearly I need to go back for dessert, wine and the glowing walls. And in all likelihood, that chicken again.