Faux Newspaper Piece

Ghost of Barney Pressman
by Carly Simone - Manhattan Daily Press

As a twenty-something, I scoffed at the concept of spirit worlds and life after death and wanted nothing more than to surround myself with people of the same notion; those who were rational thinkers, independent from any “higher source” like myself. I felt more empowered seeing my life as a mistake - a cog in a meaningless wheel. There was power in a life meant for personal, even selfish, pursuits. I didn’t spend time worrying about the effects of my actions or what my decisions on earth would cause in some afterlife. I grew up in a wealthy family and reveled in the thought that I’d live my adulthood in the same high class world, living it out for my own gratification and success.

My parents passed down to me and my brothers a strong and healthy respect for money, and a drive to work hard. As teens we each took summer jobs to learn the basic values the working world had to teach us. We didn’t need the money, so instead of putting our hard earned cash toward savings we’d head to the center of the Big Apple to bite at the core of a delicious and juicy shopping experience every weekend. My brothers Tom and Guy would head to the cafes to meet girls while my eldest brother Tad, the fashion savvy one of the bunch, would meet me at Barneys New York.

Aside from being the place to find the most indulgent fashions, it was like a religious experience for us; the closest we ever came to attending a church. Clothing displays were like altars, designers like deities. You could get lost in the holiness of Amberton Wilke’s tempered leather boots and the exotic scent of “Rimi One” by African perfumer Claz Nubo. It was my Manhattan Barneys that introduced me to Ermeneglido Zegna, and Manolo Blahnik, Diane von Furstenberg and Gucci. But it was also to become the place where a most unforeseen event would occur that would shake me of my beliefs, or lack thereof, and change my life forever.

It was only ten days before Christmas in the year 2000. I had just turned the big Three-O, and still recovering from an intoxicating birthday bash thrown by a friend the night before, I decided to buy myself some new facial cleanser at Barney’s before I headed back to my apartment for some much needed sleep. I groggily pushed through the mass of holiday consumers outside on the sidewalk and made my way through the entrance, following the divine scent of chocolate-pecan coffee being served at the Chanel makeup counter. Nearby, people were standing together, all aglow with warmth and holiday chatter. I walked over and began sampling some new perfumes and crèmes, when all of the sudden I became aware of my surroundings on a much larger scale than I was used to. I had the strange ability to utilize new senses. I felt the excitement of the children outside who stood in front of the magical window display where Santa and his reindeer aimed for the sky. I heard a newlywed speaking to his wife over a cell phone, describing what a wonderful first Christmas they were going to share together as husband and wife, and I felt her powerful emotion on the other end. I heard a jazz musician playing his soulful saxophone on Manhattan Avenue and felt the numbness in his fingers, frigid with the December cold.

I never questioned this experience while it was happening, I just let it overwhelm me and fill me with awe. Until suddenly, like a piece of small feather being pushed in front of a fan, I began to float upward, headfirst toward the ceiling, and soon had full view of the entire store below me. I felt a strong urge to yell out for help but couldn’t speak when I tried. I frantically looked around, left and right, up and down, to find the cause of this strange occurrence. I was out of my body and desperate to come down. Then, just as suddenly as it all began, my body stopped moving; suspended in an unknown realm. Everything around me turned to pure white light, and a calming silence fell over my ears. Then, a small wooden staircase was presented from out of the bright light. Slowly manifesting into the whiteness, it became solid and real. At this point, baffled and in awe of everything I decided it wouldn’t hurt to lift my foot and see what where the stairs would lead. I took five careful steps, feeling more and more at ease with each one. My body felt as weightless as cloud, and I had the amazing mental ability to feel my life, as if it were a small rock. It had sharp edges that could cut you and make your fingers bleed, and there were very few smooth spots. I had the overwhelming sensation that the rest of my life was to be lived “to smooth out the stone.” My intuition told me that other people who had made it to thirty years of age had many more smooth edges on their stones than I did, so I made a pact with myself to live more consciously and lovingly from that point forward.

As I was pondering these new sensations and abilities, I heard a male voice exclaim vibrantly from what seemed like a hidden speaker system. “Welcome!” I looked around to try and find the man, and peering hard through the gleaming whiteness, I made out the silhouette of a figure holding something out to me. As he slowly came more into view I saw that he held out a pair of black fur muffs. With gracious intention he announced, “Warm your hands, with the finest mink muffs you’ll ever feel”. I realized there was quite a chill in the air, so I slipped them on savoring their warmth and softness. I thanked him and he offered for me to take a seat, just as a fancy chair appeared. I sunk down into it, luxuriating in the feel of gently aged suede. When I looked up at him again, I noticed he had caught me admiring his vintage taste. Stylish and refined, he stood still as if from out of an old photograph. “I like your style,” I gloated, hoping to humor him. His response startled me when he said confidently that he was very well aware of that. “Wow! Who is this man?” I thought to myself. He then casually added, “You shop my style, dear.” He brought a dark wooden pipe to his slender lips and took a small puff. I didn’t quite get where he was coming from, but before I said a word I spotted a large white pin on the left lapel of his suit that read “No Bunk, No Junk, No Imitations”.

“That’s Barney’s slogan from the 20’s!” I spurted out. He chuckled warmly and responded by saying, “It is indeed. I am closely familiar with it.” This man was mysterious and odd, but not quite as odd as my weightless body and the new strange world I had floated into. I shifted in the chair to feel less awkward. “I mean, I hate to date myself…but one should give credit where credit is due, correct?” He looked at me with a smile and his big blue eyes twinkled with a youthfulness I had never seen in an older gentleman. I sat there looking up at him, a tall proud man who very well could have…wait one minute! Could this be? Barney Pressman?! It was suddenly as clear as the glass face on his Tru Gold pocket watch. “You wrote that slogan, then?” I asked him exuberantly. “You are the Barney??”
“Mr. Pressman. Barney. Please, address me by the latter.” he stated.
“Wow Mr. Pressman…uh…Barney, sir…I don’t know what to say. So much has just happened.” I paused for a moment. “Why am I here? Where am I?”

He went on to reassure me that I was not dead, and that I would be back to my normal self before I knew it. He thanked me for being such a loyal customer of his store, and he laughed when I asked if I could look at one of his wholesale catalogs. He was charming and kind, and had a simple elegance that probably graced his whole generation. He described that he always had a strong interest in business and as a young man he saved up money to open a small bargain shop that offered discount prices for high quality clothing. He had seen some initial startup success, but within a year of opening he was in danger of going out of business. He reminisced about how his wife Claire had saved the business from going under with one of her many ingenious ideas. When I asked how she did it, he took a deep and yet shaky breath and then walked slowly over to me without speaking. He got down on one knee next to my chair, focused his eyes on my left hand, and gently took it up in his. “This ring.” he said with a forlorn look in his eye. “This ring saved us.” His eyes met mine.
I looked down at my hand, “My emerald ring?” I ran my finger over the delicate gold band, and noticed the tiny green stone was sparkling more than usual.
“This was Claire’s wedding ring. We pawned it in 1923 to make some quick cash. ” He gazed at the ring like it was an old friend he thought he’d never see again.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Whoa, hold on. Is this really…for real?” I pulled my hand off of his gently. “You mean to say I have your wife’s ring?!”
“The very one.” he said assuredly.
“How did this happen? I mean, you pawned this ring way back then…”
“It was always meant for a special girl, it has stayed true to that. That I do know.”
I sat there next to him, both in extreme shock and pure familiarity and love. I felt like I had been blessed by an invisible force, and that I was a part of a secret universal plan. I had been sucked into a whirlwind of synchronicity of a magnitude beyond any single event I had ever had in my life. And joining me, a man of great influence, success, and style. An American icon, a force of nature…the namesake of a store that had brought me so much joy. He described how his wife demanded he pawn the ring, even though she was very fond of it. It was that one small selfless act that resulted in unimaginable long term success for the Pressman family.
“How much did you get for the ring, may I ask?” I said, still baffled by this incredible news.
“It got us five hundred dollars, which helped us bring in fresh inventory and clean up the storefront.”
“Your store is thriving almost a century later, due to this one small stone. This is unbelievable. The ring…I have to give it back, it’s yours.” I began to twist it off of my finger but he quickly put his warm hands over mine, ensuring it stay with me. I closed my eyes and lowered my head in gratitude. A great warmth washed over me, like a sudden ray of liquid sun broke through a cloud and poured down. And then everything went dark.

“Would you like to remove your ring?” I heard a new and unfamiliar voice ask. “Ma’am?” The voice spoke again. When I tried to open my eyes, they felt like they’d been glued shut. When I tried to respond to the voice, I had no ability to speak. I was hanging in a darkness that went on infinitely. And then suddenly my body shifted into what felt like a long corset, making me feel stiff and trapped. I tried to open my eyes again and again, finally reaching relief. My eyelids lifted and I had crystal vision, as if my eyes been replaced with brand new ones. All of my senses were back to normal, but they made me feel so limited and constrained. I realized I was back in my body, grounded in reality again.

I was back at the Chanel counter in Barneys, standing before a woman who held out a tester of Neroli hand cream in anticipation of my sampling it.
“Oh…” My small voice felt like it escaped my mouth like a trapped fly. Had she been waiting for me all that time I was with Barney? I wondered, looking at her small, sad face.
“Your ring, let me remove it for you.” The woman began to reach out hastily for my hand. I looked down at the tiny ring on my pale finger. I still felt the warmth of Barney’s hand on mine.
“No.” I pulled my hands to my sides. “It’s alright.” I picked my cup of coffee from off of the counter, and watched as the steam rose up toward me, as if I had just poured it. “Have a nice holiday.” I said as I walked quickly away from the crowded counter. I needed to get to higher ground.

How long had I been out of my body, or had I really gone anywhere at all? The longer I thought about meeting Barney the more it seemed like a dream. I wanted to ask the people around me if they had witnessed anything strange. I looked down at my ring. Could it be true that Barney’s wife once wore it, calling it her own? Was that a figment of my imagination? Something I made up to feel I have a special purpose? Maybe it was my sleep deprivation that caused it all. But even if it were all imagined, I felt like I had been renewed in a way I had never before experienced. I had a spring in my step and was mentally rejuvenated. I walked over to the escalator to move up to the second floor, where I hoped to find a quiet place to sit and think away from all of the noise and disturbance. I rode the escalator to the top, but as I stepped off I slipped on something slick, almost wiping out in front of a great many shoppers. I regained control of myself and postured myself upright, aside from my head which I kept down to prevent any eye contact with those who must have seen me. That’s when I noticed the piece of literature that must have caused my fall. I leaned down and picked it up as gracefully and inconspicuously as I could. Turning it over, I noticed it was some sort of store brochure that I had never before seen. An old black and white photograph graced the front, of a young man and woman standing to the left of a large window front. The man looked unusually familiar and I was sure I had seen his picture somewhere before. As I studied the brochure more, it became clear that this was a picture of Barney and Claire as a young couple. Chills ran down my neck and spine, and my fingers began to tingle, almost causing me to drop everything. I felt a connection to a man and woman in a photo taken nearly eighty years ago, as if they were my dear friends. My eyes shifted down the brochure to a box with bright green font running along the bottom, “Emerald Ring Foundation: Free Educational Programs for Young Entrepreneurs in New York City -est. 1991 by Barneys New York in honor of the late Barney Pressman”

I couldn’t stop reading the words. It was like my eyes were on a typewriter reel, being pushed back over and over again. Emerald Ring…Emerald Ring?! The ring they are talking about is on my finger! It was a true and obvious sign that a miracle had occurred, and the overwhelming, paralyzing love I felt was the result of it. I wanted to call my family, and describe this unbelievable experience. I wanted everyone to know, even the strangers that surrounded me. I had never before believed in paranormal or spiritual worlds, but suddenly I knew that they were all around me. I had witnessed life outside of my common reality, and met someone with a truly angelic spirit.

The powerful gem of this miraculous experience sat delicately on my finger, an unlikely remnant that had changed both the history of fashion and my life in a profound way. It works daily as a great reminder for me to be conscious of every choice I make, and to make decisions based on compassion and selflessness. The ghost of Barney Pressman revealed to me that I was a precious cog in a most magnificent wheel. I couldn’t wait for life to package up a new transcendent surprise for me; the kind of gift I was now open to receive. No handbag or hot new designer had ever made me feel that divine.


Licenses taken:
*Barney Pressman did actually pawn his wife’s wedding ring in 1923 for $500 to stay in business, but I fictionalized the type of ring it was. I also made up his wife’s name.
*The Emerald Ring Foundation does not exist.
*“No Bunk, No Junk, No Imitations” was Barney’s original slogan in the 1920’s and Barney did indeed pass away in 1991.
*Amberton Wilke’s tempered leather boots and the exotic scent of “Rimi One” by African perfumer Claz Nubo are both of my imagination