In the 1930s, my grandfather visited downtown Minneapolis, helped along by Uncle Leonard and Aunt Ann. Uncle Lawrence from the farm came along. Resting on a bench across from the elevator doors, Grandpa Ole noticed an older lady shuffle along, press a button and enter the room that was the elevator. Fascinated, he watched for a minute or so, then the door opened. Out came a beautiful blonde bombshell, strutting in high heels.
Grandpa thought for a moment, looked around, then said to Lawrence: Lawrence, go get your mom.