Rubin: A Christmas story from the Fisher Building, with life lessons and shopping tips

Rachel Lutz's story involves holiday shopping, so this seems like a good time to tell it.

The story also involves death, compassion, connection, grief and angels, so it would also be appropriate for most other months. But it starts with a ringing phone almost four years ago at 3 p.m. on Christmas Eve.

Lutz, 43, owns the vividly imaginative Peacock Room accessory and apparel shops at the Fisher Building and the Park Shelton in Detroit. She also owns a smaller boutique at each location, but she answered the phone at her flagship store in the high-ceilinged promenade of the tallest structure in New Center.

The caller wanted to know what time Lutz was closing, and sighed audibly at the answer, 4 p.m.

Lutz was dog-tired and her feet were barking, but when it's your business, you walk the extra mile. Hurry on in, she said, and if you need me to, I can stay a few minutes late.

At 3:58, the phone rang again. Same woman, still running behind: "Would half an hour work?"

No, Lutz said. The absolute max-out was 4:15 — which of course had slid past when the phone rang once more. We're here, the woman said, but we can't find you, so there was Lutz in the middle of the concourse at the north end of the building, "waving like one of those flailing car wash inflatables."

Shopping, but not smiling

Lutz was sitting placidly a few days ago as she parceled out the story, drinking a bottled iced tea in the late afternoon at a table in front of a neighboring coffee shop that locks its doors at 2 p.m.

Foot traffic had been falling gradually at the Fisher since the 1980s, then plummeted during the pandemic and has only taken baby steps back toward workable numbers. Somehow, almost everyone who walked past knew her anyway: workers, neighbors, the Detroit school district's deputy superintendent.

You might recognize her, too, even if you're not a Peacock Room customer. She's friendly and funny and wise in the ways of retail, and that frequently puts her in magazines or on television, which makes her even more likely to be visited when the next station up the dial needs to interview an expert.

Being top-of-mind helps her bottom line. Recognizing that most retailers are not so blessed, she eagerly agreed when asked to recommend a few other shops in the city deserving of praise and attention.

Stay tuned for that. Meantime, picture two African American sisters in their 60s or 70s, visibly weary, hobbling into a festively decorated store at what's supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year.

One of the women was called Laverne. The other name never dropped. Shopping thoughtfully but quickly, and yet somehow joylessly, they picked out gloves or socks for the eight or nine people on their list.

Lutz, who had sent her employees home hours earlier, could tell the women were embarrassed by their late arrival and the inconvenience they had wrought.

Beyond that, she said, there's always an awkward silence as a sale gets rung up, so she tried to be perky.

"Are you heading to a family celebration?" she asked.

Laverne's answer was as flat as an empty stocking.

"Yeah," she said.

When sad tidings descend

Lutz refers to her salespeople as fairies, because their job is to provide a magical experience. She coaches them to ask insightful questions — "Who are you shopping for? What are they passionate about?" — and truly listen to the answers.

With gentle prodding, Laverne elaborated.

Their niece was supposed to have turned 30 three days earlier, she said. But at some point in the previous year, she had died, and it was going to be dreadfully difficult to walk into what was supposed to be a cheery gathering.

They hadn't been able to bring themselves to shop, Laverne said. They'd barely been able to leave the house and press against the monthlong hailstorm of unshared exultation.

Lutz understood, and she hopes others will, even if they keep a song in their hearts and it's a carol.

"It's not even 'Happy Christmas.' It's 'Merry Christmas,' " Lutz said, and what can you do when you're supposed to be jubilant but you're devastated?

She told the sisters about her father, Sidney, who had died only weeks before the Jewish high holidays in 2018. Told them how she wept through three days of services and almost didn't go back the next year, but did anyway and cried again.

But she rallied, Lutz said, and by Yom Kippur, she was the comforter rather than the comforted.

It gets easier, Lutz promised, and then Laverne started to cry and Lutz came out from behind the counter to give her one of those tight, rocking hugs, "and of course, I was crying, too."

Laverne called Lutz an angel, and said she and her sister were going to march into that room and be with the people who loved them.

Lutz might not have told them they were angels, too, but she says it now.

"They reminded me," she said, "to always look for the story behind the person. They recommitted me to using my little role in the world to make a connection."

Three cheers for three shops

There's more to say about that, but there's also the matter of those shops and shopkeepers who deserve more applause than they usually hear.

Try Savvy Chic on Riopelle in Eastern Market, Lutz said, where Karen Brown curates a Parisian boutique with a Detroit flair.

Or find another splash of color at the Fisher only a few steps from Lutz's: Yarn Nerds, a knitting shop that will share space with a small bookstore into January, when owner Lisa Borum looks for a more permanent location.

Or marvel at The Fashion Place, also at the Fisher, where sisters Emmalene Hunter, 70, and Jean Jarrett, 79, have been in business 41 years.

Lutz's four storefronts cover 7,800 square feet. Hunter and Jarrett have 450, near the entrance to a deli called Promenade Artisan Foods that's worth a shout-out, too.

"We make it work, some kind of way," Hunter said.

When the Fisher was bustling and GM had its headquarters across the street, they could count on their mid-price merchandise for not-quite-young women turning over. Now they have to hustle a bit harder, even as they move a little slower.

"They have a lot packed in there," Lutz said — dresses, bags, knowledge.

A lasting impact

As best Lutz knows, Laverne and her sister have not been back to the Peacock Room. But in one short visit, they left a legacy.

"They reminded me," Lutz said, "of the magic that happens when two strangers are able to connect."

They also cemented her irritation with people who squander chances to learn and love, or who don't leap to make a difference in someone's life even when it might be as simple as keeping a door open past closing time.

Everyone has burdens, she said. Every moment is precious. Every interaction can be valuable and memorable.

And, if you're stuck for a gift idea, everyone can use an interesting pair of socks.

Neal Rubin will be judging the Abick's Bar chili cookoff to benefit Detroit Dog Rescue on Sunday from 1-6 p.m. Swing on by the classic Detroit tavern at 3500 Gilbert St.

Reach Neal at NARubin@freepress.com.

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Editor's note: This column has been updated to note that Lutz' flagship store is in New Center.

This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Christmas Eve kindness at Peacock Room offers lessons — and shopping tips