Gary Schultz, President of Edwards Garment Company, offered
Karen a job on the spot when he met her, and asked her if she wanted to move to
Kalamazoo . “I’ve got only three like you, and one is
about to leave!” he wailed. Jest or no,
the longtime multi-taskers are hard to find.
Whether larger corporations like Edwards, small manufacturers,
or distributors, all of us need the folks who are the backbone of our industry.
The more talented they are, the more quickly they rise to the top. But there are also those whose “top” is about
doing their jobs well, no matter how great or how small. Karen is the perfect example.
She was raised on a 160 acre farm in Illinois , and learned from day one how
important it was to do her work well; survival depended on it. She learned the value of producing something
that benefited her own family, and helped others at the same time. “Uniforms are the same as my Daddy’s crops, or
Mommy’s grapevine in her garden,” Karen recalls. “When I work, I feel important because I know
that I’m helping to make clothing that makes people feel proud. I know that while I’m earning a salary and
keeping busy, others are going to be looking mighty nice in the special outfits
we do for them. What could be a better
job?”
Karen, like so many, learned to sew at an early age. Her mother taught her, and she took Home
Economics in school; if she wanted new clothes, the treadle sewing machine was
there to accommodate her. She graduated from
high school and was off to the big city.
Six years later, after marrying and having her one and only child, Karen
found herself looking for something to do that she really enjoyed. In the meantime, she and her husband couldn’t
afford much, so Karen decided that if she wanted pretty outfits, she was going
to have to make them, herself.
In the late ‘60’s, polyester double knit was “in.” Karen went to the fabric store, and not
having the money to buy a sewing machine, she learned to cut and hand-sew every
bit of her own clothing. When was the
last time you bought fabric, cut it out on a pattern—knit, mind you—and made
the whole thing including setting zippers, making the button-holes, doing the hem
and all, so that it not only hung together for a decent period of time, but it
fit you so well that you would be pleased to wear it in public. When she applied for her first sewing job—a
western wear manufacturer—she was hired on the spot.
Along the way, Karen had several people who helped her and
trained her. She made it a point to be
curious, and to learn as many things as she could about each business and the
world of garments. Her first
supervisor, Marie, taught her how to run sewing machines—and how to work on assembly
line production. She started on Western pants
with their specialized pockets and styling, double needle stitching and bar-tacking;
for years, that was her specialty.
From there, she moved on to band uniform pants, with
adjustable side zippers, bibbers, high waistbands, and stripes. “I just loved to make stripes,” Karen
smiles. “Yep. I was a real hummer with that sewing machine foot
that keeps the braid straight. I like
things to go smooth and fast. I like to
make noise and I like to be heard. I
like it to be known that I’m doing my job.”
When the band factory decided to move its quarters to Missouri , it not only
offered Karen a job, but promised her husband a good job, too—she was that
valuable. However, Karen turned it
down. She liked where she was, and
decided that maybe it was time to try something new: Dry-cleaning.
A couple of old-timers (Inga and Star) showed her the ropes, and Karen
was off in a new direction of her apparel career. “I thought it was fascinating! I learned how to press clothes, fold them,
get spots out and what cleaned what the best.
We had a lot of fun.” Eventually,
she was given her own store to manage on a university campus. She laughs.
“I’ll tell you, between the cops coming in all the time, and those
terrible stains from the fraternity parties, it was an education.”
She went back to the uniform business after the dry-cleaners
closed down. This time, she came back as
a presser. “New garments aren’t the same
as old garments,” she found. “New
garments have no creases, nothing knows where it’s supposed to go, the lapels
aren’t set, the pants don’t lie straight, the facings and linings have to be
just right or they hang outside of the clothing. Coats—blazers and them—those are the hardest
to press. There’s training in that, and
it takes a smart person to train you right and teach the short-cuts. Otherwise, it takes forever.”
“I like pressing. I
can be in my own little element and press my heart away. I make mistakes from time to time, and I’m
not perfect. I insist on neatness; the
secret to inspecting is that if it don’t lay straight, it ain’t gonna
work. That’s all there is to it.”
Karen was now working in a smaller shop, and there wasn’t
manpower or salaries for one person to do only one job. She learned how to handle all the special
machines, such as the button and button-hole machines (as well as the different
types of button holes that can be made), the snap machines and kick presses,
the hemmer, the pocketing machine, and whatever else was left. “It was all just so fascinating,” she says
over and over.
“I’ve been at my recent shop for over 11 years, I
guess. The time passes so quickly. I expect I’ll retire when I’m around 70. But right now, in addition to running the machines,
pressing, or inspecting and shipping, I’m helping out the new owner the way
Marie, Inga, and Star helped me. That’s
a real good feeling—like I’m paying them back.
I try to do the right thing by people, I try to be optimistic and
believe that yeah, it can be done.”
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