Why Our Children Fail

Other countries have poverty, also.  There will always be the haves and the have-nots.  Life in the big city. Nothing will ever change that.  It's part of the human condition.  To exonerate American decline in the quality of education on the basis of poverty, doesn't wash.

It's about motivation, about the home, about standards.  Tell a person he can't learn because he's poor, and he won't. "Aw, shucks.  Poor me:"  Self-fulfilling prophecy.

In the 19th and 20th centuries, people were very poor.  They came here in cattle boats, starving, with nothing.  No ESL classes, no welfare, no nothing. Make it or break it.

Guess what?  We became the most powerful, smartest, achieving nation in the world.  What changed since then?  Poverty didn't.  Rather, it's the value system that uses poverty and free hand-outs as an excuse, that has come into vogue.  The "poor little helpless things" mentality.  It's sickening to pity one's fellow man like that, rather than to inspire him to achieve and do better for himself. Our value system is upside down.

I'm not impressed with the poverty excuse.  Rather, I go with the reality that teachers need to teach, children need to learn, parents need to parent.  It's not a perfect world. My philosophy is more about "get over it," than "poor baby."  It's not that I'm naive.  I work in the garment district, in the ghettoed portion of town; with minorities as workers, street people, customers, and residents.  I taught in inner city schools.  I get it.

Americans have worked their butts off, in order to have a piece of the American Dream,  for over 200 years, and were magnificent, as a result.
Was every story a success?  No.  As a nation, overall, were we successful? You bet.

Give a person a hand-out (vs. a hand up), and one essentially has said to that person that he is incapable of making it on his own, so others will make it for him.  The fulfilling prophecy of failure and dependency.
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I do not feel that machines can replace a competent, thinking teacher. However, as many of the teachers today are incompetent, it becomes a debate.  Sadly, students and teachers are stumbling over one another, racing for the "Dumbest in the Class" awards:  The tragedy.  I think machines are a magnificent resource. Period.  Unfortunately, our society disagrees, in significant part:  Teachers have cultivated disrespect, society needs a scapegoat for its failing children, and the technology has become the rescuer.  Bingo...

The other day, a dim-wit of a teacher whined that each of her first graders just HAD to have a calculator. Why is that?

Well, they can't learn arithmetic without one!

What if it breaks?? What will the child do then?  Why, go next door and get the calculators from the other teacher, of course!

Augh!

"Hypers, Nancy!" George ejaculated. Response: Political Incorrectness In Nancy Drew Books

[ The followimg post is a response to an article : Was Nancy Drew Politically Incorrect? ]

In every single thing I do, I am a detective.  Some people call that "doing one's homework."  From the moment I arise until I drop, I am a grade-A busybody; whether it is about medicine, law, education, business, or just trying to survive in today's world.

Nancy Drew's, some in first editions (yes, really), have a place of honor on my bookshelves.  I have them printed on cheaper paper for the sake of saving money to support the Second World War; I have them with R.H. Tandy's marvelous illustrations both in glossy black and whites printed from 1929 through the '30's, in pen and ink's from the late '30's and '40's, in their colored covers.  I also have the later illustrators who cheapened and simplified Nancy's style and persona.  It was R.H. Tandy who gave her her beauty.  Not to mention that of chums, Helen Corning, Bess Marvin, and George Fayne; with loyal housekeeper, Hannah Gruen, and Dad--Carson Drew. Remember???

The books, complete with running boards on automobiles that required blankets for "motoring" as there were yet to be car heaters; a whopping speed limit of 20 miles per hour; rumble seats in roadsters; or "electrical ice-boxes" as the term "refrigerator' was brand new; were also very real. That is to say, the books reflected the times in which they were written, as the author states.

There neither was nor is absolutely nothing wrong with them.  Nothing.

As several of the folks commented below, it wasn't about "racism" or "anti-Semitism'" in those days.  It was about reality: The way things were.  That's called "HISTORY."   The books, with the nom de plume of Carolyn Keene, were well written--for third and fourth graders--full of fun vocabulary, settings, adventures, and new things for young girls who wanted to be grown-up's.  In those days, when a girl like Nancy was 16, she was already running a household and solving mysteries.  As the books progressed, and our society was ever more protective of its children, Nancy's age upped to 18.  She had to be more mature to do all of those things; it wasn't so much about time passing, as it was about our society becoming less mature.

The bigotry and prejudice, if one wants to look for it, is there--"good and plenty."  But you know, it's how things were.  As the author writes, rather than hide reality from children, talk with them about it.  Learn from it.  Be glad that Nancy offers so much in so many dimensions--historically, politically, socially, culturally--in addition to the simple plots that were ever so adventuresome!  I still "blush to the fingertips" when something exciting is upon me. Don't you??

If one wants to address the 'Drew books, rather than frown upon the culture of the times, one might also take a look at Nancy as a top-drawer feminist--in fact, as are all of the women in these books.  Take Mr. Drew's sister: Eloise Drew, unmarried, a career woman, and living quite successfully in New York.  I believe Aunt Lou was a practicing attorney, and helped Nancy on more than one case...  See, it wasn't about deliberate attacks on this group or that; again, it was about society, commentary, the culture; and authors who used--yes--the ideal Girl Scout, as the epitome of the role model for Nancy's character.

This author did a very good job of discussing the slants in Nancy's world.  I have little doubt that those same slants were in far more books and series--e.g.: Mark Twain--than just Nancy Drew.  Hide the truth of the times, and they will re-live themselves.  Expose them for what they were, and they're valuable  lessons.

Nancy Drew is one of The Best aspects of my life.  She is alive and well, and with me every single day.  I am so glad that the author was as generous as she was, and wise.  Sometimes, people aren't so kind.  I have no patience with the politically correct: It's one thing to be courteous, polite, and civil. It's quite another to hide the truth, and live in a world that isn't or wasn't, or will never be: That is not Nancy Drew; it is the Emperor's New Clothes.

The Old Tailor: Made to Measure Magazine

(This article was originally written in the late '80's.)

When I was a child, I used to see him there, sitting in a non-descript corner, hunched over his machine. Acknowledging my father's watchful presence more than my brown-eyed curiosity, he would look up and nod as I would observe him cut the thread between his teeth.

Worn Singers--maybe six of them--and an old Pfaff, were stuffed into that back room like desks in a schoolhouse.  Instead of books, cones of sewing thread, boxes of buttons, rolls of braid, filled the shelves. And, like mollified students, they all sat there, the numbers of Eastern Europe engraved into their faces, their clothing belonging to a different time.

Trousers and vests hung on skinny men like jackets tossed on barbed wire fence posts.  Faded flowered silks (for there were no polyesters in those years) threatened to cover trundling women as though they were skins on bulging sausages.  They were old then--grey, stoop-shouldered, an dreamless--sewn into the linings of their world.   The years eventually took most of them, but the old tailor remained loyal.

I suppose he was only twenty, in those groping times when the world was righting itself from the War.  I think it must have been that I was so young, that he appeared so old. When he died, he was sixty-six; my memories are from many years ago.

His first name had been anglicized and he had a last name infiltrated with Polish phoneticisms--an infinite number of  "z's."  Medium build, medium height, his pride kept his spine as straight as a measuring stick all his life. But from the close work of the stitching, a roundness had grown into his shoulders, softening that very formal European discipline into an almost friendly stoop.

His eyes were quick to note a mistake, observant to follow a line.  I cannot recall their color, for there was no contrast to the shading of his face. Everything was grey.  The hair, straight and combed to one side, covered his baldness.  Occasionally, when he lost himself in his art, a strand or two would slip down over his brows, creating a casualness that might have made him a part of this world.  He had a sharp Aryan nose, and a large brown mole on his cheek that rose up in a rounded dome like a used pencil eraser. He always wore a too-wide tie and a too-tight coat; he always wore a hat--straw in the summer, felt in the winter.

He worked for my father for over forty years.  He did just about everything, because he was trained in the days when "everything" was what one did; when loyalty to the superior mattered; when quality was more than a quick stitch of a union label.  He had apprenticed as a boy, I imagine, in pre-War Poland.  Afterward, he came here, bringing with him a needle and thread, a pair of shears, and his accent. Nothing more.

In the early years, he did the master tailoring.  Hitch it up here; let it out there.  Dart. Pleat. No gusset. Watch the inseam.  This one is a portly--don't confuse him with a stout.  Sleeve lengths to match.  Careful when you cut, now--those lapels are getting narrower.  Single-breasted for him; double-breasted takes too much cloth and he's too broad across the chest.  Not too much padding in the shoulder.  Slimmer leg, please...

Eventually, the tailoring business became more of an eccentricity than a practicality.  As the shop became a factory, and the company grew to a corporation, the old tailor, in order to continue to survive, should have changed, also.  But he never grew or learned any more than his youth had taught him.  His pessimism over a lost world invaded his dulled being.  Now, they used the word "manufacturer" instead of "tailor."  It was longer, maybe. Fancier.  But to him, its real meaning was death.

He tried to leave once, when industrial replaced hand, when one suit became one hundred, when the single name "piecework" replaced the completeness of the whole garment.  He had in mind to buy his own shop--a small corner, downtown.  At last, out from under my father's shadow, he would be his own man.  Butler becoming boss.  His shop would be in the tradition of his world--suiting fabrics, shirt weights.  A small press in back with a good steam iron ought to do it.  Of course, a really good machine or two.  Maybe, if it went well, a helper.  But most of all, he, the old tailor, would celebrate his trade and his skill.  Tape measure around the neck--like a priest before the altar--he would dress the mannequin to approximate size. Clip the threads.  Check the button holes.  Brush the shoulders.  Amen.

He had purchased the shop with his savings.  Received my father's best wishes.  Was ready to own the life for which he had been trained.  But he had a wife--and at the proper moment, her greed coerced her into gambling.

If, for a few months, there actually had been a color to the old tailor's eyes, it was never seen again.  Only grimness and waiting and manufacturing remained.

He needed a job and my father needed a good man to run the shop.  "Shop" didn't mean the whole building, but those rooms confined to the cutting, sewing, and pressing of the garments.  My father never did find that "good man."  But the old tailor was there.  And, he did his best, I suppose.  Mostly pacing between this girl and that, watching how they sewed, wondering what to complain about next.

The flowered dresses were replaced with low-cut blouses and too-tight pants.  The seven machines reproduced themselves into twenty and thirty. The presses became the pressing room.  Electric cutting knives whirred, two and three at a time.  The women had become girls, and the Europeans had been replaced with Spanish, Indian, and Oriental blood.

It wasn't pride anymore.  It was survival and endurance.  Kibbitz with the girls.  Punch in--punch out.  A day's work. Most of all, disdain for modernity. Disgust with the distance between a man and his work; a love affair the old tailor testily missed.  It didn't matter how good the garment was.  To him, it wasn't right--it wasn't done with tenderness, or respect for the beauty of the fit.  The caring, the sighing, the becoming-at-one-with, were not there, any more.

The tailor made a poor foreman.  My father knew it.  The tailor, I imagine, knew it, but didn't care.  I believe for him, it was a simple transfer of professions: From creating, to observing others create.  The world had passed him by.

Almost too late, my father grew tired of the bigness of his work.  He sold the factory, and returned to the smaller shop.  A staff of nothing: Except that he still needed the old tailor.  Only a few days a week. Alterations. Hand stitching. A custom measurement now and then.  It was here that I saw the old gentleman gradually fail, fall apart, and finally die.

The manufacturing of suits had become the making of uniforms--for hotels, restaurants, and specialty groups. He would still take the bus each day to and from his torture, where he would be surrounded by brightly colored cocktail dresses and Mexican waitress skirts, hot-pants, and chambermaid garb.  Once again, rounded over his machine that was lit cautiously with a small refrigerator bulb, he would sit and baste. Snapping the thread between his teeth as he used to do, forty years ago.  He knew the feel of a good wool gab.  He could line up the buttons on a jacket by sight.  He ripped and re-sewed with the steadiness of the years.

I always thought he liked the ripping best, somehow.  When it wasn't his own work, it was a delight to correct.  To remind the others of what real tailoring and genuine workmanship were about.

The months passed. He muttered a lot.  At first to himself.  Then to the cloth.  Finally, to the audience of the presses.

His end was those hot steaming machines.  Mentally, he had grown quite slow, old memories stitching over the cloth of reality.  My father would have retired him, but the tailor's wife still gambled away their money. There was no other means for him to survive, but to work.  All that was available now that his skills were fading, were the presses.

He was as good at them as any other aspect of the trade. He was content to come in, fold his coat carefully on the chair, and place his hat neatly on their top.  He would smoke a cigarette and go to the back, where amidst conversations with himself, he would smooth a pant or two, using all his strength to pull down those big mangles and buck presses.

He worked until his last day.  Dignified, formal, polite.  As gracious to the imagined voices he heard as to the workers behind the cutting tables.  As critical of the twentieth century, as anyone I've known.  Vacant and shyly droll, always the Old World, in a tattered and worn sort of way.  His clothes never changed from those early, ill-fitted years, despite the thousands of hours he spent caressing the seams of others.

I felt sad when he died, not so much for him as for me.  Clearly, he was just too tired.  I wondered if, had I tried, I could have known him better.  I wondered if, had I succeeded, there would have been any greater depth to him than what I had observed.  The old tailor, like a worn suit of clothes, may well have been a disguise for someone very different underneath.

Reflecting Upon the Assassination of JFK, 50 Years Later: Intermountain Jewish News

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Then, it was time for the World War II generation to take its place as leader--not only of the free world, but of the entire globe.  He was paradigmatic of the American Dream.  He tried his best, grew as he learned, was gracious and witty, intelligent and cosmopolitan.  His breeding and eloquence never lessened his sense of the people.

No matter his failings, he personified the new and greatest generation.  When the War was over, the old men stood aside; he stepped up to bat.  America was the top of the heap; he was proof that we had arrived.  In the years that proceeded him, his generation remained the best of the best; what this nation was all about.  "Ask not what your country can do for you;" he counseled.  "Ask what you can do for your country."

She, on the other hand, was beyond compare:  Strikingly handsome, bright, at once unafraid to lead and be feminine, she was all that he was and more.  I saw her at the theatre: Radiant--an aura.  Dressed in white in the darkened audience, she was a lovely golden glow.  She savored being a woman, a bon vivant, a certain kind of unspoken ethereal power.

Yet, uppermost were her efforts and joys as a mother, safeguarding her children's wellbeing and independence.  Never mind her reigning duties, her peccadilloes; her children were her focus.  She understood that as her personal legacy, they were her responsibility.  "If you bungle raising your children," she said, "I don't think whatever else you do, matters very much."

In the shadows, an underside of the flourishing Dream was the insistence of entitlement that came with a realization of success.  Signaled by his demise, that darker visage continually expanded itself, extinguishing those ideals of integrity, determination, achievement, gratitude.

It took almost 200 years for him to epitomize whom we were inspired to become.  It took less than a generation for us to implode upon ourselves.  He is dead, his generation almost gone, the United States as it was intended to be, is done.

Of this, I am always aware: He was but a symbol; what might have been.

Ralph's: UniformMarketNews.Com

You can drive by the two single-story 1950's buildings and never know they are there: Non-descript blonde brick office types separated by a driveway, each small enough to take in both at a single glance.  A curved awning over one of the entrances, with a threaded needle laminated in place, separates the importance of the one building from the other.  To the right is sales and parts; to the left is the machine shop and service.  The driveway allows for deliveries. 

Inside, it is an entirely different story.  The machine shop is full of technical wheels and honing tools that mold and manufacture various precision parts for this and that.  Its gloomy concrete interior has men in goggles bent over their work.  Except for bald florescent lights and flying sparks--everything is grey.  Beyond the machines is service for the sewing department.  There are older men and younger, who are cleaning, re-wiring, adding new parts to damaged irons, pressing equipment, sewing machines, cutting knives, or whatever.

Across the way is the front office: People drive in from all over, to consult, order, gossip, schmooze and network, just like at the general store in a small town.  Behind the office is the parts department--grey metal shelving with bin after bin of needles, folders, sizes of machine foots, bobbins, scissors, multiple types of colored  thread, all kinds of grease, oil, and even cans of air.  You name it, and Ralph's has it; if it doesn't have it, it will be ordered.  Customers saunter in and lean on the antiquated glass counter tops that separate them from the clerks, while they check over the bulletin board where folks either advertise themselves or pick up an advertisement from others for jobs, skills, and equipment.  

Beyond the parts department is the machinery that is for sale--both new and re-furbished.  The wooden floors creak, all of it is old, cramped, and ever so homey.  It's a place where blue collar folks congregate to talk about their trades and common interests:  They're all of a same mind, knowledgeable, and proud.

Ralph Badillo, now in his late 70's, still comes in every day.  Irma, his wife, does the books; daughter Peggy runs the shipping and special orders; son Joe is in parts; and younger son Paul invents equipment and has obtained 17 different patents for his inventions that keep the machine shop busy. 

Besides the family, there are the machinists, of course, and then, there is Jack--Mr. Customer Service.  Jack, who sports a handlebar moustache that he waxes once a day, and a gold watch fob with a knife, scissors, and screw driver for adjusting machinery, has degrees in industrial and mechanical engineering with minors in design,  physics, and management.  Before he came to work at Ralph's in 1991,  he spent 20 years traveling around the world setting up different shops and factories, and that is his strength--that, and his ability to win the trust of every customer he meets. 

He not only understands equipment, but he knows where it goes and how to use it; he can set up an entire shop, figuring how many machines to use, which one a customer needs to buy, and how many employees are needed to run the place.  He has become the showman of the company-- he is Mr. Personality, and he definitely knows his stuff.  Jack said it best when he remarked, "I love working at Ralph's because it's a small family business without the corporate nonsense.  If I go on a sales call, I never have to worry.  Everybody here supports each other.  What makes us special to our customers is our advice and our knowledge."

In 1927, Singer Sewing Company had its machine shop for retail and wholesale trade located in Denver, Colorado, a centralized hub for the Rocky Mountain region of the United States.  It did well in the largely open and non-competitive West, but as the years wore on and more shops opened up, Singer's management realized that it needed an expert mechanic who understood machines in more than a basic way; there were too many different kinds of machinery, too many different kinds of things being made. 

Ralph Badillo, already employed by Singer in New York, took the job, and he brought his young family with him, remaining with the firm for several more years.  It was Ralph who, while still with Singer, made all the contacts with the customers, did all the repairs, and knew all the machinery.  He left Singer in 1975, taking his large clientele with him.  He started Ralph's Power Industrial Sewing Machine Company, and went into direct competition with Singer (which was exclusive and would not allow itself to be sold with other sewing machine brands at that time).  Ralph took on machines made by Juki, Brother, Pfaff, and Adler--all fine competitors to Singer.  The Singer shop, realizing it was not able to compete, ultimately gave him the right to sell the Singer machines, too, under the name of Power Sewing of Denver.  It remains that way, today:  Singer is sold under its own company name, but it's all at Ralph's.

Unimaginably enterprising, Ralph sold equipment for every aspect of sewing:  Dressmaking, uniforms, saddlery, interior design, draperies,  upholstery, mattresses, police and fire garments.  There were no limits to what he could do.  He offered on-the-job service with his trucks and mechanics, he offered parts and repairs.  He was unique in his concept of customer service, and he worked the entire western portion of the country.  He also picked up the prisons in multiple states when they began to contract sewing work; wherever there was a machine to be purchased, or one to be repaired, Ralph's was there.

Ralph captured the entire market from California to east of the Mississippi, where he still controls the area.  As time went on, other shops like his either went out of business, or became so specialized that they extinguished themselves.  Ralph's, by diversifying, has remained steady and continues to grow. 

The machine shop was a result of son Paul's genius.  He is basically an inventor with a keen mind and the ability to come up with a solution for just about anything.  Patent after patent, Paul has created attachments for various machines that manufacture such things as soft eyelets for hats, fabric grommets without metal for police and fire shirts, non-metal mattress handles and borders, airbags, automobile covers, collars for dogs and belts for people.   Whatever a company needs, Paul has come up with, and Ralph's machinists create it along with the patent.  "In-house product development is the secret to our success," says Ralph.  "Our solutions require deep technological thought."

 
    Ultimately, Ralph's  has become a contractor and converter of parts for such plants as General Motors, General Electric, Ball Aerospace, Hartz Mountain Pet Supplies,  O'Cedar mops,  the Fuller Brush Company, and Samsonite Luggage.  The best invention is a forever sharp glass blade, co-manufactured with Coors Ceramics, to be used for cutting through thick fabrics such as jeans and mattresses.  What was originally meant for making sewing machine parts, additionally now sells tiny precision items made specifically for satellites, automobiles, university research, and more.

 All of this goes on in the little building across the driveway.  It has also allowed the company to survive during economic downfall and recession.  Interestingly, the apparel business, including uniforms, has become a relatively small part of Ralph's, now.  Says Jack, "Apparel in America basically went out during the '70's and early '80's." 

Today, Ralph's ships all over the world.  It does work in Africa, Canada, Honduras, Argentina, Brazil, England, France, and Germany.   Ralph's has become an institution in American machinery and sewing needs, and sees only a bright future ahead as it continues to diversify and reach out to new customers and trends.

Hardwick Clothes: 129 Years of Excellence: UniformMarketNews.Com

Virginia, 1655, is the earliest trace of William Hardwick who emigrated from England.  His family settled in various parts of the South and, generation after generation produced children who were consistently committed to community welfare, industry, education, and values that revolved around the Masons and the Methodist church.  Eventually locating in Cleveland, Tennessee, C.L. Hardwick was the great great grandson of the original Hardwick, and it was he who took it upon himself to found a woolen mill in 1880. 

Why: No one seems to know.  The best guess is that as the country began to come of age and transportation allowed for access to more store-bought items, Hardwick decided to utilize his retailing experience along with his knowledge of farming.  He was working by the age of 15, went into the retail business at 19, lost the business and paid back his debts out of his own pocket, and began again in mercantile at age 30.  He also bought a farm, which he worked simultaneously, and it’s possible that his livestock afforded him more potential than imported shelf items which could by then be purchased elsewhere.  

Cleveland then was a town of about 5,000 people, in the midst of farm country.  Today, it boasts a community of about 40,000-50,000, the size of a large university. It has remained small, maintains its basic set of American values, and caters to the folks who live and work there.  There is one mall, no skyscrapers, and Sunday church as an important aspect of life.

Many of Hardwick’s 400+ employees as well as its CEO’s are family to one another, and have been serving the company for multiple generations.  Nancy Deakins who heads up Advertising, and Tommy Hopper as President, are descendants of the Hardwick family.  Jim Park, whose uncle was Sales Manager, is the Vice President of Sales, today.  One of the aspects about the plant is that it is all on one story, and everybody knows and sees everyone else.  “If a customer needs something special,” notes Park, “I can just walk out onto the floor, talk to a supervisor, and put the item into work.” 

First known as the Cleveland Mills, 1880 marked the founding of the company with five owners who ultimately became one—C.L. Hardwick.  The firm was besieged by fire as many as four times, but as the building and its contents were repeatedly destroyed and rebuilt, each time forced modernization with positive change and growth to occur in spite of damage and loss.

The Mills weaved what was known as “jean cloth”—a heavy-duty twill or kersey for pants that was created in Virginia.  It was roughly 76% wool, and 24% cotton, with the cotton being on the inside close to the leg for softness, and the 22 oz. wool fabric being on the outside.  Once the goods was woven, it was transformed into “Dollar Pants,” due to their low cost. 

Over time, Cleveland Mills evolved into a manufacturing plant as well as a mill, making “hundreds of thousands of dollars,” according to company records of 1920; in 1925, it became Hardwick Mills with the family’s name attached.  During its heyday, Cleveland Mills was the largest facility of its kind in the world.  It produced the fabric and it made the garments: Suits, overcoats, knickers, and boy swear.  It produced plaids, various weaves, and solids.  It transformed from industrial wear to dress attire, with pleated and then plain front pants, and it followed the all coat styles of the day, from the earliest part of the 20^th century until modern times.  Even during the Great Depression, Hardwick managed to grow.  Its motto was “Off the sheep’s back, and onto the rack.”

Ultimately, with huge Post War demand for ready-to-wear garments, and with the invention of synthetics, Hardwick decided to abandon its line of overcoats, boy swear, fashions that had gone out of style, and to sell its mill.  Instead, it became a manufacturing plant alone, and went full force into men’s wear for dress and sport.  Since 1980, it has added a lady’s line to complement the men’s garments; however, Hardwick is ultimately a medium priced line that is sold in retail men’s stores.  Today, it produces suits, separates, and sport coats.  Its inventory is not so much a matter of variety, but rather of volume regarding the products it handles.

The current 175,000 sq. foot one-story facility was built in 1974, when the company was producing over 10,000 coats and pants per week.  Strictly American made, the company has continued to adapt with the times and now focuses on career apparel for groups and corporations plus its sales to men’s stores and individuals.  Keeping inventory plentiful for superb customer service, but keeping the economy keenly in mind, anything that doesn’t sell is discontinued.  “Patterns for sport coats eventually run themselves out,” cites Jim Park.  “We temper current styles with what we think is the best.” 

The Hardwick line is very traditional—conservative.  Manufacturing in the

South, its focus has been influenced by the population; heaviest sales seem to be in the Midwest and the Sunbelt, where people prefer classic grey, black, and navy—“the marry ‘em and bury ‘em” colors,” smiles Jim.  It used to be that Hardwick made blazers in a myriad of colors, but due to the lack of interest, had to cut them.  “We find that since we’ve narrowed our focus to certain items rather than many, our sales have greatly increased.”

Despite society’s more recent trend toward casual dress, Jim feels that the future is very bright.  “Sure, there are folks who are loyal to their pocketbooks and want to buy offshore, but we see the economy improving, people are getting back to dressing up, and there’s a lot to be said for being an American made product.”

“The age of our customers is unlimited.  We appeal more to the middle-aged person, but we’re also reaching out to people in their 20’s.  We have an excellent value in our garments; our history and tradition speak for themselves; we go out of our way to be a team and a family, and take care of our customers.  If someone calls and says ‘I’ve got to have this for a special event,’ we do our best to accommodate.  People can count on us.”    

One of the best aspects of Hardwick in more recent years is its ability to do special orders.  “We’re not a custom house,” reminds Jim, but we did uniforms for the Second World War, and now for the Salvation Army, pants for umpires, or certain colors or styles if there’s enough for a special request.  It’s a great place to work, and after 25 years, I only hope I’ll be here for many more.”

Button, Button, Who's Got The Button?: UniformMarketNews.Com

In the late 19^th century, a fellow from Vienna, Austria—John Frederick Boepple—who was as bright, inventive, and dedicated as they come, came to the United States in search of what was known as “fresh water pearls.”  Because of European tariffs and difficulties overseas, his craft of making buttons out of multiple materials, such as horn, wood, lead, and “salt water pearls” had become an outrageous expense, and he was looking for a material less expensive.  He found an abundance of it along the Mississippi River, in Muscatine, Iowa; what was to become the button capital of the world.

Boepple, who was really the founder of the button industry, is well documented in books, articles, and even museums; his is indeed a remarkable story.  But also from Vienna, arrived around the same time, came another young and hardworking man in the button business—John Weber.  Weber, too, arrived in Muscatine, and it is more than likely—although the two men went their separate ways—that they knew one another. 

This is about John Weber, his family, “fresh water pearls” that are also known as clams, and the manufacture of buttons.  There was an enormous abundance of clams along the river—literally mountains of shells—and that part of gathering raw materials for the buttons was called “clamming.”  Fresh water clams or “pearls” were 1/100^th the cost of European salt water clams; hence, a fortune was to be made in the American button industry as a result. While many other firms came and went, Weber & Sons Button Company, Inc. not only still exists, but is one of the original manufacturers of buttons in this country. 

John Weber and his wife had 9 children, enough to run an entire factory at that time.  What began as a two-story 20,000 square feet building erected in 1860, grew and grew, and is now 45,000 square feet spanning two separate dwellings with 25 employees, many of whom remain family.  Muscatine is a blue-collar factory town, population 34,000, polka-dotted with churches, shopping centers, and monuments to a simpler way of life.  “It’s two degrees of separation,” says Lynne Weber, fourth generation office manager.  “If you don’t know someone, the person sitting next to you does.”  There are still multiple factories in existence, and they are operating despite the recession.  Farm country surrounds the area, but Muscatine, itself, is pure industry: Yes, in complete compliance with the Environmental Protection Agency.

Boepple was an old-world craftsman who could never adapt to modern industrialization, and it ultimately proved to be his downfall.  He always insisted on making buttons one at a time with a foot-pedal lathe.  Weber, on the other hand, had different ideas and went to automation as quickly as he could.  His firm was well underway when he died in 1934, and his son, Edward W. Weber took over.  The younger Weber, with brothers who were superb machinists much like their uncles, was in charge of the company until 1963, when he died at the age of 57. 

Edward W.’s contribution as a second generation owner was to introduce synthetics to the button industry.  From clams that ultimately became too expensive to manufacture, he went into newly developed acrylics and, with his sons and brothers, adapted the original clam shell machinery to appropriately fit the new material.  What didn’t adapt or couldn’t be made by Barry Manufacturing that created their original machines, they invented and built, themselves.  Remarkably, in one form or another, the original pearl machinery lasted until 1985, with one of them currently residing in the Smithsonian Institution. 

The only problem was that early acrylic buttons melted with heat.  If they survived the finishing process, they then melted when a homemaker ironed a garment.  Yet another source had to be found, which was up to third generation Edward Walter Weber to find.   

At 74, it is he (otherwise known as “Ed” or “Buster”) who is currently in charge of Weber, and it is he who transitioned from acrylic buttons to polyester plastic, which is what is used today.  Originally, the polyester pigment had a lead base.  By the 1980’s, however, lead was outlawed, and the trick became how to make a button without lead.  “I can remember him bringing home buttons and putting them on a cookie sheet to bake them, or he would iron them to try them out.  They smelled awful!” says daughter, Lynne.

There are two basic ways to make buttons, but Weber primarily uses one over the other due to too great a volume and too little for employees to do on the one, vs. constant production at a slower but steadier pace on the other.   There are also two ways to dye a button, with one being through and through (colorfast), while the other is topical, in which case the color can fade onto lighter shades of fabrics.  Interestingly, volume in part determines which way a customer has to go in the dyeing process, because colorfastness demands a minimum of 260 gross or 37,440 buttons.

Weber sells a great many buttons, and has huge diversity.  It used to make its own metal buttons by using the plastic base and then electro-plating the outsides.  Now, these buttons are outsourced, as well as those with rhinestones, cloth, and other combinations; in-house manufacturing itself is limited to the plastic material.

Lynne and her sister, Susan, will eventually take the helm, although Lynne insists that Buster is simply not retiring—Ever.  Having worked his way up from the bottom, Buster has the entire business and all of its processes in his head.  Even as Lynne was being interviewed, not a question went by without the echo of an answer from Buster in the background.

To make buttons, it takes about two weeks from the time an order is placed until the buttons come off a conveyor belt from inspection, and are placed into boxes.  The buttons are made from a paste that is dyed to a specific color, a thick Karo Syrup-like goo or pigment, and plastic, all mixed in a 25 pound bucket.  This is then poured into an open-ended sideways rolling solid drum that is much like a hamster wheel. The drum is spun centrifugally and the material inside is heated, hardened, then peeled off, put on a belt where it is cut into blanks, and dropped in hot water to solidify further.  The pattern and holes follow, plus three days of tumbling with 3/8” tiny wooden cubes to polish the material if a shiny finish is desired.  Inspection follows on the conveyor belt, and it’s done.  Presto!  Hundreds of buttons.

“Weber is strictly wholesale.  We don’t even have a website,” emphasizes Lynne.  Do they have actual button cards and pictures of their buttons?  Yes.  For 105 years Weber & Sons has been a company deeply committed to customer satisfaction.  It has no plans to change that arrangement.

           

Hamburger Woolen Company, Inc.: UniformMarketNews.com

In seven months, Hamburger will celebrate its 70^th anniversary.  There are over 600 Internet sites that refer to it.  Multiple articles have been written, and numerous websites mention its capacity, capabilities, and far-reaching influence in the garment industry—not only in the United States, but throughout the world.   Not bad when one stops to think about these precarious economic times!  Not only is it still in business, but with the strength and determination of its owners and loyal co-workers, Hamburger remains a revered name.  “We’re a wonderful company.”  Ilene Hamburger Rosen says confidently.  “We advocate for each and every one of our buyers, and we bend over backward for them.” 

In addition to its primary focus, which is fabric distribution, Hamburger also maintains its division of police equipment—HWC Police Equipment Company—which has been in existence for 30+ years.  Between the two areas, a strong and healthy future is the clear forecast.

Ilene is the president of the family-owned firm.  “These are not the best of times, but they’re not the worst of times.   You can’t look back,” she insists pragmatically.  “Sure, I liked it better when it was easy and fun.  But now, everything has changed.  You just go forward and do your best.”

Irving Hamburger founded the company January 1, 1940.   Originally, he worked for the American Woolen Company; there were no synthetics or polyesters in those days.  Uniforms were made of 100% wool.   He saw that while large manufacturers could purchase hundreds to thousands of yards, there was no way that the little guy could manage to either afford or warehouse the huge quantities that were mandated by such mills as American Woolen, J.P. Stevens, and many others. Astutely, Irving decided to become a distributor of these goods, by buying up large 600-800 yard pieces.  He warehoused them himself, cut them up, and re-sold them to smaller manufacturers on an “on demand” basis.  “We bought, sold, cut, and shipped,” says Ilene.  “Our fast 24 hour delivery service is what really got us going.  We earned a reputation for prompt shipping and superb customer service, continuing that same practice for both divisions, today.”

Irving initially had two backers, then bought them out as the company quickly took off.  It became a family affair, with cousins, brothers-in-law, brothers, and eventually his sons.  “He supported everyone,” marvels Ilene. 

“In fact,” she continues in her matter-of-fact New Yorkese, “the reason that the police division was created is because Uncle Stewart was always fighting with Uncle Nat; so to give Uncle Stewart something to do and keep the two of them separate, Dad started the police equipment business.  Who could imagine that Uncle Stewart’s one-page hand-out would become our 90-page catalogue and that we are now warehousing over 1900 items for wholesale distribution?”

Lloyd Hamburger, Irving’s eldest son, was always groomed to go into the business.  When Irving passed away unexpectedly, Lloyd came home immediately after completing his military service in the early ‘50’s, and took his place as president of the company, where he remained until 2004.   What Irving founded, Lloyd capitalized upon, and the business mushroomed.  Polyesters were in existence by then—by themselves and blended with woolens.  Hamburger Woolen Company catered to schools, the airline business, hotels, restaurants, casinos, and bands—wherever uniform manufacturers had a use or a need; it still does. 

Hamburger sold to everyone, and it became a well known name in the uniform industry, which at that time was located in New York—the hub of world apparel manufacturing.  “When I got married, the entire garment industry came to my wedding, because they were all right here,” reminisces Ilene.  “My parents’ social friends were also their business colleagues.

Married with two grown children, and a husband who is a physician, Ilene Rosen is one smart cookie.  She is a graduate of Tulane University, both in the liberal arts, and with a law degree.   She keeps her law license current, and can practice in New York, should she choose to.  “I did it for a while,” Ilene moans, “but I hated it.  I just hated it.”

When she and her two younger sisters were growing up, Lloyd would take his three daughters on a ritual outing every Saturday morning: Breakfast at the Dairy Famous Restaurant, and a day at the office.   They loved it.  As the sisters grew and went their separate ways, however, the memories stuck with Ilene.  After her experience in the legal world, and some work in the insurance industry, Ilene joined her father when Lloyd needed help at the office; the timing was perfect. 

As they expanded over the years, the firm moved from one building to the next, with their most recent quarters in a 15,000 square foot one-story building on Long Island.   “Our staff has been with us for at least 20 years, we’re settled, and we’re staying right here,” Ilene mentions. 

 “We have kept going through some rough times,” she says.  More currently, Hamburger has also gone into theme parks, and medical uniforms with its fabrics.  It sells specialty fabrications with highly specialized treatments and coatings, and virtually anything that a customer requests as long as it is in solids rather than prints.  “We also do stretch fabrics and organics,” Ilene adds.

“We are not a mill; we are a distributor, and that’s an important difference—and we are extremely competitive as a distributor.  We are strictly wholesale, and we work with dealers, distributors, and manufacturers.”  Hamburger’s longtime commitment to the North-American Association of Uniform Manufacturers & Distributors (NAUMD) is well known.

Asked about being a woman-owned business, Ilene is frank.  “I have never had a problem being a woman in business; however, the process of becoming certified as woman-owned business is a lot of work for little or no reward.  When this issue came up, I decided to become president of the firm, although Lloyd was older.  But it’s just a title.  What difference does it make?  I never found it a problem to be Lloyd’s daughter.  If people can say the kinds of things about me that they say about him, then I am very lucky.”

  

Profiles In Entrepeneurs: Mike Wiesner: UniformMarketNews.Com

Mike Wiesner has been in business for almost 30 years; he is 45.  “I like success,” he grins.  “Money is only one aspect.  What I really enjoy is the thrill of business: The wonderful combination of strategic thinking, logic, and relationships.  Most successful people can put all of this together, but it’s easier said than done.  You have to have good relationships with your customers and your employees, and you have to pay attention to detail.”

Having just sold multi-million dollar Connecticut based Heidi’s Uniforms, Mike, his wife, and three children have recently re-located in Israel.  He commutes back and forth. Armed with more communication devices than NASA, this man seldom operates fewer than two companies at one time, takes note of his investments, has his nose in the financial pages, and still manages to be a very involved citizen/philanthropist, as well as husband/father.  His secret for energy is simple: He loves what he does.

Born in small town Trumbull, Connecticut, Mike was not your typical kid, even though that’s how his folks, Sid and Evelyn, raised his sister, Andrea, and him.  In high school, he was ahead of his peers by as many as four years, taking his biology and psychology courses with college credits.   

Whether it was geographical proximity to New York, his uncle who had a business in junior fashions and novelties, his dad who was in retail and always wanted his own store, or whether it was just Mike, who can say?  But by the time he was a teenager, he was reading every financial paper he could lay his hands on, loved courses in economics—especially mergers & acquisitions—and at 16 when he ended up at the flea market, he thought that business was “pretty cool.”  His first attempt was visiting garage sales, buying up old stuff and re-selling it at the market.  He saw what he could do, and he was just beginning.

With his uncle, he bought more costly items, which he sold again at the market.  Then, he expanded to festivals and parades—Mylar balloons and souvenirs.  Presto, he was a business man and paid his way through college.  One summer, he spent eight days at the Rhode Island State Fair, worked 15 hours a day, and made $5,000.  He was 17.

Eventually, his parents did buy a business, a small medical uniform shop—Heidi’s.  Founded in 1950 as a “Mom and Pop,” Heidi’s had two locations—the flagship New Haven store (that would be run by Evelyn), and Hartford (later opened in 1983 and managed by Sid).  The company had originally done well, and in 1980, the Wiesners took over. 

By the time Mike graduated from college with a degree in finance in 1982, the stock market had begun to drop.  Mike remembers how his professor/mentor said, “‘If you go to Wall Street, everyone there will be as smart and hardworking as you.  If you go into your family’s business, you will be the cream that rises to the top.’”  Mike listened.

Heidi’s did well at first, but then uniform styles began to change: Nursing caps and whites were out, and medical uniforms became “anything goes.”  As the store started to flounder, Mike saw that his creativity and business acumen were what was the business needed, and so he joined his family.

He began pounding the pavement, looking for customers; he advertised in the Yellow Pages; he got the name of every customer who came into the store and where that person worked—then he called on that particular business; he joined “leads groups;” he broadened Heidi’s base and went into hospitals, hotels, restaurants, and industrial areas.  “I had a lot of fun,” he says.  “I would go out and call on a fancy country club, and then end up at a factory the same day.”

Business began to pick up once more.  He kept the two stores open for his parents, but he looked into the future and saw that retail sales were much less promising than “B to B” (business to business) transactions.  What were once 90% retail, and 10% group sales, Mike completely turned around.

Three years after Mike joined Heidi’s, he bought the company.  Over time, he moved it from the original New Haven shop to its current 25,000 sq. ft. building in West Haven.  Wherever he could, Mike gave Heidi’s customers a desirable, complete experience: He installed multiple embroidery machines; as early as 2003, he also joined ASI and sold promotional products along with the uniforms—again the total presentation. 

“I had a lot of opportunities, and a lot of people around me who expressed their interests in business,” Mike explains, “and if they were interested, I was interested.”  He learned, and Heidi’s grew from five employees to 18. 

“Sales people and entrepreneurs have to be eternally optimistic.  They must always see the glass as half full, not half empty.  You need ego.  If you don’t think you can win, don’t get into the game,” he warns.  “Winning isn’t everything, and we all make a ton of mistakes.  But you need to believe in yourself.  You also need to believe in people; you need to have empathy for your customers and your salespeople.  A good salesperson is ethical, not in your face, willing to commit to a long-term relationship, and brings value to the customer.”          

A little over a year ago, Mike and his wife, Orna, decided they were ready to do other things, and his parents were ready to retire.  He put the business up for sale—not to another uniform company but to a broader marketing firm.  Thus, Heidi’s became part of an even larger consortium, thereby increasing its overall value to its customers and its overall sales. 

Feury Marketing Group, with its 40,000 sq. ft. building in New Jersey, added its property and talents to the existing Heidi’s warehouse and store, totaling over 60,000 sq. ft. of successful, enticing, capabilities, and blending the concept of promotional products with uniforms, web design, graphic arts, and more: The ultimate image.  “There are strong synergies between us, and together we deliver a powerful message,” Mike reiterates.  Current package sales bring in as much as seven figures per client. 

Mike now happily works for Feury, not only in this country but in Israel, where he searches out small to mid-sized companies that are looking for the same unique look that Feury (also Heidi’s) will provide there, as well as here.

“I have an enormous amount of freedom without the tremendous responsibilities, and I love the networking,” Mike Wiesner says.  “I never want to grow up.  Growing up is boring.” 

          

Gripflex Corporation: A Half Century of Elegance & Innovation: UniformMarketNews.Com

In 1954, 46 year old William Lowney had an idea that possessed him.  It began in his four-car Philadelphia garage as he and his wife, Annette, patented a gizmo called a boot band.  This little braided band, with its splash of olive drab color, fit around the tops of military boots and kept pants tucked tightly inside the footwear; they at once “gripped” the top of the boot but “flexed” when an individual stepped: Hence, the Gripflex Corporation was born. 

Lowney initially began his journey of selling his product from town to town along the eastern seaboard, potential customer to potential customer, until his gadget took hold.  And indeed it did.  From there, it was a small step to add the product of shoulder cords, each cord being handmade, even today.  Shoulder cords inspired citation cords, shoulder knots, epaulettes, and the selling of braid, itself—flat, soutache, edge cord,  and the rounded tubular.  Lowney focused on what he felt were basic stock colors (custom dyed colors became available upon request) as he broadened his clientele to include schools and marching bands, hotels and theatres, police, postal, and security uniforms.  The creation of the Lowney braid business was on its way.

Twenty-year old son George abandoned his job in a grocery store and eventually took over the firm, maintaining his father’s original goals and standards while growing the business at the same time.   Moving out of the garage, Gripflex currently boasts 15,000 square feet of braiding machines and inventory, as well as over 40 employees who at once do the hands-on work, and assist with customer service in the front offices. It is one of two braid houses that remain in the United States, today.

All of George Lowney's children have played an active role in the third generation of family ownership, but it is Michael Lowney who has been in charge for the last 11 years, adding his own innovations to the company.  Not squeamish about trying new things, Michael has inspired such ideas as stretch braid for garments where a fixed flat braid impedes movement and is destructive to the fibers of the braid itself; there are the lighted band accessories, developed by JF Magic—shoulder cords that are actually battery operated and work off of LED fiber optics, so that marching bands and other groups wearing braided uniforms may be seen at night; supported by his brother, Steve, who developed the corporate website, Michael also has attended multiple trade-shows, attempting to develop new audiences for his products; and he focuses on providing excellent customer service with state of the art communication tools. 

One of the finest tributes to Gripflex is that many of its staff have remained loyal—some for as long as 40 years—no mean feat in today’s transient world of employment opportunities.  Several members of whole families work both office and production, with no thought of looking elsewhere for a job.   The Gripflex family is so closely knit and so professional in its operation that Michael feels each individual is able to take responsibility for his own time and his own job; the level of trust he has in his colleagues is beyond reproach.  Gripflex is open five days a week, on a 24 hour production schedule, running three shifts: A true definition of successful initiative.  

During the last several years, the Lowney’s have looked at offshore manufacturing for their products.  They readily acknowledge that it would be less expensive to do so, which is an important factor from a business standpoint.  However, Michael is adamant that he will continue to be an American manufacturer as long as he can, even if it costs a little more.  He is fiercely proud of his commitment to our economy, and to his sense of patriotic loyalty.  It is not all idealistic, however, as he cites quality control, customs, and several of his clients, such as the U.S. military, that insist on buying American.

Michael Lowney is not an old man:  He is 42 years old, with two young children, and a wife who is a stay-at-home mom.  Nevertheless, he reflects that even in his short tenure, let alone those of his father and grandfather, that while the braid business itself has not changed significantly—because it is fairly static in terms of its decorative abilities and how it’s applied—the garments for which braid is used have changed enormously.   It used to be that the big band houses would purchase loads of braid for fabulous and showy marching uniforms made of woolens and polyesters.  Today’s garments are less about braid and chauvinistic old world regalia but more about a kind of “Star Trekky” tighter fitting stretch appeal.  Noting the passing of history even in his business, he reminisces. 

“The colors are the same, but the fabrics, the styles, the garments are totally different,” he says.  “We’ve had several of our customers since the ‘60’s, but the volume is down because so many things have changed.  In addition, he reckons with the reality that so much is indeed going on offshore, and that many of the smaller American “mom and pop” shops are gone.” 

“We’re in a small industry,” he admits, “and there’s only so much of the pie to go around.  Still, we’re very lucky, considering what’s going on out there in this economy, that we’re doing as well as we are, so we must be doing something right.”

With that, Michael Lowney smiles about the Gripflex Corporation and admits he’s looking forward to the next 50 years of successful production, and that hopefully, his own children will be the fourth generation to become involved in this very fine and creative company.

Ragtime Cowboy Joe: UniformMarketNews.com

I’d like to say a few words about the cowboy shirt, (or perhaps I could hum a few bars if I were a Country Western singer).  For many, this particular item may be somewhat unfamiliar—either because one grew up in a part of the country that doesn’t have cowboys, or because one is just too young to have been exposed to the culture of the Old West.  But for those who do remember Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers, and Gene Autry, they can readily acknowledge that the cowboy shirt is as much a part of our American heritage as those cattle punchers, themselves.

The actual garment, as it is today, was developed by Jack A. Weil, who came to Colorado in 1928, and eventually perfected a shirt that appealed to the modest income of the men who worked the open range.  Certainly, there were men herding cattle long before Weil, and who continued to do so even as the legend of the Wild West was coming to a close—a result of the settlers who came in droves. But Weil is the one credited with giving the official shirt its modern-day appearance.  As he said, the West is a state of mind: It didn’t have a specific place or time; he built on that concept, with the myth being more prominent than the reality.   

It was Weil who put snaps on the garments, for example, instead of buttons:  A snap couldn’t be torn off by barbed wire fences, a cowpoke was not going to sew on a missing button, and a steer couldn’t catch its horn in the button hole.  The broad yoke across the shoulders tended to make a man look larger, stronger; the tighter upper arms gave the appearance of bigger muscles, so that the cowboy tended to look as heroic as the legends that were written about him.  The sawtooth scalloped pockets kept tobacco pouches inside: Whereas a standard pocket was too open, these had flaps that snapped shut. Wide, snug cuffs kept dirt, campfires, and critters at bay.

The garments were worn regularly by presidents such as Johnson and Reagan, movie stars such as Elvis Presley and Robert Redford, and everyday folks just like you and me—cattlemen and city slickers alike.  Certainly, they became a part of the giant entertainment industry, whether it was “Gunsmoke,” “The Rifleman,” or “True Grit”—radio, television, and film.

So what, you ask, does all this have to do with uniforms?  Everything.  The whole purpose of the uniform is to set a person apart by defining his separate and unique role from the surrounding milieu.  It’s about identity.  It’s about sameness within a range of variation: Everyone who wears a uniform dresses alike, but stands for or is doing something different from those who are not wearing that very same clothing. 

The cowboy shirt thrusts an individual into a different culture, a different time period, and a different place from where he would ordinarily and otherwise be.  Yet, every cowboy can easily identify with all of the other cowboys because they have the same cowboy dress and the same cowboy values.  There is a sense of unity that is strongly present.

The everyday cowboy shirt, made of chambray, denim, a cotton flannel, cotton or a poly-cotton, is what is most commonly worn. They come in stripes, plaids, checks, solids, calicoes, and prints.  Referred to as work uniforms, the cowboy styling can be seen on the open range, or the plains behind a tractor.  It can be seen at the gas station, the repair shop, at the grocery store, or in church on a Sunday morning.  Many folks prefer the tighter western cut pants and the western-styled shirts to the standard cuts and looser fits.

Using the cowboy shirt for performances, it becomes a costume, but a uniform, nevertheless.  Everyone matches, basically does the same thing, and is set apart from the greater whole.  The great cowboy shirt designers, such as Turk and Nudie were extraordinary in their day—when legends such as Tom Mix, Rex Allen and the rest were all great idols who represented independent, rough-riding Americans. 

These shirts were and are still made with hand-set rhinestones, custom applied braid and cording, and embroidery discs that are thirty-forty thousand stitches per disc, with as many as six discs per shirt.  They’re made of heavy polyester, poly-wool, or charmeuse and satin fabrics, and cost upward of $500 per garment.  In and of themselves, they are works of art.

But make no mistake: When you watch the Rose Bowl parade or go to the state fairs; when you attend the National Western Stock Show in Denver, or follow the rodeos around the country; when you go to Nashville, or watch the round-up’s in Wyoming and the Northwest; if you travel to the Southwest or to National Park country; if you encounter a state patrol or the sheriff, you’ll see cowboy shirts.  

It’s a sad passing that the cowboy shirt isn’t as ubiquitous as it used to be, because it stands for a part of the American character and time that is becoming less and less of a presence.  It stands for American values that, like the shirt itself, are unique during all the history of civilization.   Pragmatic, practical, innovative, remarkable, stylish in an uncompromising and non-traditional way: That’s the American cowboy shirt, that’s the West that it represents, and that is the fiber of our nation.

       

Dave Hindlemann, 1916-2006: Obituary for Made To Measure Magazine

We are losing the irreplaceable generation of heroes who helped make our country and our world a better place.  Americans born in the first decades of the last century are largely responsible for one of the most incredible periods in human history. Everyone pitched in and did his/her proud part to enrich the fiber of our nation. People were not afraid of work; success was by the sweat of the brow.  Dave Hindlemann epitomized this irreplaceable World War II generation:  Idealistic, striving--a robust group of men and women--Rosie the Riveter, GI Joe, and Uncle Sam; the remarkable disciplined vigor that made our country the best and the brightest.

In 1916 New York City, where a kid made a living by the seat of his pants, Dave Hindlemann, entrepreneur, began at the age of 10 by juggling 3 paper routes and an elementary school career.  Whether it was his first bicycle, a Model T Ford with a crank which he bought for $50, or his upgrade to a roadster with a gear shift and a rumble seat, Dave always paid his own way.  He grew up in Mount Vernon, NY, where his dad was a contractor in the garment business.  The Wall Street crash with its domino effect destroyed elder Harry’s own career when his clients went bankrupt.

The family headed West.  Dave abandoned his full scholarship in engineering at Syracuse University, apprenticing with his father in a small Denver-based clothing factory, instead.  Working by day, coaching at a rec center and taking business courses at night, six-feet four-inch 20 year-old Dave Hindlemann started his first company in 1936, Pioneer Wholesale Tailors (later Bell Tailors). 

“I’ve never regretted owning my own business,” Dave emphasized.  “I never go to sleep at night worrying that the next morning some executive will tell me my job has been abolished.”  For many years, it was one of the best known local suiting stores, and when the War came, it was requisitioned by the US government to manufacture military uniforms. 

Dave served in Europe under General George S. Patton.  He was an acting major when the War ended, and he distinguished himself by earning two bronze stars, an oak leaf cluster, and letters of commendation for his bravery in battle.

Subsequently, he was commissioned by the Allied Forces to go to Germany, where he was put in charge of the garment factories that made clothing for the newly released concentration camp prisoners.  He joked that the garments were made in 2 sizes:  too big, and too small. 

 

When 1946 came, the soldiers returned home—not to proprietous pinstripe suits, but to open-collar shirts, slacks, and sport-coats: custom tailoring for the masses had become a thing of the past.

Dave adapted the wartime uniforms his company had made to marching bands, parochial schools, and ceremonial groups.  His firm became one of the larger band uniform houses in the country as he converted from the cost-prohibitive woolens to the new technology of synthetics, and as his tailoring shop became a factory of mass-production:  Five or six tailors mushroomed to 50 or 60 sewing professionals. 

For those individuals who couldn’t or didn’t want to come into the shop to work, he set up contract agreements for sewing professionals who worked in their homes—a good 30 years before “outsourcing” and “contractors” were considered viable means of labor.  Bell Tailors became Bell Manufacturing Co.  “Flexibility is everything“ Dave noted.  “If you can’t change with the times, you get left behind.”

In 1981, he turned 65 and he gave up the high overhead and stresses of operating a large factory, downsizing to a smaller shop and staff— Custom Uniform Company—again modifying as budgets for band uniforms got smaller and society changed focus.

 

Today, after 23 years in partnership with his daughter, Deb Webster, Dave’s “smaller” business is more challenging than ever.  All styles of custom-designed garments are manufactured for national distribution as cut & sew, private label, and under the Custom Uniform Co. label.  Inventory also includes ready-to-wear garments when a customer desires a more generic item.

He used to say, “I like being a big fish in a small pond.  We can make small quantities, lots of different things.  It’s fun.  Having fun is more important than making the most money.  If you don’t enjoy coming to work every day, you’ll never be a success at what you do.”

Married for over 59 years, Dave and his wife, Phyllis, had 3 children and 4 grandchildren.  Without hesitation he stated, “Family has always been first.  Even in the early years I always tried to make time for my family.” 

Proud that his business would succeed him, Dave felt that his greatest impact had been the production of a quality product.  “We’ve always had very conscientious quality control.  Delivering a good product to the customer, learning as much as I can about things as I go: that matters to me.  I like to learn from people, ideas, and products.”

He had an engineer’s mind, and he used it to manufacture garments for over 70 years by drafting patterns and creating high quality garments.  He helped to set the standards for men’s suiting, for the military, and for band uniforms that are still maintained today.  As one colleague said of him when he was in his 80’s, “Dave has forgotten more than most people knew in the first place.” 

“So many things have changed,” Dave would reflect.  “It used to be a handshake was a man’s word.  Now, it’s about contracts and money—cut and dried.  The personal element is missing.  I’m fascinated by all the technological developments, but I sometimes question our priorities and our values—that objects have become more important than people.”

Dave Hindlemann worked 5.5 days a week and he stayed present in the shop until age 90 when he passed away in November, 2006.  “When a wise man dies, a library burns to the ground.”

Sonnenalp Hotels: Interview with Made To Measure Magazine

Dennis Pepin/Shutterstock.com

The Faessler family of Bavaria has owned the 5-star Sonnenalp Resort Hotels since 1919.  20 years ago, Karl and his son, Johannes, came to the Vail Valley Ski Resort in Colorado.   Now, Johannes and his wife, Rosana, oversee their 3 hotels in this area, including golf courses, spas and pools, hiking, authentic cuisine, alpine décor, and specially chosen uniforms.  Prices vary: $175-$1700/night; quality must remain excellent.

Linda Marquez, uniform mistress for the corporation, is a quiet, attractive woman in her mid-50’s. Originally from a small town in Illinois, she came to Colorado with a high school diploma and a desire to work hard helping others. After several years attending patients in a state home, Linda decided to take a job in housekeeping. She ended up in Vail, where she has commuted daily for the last 14 years. Her official title is “Seamstress,” but she does much more, skillfully managing uniform disbursement for all of the Sonnenalp resorts in Vail.

MTM: How did you come to this position? What were your qualifications?

Linda: I needed a job, and this one was available. I had worked as a housekeeper in other hotels, so I knew what folks had to do; I had experience as a housekeeping clerk and I understood about what it took to manage people and how important it was to have a clean uniform. I could sew. I’m an organized person. I oversee the uniform, linen, laundry, and storage rooms, so I have to be.

MTM: You’ve been here ever since?

Linda: Yes. I also think it’s important to have good people skills. I deal with employees every day. Sometimes, I feel like I’m a mother to a zillion kids. Everybody needs things right away; I have to calm them down and help them out. I know how to iron and use the big presses. There’s always a stain or a button missing--something has to be cleaned or fixed.

MTM: Did you need any management training for the job?

Linda: I use a computer, and I make lists. I have to take inventory, of course, and make sure that there’s enough uniforms in stock. I have to plan ahead because some of our vendors only re-stock us once a year, but we’re on a monthly budget. I decide what I need, and give my information to the Executive Housekeeper, who places the orders with the suppliers. I think it’s mostly common sense.

MTM: I’m amazed that you are so humble about managing 3 different operations and doing as many things as you do!

Linda: All of the employees wear the same uniforms throughout the various hotels. The uniforms differ with specific job descriptions, but all waiters wear the same, all housekeepers wear the same, etc., even though there are different buildings, décor, and staffs.

MTM: Still, it’s a big responsibility and takes a huge amount of planning. How many employees are there?

Linda: About 300. That’s 2 uniforms per employee, which is about 600 uniforms. It varies from season to season. Our heaviest load of help is during the ski season. There isn’t a lot of continuity because many of the employees are either here from Europe on a visa, or they’re students. There are only a few of us who have been here a long time.

MTM: So how does it work—with “only” 300 employees who come and go?

Linda: We take a deposit out of the employee’s paycheck when he/she comes to work. I inspect each uniform after its weekly laundering—some are washed, some are dry-cleaned. If something’s wrong, the uniform has to be replaced.

I have a tackle box of buttons, and I save pockets. I’ve salvaged entire garments because of a single changed pocket. Our buttons are custom-made from elk horns; they can’t be purchased anywhere, so I hoard them for when one needs replacing. If a uniform is lost, or an employee quits and doesn’t return the uniform, however, he/she pays for it out of the final paycheck. No uniform, no paycheck. I have a file I keep on employees; every month, I submit it to Payroll; we work very closely together and steadily, things are getting better.


MTM: Do you have problems with theft?

Linda: Yes, although not so much. We have lockers and locker rooms, but some employees would go into other people’s lockers and steal their uniforms, so now everyone takes them home. Our uniform room wasn’t secure. Folks would come in to get linens and help themselves to a few shirts on the nearby shelves. Now, I have locked cabinets and gates, I'm sorry to say.


MTM: What actually do your people wear? Does one vendor provide everything?

Linda: The maintenance people get denim jeans and shirts from a department store. We get their embroidered patches from another vendor. We have a supplier which provides us with our stewarding uniforms; we use 2 companies for our chefs—one for embroidery, one for garments; we have a company in Germany which does our banquet and front desk outfits—alpine jackets, vests, skirts. Blouses and jumpers, also from Germany, are for housekeeping. Engineering makes our name badges—we bought a little machine. The men buy their own black pants, white shirts, and accessories.


MTM: Why so many vendors? And you buy retail?

Linda: I don’t make all the decisions where to buy. That’s up to the Housekeeper and the Faesslers. We go where we know we can get good service, quality merchandise at a good price. If a department store has good, economical merchandise in stock, why not buy it? Sometimes they’re backordered; sometimes the uniform suppliers are backordered. When either of them discontinues a style, I have a time trying to replace them!  

We can get different things from different companies. We like what each one has to offer, so we vary. We haven’t been able to find anyone suitable in this country who can make our alpine uniforms.


MTM: Is that a problem?

Linda: Yes. We tried to have the Americans make them for us once, but it wasn’t the same shade, cloth, quality, sizing or fit as the Europeans’. So, we import the uniforms from Bavaria once a year. I make an order in the Spring, and the uniforms arrive in the Fall.


MTM: Do you mind the custom uniform vs. ready-to-wear?

Linda: Not at all. It is a long time to wait, but part of that is because it’s overseas. We know what the schedule is, and we follow it. Our uniforms must be exact or it spoils the look of the hotels. The American companies had nothing to offer and their quality was poor.


MTM: What’s your laundry routine?

Linda: We send our wool and German made items to the dry-cleaners, the employees do their own blouses, black pants, and the rest we do here. We maintain a full service laundry.


MTM: Do you ever think about a rental service that will clean your uniforms for you?

Linda: No. We like being able to have what we want, and I can do everything right here.


MTM: How do you size your uniforms?

Linda: To tell you the truth, I don’t know how European and American sizes compare, so I just look at the person and start with that. Most things fit pretty well without alterations. I may have to hem a skirt or pair of pants now and then. That’s about it. I always keep a full set of try-on stock sizes for every garment issued.


MTM: What do you do with specially sized people?

Linda: If a person is tiny, I remake a small size to a smaller size. I always order extra, smaller sizes for that reason. If a person is larger, I fit him/her in a bigger size. I’m careful to keep large sizes on hand. Pregnant women fit in larger sized garments. Dirndl skirts are designed to be full, anyway.


MTM: Do the employees like their uniforms? Is it difficult for the housekeeping staff to work in full-length skirts and long sleeved blouses?

Linda: I think they like them. We have minimal complaints, and certainly no one has quit because he/she didn’t like the uniform.


MTM: What about maintenance?

Linda: When an employee is hired, he/she is told what has to be done regarding uniform care. The manager of each department is responsible for the appearance of his/her employees. If I see a garment that is not appropriate, I immediately phone that manager. Employees are to come to work clean, prepared to greet the public. Department managers have their own uniform specifications that must be met. If a person is dirty, he/she is sent to me immediately.


MTM: The Sonnenalp spans 2 continents and has been in business for 80 years. Do you have any final comments, as to the success of these marvelous hotels?

Linda: Our uniforms set us apart from the other resorts. We’re different, even here in Vail, where it’s like an alpine village. Every area in our hotels has its own unique uniform that brings color, style, and atmosphere.

This is a family-owned business, and I feel like I’m part of the family. I’ve been treated really well. That counts for a lot, and I believe that treatment is passed on to our customers.