Probably my favorite collection.

It Started with a Bracelet
dedicated to Irma S. Lewis,
who taught me more than I’ll ever realize.

See blog 

Note: The jewelry discussed here is referred to as “Etruscan.”  In the Victorian period there was a classic revival of ancient styles.  This story is about the Etruscan-style jewelry produced in Italy in the 40’s possibly through the 60’s and may have been made by the Peruzzi company mentioned in the previous CreARTive Sunday blog.

Years ago, when I lived in a co-op apartment building in Flushing, Queens, I had a neighbor who was old enough to be my grandmother. Irma was an immigrant who arrived from Hamburg with a few cents in her pocket.  She was German Jew whose mother spoke eleven languages, whose father was a wealthy realtor; she was called, “l’enfant terrible.”  She was bright, fearless and smart as all heck.  She survived the Holocaust.  Her family was not as lucky.

She arrived in a place where she had no job.  New York City.  She worked as a milliner—got the job with no experience.  She applied for a job as a pattern maker having never made a pattern before.  She eyed the assignment and whipped out the pattern; she got the job.

Irma’s mind and hands were brilliant.

Irma was the first woman to have a “shop” on 7^th Avenue, THE fashion capitol of the city and known throughout the world.   She became the first woman to sew for the “better dress union.”  Her clients in the ‘50’s were all men and they tried ceaselessly to run her out of business.  She told them all to go to hell.  Along with the mafia who were trying to get her to pay protection money for picking up her garbage.  She through the bums out.

She sewed for Ben Klein, husband of Anne Klein, before she had a “name,” the designers Molly Parness, Giorgio Sant’ Angelo, to name a few.   She made a dress for Eleanor Roosevelt woven with 24 kt gold spun fabric presented by the Indian government; she proudly showed me the clipping in the newspaper. There was Mrs. Roosevelt wearing her dress.  She pointed out a dress worn by Pat Nixon in Vogue Magazine.  “That’s mine,” she said proudly.  Mrs. Nixon smiled in a red sheath.

The woman who knew nothing about sewing when she arrived here, won a Coty medal.

Irma married and had a daughter, Roz.  Her husband was a cheat—she dumped him.  She struggled, and she starved herself to provide food and child care while she worked endless hours in the loft.  On Saturdays, she took little Roz to the unheated loft where they wrapped their feet in newspaper to keep warm while Irma worked.  Roz would sit on the floor and drape patterns and doll’s clothes.  Roz, who is now close to 70, became a multi-millionaire, owning her own corporation.  She is an artist and businesswomen.  Her three daughters became an accountant, a lawyer and a dentist.  They learned at an early age that there was nothing a woman couldn’t do.

As life got better, Irma traveled to islands I never heard of.  She told me the greatest stories, showed me the most wonderful collections of things.  A Picasso plate hung on the wall in the living room.  Saturdays she took me by the hand and we’d go in her little red car for a Swedish massage.  It was the 70’s, massages were $25.

Irma taught me how to knit and sew.  She took me to Sears and we bought a sewing machine.  I learned how to “build” a garment.  If one stitch was crooked, she’d say, “Master I have finished, may I rip?” That meant, there was no room for mistakes. She sent me home, down the hall, many times to start over. I spent many hours crying at the machine in frustration.  What I didn’t realize in my 20-some odd years, was that not only was I learning a skill, I was developing patience.

I spent many hours in the evenings with “Irmie” and her funny misuse of idioms, her adorable accent.  I made designer clothes (mainly Calvin Klein) that I would never have been able to buy.

(I was never as good as her daughter who would go to Bergdorf Goodman, buy  a dress, bring it home, cut a pattern and make it herself, saving thousands of dollars).

One day, Irma pulled out a box from her drawer and showed me treasures from her trips to Italy.  She started me on my “Etruscan-style” craze.  I was awed.   Something about these things triggered  something in me.  I coveted that bracelet.  It started a fascination.

 

This was before my charm bracelet collecting days, but it was the beginning for a lust for vintage beauty.  I was on a quest to find my own “fantasy charm bracelet.”