How fashion has changed—or has it? Tricia McGill

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Fashion has played a large part in my life. Before my focus centered on writing I worked in the fashion industry for many years. My book A Heart in Conflict is set in the world of fashion and because of my past it was obvious that at least one of my books should feature the industry that was part of my life for so long.

It all began when I was a child. I guess it seemed inevitable that I turn to fashion as a trade as my mother was an expert seamstress and to be honest I can’t recall ever wearing a dress as a child that was not made by her or two of my eldest sisters who later took over the task. Joan was a pattern maker and also forelady of a clothing factory. It was she who more or less coerced me into fashion. I fought against it for a year after leaving school and argued that I did not wish to work in a factory. But a position in the cutting room where she worked became vacant and between her and my mother I was convinced to give it a try. Just as a side note, I wanted to work in stables or kennels. Ah,

Joan was the glamor girl
of the family-note the shirred
bathers (they were passed
down to me)

 that dream was never to reach fruition. My eldest sister was an expert embroiderer and so all my dresses from an early age were decorated with her wonderful smocking, a tradition that has more or less died out, as most of this type of work is now done by machines.

Joan would bring home fashion books and I spent many happy hours cutting out the ladies and lining them up for my impromptu fashion parades. My favorite of all time were the paper doll books. Not a birthday or Christmas went by when I was not given one of these books. I just loved changing the outfits to suit the occasion. On trying to find pictures to illustrate this I learned that the designs and dolls still exist but are certainly more elaborate than my early gifts. My sisters made me a rag doll and she got many a change of outfit, and hairstyle. Her hair was fashioned from thread wound around a book and stitched to her

head.

 

The color and length was changed regularly as the whim took me. How I wish I had kept that cherished childhood love, but like many childhood mementos she disappeared. Once we reach teenage there are too many other intrusions. I did keep my old china doll for years and only parted with her
a short time ago when she finally fell apart.  I have kept the dress she wore and her bootees, as both were made by my eldest sister for her first child.

A early book of paper dolls.

I was so used to my sisters and mother making their own clothes that it didn’t seem unusual to me. Once I began in the cutting room, fabric became easily available so therefore I also made all my own clothes. For many years I didn’t possess a shop bought dress. I do have an admission to make here, for I cannot lie, I am not a good seamstress like my mother or sisters. Yes I can make a pattern from scratch and of course sew the garment up but I become impatient when it actually comes to the putting it together part. My mother had a Singer treadle machine, electric of course by now, a far cry from her early one that had to be hand driven. I learned to sew on that, and have never been without a sewing machine since I married and left home.

After my arrival in Australia I opened my own business for a while. Another sister came along with me as she is the expert sewer. It was fun while it lasted and some of the customers were dears who were always up for a chat while being fitted. I learnt many a family secret. Mind you, there were the hard to please women whose figures fluctuated with their tempers. There is nothing worse than having a bridal gown finished only to find that the bride has lost or put on weight suddenly, either through binge eating or fast dieting.

Aunt Flo (pictured) was also in the industry. This pic was taken circa 1040.

My dear little shop-note my
dogs always came to work
with m

This was in the days before all the rules and regulations began to make life difficult for starting up a small business. I simply rented a shop, got my husband to decorate it, bought some fabric, and away I went. Until one day an officious looking man carrying a clip board came into the shop wondering if I had registered. Registered? Er, well no. But this was soon rectified as he was a gentleman and soon explained how to go about it. It was hard work in that little shop, and long hours, and so I returned to the factory. I loved my work, even though it was often tough going at change of season times when everything was always wanted yesterday.

Note my sketch on the wall.
See, we did wear knee high
boots and mini skirts then.

They say what goes around comes around, this is so true in the world of fashion. I don’t

Alma Cogan

mean haute couture which is at times bizarre in order to be different and outstanding. But as far as the average woman and what she is wearing today, my sister and I often nudge each other and say, “Remember that outfit I had that was just like the one this woman on the TV has on.”  Yes, we went through the maxi phase and the mini phase, the high boots and the strappy sandals and high wedge phase, the high-busted and the dropped waistline. Even the full skirt with layers and layers of stiff petticoats beneath, favored by swing dancers, was a trend we endured. The older ones among you will recall Alma Cogan who wore the really full skirt, and so we followed suit. I just Googled Alma and would you believe heard a snip from one of my all-time favorite songs by her, “Little things mean a lot.” Sorry, I digressed to shed a tear. Even my wedding dress was full-skirted, with yards and yards of tulle.

  I think Bridal gowns have undergone the most changes. The bride of the 40s or 50s wouldn’t have

worn a strapless gown. Most brides had a long train and carried elaborate bouquets.

  

One thing that always disappointed me and my sisters was our parent’s lack of wedding photos. Our mother never talked about her wedding day, in 1914 or thereabouts, and it is likely they had a civil ceremony where she wore a suit that she would have made herself, like this one in the picture. She would have also made her hat. 

Find excerpts, reviews and buy links to all my books here on my web site

Old Story Made New with Legendary DJ by Sandy Semerad

     “Mama, you’ve already told me that story,” my daughters often say.  Worse, they like to summarize my stories to prove they’ve heard them before.

      But recently, to my surprise, daughter Andrea didn’t recall one of my stories and she’d been a participant in it. I discovered this block in her memory as we were trying to think of the name of a great pizza place we used to frequent in Atlanta. Andrea still lives in Atlanta, and I thought she’d recall the name and location.

     “We went there the night we met Skinny Bobby Harper,” I said.

     “Who?”

     “Don’t you remember him? He wore thick glasses, had black hair” I said. “We were standing in line at the pizza place. He commented on your outfit. It had been Western Day at Roland Elementary School. So I’d braided your hair in pigtails and you’d worn an ankle-length dress that day.

     “I don’t remember,” she said. “How old was I? Seven?”

     “I’m surprised you don’t remember. We talked about it afterwards.”

     Unable to pique her memory of that evening, I rehashed it:

     “What is she supposed to be?” he asked.

     “That’s what she considers Western,” I answered and explained about Western Day.

     “Yes, she absolutely right, she looks like Laura Ingells, Little House on the Prairie.”

     After my long day, my mind stalled. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

     He flashed a smile. “Your ex-husband, an old boyfriend, perhaps?”

     I laughed, “No.”

     He refused to give me a clue, but as I stared, trying to place him, I thought of a recent article I’d read. Could this man be the inspiration for the character Johnny Fever on WKRP in Cincinnati, as the article had said? The photo looked like him. “Are you Skinny Bobby Harper?”

     He offered his hand. “How do you do?”

     I told him I’d read the article about him.

     He said Hugh Wilson, a friend of his, had written and produced the popular sitcom WKRP. Wilson had been the ad guy at WQXI in Atlanta where Harper used to DJ. Wilson wrote for the Mary Tyler Moore Show, before he created WKRP, Harper said.

     Harper had ventured into television more than ten years prior, as one of TV’s ground-breaking video DJs on what was known as the Now Explosion. That show was telecast in Atlanta on Ted Turner’s channel 17 and was nationally syndicated.

     I’d read about Harper’s colorful language. (He sometimes swore on the air). He’d been fired from a number of radio stations, although others stations clamored to hire him regardless, due to his immense popularity and talent.

     In talking to him, I found him sweet and respectful, and after we got our pizzas, we sat at adjoining tables, Andrea and I at one table, he and his daughter at another.

     The next morning I was driving Andrea to school when she said, “Mama, why don’t we listen to the man we met last night at the pizza place?”

     I scrolled the radio channels until I found him, although I wasn’t prepared for what I heard him say: “Do you know what day it is today? It’s be kind to Sandy Ryles day.” (My last name was Ryles at that time.) He repeated the “Be kind to Sandy Ryles day,” a number of times and said, “If you see Sandy Ryles, be kind to her. It’s her day.”

     I smiled until I thought my face would break, as I drove Andrea to school; then drove myself to the Marta station to catch the train to Georgia State University. Back then I was working on a Bachelor’s degree in Journalism.

      I wanted to call and thank him, but I didn’t have a cell phone. No one had cell phones then.

     But from that morning on, I always listened to him. He made my days happier and brighter. He’s been called a comic genius, and he was.

     He created a character called “Lavern” from the “Never Say Goodbye” nursing home. Lavern was also a member of the “Toe-to-Toe-With-Satan Church of the Constant Struggle.”

     There were many other skits he performed over the radio, and as I listened, I pictured Lavern and all the characters he created. He also reported on how many moo cows were seen in Atlanta.

      Sandwiched in between his skits, he played lovely tunes, like Smokey Robinson’s The Tears of a Clown, and so many of my favorites, too many to name.

     In talking to Andrea and reliving all of this, I realized I’d lost track of Skinny Bobby Harper after I moved to Florida in 1990. A google search brought sad news. He died of lung cancer in 2003. He was only 64.

     But I feel blessed to have met and listened to him, and I’m sure I’ll repeat this story about the Hall of Fame, legendary DJ. How he made me feel like a queen for a day and brightened my mornings. If only I’d called to thank him for bringing me such joy.

     I’m trying to make amends by spreading some of the joy he gave to me, and the next time I tell this story to Andrea and Rene, they’d better not say they’ve heard it before. If they do, I’ll come back with, “I’m your mother. If I want to repeat old stories to make them new again, I should have that privilege.”

 

To read more, please visit my web site: 

                               sandysemerad.com 

Below you’ll find the link to my latest novel, A Message in the Roses, based on a murder trial I covered as a newspaper reporter in Atlanta. Warning: contains steaming romance.

Buy A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES

Old Story Made New with Legendary DJ

     “Mama, you’ve already told me that story,” my daughters often say.  Worse, they like to summarize my stories to prove they’ve heard them before.

      But recently, to my surprise, daughter Andrea didn’t recall one of my stories and she’d been a participant in it. I discovered this block in her memory as we were trying to think of the name of a great pizza place we used to frequent in Atlanta. Andrea still lives in Atlanta, and I thought she’d recall the name and location.

     “We went there the night we met Skinny Bobby Harper,” I said.

     “Who?”

     “Don’t you remember him? He wore thick glasses, had black hair” I said. “We were standing in line at the pizza place. He commented on your outfit. It had been Western Day at Roland Elementary School. So I’d braided your hair in pigtails and you’d worn an ankle-length dress that day.

     “I don’t remember,” she said. “How old was I? Seven?”

     “I’m surprised you don’t remember. We talked about it afterwards.”

     Unable to pique her memory of that evening, I rehashed it:

     “What is she supposed to be?” he asked.

     “That’s what she considers Western,” I answered and explained about Western Day.

     “Yes, she absolutely right, she looks like Laura Ingells, Little House on the Prairie.”

     After my long day, my mind stalled. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

     He flashed a smile. “Your ex-husband, an old boyfriend, perhaps?”

     I laughed, “No.”

     He refused to give me a clue, but as I stared, trying to place him, I thought of a recent article I’d read. Could this man be the inspiration for the character Johnny Fever on WKRP in Cincinnati, as the article had said? The photo looked like him. “Are you Skinny Bobby Harper?”

     He offered his hand. “How do you do?”

     I told him I’d read the article about him.

     He said Hugh Wilson, a friend of his, had written and produced the popular sitcom WKRP. Wilson had been the ad guy at WQXI in Atlanta where Harper used to DJ. Wilson wrote for the Mary Tyler Moore Show, before he created WKRP, Harper said.

     Harper had ventured into television more than ten years prior, as one of TV’s ground-breaking video DJs on what was known as the Now Explosion. That show was telecast in Atlanta on Ted Turner’s channel 17 and was nationally syndicated.

     I’d read about Harper’s colorful language. (He sometimes swore on the air). He’d been fired from a number of radio stations, although others stations clamored to hire him regardless, due to his immense popularity and talent.

     In talking to him, I found him sweet and respectful, and after we got our pizzas, we sat at adjoining tables, Andrea and I at one table, he and his daughter at another.

     The next morning I was driving Andrea to school when she said, “Mama, why don’t we listen to the man we met last night at the pizza place?”

     I scrolled the radio channels until I found him, although I wasn’t prepared for what I heard him say: “Do you know what day it is today? It’s be kind to Sandy Ryles day.” (My last name was Ryles at that time.) He repeated the “Be kind to Sandy Ryles day,” a number of times and said, “If you see Sandy Ryles, be kind to her. It’s her day.”

     I smiled until I thought my face would break, as I drove Andrea to school; then drove myself to the Marta station to catch the train to Georgia State University. Back then I was working on a Bachelor’s degree in Journalism.

      I wanted to call and thank him, but I didn’t have a cell phone. No one had cell phones then.

     But from that morning on, I always listened to him. He made my days happier and brighter. He’s been called a comic genius, and he was.

     He created a character called “Lavern” from the “Never Say Goodbye” nursing home. Lavern was also a member of the “Toe-to-Toe-With-Satan Church of the Constant Struggle.”

     There were many other skits he performed over the radio, and as I listened, I pictured Lavern and all the characters he created. He also reported on how many moo cows were seen in Atlanta.

      Sandwiched in between his skits, he played lovely tunes, like Smokey Robinson’s The Tears of a Clown, and so many of my favorites, too many to name.

     In talking to Andrea and reliving all of this, I realized I’d lost track of Skinny Bobby Harper after I moved to Florida in 1990. A google search brought sad news. He died of lung cancer in 2003. He was only 64.

     But I feel blessed to have met and listened to him, and I’m sure I’ll repeat this story about the Hall of Fame, legendary DJ. How he made me feel like a queen for a day and brightened my mornings. If only I’d called to thank him for bringing me such joy.

     I’m trying to make amends by spreading some of the joy he gave to me, and the next time I tell this story to Andrea and Rene, they’d better not say they’ve heard it before. If they do, I’ll come back with, “I’m your mother. If I want to repeat old stories to make them new again, I should have that privilege.”

 

To read more, please visit my web site: 

                               sandysemerad.com 

Below you’ll find the link to my latest novel, A Message in the Roses, based on a murder trial I covered as a newspaper reporter in Atlanta. Warning: contains steaming romance.

Buy A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES