Jennie Alexander, unknown, me, and Carl Swensson in Alexander’s shop, testing a new shaving-horse designed by Carl. April 2002.
Twenty-three years ago I worked with green woodworking pioneer Jennie Alexander for three weeks. It was a major experience for me: I’d never spent time in a big city (Baltimore) before, never traveled alone (by train) before, never lived with someone so eccentric before. Here’s a story – one of many – about my time with Jennie:
“I have the range of a frog, but I do like to sing.” Jennie and I were flying down one of those big noisome roads that surround every large city and have the personality of a cement mixer. We could have been in Portland or Palm Beach or Istanbul for all you could tell by looking. We happened to be in Baltimore, going to Macy’s to buy Jennie a tie for her Jazz combo’s upcoming wedding gig.
“I love this — we’ll have some fun at Macy’s expense.”
The debonair salesman looked sideways at Jennie’s stained shop pants and frayed dress shirt as he let the way to the ties. I was a scrawny 17-year-old kid, wearing jeans a couple sizes too big and a thrift store tee-shirt with large horizontal red stripes. This outfit seemed normal to me.
Jennie rummaged through the ties, not finding what she wanted. “How much are these anyways?” she asked in a rather loud voice.
“They start about $65 and go up.”
“Gosh, that much? My, my. I’d better count my pennies.” said Jennie. The salesman looked like he’d rather be selling ties to a snake. But just then an older well-dressed couple came in the front door, and relief spread like a balm across the salesman’s face.
“My associate, Joe, will be happy to help you,” and he hastened away.
Joe was tall, young, and nervous. Jennie’s voice immediately softened. “I’ll take this tie. Do you have any suits?”
Jennie quickly picked out a $500 suit, had a seamstress with a French accent fit it for her (I had a swift crush on the seamstress), and we checked out. At the cash register, I noticed the older couple leaving empty-handed.
On our way out laden with packages, our debonair salesman looked downright shocked.
“Tootle-loo” said Jennie.
It’s almost always useful to be underestimated . . .
Thank you for that charming story!