Post by kaima on Aug 12, 2007 19:36:47 GMT -7
From today's Anchorage Times, the story of a Galician Jew and his family's success as furriers in Alaska.
www.adn.com/life/story/9215210p-9131367c.html
First family of fur
PERRY GREEN
Interview by JUDY FERGUSON
Daily News correspondent
(Published: August 12, 2007)
I was born in 1936 in Seattle from a European line of master furriers dating back to the 18th century. My father, David Green, was born about 1900 in an Eastern European cultural center, Galicia, then a part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. My great-uncles immigrated to New York in the late 1800s. They established one of the largest fur manufacturing outlets in New York City, Green Brothers. In 1904, my grandfather and their eight children, including my 4-year-old father, David Green, followed.
When he was 10, my father apprenticed to a master furrier in Philadelphia, which was a 24/7 job. When he wasn't working, he read Jack London's "Call of the Wild," which captured his imagination to go north. When he was 16, his guild conferred on him the title "master furrier." With this background, he confidently headed north toward Alaska.
In 1921, he saw a sign in Seattle's Baker Fur Co. window -- "Help Wanted, Master Furrier" -- and stopped in. Six months later, he'd earned the respect of local furriers and had climbed Mount Rainier as well. Establishing a Seattle base, he left for Cordova but continued, over the years, to return to Seattle.
The copper mine at Kennicott, with its Copper River and Northwest Railroad terminus, had made Cordova a critical port. Dad opened a shop and became the local furrier. In those days, a customer didn't buy a ready-made coat but brought his own furs or selected hides from those in the store. A master furrier like my father could do everything: design, match, stretch, nail, cut and sew fur. Many wore fur, and the ultimate was the durable otter coat, considered a "lifetime" coat."
While in Cordova, a friend suggested to my dad to go meet Ruth Grad, a Latvian immigrant, the daughter of the first Hebrew teacher in Vancouver, British Columbia. In 1926, they married in Vancouver; Dad decided to close his Cordova shop. He began a store in Seattle but just in time for the Great Depression. He missed Alaska and, working with his brothers' New York City factory, he opened a second store in Ketchikan. In the late 1940s, he opened a third shop in Juneau. Dad was always on the road.
In the late 1930s, Aleuts on the Chain noticed Japanese scouting and mapping their islands. Consequently, the U.S. military planted forward observers on the islands. Working 18- to 20-hour shifts then, Dad began making full-length muskrat liners and parkas, both warm and camouflaging, for the observers. At the factory, he slept a few hours at night. Between 1939 and 1941, Mother carried shopping bags of food to feed him and the factory workers.
JOINING THE BUSINESS
In 1950 my brother, Jerry, and I spent our "free day," Sunday, at the factory. My dad would say to me, "You sew another seam like that, and I will kiss your hands -- and then cut them off." Of course, he never did.
As my father saw Anchorage becoming an important center, he decided to establish his company's headquarters (with an upstairs family apartment) on Fourth Avenue in 1950.
Six years later, I married 17-year-old Gloria Dolgoff in Seattle and moved her to "faraway" Alaska. It was only natural to start my own fur-buying business, Anchorage Fur Trading. I traveled four months annually buying ivory and furs. Over time, I visited over 300 villages -- Nikolski in the Chain, Mekoryuk on Nunivak Island, Dillingham, Chevak, St. Lawrence Island, up the Yukon River, north to Point Barrow, upriver, downriver and in between. I bought from grocers at Tok Junction, Tetlin and Northway, the Indians in the Copper River Basin and across the border into Yukon Territory.
Even though times were hard, I could leave my black bag with $20,000 cash in my host's home. In those days, there were still women who wore facial tattoos and men adept at survival skills who signed their name with an "X." I'd issue a check to village trappers, who then circulated it like cash. Six months later, the check with six or seven endorsements on the back would hit the bank in Anchorage. I thought life would always be the same. Children were important, old people were revered and there was a tranquility.
Other territorial fur buyers were Louis Rotman of Kotzebue, the last USPS dogsled mail carrier; Samuel Applebaum of Bethel (aka "Sardine Sam"); Fairbanks' Muskrat Johnny; Charlie Goldstein, a founder of Juneau and a respected fur buyer, who even spoke Tlingit; his colleague, Fred Hamburg, who was a U.S. marshal as well.
I sold to fur auctions all over the world, wherever the price was best for a particular pelt.
WHISKEY FOR TOOTHPASTE
In 1964, we had two Anchorage stores: David Green Furs here on Fourth as well as Arctic Fur and Leather on Fourth Avenue between D and E streets.
At 5:36 p.m. on Friday, March 27, my son, Alan, was climbing into the barber's chair when the earth began to shake. As my two children and I exited, the earth began opening and closing three to four inches every 15 yards, increasing then to 12 to 14 inches, and then, with a loud bang, it slammed shut. The buildings on the north of Fourth Avenue suddenly collapsed.
Leaving our children with my wife, I found my father alone in the athletic club, sitting on the massage table, repeating, "Well, the damned fools did it." When I asked, he exclaimed, "The Russians dropped an atomic bomb!"
After hearing the truth, he told me to go find Mother. I found her upstairs at home, rocking and lamenting, "Oh, my Passover dishes, all broken!" I took her to the window, where we surveyed the wreckage and I explained the event. On the day of both Good Friday and of Passover, we saw our home was untouched. Since the water was suspect, my father said, "Finally I get to brush my teeth with whiskey."
Soon he found it increasingly difficult to manage both the Anchorage and Seattle stores, and he reluctantly closed the Seattle factory.
By 1970 we knew my father's heart was bad. Both Jerry and I began to take over David Green Furs. In 1971, Dad was gone. About 1970, when my cousin in New York died, I also began running the New York factory.
In 2000, our children took over. Jerry's son, David, now manages David Green Furs. His wife, Shani, is our fashion manager. My daughter, Deborah Grashin, takes care of the accounting -- the "inside." My oldest son, Alan, runs the store in Ketchikan. Jerry's daughter, Sarah Green, runs Sarah's Specialty Shop, and my son Jay Green has three gift shops, Polar Bear Gifts.
We are a history of Alaska, where it has been my great joy to know its real people.
www.adn.com/life/story/9215210p-9131367c.html
First family of fur
PERRY GREEN
Interview by JUDY FERGUSON
Daily News correspondent
(Published: August 12, 2007)
I was born in 1936 in Seattle from a European line of master furriers dating back to the 18th century. My father, David Green, was born about 1900 in an Eastern European cultural center, Galicia, then a part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. My great-uncles immigrated to New York in the late 1800s. They established one of the largest fur manufacturing outlets in New York City, Green Brothers. In 1904, my grandfather and their eight children, including my 4-year-old father, David Green, followed.
When he was 10, my father apprenticed to a master furrier in Philadelphia, which was a 24/7 job. When he wasn't working, he read Jack London's "Call of the Wild," which captured his imagination to go north. When he was 16, his guild conferred on him the title "master furrier." With this background, he confidently headed north toward Alaska.
In 1921, he saw a sign in Seattle's Baker Fur Co. window -- "Help Wanted, Master Furrier" -- and stopped in. Six months later, he'd earned the respect of local furriers and had climbed Mount Rainier as well. Establishing a Seattle base, he left for Cordova but continued, over the years, to return to Seattle.
The copper mine at Kennicott, with its Copper River and Northwest Railroad terminus, had made Cordova a critical port. Dad opened a shop and became the local furrier. In those days, a customer didn't buy a ready-made coat but brought his own furs or selected hides from those in the store. A master furrier like my father could do everything: design, match, stretch, nail, cut and sew fur. Many wore fur, and the ultimate was the durable otter coat, considered a "lifetime" coat."
While in Cordova, a friend suggested to my dad to go meet Ruth Grad, a Latvian immigrant, the daughter of the first Hebrew teacher in Vancouver, British Columbia. In 1926, they married in Vancouver; Dad decided to close his Cordova shop. He began a store in Seattle but just in time for the Great Depression. He missed Alaska and, working with his brothers' New York City factory, he opened a second store in Ketchikan. In the late 1940s, he opened a third shop in Juneau. Dad was always on the road.
In the late 1930s, Aleuts on the Chain noticed Japanese scouting and mapping their islands. Consequently, the U.S. military planted forward observers on the islands. Working 18- to 20-hour shifts then, Dad began making full-length muskrat liners and parkas, both warm and camouflaging, for the observers. At the factory, he slept a few hours at night. Between 1939 and 1941, Mother carried shopping bags of food to feed him and the factory workers.
JOINING THE BUSINESS
In 1950 my brother, Jerry, and I spent our "free day," Sunday, at the factory. My dad would say to me, "You sew another seam like that, and I will kiss your hands -- and then cut them off." Of course, he never did.
As my father saw Anchorage becoming an important center, he decided to establish his company's headquarters (with an upstairs family apartment) on Fourth Avenue in 1950.
Six years later, I married 17-year-old Gloria Dolgoff in Seattle and moved her to "faraway" Alaska. It was only natural to start my own fur-buying business, Anchorage Fur Trading. I traveled four months annually buying ivory and furs. Over time, I visited over 300 villages -- Nikolski in the Chain, Mekoryuk on Nunivak Island, Dillingham, Chevak, St. Lawrence Island, up the Yukon River, north to Point Barrow, upriver, downriver and in between. I bought from grocers at Tok Junction, Tetlin and Northway, the Indians in the Copper River Basin and across the border into Yukon Territory.
Even though times were hard, I could leave my black bag with $20,000 cash in my host's home. In those days, there were still women who wore facial tattoos and men adept at survival skills who signed their name with an "X." I'd issue a check to village trappers, who then circulated it like cash. Six months later, the check with six or seven endorsements on the back would hit the bank in Anchorage. I thought life would always be the same. Children were important, old people were revered and there was a tranquility.
Other territorial fur buyers were Louis Rotman of Kotzebue, the last USPS dogsled mail carrier; Samuel Applebaum of Bethel (aka "Sardine Sam"); Fairbanks' Muskrat Johnny; Charlie Goldstein, a founder of Juneau and a respected fur buyer, who even spoke Tlingit; his colleague, Fred Hamburg, who was a U.S. marshal as well.
I sold to fur auctions all over the world, wherever the price was best for a particular pelt.
WHISKEY FOR TOOTHPASTE
In 1964, we had two Anchorage stores: David Green Furs here on Fourth as well as Arctic Fur and Leather on Fourth Avenue between D and E streets.
At 5:36 p.m. on Friday, March 27, my son, Alan, was climbing into the barber's chair when the earth began to shake. As my two children and I exited, the earth began opening and closing three to four inches every 15 yards, increasing then to 12 to 14 inches, and then, with a loud bang, it slammed shut. The buildings on the north of Fourth Avenue suddenly collapsed.
Leaving our children with my wife, I found my father alone in the athletic club, sitting on the massage table, repeating, "Well, the damned fools did it." When I asked, he exclaimed, "The Russians dropped an atomic bomb!"
After hearing the truth, he told me to go find Mother. I found her upstairs at home, rocking and lamenting, "Oh, my Passover dishes, all broken!" I took her to the window, where we surveyed the wreckage and I explained the event. On the day of both Good Friday and of Passover, we saw our home was untouched. Since the water was suspect, my father said, "Finally I get to brush my teeth with whiskey."
Soon he found it increasingly difficult to manage both the Anchorage and Seattle stores, and he reluctantly closed the Seattle factory.
By 1970 we knew my father's heart was bad. Both Jerry and I began to take over David Green Furs. In 1971, Dad was gone. About 1970, when my cousin in New York died, I also began running the New York factory.
In 2000, our children took over. Jerry's son, David, now manages David Green Furs. His wife, Shani, is our fashion manager. My daughter, Deborah Grashin, takes care of the accounting -- the "inside." My oldest son, Alan, runs the store in Ketchikan. Jerry's daughter, Sarah Green, runs Sarah's Specialty Shop, and my son Jay Green has three gift shops, Polar Bear Gifts.
We are a history of Alaska, where it has been my great joy to know its real people.