JANUARY 16 • 2020 | 5
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jewfro
Shirts Off
to Diane Starr
T
he year was 1963 and E.
J. Korvette was looking
for a lady’
s man. The
discount department store
(not named for Eight Jewish
Korean War
Veterans) needed
someone to head
up women’
s wear
at their branch
in Roseville,
Michigan.
That man was
Seymour Birnbaum. Fifty-six
years later I learned to tie a
bowtie.
A few things happened in
between.
Seymour clocked out for the
last time at the Westchester
Korvette’
s and, with his wife,
Jeanne, and daughter Diane,
swapped their apartment in
Flushing for one in Oak Park.
Twenty-five years later,
Korvette’
s remained only as
a $74.55 Retail Clerks Union
pension for Seymour and a
milk crate of heavily played
vinyl for Diane, collecting dust
in a house two miles north of
her parents’
place.
A mother of two young chil-
dren, with an English degree
from Wayne State University,
Diane was not looking for a
career in retail. Until retail
came looking for her.
The Shirt Box, nestled on
10 Mile between Southfield
and Evergreen, had “a gal” on
the floor there and that gal
had broken her leg (not on the
floor there).
An ad in the Jewish News
that ran the month Diane
started working at the Shirt
Box told readers to look
no further “whether you’
re
looking for a Tony Lambert
Sweater or Damon Dress
shirt.” It didn’
t take long for
Diane to realize that men
needed plenty of help to live
up to the expectation that
they “dress like a mensch …
in today’
s fashion-conscious
world” because piano key
necktie.
“Men will listen. And I’
m
4’
11” so they can see me and
how well their shirt and tie
pair in the mirror even if I’
m
standing in between.”
Diane came to know her
product because she ordered
her own — nine months
ahead, never too many of any
one shirt that you’
d see it on
two pulpits, and don’
t settle
for dull just because it’
s big
and tall.
And she came to know her
customers. Big, tall Bad Boys
kept coming back after they
retired and could count on
her to help them transition
from basketball uniforms
to pleats and then graduate
to something contemporary
“where you could still sit
down safely.” Bob Seger and
Alexander Zonjic might just
hear themselves, along with
other customer favorites on
the ever-eclectic Diane Starr
Radio Pandora station.
When fashion changes cre-
ated choppy waters, Diane was
a North(west) star generations
of gentlemen could sail toward
to navigate Regis Philbin
monochromatics or the prodi-
gious pocket squares popular-
ized by Steve Harvey.
And if it was a family
member looking for a gift
— say, for Bobby Ferguson
to be the Best Dressed
Defendant — the Shirt Box
would have his most recent
measurements saved.
If there was something not
quite right about the shirt,
there was Diane. Stubborn
crease that ought not make
the evening news? She’
d steam
it while Huel waited. Neck
too tight for Tommy? She had
a bag of thread that would
make Joseph blush and would
move the button until it fit
the Motor City Cobra like an
unshed skin.
Then there was Keith, the
humble office supply sales-
man — the man that kept the
Shirt Box’
s pencils sharp and
pens in ink.
The little ditty about Keith
and Diane is indeed about two
American kids doing the best
they can. Both comfortably
beyond the hold-on-to-16-
as-long-as-you-can plan, they
were a match made in mens-
wear. The way they found each
other (with help from Rod
Brown; and the Beach Boys …
live in concert!) and the way
they fit together (like a navy
blazer with anything) was so
seamless it rendered Rabbi
Dannel Schwartz virtually (but
not actually) speechless when
he officiated their wedding in
2008.
“Perfect is imperfect, imper-
fect is perfect” — that’
s how
Diane described the finishing
touch on my expertly tied
bowtie and, true to form, she
proved to be the imperfectly
perfect Shirt Box steward for
more than 30 years there.
After decades weathering
fashion and financial tempests
— from recession to rayon,
e-commerce to Z. Cavaricci,
Northwestern Highway con-
struction to trucker hats —
the Shirt Box has gone the way
of Korvette’
s.
Diane’
s grandchildren are
now the age her kids were
when she went to work. At
98, her dad is quite particu-
lar about how she makes his
oatmeal when she visits each
morning after her 40 minutes
on the treadmill. (Keith is on
his own for breakfast.)
Fortunately for us, Diane
is taking her talents down
Orchard Lake Road and will
no doubt be suited to serve as
the first-ever saleswoman at
Baron’
s.
Ben Falik
Ben and Diane