 JANUARY 16 • 2020 | 5

Views

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 

