Mr pele

Master of a Fading Art
Stars and business titans prize master tailor Romualdo Pelle, but his breed of pros is vanishing
By RACHEL DODES
July 5, 2008; Page W3
On a recent morning, Romualdo Pelle was in his Madeira, Ohio, shop outside Cincinnati, pinning and tucking a dress for Carol Armstrong, the wife of the astronaut Neil Armstrong. Mr. Pelle has done alterations for the Armstrongs for more than a decade. Mr. Pelle's wife, Maria, makes homemade sauce with Italian sausage for the family.

Andy Snow for The Wall Street Journal
Romualdo Pelle, part of the dwindling ranks of master tailors
"Everybody knows me," says the 73-year-old Mr. Pelle, one of a dwindling generation of "master tailors." His A-list clients include Henry Heimlich, the inventor of the famed antichoking maneuver, whose son recently bought him a cummerbund and white tie from Mr. Pelle's shop for Father's Day; James Zimmerman, the ex-chairman of the company that is now Macy's Inc., who recently had Mr. Pelle make a silk-cashmere coat; and Peter Frampton, the 1970s rocker who brought his wedding tuxedo to Mr. Pelle to be restyled.
Wiry and spry with thin, long, fingers, Mr. Pelle has done most of his life's work by hand, from measuring clients and drawing patterns to cutting and sewing fabric. Like most master tailors, Mr. Pelle, when he constructs a suit in house, uses a sewing machine only for the long seams on the arms and legs. His garments match his clients' measurements to within a quarter of an inch. By understanding how his clients stand -- this one with an arched back, that one with rounded shoulders -- he crafts clothes that flatter their bodies, no matter the shape.
The painstaking method of the master tailor, or "bench tailor," as they are sometimes known, is a dying art in the U.S. There are only about a dozen master tailors left who are members of the Custom Tailors and Designers Association, the industry trade group, down from several hundred in the 1950s. The few hundred master tailors who aren't members are probably well past retirement age, says Mark Metzger, the association's president. The group had to cancel its annual "lunch with the masters" two years ago because most of the masters couldn't make the trip to Las Vegas.

Andy Snow for The Wall Street Journal
Mr. Pelle's shop
Because tailoring is an apprentice-based occupation, there are no tests to take or other official credentials. But it takes years to learn the skills required to design and create an entire garment by hand. Traditionally, training often began before the age of 10. Young apprentices first learned how to sew, "basting" fabric with hand stitches to a canvas foundation. Then they learned to measure, then to draw patterns on pieces of canvas. They learned how to cut, with the fabric properly oriented. On a pin-striped suit, for example, a master tailor will line every stripe up perfectly. Apprentices master trousers before jackets, as pants are easier to construct. It took Mr. Pelle 10 years of apprenticing before he made his first coat.
Behind the master tailor's disappearance are economic shifts. Italy, the leading source of master tailors in the U.S. after World War II, has a stronger economy today, and most Italian tailors can earn more money at home. In Italy, young people don't want to put in the years to become an apprentice under a master. "Becoming a doctor takes less time," says the tailor association's Mr. Metzger.
At the same time, factory-made custom clothing keeps getting better. Retailers such as Brooks Brothers and Saks Fifth Avenue offer high-quality made-to-measure services, mostly by having an individual's measurements plugged into a computer to generate a pattern, rather than hand-drawing it and hand-cutting and -sewing the fabric. Over the past 10 years or so, Mr. Pelle himself has been outsourcing this work on most of his suits, as demand has outstripped his ability to keep up. He still designs and draws patterns, but he relies on a factory to cut and sew the fabric pieces. He puts the finishing touches onto the garment by hand in the shop.
Some machine-made custom garments are almost as well made as those from the hands of a master. But they can't compete with the personal relationships tailors forge with their clients. Mr. Pelle's customers appreciate that he remembers everyone who comes into the store and doesn't ask too many questions.
Mr. Frampton, the British-American musician known for his "talk box" guitar effects, had Mr. Pelle redesign his expensive ready-to-wear wedding tuxedo back in 1996. "It was made lousy," Mr. Pelle says. He also rented tuxedos and did prewedding alterations for Mr. Frampton's father, brother and groomsmen. Mr. Frampton came back to show Mr. Pelle his wedding pictures and later invited him to a concert in Cleveland, offering him front-row seats and backstage passes. Mr. Pelle was too busy working to make it. ("What else is new?" he says.)
"We'll have to get him to come this summer," says Mr. Frampton, who is set to play a concert in Cincinnati in August. "Romualdo is one of those wonderful characters," he says. "Once you've met him, you feel like you've known him all your life."
Each master tailor develops his own style. Mr. Pelle is known for classic Italian tailoring with English details, such as soft, natural shoulders; his jackets taper a bit at the waist and often have an extra "ticket pocket" at the waist. His hand-constructed men's suits start at about $3,000 -- which is less expensive than many ready-to-wear suits from Italy; his factory-sewn suits start at $1,645.
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Mr. Pelle's biggest tailoring feat occurred two years ago, with a wedding vest and pants he created for a local golf pro, Tyler Kangas, to wear. When the unfinished garments didn't arrive from the factory in time, Mr. Pelle stayed up all night to hand-sew replacements; he sent an employee to hand-deliver them to the bride's mother on the morning of her flight to the wedding in Aruba. "It's funny now, but it was quite an event," Mr. Kangas's wife, Kelly, says. "We built a good relationship with them."
"I can do almost anything," Mr. Pelle says. "And I don't like to say no."
Mr. Pelle sold his business 10 years ago, but until recently, he was still working five days a week, arriving at the shop at 8 a.m. and leaving at 6 p.m. Now, he has cut his work week down to four days. At 5 p.m., he drinks a glass of red wine -- the secret to his youthful appearance, he says.
Mr. Pelle says he learned to work hard during his childhood in southern Italy. When he was 4 years old, he survived a famine by drinking the breast milk of a woman who lived more than a mile away. His family hid in a cave for nine months during World War II. When he was 8, Mr. Pelle began learning the tailor's craft from his godfather.
Emigrating from Italy in 1960, Mr. Pelle settled in Blanchester, Ohio, to be near his wife's family. He landed a job at a small Cincinnati tailoring shop and soon moved up to Pogue's, a now-defunct department store, where he made $2 an hour. Within five years, he had saved $1,500 -- enough to open his own business in what is now the 12-foot-by-12-foot pressing room of his shop. High-profile clients soon came his way, including the billionaire financier Carl Lindner Jr.

Andy Snow for The Wall Street Journal
Mr. Pelle crafts garments to within a quarter of an inch
Mr. Pelle began thinking about selling the business 12 years ago. He'd tried persuading family members to work with him, but nobody was interested. He had a few offers, but none of the buyers had the right mix of passion and entrepreneurial skills. Mr. Pelle got the feeling he'd found the right candidate while fitting a wedding tuxedo for Trevor Furbay, a salesman for a Baltimore manufacturer that produced some of Mr. Pelle's designs. Mr. Furbay was from Ohio, had retail experience and was excited about the future of the tailoring business.
Four months later, Mr. Furbay decided to buy the business. Mr. Pelle agreed to continue working there for a three-year transition. But the two men grew so close that Mr. Pelle stayed on well past the agreed-upon end date.
"I still am quick," Mr. Pelle says. "When I lose my touch, I will know."
Mr. Furbay has fixed up the store, adding antique fixtures such as wood hat blocks and old alligator suitcases. Annual sales, including those from his wife's women's boutique upstairs, are now about $2 million. He has added ready-to-wear brands such as Bill's Khakis, Ralph Lauren and a new label called Crittenden. When Mr. Pelle first saw an $895 Crittenden jacket, he admired the delicate hand-stitching on the long sleeve seams, something few ready-to-wear makers bother to do anymore. He pegged the suit as made in Italy and was shocked when Mr. Furbay told him it was from China -- hand-finished but machine-made. "He couldn't believe it was possible that anyone other than an Italian could do that," Mr. Furbay says.
Now, Mr. Furbay is worried about his mentor's eventual retirement. He readily admits he'll never have Mr. Pelle's charm. "He is like my godfather," Mr. Furbay says. "Where will I find someone like this?"