Dressed in mourning for Loehmann’s

FEARRINGTON - Lenni Newman knew she had to do something the minute she heard the dreadful news - not so much because death appeared inevitable (though there still may be time) but because a life as she had known it was already gone. Long gone.

Clutch your pearls, ladies: Loehmann’s - the first of the true off-price clothing stores and a legend in New York shopping circles - has entered bankruptcy.

Alas, what was a Loehmann’s devotee to do?

"We decided to have a cocktail party," Newman says.

And so she and fellow Loehmann’s aficionado Claire Levitt put up orange construction paper signs around their Fearrington neighborhood and scheduled a wake for Wednesday afternoon: "Loehmann Bankruptcy Cocktail Party."

And despite the rain, they came, 20 New York transplants slogging down the alley between condos to Newman’s garage, all bearing jug wine and slightly damaged hors d’oevres (broken crackers, the tortilla chip shards that occupy the bottom of the bag) and tales of sorrow over the loss of a quirky New York shopping experience.

Yes, sure, there is still a Loehmann’s in Durham. And yes, it and the 50-some other stores will remain open despite the bankruptcy filing. But it’s not the same unique, pre-Marshall’s and T.J. Maxx experience - especially for the women of a certain vintage for whom resourcefulness was virtue.

"It was part of our heritage," says Levitt, who arrived at the soiree wearing all black, her cheeks done up in flaming red and her knee-high stockings stuffed with cash.

Inside joke. The grand dame, Mrs. Frieda Loehmann herself - as anyone who was anywhere near the flagship store in Brooklyn 40 years ago can attest - always painted a big smear of rouge on her cheeks and wore black as she prowled the Garment District in search of designer overstocks, which she bought at huge discounts with cash retrieved from her stockings.

Frieda Loehmann’s idea was revolutionary in 1921 but had become so successful by the 1940s that a chain of stores opened around New York, each stocking designer clothes, sans the labels, on jammed racks in converted car showrooms and other no-frills storefronts that, as a trademark, lacked private dressing rooms.

"I remember the dressing room gave me culture shock," Mary Kerrigan tells the others at the party. "You know, I had gone to girls schools, but when I went into that room, I was stunned."

At the Brooklyn store, women dressed and undressed right in the middle of the racks - no matter who happened by.

"I took my future wife and her mother to the Brooklyn store in 1948," says Jim Dixon, who sat on a lawn chair in Newman’s garage and reminisced. "I got tired of sitting in the car, and so I went and sat on the stairs. And I could look down and see all the women. It was shameful - they were running around in their undergarments. Needless to say, I did not go back and sit in the car."

The devotees flocked to New York from all over - Philadelphia, Connecticut, Long Island - and everyone developed a strategy that qualified them as Loehmann’s savvy.

"It was very competitive," Rowie Samson says. "If you saw something you wanted and someone else was trying it on, you had to act like you weren’t interested. And if they asked you how it looked on them, you’d say, ‘I think you could do better,’ because you knew in your heart you wanted that outfit."

Whatever the indignity, it was worth it; women scored finery that cost a fortune at Saks and a pittance at Loehmann’s.

"That dress there," says Barbara Dixon, pointing to a black and white number hanging on a rack at the entrance to the garage, "I bought at Loehmann’s 30 years ago. It’s a size 8. I can’t wear it anymore, and I can’t part with it. I love it."

"This dress here," says Newman, holding up a long, black sheath, "still has its label. I bought it at Loehmann’s in 1986. My sister and I saw the dress and absolutely loved it, but neither of us had an occasion to wear it. We said, ‘Let’s buy it together and whoever has an occasion to wear it will wear it.’

"So it’s been hanging in the closet. She never wore it, and I totally forgot about it. It cost $200 - actually, $198.99."

"I bought this," says Kerrigan, holding a white flower print polyester dress, "in 1968. It will not die. I can wash it, ring it out and hang it up to dry and wear it the next day. No wrinkles. Every year I say, ‘This is the last year.’ And every year, it goes everywhere I go."

And so it goes. The garments, and the stories, go on and on. For her part, Levitt hasn’t been in a Loehmann’s store in three years, not since she was asked if she wanted a Loehmann’s credit card.

"I said no thank you," she says. "I never thought I’d say that."

She says the old concept that made Loehmann’s a legend - real designer labels at discount prices - has been compromised so that the store offers nothing different from its off-price competitors. And that, Levitt allows, is why it’s in bankruptcy - and why she’s in mourning.

"I miss it terribly," she says.

Sarah Avery is a graduate of Western State College of Colorado and Duke University. She works at The News & Observer in Raleigh, NC. She covered courts and worked as a state desk reporter before joining the features department in 1997.