[Congressional Record Volume 146, Number 130 (Tuesday, October 17, 2000)]
[Senate]
[Page S10618]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                        TRIBUTE TO ABE SCHRADER

 Mr. LAUTENBERG. Mr. President, I want to call attention to the 
life of a man who so perfectly portrays the success and opportunity 
this country can provide if one puts in the effort.
  Abe Schrader will celebrate his 100th birthday on October 15, 2000 
with multitudes of friends and family. I am privileged to be included 
as one of those admirers and friends who will join with him that night.
  Abe's life story is an example of how a belief in self and hard work 
can lead to success. He started his life in America at the age of 20 
when he immigrated here from Poland. He arrived penniless but with a 
determination to succeed in his new homeland. Succeed he did as we can 
see from the story recently printed in the New York Times. Mr. 
President, I ask that the full text of that article be included in the 
Record.
  I know Abe Schrader well and spend time with him on occasions. He is 
alert, bright and engaging. He manages his investments personally and 
has done a superb job with them.
  I wish all America could meet this congenial, intelligent, caring 
individual. He is an inspiration for me and I believe could provide 
spirit and encouragement to all who face aging as to what can be with 
the right kind of effort and determination.
  The article follows:

               [From the New York Times, Sept. 28, 2000]

       Public Lives; at 99, Man of Fashion Finds Life a Good Fit

                            (By Susan Sachs)

       Clothes make the man, goes the old saw. You would not get 
     an argument from Abe Schrader.
       The garment business--in his case, manufacturing women's 
     coats and better dresses for more than half a century--made 
     him one of the kings of Seventh Avenue. Even now, gliding 
     gracefully toward his 100th birthday next month, Mr. Schrader 
     still appreciates the value of a well-cut suit of clothes.
       Sitting yesterday in his apartment overlooking Central 
     Park, reminiscing about the rag trade before it became the 
     more high-hat fashion business, he was impeccably turned out 
     in a blue cashmere jacket, gray slacks, crisp baby-blue shirt 
     and gleaming black shoes. A red silk handkerchief that 
     matched the shade of his tie peeked from his breast pocket.
       ``All my clothes are made to order,'' Mr. Schrader said, as 
     he flipped open his jacket to show his Italian tailor's 
     label. ``Even when I made $10 a week, I saved up my money all 
     year and bought a custom suit.''
       This might sound strange coming from a man whose 
     manufacturing company, the Abe Schrader Corporation, once 
     dominated the city's ready-to-wear industry. But Mr. 
     Schrader, a smallish man who once could burn up the dance 
     floor at nightclubs like El Morocco, never found a good fit 
     off the rack.
       ``I have a lust for life,'' he said, his Polish accent 
     making the words especially rakish. ``And especially on a 
     dance floor, you've got to look good.''
       Last week, the city celebrated clothes with Fashion Week, 
     an extravaganza of designer fashion shows meant to highlight 
     New York as a fashion center. Mr. Schrader, who persuaded 
     City Hall 35 years ago to name a stretch of Seventh Avenue 
     ``Fashion Avenue,'' followed it from afar.
       ``Some good, some bad,'' he said, diplomatically, on the 
     spring 2001 styles on display.
       Mr. Schrader retired from the clothing business 12 years 
     ago, after watching it change from top to bottom.
       When he started out, in the early 1920's, the industry was 
     big enough to absorb waves of immigrants--Germans and Irish, 
     followed by Eastern European Jews, then Italians. Seventh 
     Avenue was the center of factories where garments were cut 
     and sewn.
       Now most factories have moved offshore in pursuit of cheap 
     foreign labor. And many of the original independent apparel 
     makers of Seventh Avenue were long ago gobbled up by 
     conglomerates.
       Mr. Schrader was one of the immigrants who built the 
     business. He arrived in the United States at the age of 20 
     from Poland. His mother hoped he would continue his religious 
     studies and become a rabbi. But Mr. Schrader had his father's 
     business instincts. He started out as a contractor, hiring 
     people to sew garments for a middleman who got the orders 
     from a retailer.
       Within a few years, the ambitious Mr. Schrader began his 
     own manufacturing business, complete with a stable of 
     designers, and dealt directly with retail stores. One of his 
     first contracts was with the government for uniforms for the 
     Women's Auxiliary Army Corps.
       ``I was,'' he recalled with a deadpan look, ``an instant 
     success.''
       Mr. Schrader's life might appear to mirror the archetypal 
     turn-of-the-century immigrant tale. Think, for example, of 
     the immigrant protagonist in the classic 1917 novel ``The 
     Rise of David Levinsky,'' torn between his rabbinical studies 
     and the lucrative garment business.
       But Mr. Schrader shrugged off the comparison. Although he 
     can still toss of a Talmudic reference when pressed, he said 
     godliness was not found in ritual or retreat from the world, 
     but in doing good deeds. Besides, he explained: ``Competition 
     is a godsend. If you didn't have it, you'd pay double for 
     your clothes.''
       For years, Mr. Schrader was also a fixture in the city's 
     high society nightclubs, where he put his love of ballroom 
     dancing on display.
       That is how Pauline Trigere, the fashion designer whose 
     coats were produced by the Schrader company for several 
     years, first met Mr. Schrader. ``It was on the dance floor at 
     El Morocco,'' she said.
       Ms. Trigere, who has been in the business almost as long as 
     Mr. Schrader, gave him the supreme compliment from a 
     designer: ``When I made a collection, it was shown the way I 
     made it. He never did something that hurt the garment.''
       Mr. Schrader retired in 1988, four years after he sold his 
     business to Interco Inc. With time on his hands, he started, 
     for the first time, to feel his age. ``The first year I went 
     from one museum to the other, one library to the other,'' he 
     said. ``Finally my son said to me, `Here, Dad, take my car 
     and chauffeur. Tell me, where would you like to go?' And I 
     said, `Wall Street.' ''
       Now, snappily dressed and eager as any 24-year-old dot-com 
     millionaire, he goes each day at 1 p.m. to his own private 
     office in the brokerage firm of Bishop, Rosen, where he 
     trades stocks for his own account.
       It is his joy, like dancing the waltz, although he admitted 
     that ``at 100, I'd be lying to tell you my feet are as good 
     as they used to be.''
       He stays at his office until about 4:30 p.m., relishing 
     that everyone calls him Abe, like a pal, instead of the 
     stuffier Mr. Schrader.
       ``They treat me royally over there,'' Mr. Schrader said 
     happily, settling into his car for the daily ride downtown. 
     ``It keeps me young.''

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