Measure of a Man (24 page)

After I finished taking the president’s measurements, we spent the rest of the hour going through proper white-tie presentation so he would be ready for the upcoming Gridiron Club gala. As I was gathering my things to go, the president suggested we take a few pictures together. “I can sign the photos and send them to you,” he said.

“That sounds great, Mr. President. But my train leaves soon and I want to get back today to start working on your suits.”

“It won’t take but just a minute,” he said, looking around. “Let’s see, we don’t seem to have a White House photographer around.” A kid entered the room.

“I brought a camera, Mr. President,” I said, holding it up. “We can have the kid over there take the picture.” President Clinton howled with laughter. The boy laughed too. I had no idea what was so funny.

We huddled up and the boy snapped the photo, then handed me the camera.

“Thank you for taking our picture,” I said.

“Honored to do it, Mr. Greenfield,” the boy said. “Nice to meet you. I’m George. George Stephanopoulos.” Several months later I learned this Stephanopoulos fellow was a senior advisor to the president. What did I know? He looked like a little kid. I thought he was a White House page or something.

“Thank you, Mr. President. Thank you for bringing me here,” I said with a tear in my eye. We shook hands a final time and I started walking toward Clinton’s door.

“Martin . . . Hey listen, if you ever have something you want to talk to me about, you don’t need to stuff notes in my pockets. I’ll give you my fax number,” he said with a smile. As it turned out, I used that fax number more than once. I sent him instructions on how to tie a bow tie.

As soon as I returned to the factory with the president’s measurements, the entire team got to work. The president was a solid 44 long. Within two weeks we had four beautiful Donna Karan ventless jackets with the low-button stance, two pairs of double-pleated pants, and two traditional tuxedos. I also made President Clinton his set of white tie and tails, which he wore to the Gridiron Club dinner. In total, we made over twenty suits for Clinton throughout his presidency. He couldn’t believe the results. The suits, which were the first of many he ordered throughout his presidency, fit perfectly but still gave him the stretch and comfort he loved—something only a true hand-tailored suit can achieve.

History interrupted my meeting to fit President George W. Bush.

In 2001, I traveled to Washington, DC, and stayed at the Mayflower in preparation for my trunk show at the downtown Brooks Brothers. I was scheduled to meet President Bush that day for a measuring after he returned from Florida. The date was September 11, 2001.

When news broke of the terrorist attacks on the Pentagon, people flooded the streets and fled the capital. I made contact with Arlene and the boys. Once I knew they were safe and realized that I had no way of leaving Washington that day, I decided to keep the trunk-show date. The next morning I walked to Brooks Brothers. I didn’t think any customers would show up, but they did, one right after the other. People deal with fear and grief differently. I suppose it was their way of distracting themselves, of making a small statement that the terrorists would not intimidate them into changing their way of life. Measuring every customer that day, I was never prouder to be an American.

I struggled the rest of the week to find a way home. Eventually, my good friend General Colin Powell stepped in and somehow got me a first-class train ticket to New York. Pulling into Grand Central Station, I felt the sting of tears in my eyes when I saw the gaping hole in the skyline where the Twin Towers had stood majestically just a few days earlier. My heart fluttered the moment I realized that the North Tower of the World Trade Center had been home to the Windows on the World restaurant, many of whose staff I saw regularly and considered friends. I’d experienced loss throughout my life. Like so many other Americans, I never believed evil possessed the ability to turn our buildings into battlefields, civilian airplanes into missiles. I grieved our nation’s loss of life and loss of innocence. It was a feeling I knew all too well and had hoped my fellow Americans would never have to experience.

Initially, the Obama White House neither confirmed nor denied that Martin Greenfield Clothiers made President Obama’s suits.
It’s always been our policy not to comment on whether we dress a celebrity or public figure until he or his representatives mention it publicly. But when former
Washington Post
Style editor Ned Martel wrote a moving profile on me wherein he reported that the White House visitor logs contained Tod’s, Jay’s, and my names, the connection became public knowledge.

To date, we’ve made many suits for President Obama. In fact, virtually every suit he’s worn since February 2011 has been one of ours. Doing so has been an incredible honor and privilege. The president’s aide said he likes the suits so much he doesn’t like to travel without them.

It all started in October 2010 with an email Jay received from the legendary Chicago fashion retailer Ikram Goldman, owner of the Ikram boutique. A style advisor to first lady Michelle Obama, Ikram had been asked to recommend an American tailor who could make fine suits for President Obama. She graciously recommended us.

There was one condition, though. The White House said President Obama didn’t want to be measured. They would send us one of his suits for us to copy. I told Jay no way. “You write back to the White House aide and say that Martin Greenfield does not copy anybody’s suits. Everybody copies Martin Greenfield’s suits. You understand?” Ever the diplomat, Jay finessed my message slightly. Still, it worked. We received a note insisting it would be a pleasure to have me come to the White House on November 2, 2010, to measure President Obama for his first Martin Greenfield suit.

No matter how many times I visit the White House, I always feel like a little kid, filled with wonder. Those visits remind me of
my first trip to Washington, DC, with Kalvin all those years before. Back then I looked at the White House from the outside. To measure and make suits for the president humbles me.

The first time I met President Obama was in his private office on the third floor of the White House at seven o’clock in the evening. I was struck by his height and smile. He’s built like a fitting mannequin, a 40 long with an impressive 33½-inch waist, which makes dressing him extremely enjoyable.

The president showed us a fine Italian-made suit jacket. “Feel this jacket. It’s soft and feels really nice. This is the kind of thing I would like you to do for me,” he explained.

“Mr. President, this I can do. In fact, it’s going to be much, much better than this.” He liked that.

He also had some suits from Hart Schaffner Marx, an American company. During the 2012 presidential campaign, the press began comparing the president’s suits with Governor Mitt Romney’s Hickey Freeman suits and said President Obama’s looked better. What they failed to mention was that the suits they were comparing were
our
suits, not Hart Schaffner Marx’s.

I wanted to do something special for President Obama’s suits. So we developed a special red, white, and blue hand stitching that we use exclusively on the interior linings of his jackets.

Three months after we delivered President Obama’s first suits, one of his aides contacted us and said “the boss” loved them so much he wanted us to return to the White House for another order. The president “wears your suits during his special occasions,” the aide told us, including a visit to Buckingham Palace.

In March 2012, the White House said the president needed four more suits “right away.” President Obama looks great in any color
but prefers charcoal gray and navy blue. So we rushed him two of each and shipped them in advance of the White House fitting.

When Jay and our head tailor, Joseph Genuardi, made our company’s sixth visit to the Obama White House in February 2014, they encountered a new influence on presidential fashion—the first daughters, Malia and Sasha. “My girls tease me about my suit pants,” the president explained. “They say my pleats make me look old and uncool.”

“Why don’t we make an extra pair of pants in the same fabric for each suit,” said Jay. “Only we’ll make them flat-front to give them a modern look.”

“Let’s do that. Then maybe Malia and Sasha will lay off from making fun of me,” joked the president.

President Obama said he also needed a sport jacket. “There are several varieties of sport jackets, Mr. President. Do you have a particular preference?” asked Jay.

The president shot us a slightly perplexed look. “I really don’t. I’m not sure how to pick the right thing for something like that,” he said.

“Any chance the first lady might help you pick one?” Jay asked.

“Well, Michelle never gets involved with my fashion business,” he said with a smile.

“Wow, that might be your biggest accomplishment yet. I dress a lot of people and no one accomplishes that!” Jay joked.

In addition to the presidents I’ve dressed, I’ve had the privilege of dressing men who might have been president. One such man is my dear friend, former secretary of state Colin Powell. One of his
cousins, also a friend of mine, introduced us around the time of the First Gulf War. We first met at a gathering at the Waldorf Astoria when General Powell visited for a parade. “My cousin tells me you’re the best tailor in America,” said the general. “When I retire, I’ll be wearing civilian clothes. I’d be honored if you’d put me in my next uniform.”

His first visit to my factory in Brooklyn was deeply emotional. I walked him through all three floors of the building, explaining each station. When we got to the rows of seamstresses doing needlework by hand, General Powell stopped and stared at an older female worker with tears in his eyes. “Martin, I know this work very well,” he said. “I grew up in the South Bronx. When my mother came to this country from Jamaica, she worked long, hard days as a seamstress in the garment district.”

That moment was the start of a sweet and special relationship that continues to this day. Secretary Powell is much more than a client. I consider him a trusted friend. I’ve dined at his home. And while I know the White House chefs are some of the best in the world, Secretary Powell’s wife, Alma, surely gives them a run for their money.

He’s also one of the few Gentiles I know who speaks Yiddish. As a boy, he worked at a toy store owned by a Russian Jewish immigrant. There he picked up several Yiddish sayings, which he loves to use with me. When my name pops up in the press, or on my birthday, a call from Secretary Powell is soon to follow. “Mazel tov!” he’ll say, before spending time he doesn’t have with me on the phone. He has called me his “mentor.” And while I may have taught him a thing or two about the art of
dressing, he’s taught me volumes about the true meaning of friendship.