Show us your TIES

[dh66]

Great stripes Bob and SurfGent.
SG I'm especially feelin' the colors of that Ernst.

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[SurfGent]

Great stripes Bob and SurfGent.
SG I'm especially feelin' the colors of that Ernst.

Sent from my SM-G900V using Tapatalk

Thanks DH. Ernst ties are kinda thing of mine, Even though most of you know I'm a Brooks Brothers man, being they were made in San Francisco. There's some interesting articles about Mr Ernst out there, today he has a bit of a cult following. In the San Francisco bay area their is literally 1000s of his ties in thrift stores. Though he and his handy work was well known. He as a person was not. I'll copy and paste one of the articles below

 

[SurfGent]

Ernest Beall, Prince of Ties
Ernest Beall is an enigmatic figure in my life. I never met him (he died in 1980, five years before I moved to San Francisco) but his life and work have been an interest of mine for the past ten years. This is entirely because of the neckties he designed and made from about 1952 to 1970 at his atelier in San Francisco.



Other than some anecdotes that I’ve discovered in Herb Caen’s columns and the society pages of the local newspapers, there’s very little I’ve been able to learn about the man, despite countless hours of searching. I know that he was born Ernest J. Beall, somewhere in the deep south in 1914. to a minister and his wife. Ernest served in WWII, then returned home. But not long after this, he left the south--apparently because he dared to date a black girl, earning his family’s disapproval. Moving to Los Angeles, he took a job at Capital Records, eventually becoming an executive. Then, in the early 1950s, dissatisfied with the routine, he chucked it all in and moved to San Francisco.

The few old newspaper photographs I’ve seen of him show a handsome, cultured man; an aesthete as well as an amateur athlete. On a whim, he discovered some bolts of raw silk in interesting colors and irregular stripes at an import shop, brought them to his tailor and asked for some ties to be made up. Mr. Beall was so pleased with the results that he not only wore them, he passed them out to friends. Soon his friends—who were well-placed in society—created such a demand for more ties that Mr. Beall recognized a business opportunity. His searching turned up a limited amount of the same fabric, so he found local artisans who could weave fabric to his design, and construct ties to his exact specifications.

I presume that he considered his given name insufficiently interesting, so he shuffled it around and became “Beall J. Ernst”, and his ties, he simply labeled “Ernst”. In 1952, Ernst leased an old brick warehouse South of Market Street and threw himself into his work. His ties were immediately snapped up by such local institutions as Gump’s, I. Magnin, The White House and the City of Paris. They were seen on models in Esquire, Playboy and Gentleman’s Quarterly. Ernst could scarcely keep up with demand. His new success allowed him to became a benefactor of the arts, collect Asian antiques, jet-set around the world. He bought a house near the top of Twin Peaks and lived the bachelor dream. Life was good.

Then, one night as he slept, two men broke into his home. They tied him up and locked him in a closet while they ransacked his house, stealing a chest of jewelry, some $20,000 in cash, and eventually fleeing in Ernst's brand new Jaguar. After nearly a day of confinement, Ernst finally managed to call the police, even though he was still tied up (dialing with his nose!). They eventually responded, but apparently their investigations proved fruitless. The experience seems to have deeply scarred Ernst. In 1970, he accepted a million-dollar offer by a group of investors, and he bade farewell to the tie business.

At this point, Ernst seems to have undergone some unknown and drastic reversal of fortune. In 1978, the city directory shows that he was no longer living in a house on Twin Peaks, but rather in an apartment in the Tenderloin. Two years later, he was found dead, in Nevada, apparently of natural causes, at the age of 64.

But his ties remain. I found my first Ernst tie in about 1997, at a thrift store in Mill Valley, where I lived at the time. It was unlike any tie I had seen. About 2-1/2 inches wide, with square ends and horizontal stripes in an odd combination of Technicolors. Given that I frequent estate sales, I started finding more and more of the curious neckties at the homes of wealthy people who had moved on to the hereafter. After a few years, I had a couple dozen of them, in a surprising variety of colors and patterns.

 

[SurfGent]

 

[SurfGent]

 

[SurfGent]

 

[SurfGent]

 

[SurfGent]

The rarest and most special of his ties must be these hand-silkscreened models. They were “normal” ties, but had images printed atop the striped fabric. The one on the left shows Fisherman’s Wharf, the one on the right depicts the Golden Gate Bridge. The tie in the center has masks on it, and probably reflected the tiki craze of the time. I like to picture Ernst wearing it to Trader Vic’s in about 1959 or ’60, with a debutante on his arm.

 

[SurfGent]

 

[SurfGent]

I myself have about 40-50 Ernst ties in my collection. But I had the fortune of being in the bay area where they are local. But he sold nation wide so when you come across one next time at the thrift store. Take a second look. There really quite nice and provide a great sense of nostalgia for us FL members.

 

[dh66]

Wow, thanks for that history lesson SurfGent. Interesting stuff. Definately some cool info to have.
All those ties are great, and I really dig those silk screened ones in the last shot a whole lot! They are fantastic!

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[BobHufford]

SurfGent -- thanks for sharing the Ernst story and the pics of your amazing collection. Something to look out for!

 

[SurfGent]

 

[SurfGent]

Another great brand mostly appreciated by FL type people are Rooster ties

 

[SurfGent]

 

[jamesmac1801]

Ernest Beall, Prince of Ties
Ernest Beall is an enigmatic figure in my life. I never met him (he died in 1980, five years before I moved to San Francisco) but his life and work have been an interest of mine for the past ten years. This is entirely because of the neckties he designed and made from about 1952 to 1970 at his atelier in San Francisco.



Other than some anecdotes that I’ve discovered in Herb Caen’s columns and the society pages of the local newspapers, there’s very little I’ve been able to learn about the man, despite countless hours of searching. I know that he was born Ernest J. Beall, somewhere in the deep south in 1914. to a minister and his wife. Ernest served in WWII, then returned home. But not long after this, he left the south--apparently because he dared to date a black girl, earning his family’s disapproval. Moving to Los Angeles, he took a job at Capital Records, eventually becoming an executive. Then, in the early 1950s, dissatisfied with the routine, he chucked it all in and moved to San Francisco.

The few old newspaper photographs I’ve seen of him show a handsome, cultured man; an aesthete as well as an amateur athlete. On a whim, he discovered some bolts of raw silk in interesting colors and irregular stripes at an import shop, brought them to his tailor and asked for some ties to be made up. Mr. Beall was so pleased with the results that he not only wore them, he passed them out to friends. Soon his friends—who were well-placed in society—created such a demand for more ties that Mr. Beall recognized a business opportunity. His searching turned up a limited amount of the same fabric, so he found local artisans who could weave fabric to his design, and construct ties to his exact specifications.

I presume that he considered his given name insufficiently interesting, so he shuffled it around and became “Beall J. Ernst”, and his ties, he simply labeled “Ernst”. In 1952, Ernst leased an old brick warehouse South of Market Street and threw himself into his work. His ties were immediately snapped up by such local institutions as Gump’s, I. Magnin, The White House and the City of Paris. They were seen on models in Esquire, Playboy and Gentleman’s Quarterly. Ernst could scarcely keep up with demand. His new success allowed him to became a benefactor of the arts, collect Asian antiques, jet-set around the world. He bought a house near the top of Twin Peaks and lived the bachelor dream. Life was good.

Then, one night as he slept, two men broke into his home. They tied him up and locked him in a closet while they ransacked his house, stealing a chest of jewelry, some $20,000 in cash, and eventually fleeing in Ernst's brand new Jaguar. After nearly a day of confinement, Ernst finally managed to call the police, even though he was still tied up (dialing with his nose!). They eventually responded, but apparently their investigations proved fruitless. The experience seems to have deeply scarred Ernst. In 1970, he accepted a million-dollar offer by a group of investors, and he bade farewell to the tie business.

At this point, Ernst seems to have undergone some unknown and drastic reversal of fortune. In 1978, the city directory shows that he was no longer living in a house on Twin Peaks, but rather in an apartment in the Tenderloin. Two years later, he was found dead, in Nevada, apparently of natural causes, at the age of 64.

But his ties remain. I found my first Ernst tie in about 1997, at a thrift store in Mill Valley, where I lived at the time. It was unlike any tie I had seen. About 2-1/2 inches wide, with square ends and horizontal stripes in an odd combination of Technicolors. Given that I frequent estate sales, I started finding more and more of the curious neckties at the homes of wealthy people who had moved on to the hereafter. After a few years, I had a couple dozen of them, in a surprising variety of colors and patterns.

So does that mean there aren't any Ernst ties made after 1970? I've seen a few of the ties before but wasn't sure if they were from the 80s or not


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[SurfGent]

Max Raab started in his father's blouse factory. Raab disliked his father's clothing believing it lacked quality and style; in his mind, his father's low-end shirts did not comport with the increasing domination of American fashion by teenage and upwardly mobile tastes. When in the late 1940s he observed college women wearing men's button-down shirts, he started manufacturing man-tailored shirts sized for women at his father's factory. After the enormous success of this line, Raab and his brother Norman started the company The Villager in 1958, which would define preppy fashion for decades. Max always had a prescient knack for identifying trends and his awareness of the emergence and importance of Ivy League clothing led to the Villager clothing company taking off in popularity. This is when Max first made his name, creating the uniform for a generation of women that lead the New York Times to label him the "dean of the prep look." Villager quickly grew to be one of the preeminent brands in American sportswear, only to diminish in popularity with the advent of the late 1960s counterculture and attendant styles in fashion. During this time Max also launched the Rooster Tie Company and became known for his unconventional approach to neckwear in his use of unusual, non-traditional fabrics.

While Raab enjoyed many successes in his apparel business career, he always nurtured a love of movies. Initially invited to supply the wardrobe (gratis) for a small, low-budget film (David and Lisa) shooting in Philadelphia in the early 1960s, Max agreed… with the caveat that he be allowed to hang around and watch the film being made. After three months observing firsthand, Max was intrigued by the process. In the first of a series of smart hunches, he acquired the film rights to John Barth's novel End of the Road. With the help of director Aram Avakian and writer Terry Southern, Max adapted the novel into a film which featured the screen debuts of Stacy Keech and James Earl Jones.

Max then purchased the film rights to Anthony Burgess' controversial novel A Clockwork Orange. Initially, it was not only turned down by all of the major studios because of its touchy subject matter but also by the Beatles, Max's original casting choice. Finally, when Stanley Kubrick showed interest in the story, Warner Brothers called Max and he was made an executive producer on the groundbreaking film. He followed withWalkabout, the critically acclaimed Cannes Golden Palm nominated directorial debut of Nicolas Roeg, and the film that Max was most proud of. A visionary who years ago recognized an essential need for something other than Hollywood studio fare, Max produced several other films including Lion's Love with writer and director Agnes Varda, Mother of the New Wave.

In 1974, Max returned to the apparel business full-time and founded J.G. Hook. His instincts told him that the time was right for the reemergence of the classic prep style and once again he redefined the look of American women's sportswear. Then, with a nod towards menswear, Max saw an opening in the field and created a new necktie company, Tango, and another success again using unconventional materials for his ties.

Max saw similarities in his two seemingly disparate careers of clothier and filmmaker. "A film's director is a designer. Just as the film director works with a story; the designer, with a theme. The producer sits in on the editing and works with all of the elements of the finished project, as I do in both worlds." In 1998, after growing J.G. Hook into a $100 million empire, Max sold the business. His plans for retirement were short-lived however when less than a year later the film bug bit again.

At age 73, with co-producer, photographer and long-time friend Seymour Mednick, Raab made his directorial debut with the documentary, STRUT!. Having watched Philadelphia's annual New Year's Day Mummers parade religiously since he was a child, Max set out to capture the world of the Mummers. STRUT! featured music heavily, from turn-of-the-century rags and Dixieland hymns to Broadway show tunes and pop chart hits. A longtime and devoted jazz fan, Max relished producing the film's soundtrack which reflected his deep love for all types of music.

When the confetti settled on STRUT!, Max invited his old friend and filmmaker Robert Downey to Philadelphia and had him sit inRittenhouse Square, one of the city's original park squares. Max had something in mind besides catching up with an old chum and asked Downey what he thought about doing a documentary on a year in the life of the Square, quoting the motto of the old radio show Grand Central Station, the "crossroads of a million private lives." Downey saw Max's vision and the result, Rittenhouse Square, was an impressionistic and, again, music-filled documentary. "Max Raab is the most inspired producer I've ever worked with and the funniest. His music choices were always impeccable", says Downey.

In the last two years, even while resisting the advancing stages of Parkinson's which he had kept at bay for over ten years, Max recruited Downey again. The two began producing a musical documentary on composer Kurt Weill and his colorful wife and muse, singer and actress Lotte Lenya – a film Downey and Max's wife Merle are determined see completed as the final chapter in Max's film career.

Max led a life that included sailing catboats and catamarans along the Jersey shore and in the Caribbean.

He owned theaters and restaurants, started a small entertainment magazine years before any existed and pursued countless other business ideas his whole life. As a young man with a budding interest in rare cars, he opened a car lot on North Broad Street where, having few cars of his own, he offered the Sports Car Club of America a venue to display and was thereby able to stock his lot with (and drive) the finest cars around. Over the years, his entrepreneurial spirit never waned. In the last year of his life, Max opened a small shop and website selling collectible model cars, sailboats, airplanes, tin toys and anything else that piqued his interest. It was a shop that reflected his different facets and his interests, inspired by the quirky catalogs he had subscribed to all his life. The shop's motto: You Never Outgrow Your Need For Toys.

Max guided and mentored many young clothiers and others throughout his life. Eddie Jabbour speaks for them when he says, “Max has been an amazing person to all of us who have been privileged to know him – he simply changed the course of my life. As I'm sure for all of his ’alumni’, that experience has never been surpassed. It was simply a magical time with him... and among the most rewarding in my life.”

 

[SurfGent]

So does that mean there aren't any Ernst ties made after 1970? I've seen a few of the ties before but wasn't sure if they were from the 80s or not


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Correct if you see a Ernst tie it's old. His heyday was 58-64

 

[Kahuna]

Nothing really spectacular here but I couldn't resist rescuing this bag o' ties at a rummage sale today. 50 cents for a bag of 70 ties. Unfortunately the lion's share are awful 70's ties but I was able to rescue a few 30's to 50's ties. I'm not really a diagonal stripes guy so most of those will go. I'll keep a select few of the rest for myself, Ebay some of the nicer remainders, and re-donate the 70's ties or use them in the garden.

Here's a family portrait, with the ones in the bag nervously awaiting their fate as garden ties.


Mostly 30's unlined ties


More mostly 30's ties. I really like the japanese ikat-cloth-looking Towncraft in the middle.


Some 40's belly warmers and a few late 40's ties.


Lastly, a few late 50s/early 60s ties. Found pretty much a history of modern ties in that bag.

 

[BobHufford]

Wow Kahuna -- nice finds!