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If you shopped at the Downtown Gimbels, you probably saw my grandfather’s work, writes who has pieced together details of his remarkable life

Lynne Glover pieces together details of her grandfather's remarkable life.

lost his balance, and his right hand was pulled into the rolls of the machine, flattening it like a pancake.

It would take three years before Harold and Homer Phillips’ case against the company came to trial. According to a trial transcript, my grandfather’s right hand was rolled out to one-16th of an inch thickness. His four fingers and hand were amputated within 2 inches of the wrist.

His attorney asked: “Did you suffer much pain?”

Grandpa Phillips responded: “After the accident, they left me lay in the clock room for two hours before they took me to the hospital.”

Attorney: “Did you suffer much pain during those two hours?” Phillips: “Yes, sir.” The jury ruled in favor of my grandfather and great-grandfather, but the settlement was only a fraction of the $25,000 that they sued for. Newspaper records show that Harold would receive $2,000 and his father $1,700. But a young man was minus his hand, and the judgment was overturned on appeal after Alcoa argued that another entity, the United States Aluminum Co., operated the plant at the time.

The mystery remains of how Grandpa’s family managed to send him to the Kiskiminetas Springs School in Saltsburg, Indiana County. Annual tuition and boarding costs then totaled about $850, according to an old catalog provided by The Kiski School, its name today.

So, Grandpa Phillips attended a prestigious school for rich kids. What really knocked my genealogical socks off was the 1919 yearbook, The Kiskiminetan, which showed that Grandpa participated on the track squad and was a member of Theta Pi Pi fraternity. I still have his pin. I see from the book “Kiski: The First 100 Years” that “most successful athletes were members” of the fraternity.

I learned that Grandpa, at 5 feet 8 inches and 140 pounds, played center — center — on the 1919 Kiski football squad. His photo appeared in this very paper in November 1919 with the headline “Kiski on Trail of National Prep School Gridiron Title.” I also discovered that he played semiprofessional football for the Burns A.A. team in New Kensington in 1923.

• So, what about art? Is Kiski where Grandpa Phillips learned design? Hand lettering? To paint?

Unlikely. According to the historical book on Kiski, the curriculum for non-college-bound students was called “The English Course,” which included commercial studies and mechanical drawing. But perhaps Grandpa Phillips was further exposed to the arts at Kiski, found he had a knack for it, then learned on his own and from his father.

I have a collection of wellworn books that may have belonged to both Grandpa Phillips and his father: “Studio Handbook Letter and Design” (published in 1927), “With Pen and Ink” (1913); “Art Simplified” (1920), “The Scene Painter” (1904) and “Atkinson Sign Painting: A Complete Manual” (1909).

It’s likely my great-grandfather guided Grandpa’s pursuit of art as something he could do with one hand. I never found out if Grandpa originally was righthanded or left-handed. I did find a sheet of letterhead bearing the name Phillips’ Art Studio in New Kensington with both H.E. Phillips and H.M. Phillips listed. At some point, Grandpa and his dad jointly promoted their signpainting services.

• Grandpa must have been good enough to piece together a decent portfolio (which I have) because he began working for the Gimbels sign shop on Nov. 21, 1928.

According to a Gimbels newsletter circa 1950, the sign shop was tucked away on the 13th floor in what is now the Heinz 57 Center on Sixth Avenue. The article details how all of the store signs — “on the counters, in the elevators, in floor standards, in warehouses, in washrooms, most everywhere” — were made by the sign shop. It details how Grandpa made the hand-lettered and silk-screened signs while three others in the shop handled the typeset ones.

An impressive collection of Grandpa’s sign art from Gimbels was unearthed when we cleaned out my parents’ home after they had passed away. “If no one wants these, I’ll take them,” I told my siblings.

Some of the work — “It’s Gimbels for an added measure of value …” and “Closed Jewish Holiday” — is boilerplate. But others — “Lilac Time” and “Gimbels: The Christmas Store” — are classics.

I’ve framed several for my home, given many to family members and offered the balance of the collection to the Heinz History Center, whose curators tell me they’re interested because they don’t have much in the way of Gimbels memorabilia.

For me, though, it’s more than memorabilia. It’s my roots. My DNA.

Grandpa Phillips is at work in one of the very few photos showing his injured hand in full view. In the background is the sign for the “Lilac sale” for which Gimbels was well known.

I think about my grandfather’s journey, about how an accident on an awful March night 100-plus years ago claimed the hand of a healthy 16-year-old boy, forever changing his future. future. I can’t help but wonder if I’d even be here to tell this story if it hadn’t happened.

After Grandpa died in 1979, I lived for a while with my grandmother in Wilkinsburg while attending the University of Pittsburgh. I’d ask her about him.

“While we were courting,” Grammy Phillips told me, “I didn’t even know he was missing part of his hand until after several dates.”

• When Grandpa retired from Gimbels in 1972, he was presented with a clock and a handmade replica of a silk-screen press. It came with a frame, brush and original poem, signed by a dozen coworkers. It reads: To Mr. Phillips Sign Shop ~ 11-21-28 to 6-3072

43 Years and 7 Months

I have photos of Grandpa Phillips receiving the gift at his retirement luncheon. Right hand hidden. But smiling.