The Tuesday Ladies
Our Town Downtown
December 11, 2006
A century-old tradition is still keeping seafarers warm
Adeline Tegnazian’s scarf-in-progress looks different than June Beckett’s, and not just because Tegnazian’s multicolored yarn has produced a Christmasy explosion of red, green and white with shiny flecks that resemble tinsel, while Beckett’s stripes in orange, maroon and three shades of green remind one of gummy worms lined up side by side. It’s the shape: Tegnazian’s is rectangular, as scarves usually are, while Beckett’s is significantly thinner in the middle than at its ends, giving it the unusual shape of a kayak paddle.
Why? Because Tegnazian is working on a mariner’s scarf while Beckett is knitting a seafarer’s scarf, both of which will be distributed by chaplains at the Port of New York and New Jersey in time for Christmas. If you think of “seafarer” and “mariner” as synonyms, well, so did I. Seafarers, it turns out, are the ones making ocean crossings, and often they hail from tropical or temperate countries, while river mariners work inland, and spend less time at sea.
I’m still not sure why the seafarers require modified scarves. The question is dismissed by Tegnazian. “That’s how it’s always been done,” she says proudly. “Tradition.”
Indeed, with a few exceptions (the yarn is acrylic now, not wool, so it can be laundered), the hustle and bustle filling a second floor room of the Seaman’s Church Institute could almost have taken place a century ago, as horses and buggies rolled by on Water Street. Granted, the gift packages did not contain disposable digital cameras when Christmas-at-Sea began in the 1890’s, but the conversation – green tea with honey, lemon and cloves is a good remedy for arthritis – has not changed all that much.
The ranks of 3500 volunteers across the country include men, kids, prison inmates and even Wall Streeters who come into the Seaman’s Church Institute on lunch break to help sort and package. Still, the large majority are seniors (“older adults!” someone yells reproachfully from across the room), and female. Some have or had husbands or fathers who went to sea, and one volunteer at the Seaman’s Church had been to sea herself, but most have no connection to the seamen who will be wearing their scarves, hats, socks, vests, and face masks. They trek here once a week from places like Bay Ridge, Washington Heights and even Connecticut, because they heard about it from a friend of a friend, came down to see how they could help – and twenty years later are part of a happy clique that exchanges recipes and goes out for lunch in Chinatown.
“Tuesday is the best group,” Tegnazian states as incontrovertible fact. With a regular attendance of between twelve and fifteen volunteers, it’s the largest group (about eight volunteers usually show up Monday, Wednesday and Thursday), but since most volunteers stick to their one day of the week, it seems it would be impossible to make an accurate comparison. Still, they’re vehement: the Tuesday ladies “are from way back,” says one volunteer; “there’s just a good feeling on Tuesdays,” says another.
Last year, the program handed out 16,169 items, and this year, director Barbara Clauson is hoping to deliver 18,000 Christmas gifts to mariners in ports from Pittsburgh to New Orleans. Clauson’s mother directed the program for 26 years, and for the past decade Clauson has been single-handedly coordinating thousands of volunteer knitters from every state in the country, each one of whom receives a note from her when they send in a knitted item. The packing, which began in earnest in October, must be finished by Christmas, and the long tables are covered with boxes of and neat piles of the odds and ends that will go into each package. They will continue accepting knitted goods until Christmas day; anything they receive after that gets stored for next year.
“It’s extremely hectic,” says Clauson, clutching red and green spools of yarn to her chest. “The days are long, the weeks are long.” Still, she wants to do more: she’s hoping a knitting group might make the Seaman’s Church Institute its headquarters, and she wants to see more community participation.
Many of the volunteers pre-date Clauson, but all seem to love her. “She’s the best we’ve had,” says Sylvia Meyers, who lives across the street and has been staying late to help with packaging. Stuffing plastic bags with one knitted item, a comb, a nail clipper, a magnifying glass (in case eyeglasses break), a sewing kit, a pair of shoe laces, a keychain, a homemade greeting card, and sometimes a disposable digital camera (so the seamen can take pictures on Christmas day) can be tiresomely repetitive work, but it also provides a tactile satisfaction.
“You get to use your hands,” says Nora Agatstein, extending long fingers adorned with rings. Many of the women do crafts anyway, says Agatstein, who not only crochets for Christmas-at-Sea, but also does origami and beading.
Meyers does not knit, which makes it all the more rewarding “to feel all the wonderful knitted items,” she says. As she shows off the colorful hats waiting to be packaged, she presses down on the soft piles that have come from around the country and wound up here, in her hands.
