Born to Love Jewelry

I believe I was born with a passion and love for jewelry. I was born back in the fifties. There used to be a baby blanket that was made with plastic rings that could be secured around the rails on the gates on drop-down sides of baby cribs. They came pink or blue. My parents got me the one with the pink rings. According to my parents, when I was about three months old, my mother came into my room and discovered that all of the pink plastic rings had been removed from the blanket and the side rails. There were, however two pink rings on each of my ankles, two pink rings on each of my forearms, and three pink rings on each of my wrists! And I had, I have been told, a very smug, self-satisfied smile on my face.

When my parents tried to take to rings off of me, I understand the din was deafening. They let me keep them on.

Fast forward about twelve years. I'm going to my violin lessons at the Roosevelt Conservatory of Music in downtown Chicago. Where I get off the subway train is very near the entrance to the jewelry store, C.D. Peacock. When I would walk past the jewelry store, the old man that often stood out front when I passed by, always spoke to me. “Good afternoon, Miss Timmons. How are you today?” he would cordially ask. I was thunderstruck that he seemed not only recognize me but he knew my name!
I would always reply, “fine thank you”. And he would smile broadly at me. I would hurry to my lesson, but it would really non-plus me every week.

Finally, one Saturday, I gathered up my courage and I asked him how he knew me. “I've know you since you were a little baby. You haven't changed at all. He smiled broadly, and said “Oh, You're the baby that cried for diamonds”. I was stunned! No, thunderstruck, might be a better description. I demanded to know what made him say that. He asked me to step inside his jewelry store, and he would explain. He held the door open for me, like I was some great lady. I became very embarrassed, but he demurred and insisted I precede him in.

Upon stepping through the doors, the sales staff all looked up and greeted me, like a long lost friend! “Look!” the old gentleman announced. “The Baby Who Cried for Diamonds has grown up!” I was ready, in my mind, to turn and bolt out the door in confusion and fear, but my feet were oddly unresponsive. I just stood there. “What do mean?”I stammered.

At that point the old man had gone in and out of a door marked “Private”, with a photograph in an exquiste silver frame. He showed it to me. There I was, sitting on the counter, beatifically smiling. He said it was back when I was sixteen months old, when my parents came in with me. My mother needed to get her pearls re-strung. Evidently, while my parents were being waited on, the sales help offered to hold me. I was fine, he said, until I saw the diamond bracelets in a jewelry case. He said I started crying, so to pacify me they took the bracelets out of the case. When someone put a diamond bracelet on my wrist, he said I stopped crying. “Look, the baby is crying for diamonds!”, is what was said. The picture showed me with several diamond bracelets on each wrist, with my foot sticking out as one was being clasped onto my ankle!

I was thunderstruck! I mumbled I was sorry that I had been so much trouble,and had to go as I would be late for my lesson They were all smiles, and encouraged me to come back and visit any time. Later that afternoon, when I got home, I asked my parents about it. My father was tickled that there was a photo of the event. He remembered it, and thought it was very funny. “That's why I got you all those books about minerals and gems when you first learned to read”.


When did you first realize that you loved jewelry?

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