b'a set of ornate, heavy draperies in red damaskabout taking measurements. There was never a was affixed precariously over a set of large win- cross look, a malicious comment; it was all about dows overlooking a small garden below. Therethe garb. Mr. acampora recited aloud a litany of was a fountain in the middle of the garden, butoptions, ranging from the type of stitching, to supposedly it had not worked in years. Like allthe canvas for the interfacing, to the lining, the things in palermo, this sanctuary of the sartorialbuttons, the shape of the lapels, the cut of the arts also had a few oddities of its own. shoulders, the rise of the collar, etc. he went on customers gathered there for the company and on, with much more than i can remember; and the conversation. it was not just a tailoringit was magical to hear him talk.enterprise, it was a social club. There was ani grasped only a few things, but i was curious to older gentleman, the chief assistant, who often know how this man could deploy his magic and disappeared behind the heavy curtain that make his suits hang with such a precise cut and separated the atelier, as Mr. acampora liked toelegant drape. Mr. acamporas handmade gar-call it, from the cutting room. he always broughtments carried with them a sortilege, or sorcery, espressos and pastries to the waiting customersof some kind. The wearer became more con-from the coffee bar next door. fident, his body seemed to change, and all his The head tailor, principal designer, master cutterflaws were hidden as he gazed at his own reflec-and showman par excellence was Mr. acamporation. Mr. acampora did not just make clothes; himself. inside this atelier of his was a universehe also draped the souls of his customers.in which one could be peacefully cocooned.There is an art in the making of a custom suit; outside, there was the roar of the citya ragingit is a form of applied mathematics, mixed with assault on the senses, a screaming cacophony ofthe purest form of perceptive design. it starts sounds from its incessant traffic. with a series of exact measurements, followed it was the late 60s. Things were happening,by a succession of exacting cuts to carve out the businesses were prospering, and there were carspattern that has been marked on the cloth, and everywhere. consumerism was growing; we allfinally the assembly of the suits various parts.wanted the american lifestyle. yet, there stoodWhat happens in between is a myriad of individual this antique outpost of delicious civility. processes carried out with military precision for The haberdashery of Mr. acampora still heldthe sole purpose of achieving the perfect cut and onto a slowly receding group of modestly pros- the ideal drape.perous businessmen who loved style more thansomewhere in the midst of all this, the essence money. What made Mr. acamporas store soof mathematics melds with an artistry that turns special was the way he made his customers feelnumbers into stitched miracles, until the suit inside, the moment they wore their (bespoken)emerges. Finally, the cloth drapes softly over garments for the first time. the body, not tugging against the problem areas; Tall, fat, short, slimit did not matter to him;rather, it caresses our physical flaws with a gentle he treated them all with equal respect as he wentpromise of a better look.35'