June Phillips never met a stranger in her life. Her attribute as the penultimate people person made her one of the most successful women’s wardrobe mavens in Fort Worth, Texas. If one needed the perfect outfit, you called upon June. June loved to work. Her career in women’s wear sales spanned over sixty years in some of Fort Worth’s most iconic boutiques. The patrons of Wally Williams, Edison’s, Margo’s La Mode, HR Lowes, and Leon’s knew that no matter what the event, June would have them impeccably dressed.
As for her own style, avante –garde fits the bill. June always made her own unique fashion statement with beautifully cut suits, designer dresses, and matching scarves, hats, shoes and jewelry. Her signature was her hats. In her later years, she didn’t like carrying a purse, afraid she would leave it somewhere. Her ample bosom served as storage for her lipstick, cell phone, keys and credit card, which she would never leave without.
Growing up as an only child of two adoring parents, June considered her father a driving force in her life. She believed he taught her the tenants of life without gender stereotype. Once, he tied boxing gloves on her to show her how to take and throw a powerful punch. Matching her up with a boy her own age, he taught her to spar. The young boy reached back and threw June a hard punch to her face. It hurt and stung, making her cry. “That’s okay,” her Dad said. “That’s how it feels. Now let him have it.” June wiped tears away from her face and delivered a blow hard enough to knock the young boy off his feet. She got a thumbs up from her “Pops.”
It was this steely toughness and plucky grit that gave June the strength and courage to take on any challenge handed to her. Behind her perfect makeup, ruby red lipstick and lovely skin, she was no showy flower, she was one of the most brutally honest and remarkable women her friends had ever seen. June was a consummate story teller. They always began with an intense flash of consternation in her eyes. When relating life lessons from her parents, her eyes filled with tears. She described her childhood as “14 carat gold.” As for time with family? She was heard to frequently say “Hold your memories close, for they are golden and never to return.”
June loved to sing. Loudly. She was admitted to Julliard School of Music. But having met a dashing young man, her plans changed after her father’s warning. “You can leave home, study with the best, and have a songster’s career, or you can choose to have a family. Not both.” June chose family and never looked back. She sang at every party and gathering. Remarkabley in Pre-Vatican II times, she was ensconced as the only divorced and Protestant member of St. Peter’s Catholic Church choir.
June sized you up with a knowing eye, engaged you with a bright smile, and drew you in with a mesmerizing gaze. As a customer, she’d have you instantly pegged. “Hi, honey, what’s your name?” was her classic opening line. Managing to engage and delight, she almost always closed a sale. June educated herself about retail, her merchandise and her customers. With a heart for people and lovely things, she was truly interested in making someone feel like a million bucks. She would bring out two or three choices of outfits, carefully selected for her customer which they simply “couldn’t live without!” She would tell you what looked right and definitely identify what didn’t. She’d match your personality with your zodiac sign.
One particular June story which gives way to her scrappyness had to do with the proceeds from sales. June worked on commissions and worked hard for them. After one particularly successful sale, during which she sold two ladies thousands of dollars of merchandise, another clerk claimed they were her clients. “Oh, no they’re not, sister. I emptied those ladies pockets with my skills. Those were my loyal customers. I know them like I know the back of my hand. Which soon is gonna make its way to your face if you don’t give me back my money.” This led to an actual rolling-on-the-floor, hair-pulling, nail-scratching brawl at Wally Williams. At one point, her foe ripped off June’s hair clip. Her perfectly coiffed curls fell to her shoulders. Although the other woman was quite larger in stature, June got in her licks. Once the manager broke it up, June straightened her skirt, put her hair back up in the clip and threatened, “Honey, if you ever try that again, you better run for your life!” Wherein, the clerk quit and was never to return.
Cultivating deep friendships, June endeared herself to her companions. She doted over her second husband, Allan. Thirteen years her senior, she knew from the moment their eyes met in an elevator, that he was the love of her life. They lived in a petite, two bedroom home just a few blocks from June’s parents, to whom she was still very close. When Allan went to collect June’s things, he was surprised there were not more clothes and shoes. “Oh, honey. It’s not all in the bedroom. There’s a whole ‘nuther mess of it up in the attic.” June’s father wryly pointed to the ceiling. Alan had no idea now he would store box after box of hats, shoes, and racks of clothes. He suggested that maybe she should give some of it away to charity. But June didn’t see obstacles. Only solutions. “Honey, why say no, when yes means so much.” With a sheepish grin, Allan gave in. But before loading them up, he consulted with his brother on how to turn the spare bedroom into a closet, suspending multiple racks from the beams in the ceiling.
In 1975, while working at Margo’s La Mode, June hand-picked her son’s wife. A lovely, young eighteen-year-old blond with peaches and cream skin walked into the store shopping for an Easter dress. When June first spotted her, she strode over and remarked, “Honey, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I think you would be perfect for my only son.” Sure enough, a few months after dating, Lisa Ferguson became Raul Pena’s wife. Having been married for over forty years, they now have two adult children. June adored matchmaking and love stories. Intent on finding her grandson a mate, one day she rang him up. “Nathan, I’ve found the perfect girl for you. She is beautiful with brown, sparkling eyes!” Skeptical, Nathan asked “Okay. Where did you meet her?” June’s answer? “Oh, honey. I haven’t met her yet. She’s the underarm deodorant model in my magazine!”
Despite her strength and independence, June never learned to drive. Allan took her to and from work. June also didn’t like to cook. So every night, they would eat out deliciously, many times meeting up with life-long friends. Her quick wit and salty tongue would have everyone at the table in stitches. The staff and owners of her favorite spots knew and loved Miss June and Mister Allan by name. Often describing them as the grandparents they never knew. Their booth was regularly reserved and waiting. In fact, The Café, a longtime Fort Worth eatery on Montgomery Street served as the breakfast version of “Cheers” -where everyone knew their name. A poem that June wrote about the establishment is posted on the cash register. When June became ill, The Café had their customary breakfast delivered to the hospital.
June loved Halloween and many of her friends and colleagues recall her festive Halloween parties. Their quaint home was annually festooned with pumpkins and colorful goblins. June’s costumes and witch’s hats were notorious. How ironic that in 2016, on her most favorite of holidays, June was given her death sentence. Experiencing some vertigo and recent falls, June received a horrific diagnosis. She had the worst of all brain cancers, a glioblastoma, Stage IV. At age 79, rosy-cheeked and in perfect health, she was incredulous that she was told she had only months to live. To her shocked family and friends, she remarked “Nobody lives forever, honey! I’m not afraid to die. But I’m gonna give this thing a helluva fight.”
She chatted up folks until the day she died. While having an early morning blood draw, she queried her phlebotomist, “Honey, when’s your birthday? What’s your sign?” holding out her arm. “I think I’m a Scorpio,” the tech replied. “Oh yeah? Me too, honey. That means we’re resourceful, brave, passionate, and stubborn as all get out! But a true friend.” The lab tech smiled. Yep, that was June.
On one of her last days, she held the hand of another Belle of Steel, Edmee Baird. ‘Honey, let’s say part of the rosary.” June was a Catholic for that day. They began the Glory Be. Edmee had tears in her eyes, “But what am I going to do without my best friend?” June’s voice was stoic. “Don’t cry for me gal. You’ve got more life to live. If this whole thing is terminal, I’ve had a good one. I have a wonderful son. I hand-picked his wife. I was given a second chance at love and have a fabulous husband. I’ve lived life to the fullest every day. If this is it, it’s all been grand.” They completed a decade of the rosary. June died the next day. AgeView Press is proud to celebrate the indominatable spirit of Belle of Steel #16, June Phillips. She forever left her mark and cast her spell of love on her corner of the world.
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