Phyllis was very brand-loyal. She wore Dansko shoes, Rogers Optical big red glasses, Dooney and Bourke handbags (of course, a Winthrop girl called them pocketbooks). But, by far, she was devoted to Jeanne Bice’s Quacker Factory.
If Quacker Factory clothes were on QVC at 3 a.m., Phyl’d be watching. Jeanne Bice’s voice would awaken Helen Keller, so I’d be up too. If Jeanne Bice put out a sparkled Hitler sweater, Phyllis might look at it. Phyl would tear up at Jeanne Bice’s stories of her cats and woes, trying to sell her first bandanas, living out of an Edsel and eating outdated ramen and dirt until she was 50. Phyl would laugh hysterically at Jeanne Bice’s stories of her husband downing a bad banana, sinking in quicksand, or being eaten by piranha. Phyllis cried when Jeanne Bice became ill, and Angel Smedley (I didn’t make that up) took over.
Phyl loved it when a woman would notice her clothes, and both would pledge their like-allegiance, by declaring, “Quack, quack”. It happened far more often than you might possibly imagine.
The common denominator here, as any friend who knew her can attest, when Phyl was devoted, she was all the way. Whether to a friend or to what she wore….the shirt off her back.