Garments

For a time it was known as the nation's largest clothing factory, turning out 3,000 men's suits a day. Later it was one of the first locations of the U.S. Social Security Administration and then office space for a succession of regional banks. Now it's taking on a new life as the latest addition to one of Baltimore's largest medical centers. The Paca-Pratt Building, at 110 S. Paca St., will be renovated to house administrative employees and support staff from the University of Maryland Medical Center, two blocks away.

T-shirts that Baltimore police union officials worry might incite violence against officers are showing up in a West Baltimore neighborhood after last week's fatal shooting by police of a man wanted in an armed robbery. The shirts come in at least three styles and at least two colors, black and white. One shirt says: R.I.P. Rocky [Expletive] the police." Another shirt has a rendering of a Baltimore police patch covered with red crosshairs and a target. "The inference here is that they're promoting the murder of a police officer," said Lt. Frederick V. Roussey, president of the Fraternal Order of Police.

The genealogy of the 140-year-old A. Frank & Sons company hangs on the wall of Sandy Frank's office in the photo-portraits of the family patriarchs who ran the company. "I'm named after him, Samuel, my grandfather," says Frank, looking up at the picture of the mustachioed man on his right. Frank himself has been president of the company more than 40 years now. "His father was Aaron, my great-grandfather," he says. The "A." in A. Frank & Sons, of course, and the founder, his picture is just behind Frank's right shoulder, a serious-looking, bearded gentleman.

Tina Marie Zochok, a former garment worker, died of a heart attack Thursday at her Southwest Baltimore home. She was 39. Born in Baltimore and raised in the Pigtown neighborhood, she attended Southern High School. She worked at Schroeder & Sons in West Baltimore, making men's neckties and dollhouse rugs until leaving about nine years ago on a medical disability. Miss Zochok enjoyed keeping a daily journal and spending time with her family. Services are private. Miss Zochok is survived by a daughter, Shannon Bittner, and her mother, Barbara Lawhorn, both of Baltimore; three sisters, Helen Reightler and Freda Zochok, both of Baltimore, and Barbara Lawhorn of Arbutus; her maternal grandmother, Freda Thomas of Damascus; and many nieces and nephews.

They held the crisp, white coats in their hands, feeling the thick cotton, fingering the spot where their names were embroidered in maroon. The medical students at Johns Hopkins Hospital then rose to their feet Friday evening. And before a hushed crowd, they pulled on, for the first time, the garment that will mark them as doctors. Once, this moment passed quietly. For generations, medical students simply bought a white coat at the bookstore or were issued one by the dean's office. But in the past dozen years, medical schools across the country have begun to celebrate the transition from classroom to clinic with ceremonies that have all the pomp and popularity of graduation.

So, you thought bra straps were only for under clothing. Lauren Wedekind has another theory. Wedekind, 34, owns BraGems. com, an online business that sells decorative straps to hold up strapless bras. The straps - from beaded to felt, and from brightly colored to clear - adorn strapless dresses or peek out from underneath tank tops. "It totally takes away that uncomfortable feeling of, `I'm not totally dressed, I have my bra strap hanging out,'" Wedekind said. Wedekind is confident that her accessories will catch on. In fact, she wore them to parties and bars and under her tank tops all summer.

Ever wonder what happened to Baltimore Mayor William Donald Schaefer's vintage bathing suit, famously worn with a straw boater and rubber ducky when the National Aquarium didn't open on time? If Schaefer paid a visit to Howard Street's A. T. Jones, he'd find his striped suit on display at the theatrical costume house that originally furnished it, together with a photo of the plunge heard 'round the world. Schaefer, who, we all know, went on to become Maryland's governor and now comptroller, wouldn't mind having his own museum, where citizens could admire his odd lot of public service souvenirs.

Ask Dr. Freddie L. Harper, pastor of Truth & Love Lighthouse Christian Center in Woodlawn, to distill his fashion philosophy, and this is what he says: "No more collar, no more robe, but a sanctified wardrobe."Harper, 52, doesn't want his Sunday dress to distance him from his 300-member congregation. But don't get the idea that he dresses in drab. Think tailored suits in yellow, purple, pink, blue, white. "People come in needing hope," says the pastor, who lives in Woodstock. His flamboyant dress "puts a little sunshine in their day. Jesus himself wore colors, and they fought over his robe.

It's a problem that has countless women grumbling in store dressing rooms across America and catalog retailers like Eddie Bauer, L.L. Bean, and Lands' End complaining bitterly about millions of dollars in merchandise returns.In the chaotic world of women's clothing sizes, the numbers that shoppers see on garment tags, from tiny 2 all the way to 20, have become all but meaningless.Women waste hours trying on clothes that droop or squeeze, and catalog vendors end up with costly returns from similarly frus- trated mail-order customers.

Tara Mullligan sat at the 1880s-era foot-powered Singer sewing machine. She pumped the pedal in exasperated fits and starts, but couldn't get a smooth rhythm going."