Rose Courtney

Known as “Shimmy Rose” back in the roaring 20’s due to her exceptional dance moves, and as beloved “Mammy” to her grandchildren, Rose was our family’s version of “Aunty Mame.” Born Rose Heller in 1903 in New York City to Jewish Hungarian immigrants, she was the youngest of four sisters, Rose eloped with her true love Max Courtney at the age of 15. They remained married until her death 68 years later. She gave birth to her daughter Helen at age 16, and her son Alan nine years later.

Rose had style and flair by the bucket-load, and an opinion on just about everything and everyone. While never a business woman in her own right, she had a huge positive influence on her brothers-in-law’s New York fashion district coat and suit house. Each year Rose and her husband Max would travel to Europe where Rose would visit couturiers and return with fabulous new looks to recommend for inspiration. Her impeccable taste and fashion forward style insured the pieces she chose would be a huge hit with American fashionistas.

Rose was a true beauty. She was 5’2” and wore 4” heels well into her 80’s. She maintained her 110 pound svelte good looks while eating out virtually every night for the last 40 years of her life, no mean feat! She was a wonderful natural artist. She began painting in her 50’s with no formal training, and when she brought her very first painting in for framing, she was offered several thousand dollars for it—that’s in 1950’s dollars. She actually never sold her paintings, instead giving them to family members. She continued to enjoy painting for the rest of her life.

A truly creative talent and wonderful artist, Rose was her own best canvas. She was always perfectly coiffed and manicured without ever setting foot inside a beauty salon. People would comment on her original and complex hair styles, Rose was the arbiter of fine taste in our family, and a wonderfully honest talking heart-felt woman.

I was lucky enough to have lived with her and my grandfather until the age of 4, as my mother’s marriage to my birth father tragically ended when I was an infant. After my mother remarried, I would spend Xmas vacations with “Mammy” in her beautiful and glamorous New York City apartment overlooking Central Park.

I would feel so proud going out with her. When she’d run into people she knew, they would exclaim that I couldn’t possibly be her grand child—because she looked way too young. She would take me to wonderful places like Radio City Music Hall where we might see the newly released movie Around the World in 80 Days along with the Rockettes, or lunch out at the fabulous Rumplemeyer’s on Central Park South where I would enjoy a double-decker club sandwich with a pitcher of hot chocolate and real whipped cream to dollop on top.

And each year she would take me shopping for a party dress—each a wonderful confection of velvet and lace—the most special dresses I ever wore. But more importantly, she could read me like a book, she loved me passionately, and had a very practical and down-to-earth approach to dealing with all of life’s challenges—even the cancer that eventually took her life. A rose is a rose, the saying goes, but truly there will never will be another Rose like her.

Honored by Nicki Michaels