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LONG ISLAND JOURNAL; Where the Elite Meet for Fashion Bargains
By MARCELLE S. FISCHLER
May 13, 2001, Sunday

IN the genteel hamlet of Locust Valley, bastion of exclusive country clubs and stately manor houses known by names instead of numbers, the affluent and the socially prominent don't shop retail. They simply wear each other's clothes.

''It's Low Cost Valley,'' Cecily Pennoyer said in the slightly affected, upper-crust accent known on the Gold Coast as ''Locust Valley lockjaw,'' adjusting a straw hat tagged for $2 on her head. ''I can't stand shopping,'' she said.

It was donor day at the Grenville Baker Boys and Girls Club 35th annual clothing sale. Gently used garments by Scaasi, Versace, Escada, Rykiel and Adolfo were going for a fraction of their regular price. And even among the Island's old guard, with blood lines and bank accounts linked to the Morgans, the Vanderbilts and the Pratts, a bargain is a bargain.

In the makeshift fitting room at the Grenville Baker Boys and Girls Club, Mrs. Pennoyer slipped on outfit after outfit, checking the tags for the number indicating the donor and the price as well as scouting labels for quality.

''We bring back things the next year,'' Mrs. Pennoyer said, modeling a brown cloak that formerly belonged to a dear deceased friend. ''We recycle. I donated something from last year. The last day you can come in and get a bag full for a dollar.''

Mrs. Pennoyer, 70, a garden castings designer, declined to discuss her social background. She plucked a green Chanel pocketbook out of one pile, scrutinized the chain and ran her fingers over the leather to make sure it wasn't a knockoff, then added the $10 find to her heap. She said she had three horses, played polo, lived on 15 acres but had donated 30 acres to the Mill Neck Sanctuary. And no, she wouldn't buy the lovely full-length $1,200 mink coat she tried on because where she skis in Colorado animal-rights activists would throw paint on it.

The cachet of the clothing sale dates back to its beginnings as a private, by-invitation-only sale held 35 years ago at the home of Tee Ridder, after whom the miniatures museum at the Nassau County Museum of Art is named. It netted $6,000. Back then, Gloria Howard recalled, guests brought their housekeepers along to press the clothes.

''We all bought evening gowns, priceless,'' Mrs. Howard said, introducing herself as Mrs. George H. Howard of Locust Valley, wife of the retired investment banker and a former co-chairwoman of the event for 11 years. ''It was very elegant, like Bergdorf's.''

These days the sale is held in the gym of the 51-year-old club, which provides after-school, weekend and summer programs for nearly 1,000 youngsters. According to Christina Morris, the club's marketing coordinator, donations are still by invitation only, sent only to those with a history of providing high-quality new and vintage clothing. After donor day, which raised $20,000, the sale opened to the public for a week.

''I bought six pairs of Ferragamo shoes for $2 each, a coat, a dress,'' Mrs. Howard said, giddy with luck. ''I bought three Fendi pocketbooks.''

Mrs. Howard said she was of the sporty class that plays golf and tennis at the Piping Rock and Creek clubs and attends dinner parties practically every evening. She planned to return to the sale every day to buy Christmas gifts, like a $2 strand of pearls for her granddaughter.

''I went to Palm Beach to a big party at the Everglades Club,'' Mrs. Howard said. ''I saw a Scaasi here. It was $2,000 and I bought it for $80 and there was Mrs. Walter Gubelmann and she said, 'I love your dress.' We wear everyone's clothes.''

Part of the allure, Mrs. Howard said, was spotting an Armani or a Gucci by the feel and look of the fabric and wearing an outfit once admired on a friend.

''This is so much more fun than going to the Americana,'' she said, slipping on a beige St. John knit suit marked $10. It had a gaping hole in the shoulder that she promised to mend. ''Why would I pay retail? I'll wear it two, three times and I'll donate it back to the Boys and Girls Club and get something else. Who wants to go out and spend $3,000 on an Armani suit if you are going to wear it twice in the winter to a luncheon? Wouldn't you like a $3,000 Scaasi for $60? It's like driving a new car out of a lot.''

A writer and art collector, Chris Watson lives in Upper Brookville, spends her summers in Normandy and usually shops in France. But she was totally delighted to find a pair of beige Charles Jourdan shoes with black tips in the pile for $6.

''They are slightly used,'' Ms. Watson said. ''Who cares? They feel marvelous. And they are a little big, which is marvelous. I can walk all over Paris.''

Nina Jennings of Mill Neck -- and a member of the Pratt family -- said she only browsed in high-end stores. At the sale, she filled four bags with Gap, Ralph Lauren and Brooks Brothers shirts and dresses for her 16 grandchildren. Then she looked at a few frocks for herself.

''The designer dresses are all in perfect condition,'' Mrs. Jennings said, trying on a blue floral Emanuel Ungaro dress that she figured would be $400 even at Filene's. On the club's rack, it was marked $120.

''I wish it wasn't so expensive,'' she said, settling on a $35 aqua-colored linen Nipon dress instead. ''I'm 67 and I still have all the clothes I wore in college.'' Radcliffe, of course.

Keni Valenti, a clothing dealer and designer from Manhattan, was among the 60 people waiting outside the door for the sale to start. Four hours later, he paid $1,028.57 for six 30-gallon garbage bags stuffed with clothing and an additional $500 for bric-a-brac.

Mr. Valenti ranked the sale as one of the best in the world. ''I look for inspiration here,'' he said. ''I'd equate it with going to an estate sale in Monaco or the south of France.''

Mr. Valenti worried that he was leaking one of haute couture shoppers' best-kept secrets. ''It's a great treasure trove here,'' he said. ''You have to be quick. Everybody makes a run for it. All the ladies look for Chanel, Chanel, Chanel. We are in Locust Valley, home of Geoffrey Beene. This is the real money.''

Old Wheelchairs

The old-fashioned high wooden-back wheelchairs with heavy steel wheels in the lobby of the Nassau University Medical Center looked like vestiges of a bygone era. But until recently, the antiquated chairs were used to wheel discharged patients to their cars.

''I have been at this hospital 29 years,'' said Michael DeLuca, the hospital's chief operating officer, happily pushing the empty chairs out the door. ''When I got here, these were the wheelchairs that I saw. They looked outdated 29 years ago.''

Whenever the hospital tried to replace the aging fleet with newer wheelchairs, Mr. DeLuca said, they were stolen. No one ever tried to ride off with the clumsy old ones.

But the time had come.

''It's past time we get rid of these,'' Mr. DeLuca said as volunteers from the American Airpower Museum at Republic Airport loaded them into a vintage Army truck. ''We are a level-one trauma center. All of our equipment is state of the art. We are doing a whole new emergency room expansion. These are incongruent with our mission, incongruent with what we do here everyday. They give everyone the wrong impression.''

New chairs, equipped with a steel rod to discourage theft, have been purchased. Eleven of the old chairs were donated to the Airpower Museum, where they will be used as props next to a 60-year-old C-47. Shelly Lotenberg, spokeswoman for the hospital, said an additional 40 chairs are available for theater groups and other museums.

Larry Starr, the curator of the Airpower Museum, said the aircraft was used both to transport troops into combat and to bring wounded back from battle.

''It's a connection with the past for us,'' Mr. Starr said. ''It brings it more to life.''

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Copyright 2001 The New York Times Company