Famous Austrians XI: Heinrich Harrer

I will admit that Seven Years in Tibet was my favorite movie as a little girl, and - here's the admission - mostly because Brad Pitt played the main character.


I will also admit that, since Brad Pitt plays Austrian mountaineer Heinrich Harrer in the film, Seven Years in Tibet is also one of the reasons I was ever interested in coming to Austria in the first place. That and mountaineering, of course.


Harrer himself was interesting enough, however. Born in Hüttenberg (in Carinthia) in 1912, and attended Karl-Franzens-Universität in Graz. He almost participated in the 1936 Winter Olympics, until the Austrian athletes boycotted (Austrians would boycott skiing?!?). He became famous as a young man for climbing the North Face of the Eiger in Switzerland (also known as the White Spider) which had actually been banned for climbing by the Swiss government due to the deaths of several earlier climbers. Something not so nice about Harrer is that, immediately following the Anschluss, he joined the SS. In later interviews, including his biography, he apologized for this, chalking it up to youthful indiscretion. 


While on a trip to India in 1939, Harrer and his mountain crew decided to climb Nanga Parbat but World War II was declared in September and, being in British territory, and the crew (as German citizens) was arrested and thrown into an internment camp near Bombay. In 1944, Harrer and others escaped dressed as British soldiers and headed for Tibet.


During his exile in Tibet, Harrer worked as a translator, eventually meeting the Dalai Lama (then aged about 12) and became his English and Geography tutor. They made films together, the Dalai Lama learned how to ice skate, and they remained friends until Harrer's death in 2006. 


In 1952, Harrer returned to Austria and wrote the book Seven Years in Tibet based on his experiences. He continued his mountaineering adventures, traveling to each of the continents in turn. As well as being an explorer and writer, he was also a photographer and documentary filmmaker. Many of his photographs and films are at the Harrer Museum in Hüttenberg. Hopefully I'll make it there before I leave Austria! I've never been to Carinthia, actually...it might be fun!

Harrer and the Dalai Lama

The Fur Coat

my fur coat on the hanger

Is is a widely know fact, among those who frequent Vienna, or live here, or have anything at all to do with the city, that every real Wienerin owns a fur coat. It is a rite of passage, a mark of class and sophistication. A woman goes from being a "Fräulein" (or, if age has already exacted its toll, from being a "Frau") to being a "Dame" once she owns a fur coat.


Now, these coats come in all shapes and sizes. There are full-length mink, beaver, ermine; there are fur-trimmed wool coats, half-length rabbit or raccoon, or simple stoles to be worn at the opera - in the balcony. Or front row center. The choices are endless, even if the bank account isn't. For those of you interested, a floor-length mink costs about €10,000, and was most likely caught and bludgeoned to death in Siberia. The killing of animals for the fur trade is illegal in Austria, but the selling of furs is perfectly legit, provided the animals died and were sewn together in a different country. And the demand is high, obviously.


I have my own fur-trimmed winter coat, and, since I packed it and brought it all the way from Wisconsin, I'm glad this year I've gotten to wear it quite a bit, what with the extremely cold month of February we've been having in Europe. And I honestly don't get the excuse to wear it in the USA I do here; besides, it's such a beautiful coat.

At this point, many of my loyal readers (who?) might be scratching their head right now. Really? you could be thinking. Vanessa? The vegetarian? Owning a fur? That doesn't sound right. Why would she have anything to do with fur? Let me tell you. It's an interesting story, which is why I thought it would make an interesting blog post.

in front of elevator in my building

It all started my freshman year at Lawrence. The drama department was having a costume sale in the Voyager room across from the old Grill in the Union. There wasn't much all that exciting up for grabs, except this coat, which was sitting humbly (yet provocatively) on a hanger. Price? $10. I realized then that it would become mine.


I have no idea why no one else wanted it. Perhaps it was destined for me, perhaps I was the first one to get down to the sale that day. Perhaps all the other hippy-vegan darlings of my alma mater were too principled to lay down ten bucks for something that was once an animal. It doesn't really matter. As soon as I laid down my ten dollar bill, I secured the coat against my person and dashed back to my dorm. I did a little dance in the stairwell before getting to my room and opening the door to my roommate, who was on Facebook when she should have been studying for art history.


To me, it was obviously vintage - at that point, I didn't quite know how vintage - and by that sheer fact made even better.  Being vintage, whatever animal it had been was obviously murdered before my lifetime, and therefore pardonable, in my code of ethics. I've been wearing vintage outfits, and specifically, vintage coats (my great-grandmother's until it fell apart, and then ones from second-hand shops), since high school.

fur cuff - the other side is disintegrating :(

Unfortunately, this year, as I have worn the coat like a winter coat (its intended purpose) and have not been very gentle, the fur on the cuffs first started to shed, and then started to come out in clumps. It's like my coat is going through chemotherapy. Luckily, the collar is as good as new (basically) and the cuffs are detachable, so my project for next winter is to get them off and find a suitable, attractive replacement. 


Noticing how badly the fur is falling apart prompted me to do a Google search on it, to see if I could figure out a few more things about it. I've thought about taking it to a furrier in Vienna to have it appraised, but since it's no longer in the best condition, and the furrier might chide me about not taking good care of it, I balked. That's probably the only way to know for certain what kind of fur it is, however.

The only clue the coat itself has given me is the tag in the lining: THE PETTIBONE & PEABODY CO. it reads. I asked my dad about it, since he grew up in Appleton and he remembers there being such a store when he was a little boy. His mother shopped there. It is there no longer, much like many of the old department stores of yesteryear, being bought up or run out of business by chain stores and the like. Amazon.com, perhaps. Anyway, my Google search came up with some very interesting results, particularly this blog and this souvenir book sold by the company before its demise. It appears that Pettibone and Peabody was one of the oldest retailers in the state of Wisconsin, and opened in 1865. It was Appleton's premier retailer until it H.C. Prange Co. (now Younker's) bought it out in 1946. Thus, for the tag to still read "Pettibone & Peabody Co." it must be at least 65 years old, any may be even older. No wonder the fur is disintegrating, right?

Regardless, I'm pretty tickled about this. Not only is it super vintage, it's my favorite era - I was guessing realistically that it was from the 1960s or later (and donated post mortem by some Lawrence aluma/us) - but in my heart of hearts, I knew the style screamed 1940s - and I was totally right. Maybe even 1930s, but I won't get ahead of myself. 

For those  of you unconvinced, please please  follow my links! And this one while you're at it. And then if you're still not convince, that's not my problem. 'Cause haters gonna hate.