Beverly's pearls
My great-grandmother Beverly Philpott was married to my great-grandfather Lieutenant Colonel James A. Philpott — known in the family as Grandpa Jim. They were the parents of Captain John. And Beverly is the namesake on the side of the P-40 fighter Grandpa Jim flew — To the only Beverly, From The Pilot. She appears in the heritage page in the B-25 photo, and again in the family portrait. The aviation lineage this site sits on top of has her name running through it from the start.
Beverly outlived a lot of her family and held the line for the rest of it. Toward the end, she chose specific heirlooms for each of her grandchildren — not estate-distribution residue, not a list a lawyer made. She picked. She decided who got what.
The pearls were what she chose for my mom.
A double strand with a small gold clasp. Champagne-toned, the warm kind — the kind that sit against skin and look like they belong there. My mom has worn them almost every day for about thirty years, through most of her airline career. They've been in the cockpit, in the training department, on every layover from Tokyo to Tel Aviv. Pearls aren't jewelry you put in a safe. They're jewelry you wear out.
Which I think Beverly knew when she chose them. You don't hand pearls to a working pilot if you want them displayed; you hand them to her if you want them used. Carried forward. There's an implicit forecast in a choice like that — this granddaughter will keep moving, and the pearls will move with her.
They're an heirloom that's also a uniform. The North America Collection — the workwear my mom has refined over thirty years of flying and twenty years of teaching — sits underneath them. Talbots slacks and a Brooks Brothers blouse, a Cozy Earth set for the ride home in the back of the plane. The pearls are what makes it all hers.
Someday they'll come to me. I'll wear them out too.
See the North America Collection →
Read about where the family aviation story begins →