Arnold Zimmermann with two of the loves of his life:
wife Elizabeth and daughter Meg Swansen.
Arnold with Elizabeth and the XRX crew in
Sioux Falls, South Dakota - his was a familiar,
beloved face in the knitting universe.
He lived in a converted schoolhouse in the Wisconsin woods, this gentle, retired brewmaster, painter, children’s book illustrator, and consort to the knitting universe’s Elizabeth the Great.
He grew up in another woods, in the Bavarian countryside, which in his youth echoed with the call of the cuckoo. “I remember the Postillon [mail carriers] with their little patent leather hats, blue jackets, white leather breeches, black knee boots, and the small, yellow post wagon, with a pony in front. The trolleys were light blue, and so was the sky, and the clouds were white… the Bavarian colors!
“When I was young, Munich was a dreamy little town to grow up in. Bavaria at that time had a king—a very nice one, King Louis III. My governess took me down the street once, and she said, ‘Go, quickly, and shake the king’s hand.’ The king walked around on the streets! He was a very easy-going guy with a white beard…”
Arnold may have been describing a king, but his description of Louis III fits Arnold himself like the breeches that he loved to wear on his skiing expeditions. But that’s, perhaps, as it should be: Arnold Zimmermann, after all, came as close to royalty as we will ever have in our knitting universe.
This charming, courtly gentleman—the only person you could possibly imagine as Elizabeth’s husband—was an Alpine skier and apprentice brewmaster when Elizabeth met him.
And when she described him (in Knitter’s Issue 3), she did so proudly: “He was born in a family of considerable culture and had a good German education in proper schools and the University. “He can carpenter, plumb, read, paint, write, brew beer, shoot, and fish.”
He also wrote and illustrated children’s books: The Story of Alain; Fafnerl the Ice Dragon, and Troll Island, (Schoolhouse Press). And boy, could he cook: once upstairs at the original Golden Fleece yarn shop he joined me on a Greek cooking marathon that included moussaka, pastitsio, karydópitta (walnut cake), and tsoureki (sweet Greek Sunday bread). Elizabeth Zimmermann had come to visit, you see, and only a feast would do.
Then he picked up his artist’s box and easel, and painted, standing, on the sidewalk outside the shop while Elizabeth taught inside. We’ll always treasure the watercolor he presented us when he showed up—right on the dot—at the end of Elizabeth’s session.
Most of us remember Arnold as the one who would whisk Elizabeth away, as he did at her famous Knitting Camp, promptly at 4:30 p.m.
We couldn’t get enough of Elizabeth. “Knitting Without Tears” was her motto, and it reverberated throughout the knitting universe: traveling over the air waves through her public television series; and, for those lucky few, heard in front of her classes at Shell Lake. When, on November 30th, 1999, that voice could no longer be heard, we spoke to Arnold.
What could he tell us about Elizabeth’s “unventing?” “Elizabeth’s mind never could sit still,“ he said. “She always thought of new approaches, new wrinkles. There were such innovations as the I-cord, which as a non-knitter I am at a loss to explain to you…”
…As I am at a loss to explain the void Arnold has left in the lives of those who knew and loved him. His words as a young skier echo in my mind:
“We reached Austria from Munich after a three-hour train ride. Then we walked in the Valley another three or four hours with a 55-lb. rucksack and the skis on our back. Then we started to climb another five hours—we were actually on our feet for at least nine hours! But up there, above 3,000 meters, you looked over a sea of peaks that stretched to the horizon… It was so beautiful; something that you simply can’t describe…”
Just like a man who left us recently.
—Alexis Xenakis
He grew up in another woods, in the Bavarian countryside, which in his youth echoed with the call of the cuckoo. “I remember the Postillon [mail carriers] with their little patent leather hats, blue jackets, white leather breeches, black knee boots, and the small, yellow post wagon, with a pony in front. The trolleys were light blue, and so was the sky, and the clouds were white… the Bavarian colors!
“When I was young, Munich was a dreamy little town to grow up in. Bavaria at that time had a king—a very nice one, King Louis III. My governess took me down the street once, and she said, ‘Go, quickly, and shake the king’s hand.’ The king walked around on the streets! He was a very easy-going guy with a white beard…”
Arnold may have been describing a king, but his description of Louis III fits Arnold himself like the breeches that he loved to wear on his skiing expeditions. But that’s, perhaps, as it should be: Arnold Zimmermann, after all, came as close to royalty as we will ever have in our knitting universe.
This charming, courtly gentleman—the only person you could possibly imagine as Elizabeth’s husband—was an Alpine skier and apprentice brewmaster when Elizabeth met him.
And when she described him (in Knitter’s Issue 3), she did so proudly: “He was born in a family of considerable culture and had a good German education in proper schools and the University. “He can carpenter, plumb, read, paint, write, brew beer, shoot, and fish.”
He also wrote and illustrated children’s books: The Story of Alain; Fafnerl the Ice Dragon, and Troll Island, (Schoolhouse Press). And boy, could he cook: once upstairs at the original Golden Fleece yarn shop he joined me on a Greek cooking marathon that included moussaka, pastitsio, karydópitta (walnut cake), and tsoureki (sweet Greek Sunday bread). Elizabeth Zimmermann had come to visit, you see, and only a feast would do.
Then he picked up his artist’s box and easel, and painted, standing, on the sidewalk outside the shop while Elizabeth taught inside. We’ll always treasure the watercolor he presented us when he showed up—right on the dot—at the end of Elizabeth’s session.
Most of us remember Arnold as the one who would whisk Elizabeth away, as he did at her famous Knitting Camp, promptly at 4:30 p.m.
We couldn’t get enough of Elizabeth. “Knitting Without Tears” was her motto, and it reverberated throughout the knitting universe: traveling over the air waves through her public television series; and, for those lucky few, heard in front of her classes at Shell Lake. When, on November 30th, 1999, that voice could no longer be heard, we spoke to Arnold.
What could he tell us about Elizabeth’s “unventing?” “Elizabeth’s mind never could sit still,“ he said. “She always thought of new approaches, new wrinkles. There were such innovations as the I-cord, which as a non-knitter I am at a loss to explain to you…”
…As I am at a loss to explain the void Arnold has left in the lives of those who knew and loved him. His words as a young skier echo in my mind:
“We reached Austria from Munich after a three-hour train ride. Then we walked in the Valley another three or four hours with a 55-lb. rucksack and the skis on our back. Then we started to climb another five hours—we were actually on our feet for at least nine hours! But up there, above 3,000 meters, you looked over a sea of peaks that stretched to the horizon… It was so beautiful; something that you simply can’t describe…”
Just like a man who left us recently.
—Alexis Xenakis