Collage by Carlie Burton
I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. I further pledge, as we approach the nation’s 250th birthday, to reluctantly support the sacred right of all Americans to display ridiculous flag variations. I pledge to not shriek as I walk through the valley of the shadow of excruciatingly designed “patriotic” socks, sunglasses, jockstraps, mullet hats, and other flag-adjacent atrocities.
Betsy Ross must be spinning in her grave like a centrifuge—assuming, of course, that Betsy herself is in there. Her remains at a Philadelphia cemetery were to be moved to the Betsy Ross House for the 1976 Bicentennial, but when the grave was found empty some other old bones nearby were declared to be hers. This year is the perfect time to peek at them again; if they’re spinning, they’re definitely Betsy.
Artie Schaller knows his Betsy Ross. He is fourth generation at the National Flag Company on Freeman Avenue and its current president. He’s personally witnessed the impact that his company has had on the families of veterans, fallen soldiers, new citizens, schoolchildren, and others. Schaller does not sell jockstraps or mullet hats.
His hottest-selling item right now is the design credited to good ol’ Betsy: 13 stripes and a blue field with a circle of 13 stars. Some clients choose the version showing a modestly-sized “1776–2026” inside the circle.
There was a time when the National Flag Company was the country’s largest. Its factory in the West End commanded an entire city block, shipping stars and stripes all over the world.
National Flag is still in the same neighborhood, fulfilling orders from everywhere: cities, states, countries, corporations, police and fire departments, institutions, families. Customers order flags by the hundreds or thousands, or a dozen large banners for an event, or flags and decorations for just about every major and minor sport, every scout troop, university, and neighborhood. Or maybe it’s just one solemn memento presented at a private ceremony that will be kept for generations.
Artie Schaller has stories. So many stories. The first would be how his company started small here in 1869 and became world-famous. The first Schaller, George, joined in 1903 as a 12-year-old stock boy and was president by 1948. His nephew Art Jr. took over in 1977, and now Art’s son Artie is in the process of carrying the torch. (Sorry, the company does not make torches.)
Art Schaller Jr. still regularly shows up; he was there working a sewing machine the day I visited. Despite rooms full of immense high-tech printers and equipment, an amazing amount of this work still uses humble sewing machines, pins, needles, threads, and muscle-memory fingers. The Schallers are not the only people in the building who have done this work for decades. While much of their output is simple product, other projects are for heirlooms that are deeply meaningful— and everyone here takes it seriously.
Stories about America’s flag usually focus on the ones that flew during the highest or lowest moments in our history: 1776, 1812, 1861, 1975, 2001. (I tossed 1975 in there just to throw you off balance and celebrate our love of the Big Red Machine.) The National Flag Company’s stories obviously include those notable years, but there have been other memorable times when, well, here’s an example.
For Independence Day 1909, the city of Pittsburgh decided to unfurl the largest American flag the world had ever seen. Why? Maybe the “city of steel” was hoping that presenting the world’s largest flag might offset having the world’s worst air quality.
(Other cities suggested that Pittsburgh’s flag had to be the world’s biggest “to be seen more than a foot away.”)
There was no doubt about who could do such a huge job. The National Flag Company of Cincinnati delivered a patriotic wool behemoth 160-by-80 feet, weighing more than 3,000 pounds. As we now recall the flag’s grand presentation in downtown Pittsburgh, please note that the National Flag Company did a first-class job in all respects and deserves no blame for what transpired.
The flag, too heavy to wave from a pole, would hang vertically between two buildings. It was wrapped around a thick steel cable, attached to the tower of the city’s courthouse, and strung over to the famous Frick Building across the street. With 20,000 people watching, the flag was to be dramatically released and unrolled at just the right moment.
The moment came. Nothing happened. Now what?
Some guy took it upon himself to crawl out of a window and slither along the cable. As 20,000 people gasped and women fainted (along with Pittsburgh’s mayor), God blessed America and that brave guy, and the flag majestically opened. Twenty thousand people cheered.
The flag flapped around in the wind and caught itself on one of the courthouse tower’s lightning rods, breaking it off. The broken rod was attached to a 300-pound capstone that tore off several large roof tiles, all of which fell 18 stories and shattered. Chunks of stone and tile flew in all directions, as did 20,000 screaming people.
Miraculously, nobody was seriously injured except the flag, which tore in several places.
For years it was a city albatross that couldn’t fit anywhere or be kept from vermin and grime (Pittsburgh, remember). It was stored surrounded by mousetraps that had to be constantly re-baited.
On the wall at the National Flag Company is a beautiful framed photo of this Pittsburgh flag, majestically suspended in the breeze, taken only moments before the Great Wardrobe Malfunction of 1909. They prefer to remember it that way.
Another fond memory is from 1976. Sure, that was the U.S. Bicentennial and the flag business was just great, but there was something extra sweet. On Opening Day at Riverfront Stadium, the Cincinnati Reds and their fans saw a beautiful large banner commemorating their World Series win over the Boston Red Sox. It showed the Reds logo and the gigantic words “1975 World Champions!” A suburban Boston newspaper published a photo of the National Flag Company making the banner, adding the caption, “Ouch, it still hurts!”
As we celebrate America’s milestone birthday, we’re stuck with the word semiquincentennial, a cruel cluster of consonants banging against one another. You know who never has to deal with that word? Anyone who was at any event that happened 250 years ago. They’re all dead. You and I have to drag that damn word around for an entire year.
You, at least, are spared from dealing with another tongue-twister: vexillologist. That’s a person who studies the history of flags, and it’s a term you may never see again. I had it over my head while preparing this article, though. I’m almost done, but my amateur vexillology forces me to mention one more thing.
It’s about Betsy Ross, the woman we credit with designing the nation’s original flag, currently the National Flag Company’s most popular item. As discussed, the bones interred at her grave are only theoretically hers. Also, most historians agree that Betsy probably had nothing to do with designing the first flag—her family created that myth.
Furthermore, the famous Betsy Ross House in Philadelphia is probably not her house—it’s more likely she lived next door in a place that was later torn down. And so Elizabeth Griscom Ross may or may not be buried in the grave at the house that she may or may not have lived in, commemorating a flag design that she almost certainly did not design.
None of that matters much to the team on Freeman Avenue. As they make their way through this anniversary year, their most popular item remains that humble 13-star circle.
We are not blind to the pretty legends or the ugly truths that accompany proud historical achievements. Whichever flag design ships out over the coming weeks and months, our country’s many contradictions are woven into them.
Here’s hoping the USA will make it to 300 years.
Happy birthday, America. May we always show respect to all of the truths within our flag, and to the republic for which it stands.
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