Hanging On by a Thread After Half a Century : Textiles: Burglaries, fire, riot and recession have so far not managed to finish the Levine Bros. tailoring-supply and fabric company.

This time, Allan Franklin and Sidney Penchansky really mean it. The brothers-in-law say if they can’t turn around their family textile business in the next few months, they will give up and sell, ending three generations of family ownership.

“We can’t go on at this rate,” said Franklin, who with Penchansky is vice president of Levine Bros. Inc. Battered by burglaries, a fire, the Los Angeles riots, the recession and the earthquake, Levine Bros.’ sales of tailoring supplies and wool fabric have dropped 50% since 1992, Franklin said. The brothers are making their last stand in North Hollywood, having ended the company’s half-century in Downtown Los Angeles’ garment district.

This is not the first time Levine Bros. has come close to closing. Franklin’s father-in-law, who died in 1990, planned for years to wind it down, convinced that the market for the custom-tailoring supplies he sold was receding before a tide of ready-made suits. He never quite got around to it.

Two years ago, after a $1.5-million fire gutted the building on South Los Angeles Street in Downtown’s garment district, family members again resolved to sell the assets and close the business. But there seemed to be no end to Levine Bros.’ payments to collect and inventory to liquidate. And there was the problem of selling the damaged store, Franklin said.

So last fall, the brothers bought a new store on Lankershim Boulevard, with a $500,000 mortgage, in the hope that this anachronistic business that depends on the market for custom-made suits could make a strong comeback. Franklin, 57, who gave up his printing business to try to salvage Levine Bros., still can’t talk about the decision without pressing his hands to his face. “I guess of the two of us, I’m the optimist,” he said, wanly. “I think we can turn it around.”

Levine Bros. sells fine woolen cloth and sewing equipment to custom tailors, alteration shops, dry cleaners, department stores and Hollywood costume houses. Although 70% of Levine Bros.’ sales are by mail order, the company’s highest profit margins and what Franklin calls “the beauty of the business” are from its in-store sales of fine cloth--tweeds, crepes, gabardines and wool cashmeres--to walk-in tailors.

About 15% of sales is related to the entertainment industry; fabric from Levine Bros. has made costumes in movies such as “Indecent Proposal” and “Bugsy.” Other buyers of custom-made suits from Levine Bros. customers are the wealthy, and those who wear odd sizes not easily found in department stores.

Franklin is clearly at home selling cloth. He is a man who says he “goes bananas” if there isn’t exactly one-half inch of shirt cuff protruding from his sleeve. He used to dress mannequins for department stores, and although he’s polite about it, he can’t disguise a little dismay at what most people consider comfortable attire.

He and Penchansky, 48, who gave up his taxi business to run Levine Bros.--are hoping an updated mail-order catalogue, a change in the region’s economy, and, if they’re lucky, a revival of custom-tailored clothes, will help the company survive. “It all depends on the next couple of months,” Franklin said. He said the company needs a 50% increase in sales this year to put it back in the black.

The old Levine Bros. building on South Los Angeles Street--now blackened and boarded up--is owned outright by the firm. But the building needs about $600,000 in repairs, which the brothers-in-law plan to complete with the help of insurance so they can put it up for lease.

The company they are trying to keep alive was founded in New York in 1923 by six brothers of a Russian immigrant family, said Elaine Franklin, Allan Franklin’s wife. In the early 1930s, the Levine brothers moved to Los Angeles’ garment district, where the company thrived, even opening branches in San Diego and Long Beach.

The brothers weren’t fabulously rich, but they lived well. They passed the business on to their nephews while still living, and the last of the original six was in his 90s when he died just over a year ago.

But the store’s success always hinged on demand for close-fitting, tailored clothes, a demand that has waned in the decades since stars like Cary Grant wore suits that made their torsos appear to have been chiseled from stone. “Everyone has decided to wear tennis shoes and jeans,” said Franklin wearily, himself impeccable in a houndstooth jacket.

Although the company once had a score of competitors, today there are only about half a dozen companies in the country that cater to custom tailors, he added. Levine Bros. now has 15 employees, down from 25 in the 1970s.

Despite this, Franklin and Penchansky made healthy gains when they took over the business in 1990. They computerized the company, settled old debts, switched to cheaper insurance, doubled the inventory to $800,000 and concentrated on customer service. They were rewarded by about a 15% increase in sales the first year.

But the Downtown L.A. neighborhood was getting increasingly rough. A burglary per month was the norm. Customers were afraid to come to the store because of crime. Those who did come often found their cars had been burglarized while they shopped. Employees never dared stay past 5:30 p.m., Franklin said.

And although L.A.’s garment district was growing, its character had changed. Franklin said that clothing manufacturers, and cutters, dyers and finishers--who were important customers of Levine Bros.--had slowly been replaced by swap shops and retail outlets that did little to enhance his business.

Then, on April 19, 1992, shortly before the riots, the store caught fire. Franklin believes the fire was set by burglars, although the Fire Department said there was too much damage to determine a cause. The building was unusable, and tens of thousands of dollars of inventory was destroyed by water. Franklin braved the smoke to carry out a few yards of his finest cashmere-blend cloth.

The business took up temporary residence in a leased warehouse down the street from the boarded-up store, surviving on its mail-order business until it moved to its new quarters. “I didn’t want to go Downtown any more. My heart wasn’t in it,” said Franklin.

The story of Levine Bros. departure from Downtown has been repeated by many of the district’s garment manufacturers and related businesses in recent years. Crime, high rents and parking problems have prompted many to move.

The problem with this dispersal is that garment manufacturers do better in clusters: “It’s very much an industry where you need kind of a critical mass of companies together in one spot,” said Barry Sedlik, manager of business retention for Southern California Edison, which is looking at ways to keep the garment industry in L.A. “If someone told us where the garment district is moving, we’d go there,” echoed Franklin, adding that the company’s new spot in North Hollywood is at least close to many studios’ costume houses.

Garment making employs more than 100,000 people in Los Angeles County and is growing. But Sedlik contends the industry often gets scant attention because it is organized as a constellation of small, marginal companies, including design houses and their subcontractors. He thinks the city needs to learn better ways to address the problems of small firms like Franklin’s or risk losing them.

In the meantime, Franklin is watching for news that the economy is changing, and thumbing through trendy women’s clothing catalogues for signs that the new season will bring a return of the tailored look he favors. In those pages he sees mostly loose-fitting, unstructured jackets and skirts. But he holds out hope that good tailoring, and good taste, can make a comeback.