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At a party one night at George Cota's home in San Francisco, several people were exclaiming over a skirt that one of the guests had made for herself. Cota, who loves to tease, remarked that he didn't see anything so wonderful about it. She asked if he thought he could make one as good, and he answered yes, he did—anyone who could run a steel riveter as he had, could certainly operate a simple thing like a sewing machine—although he had never touched one in his life. All the women laughed at him, but he had the last laugh, for the next day, to see the joke through, he bought a skirt pattern and some woolen material—and made a skirt. Warming to his task, he used the scraps to make a beret.

The lady was astonished when he presented her with the skirt and beret, and admitted the joke was on her—for the skirt fit perfectly. The beret did not fit, however, and it lay around the house for several days until one day, looking at it, George Cota decided to make himself a golf cap.

So he bought some bright colored woolen material and buckram, and the next day he showed up at the golf course in a large, floppy, flamboyant cap that brought calls of "Cota! Where did you get that hat?" from every side.

A lot of people kidded him, but many of them asked him to make them caps just like it. So making golf caps became a hobby. He worked out different styles and designs, enjoying himself immensely making his friends happy.

THE NUMBER of "friends" kept growing so rapidly, however, that he decided he had better go in business. So he set up a sewing machine in a little eight-foot-square cubby hole in a small building he owned, bought himself a supply of fine woolen remnants, buckram and hat bands, and put up a sign "Cota's Caps" over the door. He thought perhaps he could work up a thriving little business that would keep him busy and relieve the dissatisfaction of being retired with nothing to do.

For George Cota had always led an active and often adventurous life from his early youth as a cowboy in North Dakota, through his experience as an aviator in World War I, a radio announcer interviewing celebrities at the Chicago's World Fair, and twenty years of iron work as a riveter for the Bethlehem Steel Company—where he worked on all the biggest projects—Empire State Building, Radio City, George Washington Bridge, and the San Francisco Bay bridges. A year before, at the age of fifty-five, he had been retired and time hung heavy on his hands.

The newspaper columnists have usually characterized Mr. Cota as being pleasant and soft-spoken, which he is, and he is equally courteous to the poorest dressed person who comes in his shop, and the wealthiest celebrity, but he is also full of humor and vitality, and (he confesses) inclined to be quick tempered and high strung. It is this side of his nature that makes him such a fast worker, for he was noted for his speed as a riveter, and he is equally swift with the sewing machine and scissors.

This ability to work at top speed for long periods of time stood him in good stead as his business continued to grow by leaps and bounds.

For Cota found that he had started his combination hobby and business at a psychological moment. Even as he was busily working out new designs, and filling orders for caps from golfers around San Francisco, fashion columns in newspapers and magazines all over the country were proclaiming the revival of caps as a fashion for both men and women. Despite his inconvenient location, the world began beating a path to his door—he had a "better mousetrap,"—a custom-made cap that had a swank not found in the mass produced caps, and one that could be tailored to individual tastes.

A POPULAR San Francisco sports writer became interested in the great number of Cota's caps that began to appear on the golf courses about the city, and wrote a humorous column about them. Sales took another jump. Tournament players began to vie with each other to see who could wear the loudest Cota cap. Another sports writer good-naturedly accused Cota of stealing the show from the players.

Bing Crosby went to San Francisco to play golf in the Babe Ruth Cancer Fund tournament, and immediately took a fancy to Cota's caps. He now wears one in blue and white—the school colors of his alma mater, Gonzaga University. Golf club professionals and leading players all over Northern California began appearing in Cota caps, and orders began coming in from the East. Cota was soon unable to take care of all the orders himself, and started hiring women to do his sewing, although he continued to design every cap himself.

The profits in the business surprised Cota. The investment necessary was very small. As each cap takes only a third of a yard of 52-inch material, he was able to get remnants of beautiful and expensive woolens for a fraction of their regular price, and he reached the point where he could make a cap in thirty minutes, as it only involved sewing together the eight panels, making and attaching the visor, and sewing in the lining and band, and topping it off with a button on top.

He sells the caps wholesale for $3.75 apiece, or $45 a dozen, and retail at $6 apiece, or $5 if the customer furnishes his own material.

Cota takes great pride in his work, and the fact that he has never made any two caps alike. Each one is individually styled, and hand cut and sewn. Each one is registered with a number and a swatch of the material to be sure that it is never duplicated. Each cap is made water repellent.

He uses a special oiled leather band, and makes his own visors in three sizes of buckram and 100 per cent wool felt, pre-shrunk, non cracking, and water repellent. A fine grade of taffeta is used for the lining.

COTA GETS all sorts of orders, particularly now that caps are being worn by both men and women for both sport and street. His "Dutchman" style, made famous by golfer, Jimmy Demaret, is particularly popular. There are numerous orders for "Mr. and Mrs." caps made of the same material. The Fred Warings wear Mr. and Mrs. Cota Caps when they play golf at their famous course, Shawnee-on-the-Delaware. Pat Markovich, President of the Northern California Golf Association, sent two pairs of pants to be made into caps. George MacRae wears one made of the MacRae tartan, and golfer Porky Oliver demands absolutely the loudest caps Cota can make. Many people send material for caps to match their suits. He thought the largest cap he would ever be called upon to make was a recent order for a size eight. He had to splice a band to make it big enough. But this one was dwarfed by the one ordered by a man who does clowning at motorcycle races. He ordered one three feet in diameter, although the head size was average. People viewing the ponderous headgear are apt to remark, "Now I've seen everything!"

Cota recently sent a shipment of 288 caps to Hawaii—the largest shipment of custom-tailored caps ever made outside the United States.

Friends keep insisting that he should move to more spacious and fashionable quarters, but Cota says he is too busy to move, and besides, he is doing fine where he is. They also ask him why he doesn't standardize the caps and put them out in volume, but he says no, that if he did, the big manufacturers would soon be making them by machine, and he would be back in retirement.