Bennett Weinstock

“I like a lot!” is what Bennett told every waiter who somehow assumed no sane person would ever want that much … no … wait … THAT MUCH freshly ground pepper … on anything. But Bennett Weinstock was always more than meets the eye, and he liked A LOT when it came to a lot of things: enamel cufflinks, custom suits, cashmere sweaters, silk scarves, silverware, footwear, dirty jokes, driving gloves, gossip, gold watches, people, parties, paintings, pillows, hard pretzels, Tic Tacs, tweeds , and teapots, teapots, teapots! As a passionate collector of life’s finest offerings, Bennett Weinstock was unable to see his glass as anything other than half-full to overflowing. Except when there wasn’t enough pepper.

Just like Judie, his beautifully bespoke wife and business partner, Bennett sometimes made a formal and formidable first impression. It’s hard not to when you appear to have suddenly materialized from another century, without a single hair or accessory out of place. But beneath the impeccable surface of whatever Bennett touched or wore lurked the boyish delight of a man who simply refused to grow old.

Born in Philadelphia in 1940 to Robert Weinstock and his show-stopping wife, Lucille (née Dorman), Bennett Paul Weinstock was the eldest of three children. Ever the obedient son, he decided to become a lawyer … to please his conventional father. Then, thirteen years later, he decided to become a world-famous interior designer … to please himself. “World famous” in the sense that Julius Erving might invite Oprah Winfrey to have lunch at your house because she really wants to ogle your teapots. Or that Ralph Lauren would stop by your table at Le Bilboquet to whisper in your ear, “As always, Bennett, you’re the best-dressed person here.” It would also be nice if the sumptuous homes and grand estates you conjured over a span of 45 years were to regularly appear in places like Architectural Digest, Philadelphia Magazine, the New York Times, and the like. Pipe dreams for some perhaps, but not for Bennett.

As one of life’s finest embellishers, Bennett was as playful and bold with facts and particulars as he was with colors and patterns. Never with an intent to deceive, but only because he was terminally allergic to anything boring—a condition he inherited from his fanciful mother. With whom he spoke daily. And from whom he learned that all the world’s a stage, in need of a natty headliner with a dazzling smile.

There wasn’t a day in Bennett’s life where he wasn’t stopped to be told “You look amazing!” by moguls, manicurists, masons, cashiers, cops, and pepper-grinding waiters. Even during his final months, which found him being wheeled through Rittenhouse Square while battling Alzheimer’s, passersby couldn’t help but share their delight upon spotting the ever-snazzy Bennett.

Some vague number of decades ago, at a vineyard in Napa, a friend’s handsome son is marrying someone else’s beautiful daughter. It’s a painfully lovely and lavish destination wedding … painful because it’s a thousand degrees in the sun. Maybe two. The bride and groom are wilting. The guests have turned into puddles. Nothing is safe to touch. But there sits Bennett in a crisp white linen suit. The creases of his pants are still sharp enough to cut lemons. And he’s as dry as a martini (though he preferred Negronis). Everyone notices there isn’t a bead of sweat on him. How?!

Along with having learned how to never perspire, Bennett could hear any joke (the longer and naughtier the better) and retell it perfectly, then modify it slightly with each retelling as if it were his own. He was never late to anything. Was the world’s fastest eater with perfect table manners. A fantastic dancer. A gifted armchair pychiatrist. A black belt with hair-dryers and lint brushes. The world’s loudest sneezer (PTSD-inducingly so!). Way too enthusiastic with car horns. Trusting to a fault. And unwaveringly loyal to everyone he knew and loved: his many clients turned friends (and vice versa), his tailor, his barber, and all of the gifted contractors, artisans and dealers with whom he worked, and whose businesses thrived along with his. But the biggest beneficiaries of Bennett and Judie’s loyalty and love were and are their beloved children and grandchildren. How many kids learn how to properly pouf and karate-chop a throw pillow before they know how to talk, let alone get to grow up in a home where everything inside has been considered and chosen and arranged with such loving attention? The gift of learning to see a world where couches can talk to rugs and lamps whisper with drapes teaches a young mind how to look and listen for the magic and possibility of everyday life.

It’s hard to know where exactly in Paris Bennett Weinstock first met Judie Weintraub. One version has them meeting on a boat. Another has them meeting on a bridge. And no one will really ever know how Bennett managed to suddenly appear in whatever European capital Judie visited next, since she said she never told him. Or why they had never met before, since they both grew up in Philadelphia. And their parents knew each other. And they both went to Penn. All we can know for sure amid those long-ago boats and bridges and baguettes and berets is that Bennett and Judie wound up happily married for almost 61 years. And that beyond starting a family of their own, they miraculously birthed a marquee business, which allowed them to mix fabrics and furniture and fine antiques in ways that were playfully illicit and previously unimaginable.

In spite of Bennett’s natural flair for attention, the featured attraction of his every single day was Judie. And it was Bennett who was forever stopping by everyone’s table to whisper in their ears, “Isn’t Judie the most gorgeous thing ever?” One could almost hear him humming this to himself as he sat by Judie’s bedside while she slowly succumbed to Parkinson’s. And since Bennett never liked going anywhere without his wife, and never wanted to stay long after Judie was ready to leave …even though he loved to linger … it should come as little surprise that soon after Judie had moved on to some undiscovered country this past July, Bennett decided he was ready to slip away and meet her.

Bennett is survived by one of the finest collections of English ceramic teapots ever assembled, as well his two bedazzled children, Robert and Nancy, their priceless spouses Dana Stevens and Michael Yecies, three one-of-a-kind grandchildren, Noah, Avery, and Pearl, and by his ever-adoring baby brother, Jimmy. Bennett is pre-deceased by his radiant sister Lotus (née Marlene).

Contributions in Bennett’s honor can be made to an Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s research organization of the donor’s choosing.