Sally Flanagan describes herself as a child who could never sit still.
“When I was young, Superman was very popular,” Flanagan, 78, said. “I would find a blanket, drape it around my shoulders and run around my grandmother’s apartment.”
Flanagan grew up on Chicago’s South Side in an apartment building where her grandmother, Nettie Alterson, lived upstairs. Her mother, Fay, worked full time while Nettie, a seamstress, cared for Flanagan and her two siblings.
It was Nettie who found a way to get the energetic Flanagan to sit still.
“I was about four years old, running around as usual, when my grandmother placed her hand on my shoulder, led me to the kitchen, sat me down, and began to teach me how to sew,” said Flanagan, now a Chicago Ridge resident.
From that moment, Flanagan spent her days learning from Nettie how to sew, knit, crochet, and quilt.
“She instilled that it was easy and made it fun,” Flanagan said. “It was something to do with my hands that gave me knowledge and left me with something I could pass down to future generations.”
By fifth grade at Oglesby Elementary School, Flanagan was making her own clothes.
“I learned patience; I learned how to create,” she said. “Creating was very important to me. I was able to make patterns from scratch and really looked forward to it while growing up.”
Flanagan attended Calumet High School and later married her husband, John, in 1980. The couple moved to Chicago Ridge and raised three children: Tammy, Robert, and Barbara. While raising her family, Flanagan earned a degree in management information systems from St. Xavier University. Her passion for the arts endured.
She designed her daughter Barbara Harrison’s prom dresses and even a junior bridesmaid dress.
“Growing up, I remember my mother would knit long Afghan blankets that would cover our entire family as we sat together on the couch watching TV,” Harrison said. “I would somehow always be on the end and get the shortest end of the blanket.”
As a working mother, Flanagan crocheted in her free time and explored drawing and painting. Over time, she and her husband made it a goal to help others annually.
“Sometimes we would complete it and sometimes we wouldn’t,” Flanagan said. “Just think, if everyone could take one thing they could do and use that talent to help someone in need, it would change the world.”
After her husband passed away in November 2015, Flanagan kept their tradition alive.
In February, after seeing news reports of immigrant children arriving in the U.S. with little warm clothing, she felt compelled to act.
“Some children had hats, some had thin coats, and some had nothing; they were shivering,” she recalled, with tears in her eyes. “I knew I could help. Those kids needed a hug, and that’s just what a scarf is – it’s a hug.”
Flanagan set an ambitious goal: to crochet 50 scarves by Christmas.
“I completed the first 50 so fast that I changed the goal to 75,” she said. “Once I met that goal, I eventually changed it again to 150.”
On Dec. 4, she finished her 150th scarf. Flanagan donated all of them to the Christmas Tree Winter Drive at the Chicago Ridge Public Library, where they will be distributed to children in need, patrons of the library, and the Blessings Box outside the library.
“I chose the library because it has always been such a big part of my life,” Flanagan said. She fondly remembers taking her children there, studying for exams during college, and calling it her second home.
Chicago Ridge Public Library Director Dana Wishnick praised Flanagan’s contributions.
“She came into my office and told me her story, and we are just so appreciative,” Wishnick said.
The scarves will also be given to children in School District 127.5, to those in need who visit the library, and a portion will be placed inside the Blessings Box outside of the library where patrons can take a scarf anonymously.
Flanagan hopes her scarves bring warmth and comfort to those who need it most, but for her, they represent something even deeper.
“Each stitch is made with love and care,” she said. “If even one child feels a little less cold, a little less alone, then I’ve done what my grandmother taught me—to use my hands to make a difference.”