Back in the day, a woman of a certain standing, style and glamour had but one place to go: The beauty salon on the 12th floor of the downtown Meier & Frank store.

In this day and age, with everything available on the internet, it's hard to believe how grand it was to visit the store. In many ways, it was the heart of the city. Upstairs a secret world existed. The12th-floor salon was accessible by the so-called elevator girls, women who ran the bank of elevators that whisked clients upstairs. There, visitors were greeted by three uniformed receptionists who gave the place a formal feel.

And in the center of it all was Jade Tsefalas, known by everyone as "Miss Jade."

She had her regulars, was booked far in advance and to get in to see her a woman needed connections. Miss Jade knew everyone, and could joke and flirt with the best of them. Beloved by men and women, people trusted her with their secrets. She knew when to keep her mouth shut. When celebrities arrived in town, they told their handlers to ring up Miss Jade. Some her famous clients included Maria Callas, Ethel Kennedy, Gloria Vanderbilt, Lili Pons, and Lady Furness, the Mistress of King Edward VIII.

That era's over.

And so, too, is Miss Jade's.

She retired nine months ago because of health challenges. She's 86 and lives in Southeast Portland, in one half a duplex she had built nearly 60 years ago.

"Come in," she said as she opened the front door and led the way to a table.

"Would you like a drink?"

At 10 a.m.?

"I don't drink," she explained. "But I have hard liquor. If I didn't have it, no one would come over."

She smiled.

And it's then that you get a glimpse of her charm.

She never married.

"Oh, I had my chances," she said. "But I would have had to change myself. I worked too hard to get where I was to give it up for just a man. In my era, if you weren't married, they called you a spinster. But from what I saw, I had a better life than some of those who were married. I have no regrets."

She started cutting, styling and coloring hair when she was 17, hired at Meier & Frank right out of beauty school. The salon featured a staff of 50, and offered everything a woman needed to look beautiful.

Tsefalas had a natural style, and obvious talent. Store executives sent her to get advanced training in Canada, New York City and France. She'd come back and teach the rest of the staff. Women turned to her for fashion advice. She had a weekly 15-minute radio show, "Jade's This 'n That." She talked fashion and celebrities.

She remained an icon at the salon for decades, leaving only when the store faded and the salon closed. She took her clients with her, and set up shop at another spot in the city. She hauls out scrapbooks and sets them on the table. Old clippings explain her philosophy of life in a way no writer can compete with.

I prefer failures. They're more entertaining. Their stories never end. A successful person's is a one-shot story.

Women are respectful until divorced. Then they'll talk and I'll say, 'Good heavens, I've never heard anything bad about him before'.

At cocktail parties, everyone is serving vegetables instead of fancy hors d'oeuvres.

It's the vegetarian influence. I find it a pain.

Her father, born and raised in Greece, married a Greek woman. They were both 17, and they left for America, arriving in New York City, becoming citizens and eventually moving to Portland. In time, the couple had two boys and a daughter. Higher education, Tsefalas said, was for the boys.

"A girl could go get married," she said, with a shrug of her shoulder. Tsefalas worked at an ice cream parlor in Southeast Portland while going to beauty school after graduating from high school.

She got to work. She didn't stop until her health made it clear she had to slow down and take care of herself.

Phila Johnson, now in her 60s, met Tsefalas when Johnson was 8. Her mother took her daughter to get her hair done by the legend.

"My parents came to Portland in 1950," Johnson said. "My mother was introduced to Miss Jade by my aunt, who told my mother that since her husband was going to be a professional she needed to look decent."

Then it was Johnson's turn.

"I was scared to death to breathe in her chair," Johnson said. "She's the only person who's ever done my hair. Going to see Jade was a rite of passage. I know people who came from Eastern Oregon to see her."

Now, Johnson has to find a new stylist.

"I can still smell the combination of perfume and hair products in the waiting room at the salon," she said. "Women wore furs. They came downtown with a hat and gloves.

"Miss Jade might seem intimidating at first, but she was such a humble person," Johnson said. "She transformed the everyday into something more with gracefulness and respect."

Pattie Read, also in her 60s, remembers going to see Tsefalas and planning something afterwards.

"A woman never wanted to waste a hairdo," she said. "I moved, Arizona, California and Oregon. But I would always come back to her. I made a point of coming to see her. She had so many stories. All true."

And now it's over.

"My goodness," Read said. "There will never be another Miss Jade."