At the Bench: My Time at Brinkhaus Jewellers

I, Sean Ferguson, had the privilege of working as a bench goldsmith at Brinkhaus Jewellers in the historic Hotel Vancouver, in the heart of downtown Vancouver, in the mid 90s. Our workshop sat tucked away upstairs, above the elegant boutique where clients browsed one-of-a-kind pieces. It was a world of fine tools, glowing desk lamps, and careful hands — a place where you learned patience, precision, and pride all at once.

I worked alongside Andrew and William, my fellow goldsmiths; Nerses, our masterful stone setter; and Carston, the shop foreman whose eye for quality kept us all sharp. Together we formed a quiet rhythm — hammering, polishing, setting — each bench glowing in its small pool of light.

Just beyond our door, the rest of the Brinkhaus world buzzed with energy. Kalli, Karl’s son, and his partner worked in an adjoining office, running the day-to-day operations and keeping everything moving. Patricia Veil, the endlessly imaginative designer, and Irina, the boutique’s passionate jewellery consultant, were forever climbing the stairs to show us sketches, gemstones, or customer requests. Their excitement brought a wonderful pace to the day — a constant flow between design, craftsmanship, and presentation.

Downstairs were the two lovely ladies who kept the front boutique polished and welcoming — always gracious with customers, always quick to share a smile or a kind word when we came down covered in polishing compound. Though their names escape me now, their warmth and professionalism helped give Brinkhaus its unmistakable charm.

Gisela, Karl’s daughter, oversaw the jewellery and watch sales with remarkable calm and confidence. Her steady presence bridged the creative chaos upstairs with the refined elegance downstairs. Everything she did reflected her father’s perfectionism and bold strength.

And then there was Mrs. Brinkhaus — kind, generous, and full of grace. Every time she appeared in the workshop, she carried a box of goodies or pastries, always insisting we take a break. She’d beam as we thanked her, clearly proud of the little world Karl had built above that Vancouver street.

At the center of it all stood Karl Brinkhaus himself. Even in his later years, he commanded deep respect. I once asked him the secret to his success. He smiled and said, in his distinct German accent:

“First, find what you love. Then become better than everyone else.”

That line defined him. He was fearless, too. I still remember Roger, the longtime security guard, telling me about the night Karl confronted masked robbers near the store entrance. He didn’t hesitate — he marched right up to them and growled, “Get the hell out of here!” They did exactly that.

That same fearless streak showed up in smaller ways — like when Karl, well into his eighties, still insisted on climbing a tall ladder outside the store to adjust the clock above the street himself. I'd watch nervously from below, while running up to support the ladder, but there was no stopping him. It wasn’t recklessness; it was pride — in his work, his store, his name embossed into the gold on the door.

We had our lighter moments too. Birthdays meant cake — but the rule was simple: the birthday person had to buy it, and it had to come from Murchie’s, the legendary bakery nearby. William made sure of that. Those shared slices, eaten between benches dusted with gold, made us feel like family.

When I think back to those days above the Hotel Vancouver — the laughter, the craftsmanship, the sense of belonging — I realize it wasn’t just about making fine jewellery. It was about being part of something rare and human: a place where tradition, artistry, and kindness came together under one remarkable man’s vision.

Sean Ferguson