In Your Ear — Clothes And Memories

Historical February 1995 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.

I wear clothing that is older than some of the people I work with. That’s a good line; what’s better is that it is true. Later I’ll share some of the specific articles of clothing.

But now, as would any good teacher, I’ll take the facts and put them in a larger context. Men and women are different. There’s no doubt about that. Aside from the plumbing differences, I mean. Whether these differences are from chromosomes and genes, or whether they’re due to playing with Barbie or GI Joe, I’m not sure. And in a way, it doesn’t make any difference.

All I know is that the differences are real. Not better or worse, just different. Men, for example, leastwise the men I know, are into sports.

We play basketball, watch football, shoot pool, run, and go golfing.

We enjoy competing against one another and ourselves. Women, on the other hand, aren’t into sports. Women are into cooking and other domestic stuff. Men like cigars.

I don’t know of any women who likes cigars. Women, at least those that I know semi-well, are into feelings and emotions and all that other stuff.

The guys and me, well, if it ain’t visible, we don’t talk about it.

I don’t ask for directions when lost; I talk when I shouldn’t (sometimes over people, so I’m told); I’m competitive when I need not be; and I like baloney sandwiches with ketchup.

In short, I’m a guy.

But maybe the way that it shows the most that I’m a guy is in my clothing.

It shows because it’s visible to anyone looking at me, but it also shows because of what it says about the choices I make. Or don’t make.

For example, I hardly ever go shopping for clothes. And when I do shop, it’s rarely in a store. Like all the other guys I know, I shop through the catalogues: Land’s End, L.L. Bean, Eddie Bauer, and Wireless. That’s where ”I lurk. It’s perfect for the person like me, the person for whom clothing is something you wear, no more and no less I can turn the pages, find a picture of something I like, call the 800 number, and that’s the end of it. No hunting for parking spaces, no fighting the lines, no looking at alternatives, no missing “Morning Edition” or the RAMS game on the tube while I’m at the mall. Whether it’s 6:30am or 11:30pm, someone is there to answer the phone and take my order. It’s not that clothes aren’t important. It’s just that, well, clothes aren’t important.

I refuse to let what I wear define who I am. Do “Clothes make the man”?

I sure hope not!

My response to this is to generally refuse to give too much attention to my attire. Doing so, in a sense, keeps that decision, that issue, to a level that simply isn’t very important! True, as the first wife would note, I have lots of clothes. But, as the first wife would also note, Most of the clothes are the same. There’s this great long-sleeve white shirt with red stripes that I like.

I like it so much, in fact, that I have four shirts like this.

I didn’t do this intentionally; even I am not that out of it. It’s just that on several different occasions I looked through the catalogue, saw this neat white shirt with red stripes, and ordered it.

Then one day the first wife noted that there were several identical shirts hanging in the closet.

It was news to me! And it’s not just the white shirts with the red stripes.

I have duplicate duplicates of my pants and several other shirts as well. (Men aren’t alone here, I realize.

A headmistress I know, at a nearby secondary school says, “I buy my earrings in sets of two. That way I can lose a couple and never notice it.” Of course, she’d never, ever have two items of clothing that are the same. She’s not a guy!) But perhaps the gender difference as it relates to clothing shows up the loudest in terms of (a) how long I’ve had some of my clothing and (b) how proud of this fact I am.

The first wife, I know, feels that she should never wear anything that she owned during the reign of a previous U.S. president (other than her shoes which come under a completely separate set of rules!).

She was delighted when Bush lost; political reasons aside, she felt that it meant a totally new wardrobe for her. Yes, the eight years of Reagan were tough for her!

I began this article by talking about having clothing older than some of my staff members. It’s true. And I’m proud of it.

In my chest of athletic apparel, for example, I have my favorite football jersey, gold with a black #53. It’s a remnant from 1972 when I played semi-semi-pro football for the Webster Groves Suns. (There are two semi’s because we never really got a paycheck.

It turns out that the commissioner had absconded with all of the league’s revenues. That whole experience will be good fodder for another column some day.) When the occasion warrants, either a chilly b-ball game in the south gym or a casual Sunday brunch on Laclede’s Landing, I’m often found wearing #53, I have a Clinton Cougars sweatshirt from my first year of teaching, 1968.

It conjures up memories of that third floor classroom with 39 fifth graders. Fortunately, I was young and foolish and didn’t know what I didn’t know.

It was a year to remember for all of us! (There was lots of growth and pain that year in my classroom, not the least of which was done by me.) Whenever I work around the house, painting or spackling (something that occurs less and less these days as the wife’s standards have gotten higher), I wear my genuine issue U.S. GOV. green Army shorts.

For six years, 1969-1975, I defended our land by being a member of the U.S. Army Reserves, stationed near Kingshighway and Chippewa.

I am proud to say that there was no hostile action in the area during that time due, no doubt, to the deterrent that I and the other members of the fighting Twentyfirst General offered. So I still occasionally wear the shorts, along with my army boots.

But my favorite piece of archival clothing is a blazer that truly predates lots of the people who work with me. It’s now 31.

While a freshman in college, in 1964, I bought a navy blazer and put my fraternity crest on the pocket.

For several wonderful years that Sig Tau blazer and I attended many parties.

I wore it when I was pinned (once), lavaliere (three times), when I applied for a job, to several buddies’ weddings, St. Louis Hawks’ games, one friend’s divorce, and even to a funeral or two. Then, somehow, in the mid- 70’s it wound up in the first wife’s doset, surrounded by a plastic bag: Not unlike the stone age man found in the ice in the Alps between Italy and France last year, this quirk of fate meant that the blazer was perfectly preserved.

It was sort of in a time capsule in the closet.

Then a few years ago, when the wife was going through the shoe collection in her closet (to put it on computer), she uncovered the blazer. “Let’s throw this old dog away,” she said. “OLD DOG???” I replied, “that jacket is full of memories and life. Besides it still fits!” I’ve been wearing it ever since. And yes, it, unfortunately, still fits. No, that doesn’t mean I’ve stayed trim.

It just means that I had the body of a 40-year old, even in college. So you’re probably right if the next time you see me; you think to yourself, “Hmmmm, I’ve seen him wearing that outfit before, and I think Nixon was President at the time!” Right now the wife is crossing her fingers against a Clinton reelection. It’s not that she doesn’t like his politics; she does.

But the prospect of an entirely new wardrobe is more than she can resist.

As for me, the navy blazer and I are looking forward to the next century.

Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, February 1995.

Read this article in the original newspaper issue.

Original source: SD_Times1995_02.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 7.