The only place to buy suits was in the city. Joseph’s, the Men’s Store. The second floor was for children……from toddlers through Jr. High. A sure sign you were mature (outside of usual things like smoking weed, masturbating, and driving) was getting promoted to the top floor where men shopped. But for this excursion into foreign lands, a boy had to be accompanied by his father.
Any guesses how I felt? Spending a sunny Saturday afternoon with my enemy, as we put on a little play for strangers called “Doting Father, Obedient Son.’ I was actually ‘Deviant Son’. He chain smokes the whole way in, very hard having a son. Chain smokes as I try suits on, the clerk offers him a Newport when he finishes his pack. [Note: very common in the 60’s: men often offered each other smokes, particularly sales clerks.] I feel so small, I don’t belong here. My God, this is my future………brown and blue suits every day, tight collars, phony smiles, crew cut manners.
The old man’s tastes in suits were about the same as Alfred Hitchcock. No colors except in ties. And man made fabrics. His suits were so thick, they could stand upright in a hurricane. His ‘hip’ side was a tie with a pattern. So I figured I’d be lucky if I didn’t get something like this:
The racks of suits stretched on for miles–grey, black, blue. Like looking through the other end of the telescope. Oh Christ, If he wants me in those stripes, I might as well start selling used Chevys now.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to peruse Nehru jackets. But double-knits were the way to go. Surprisingly, I received non-white dress shirts: light blue, light tan (poor sales clerk had to work to convince the old man). I emerge from a dressing room trailing pants cuffs, like a bridal train. Only one finger protrudes from the baggy arms. I’m in a mirror on three sides, a humanoid with Bell’s palsy. “Stand up- straight, or you’re gonna get slapped.” Gee, I had hoped if I slouched he’d tell me I couldn’t go to the dance. Tricky bastard.
[Mom told me she used to cringe whenever he pulled in the driveway after being out with me; half the time, I’d bolt from the car to my room and he’d follow and scream at her about the rotten turd she was raising.]
Time to get my shit together and remember motivation for my scenes. Smiles, oh yes, perfect. Of course dad, that clip-on tie would be just fantastic. The sales clerk talks him into new shoes. If you remember the posts about my podiatrist who killed himself, I discussed my left foot birth defects. (no movie puns, please). So tight new shoes were a dream come true, promising a night awash in magnificent pain and callouses.
Finally, the beleaguered clerk escorts us up one flight, to sacred ground. The sign reads “Tailors’. (I get a Nice Italian guy who spoke poor English)
Tailor talks to me with 5-9 pins in his mouth, I need sub-titles. ‘Gahrls will love this look, dontchu war-ree.’ Oh yea, what are the odds of that? Are you my fucking fairy godmother?
The old man is grateful he doesn’t have to accompany me to pick up the tailor’s endeavors. Mom gets me at school and we take a quick romp to Josephs. I present my ticket and carry my belongings out.
Could I possibly be anything else but a total suave sophisticated man about town?
Do I hear an ‘amen’???!!