Where Did You Get Those Shoes?
For some reason, I always cringe when I recall an instance in my distant past. It took the lyrics from "Pretzel Logic," by Steely Dan, to bring it all into sharp focus today.
But these were the days of Hippies; days of long hair, beards and mustaches, bell-bottoms and ... platform shoes.
To conform -- and to the constant irritation of the police and sheriff's deputies -- my hair was long, my mustache outrageous and my pants flared. And on this day, I was set on erasing the scuffs that had marred my shoes.
I clearly remember how I was dressed because if I wore my platform shoes I was also wearing a striped shirt and either grey or blue flared pants. As I recall, the pants were of a material somewhat like jeans. No doubt all cotton; just not as heavy as Levi blue jeans and a lot fancier, I might add.
To get to the shoeshine man, you had to walk around the block to the other side of the building where an old black man had set up for business. His stand was but a cubbyhole in the side of the building. There was no one in the chair when I entered, and so I stepped up on the platform.
To be honest, I was not in the habit of having another person shine my shoes. Shoe-shining was a time-honored tradition in my family. On Sunday mornings, my father would send me into the basement in our Baltimore home to polish his shoes before we attended service.
But I really had no idea what to do with these things on my feet. You see, they weren't really leather at all. Hell, they weren't even patent leather. No, I'm sure they were merely plastic. God, how embarrassed I should have been. But, I was clueless.
As my feet fit into the mounts, the old man -- who I'm sure never said anything bad about anyone -- just looked at them for a minute. Not sure what to do with plastic shoes, he grabbed a small can of neutral-color polish.
"Um, umm. Blue shoes," is all he could say.
Feeling like an idiot, I paid the man and slipped out the door. I doubt that I wore them much longer.
I stepped up on the platformI had just exited the old newspaper building inhabited by the denizens of The Tampa Times in downtown Tampa. The year was probably 1972. I was assigned to the Police Beat, where all rookie reporters were expected to prove their mettle.
The man gave me the news
He said, You must be joking son,
Where did you get those shoes?
But these were the days of Hippies; days of long hair, beards and mustaches, bell-bottoms and ... platform shoes.
To conform -- and to the constant irritation of the police and sheriff's deputies -- my hair was long, my mustache outrageous and my pants flared. And on this day, I was set on erasing the scuffs that had marred my shoes.
I clearly remember how I was dressed because if I wore my platform shoes I was also wearing a striped shirt and either grey or blue flared pants. As I recall, the pants were of a material somewhat like jeans. No doubt all cotton; just not as heavy as Levi blue jeans and a lot fancier, I might add.
To get to the shoeshine man, you had to walk around the block to the other side of the building where an old black man had set up for business. His stand was but a cubbyhole in the side of the building. There was no one in the chair when I entered, and so I stepped up on the platform.
To be honest, I was not in the habit of having another person shine my shoes. Shoe-shining was a time-honored tradition in my family. On Sunday mornings, my father would send me into the basement in our Baltimore home to polish his shoes before we attended service.
But I really had no idea what to do with these things on my feet. You see, they weren't really leather at all. Hell, they weren't even patent leather. No, I'm sure they were merely plastic. God, how embarrassed I should have been. But, I was clueless.
As my feet fit into the mounts, the old man -- who I'm sure never said anything bad about anyone -- just looked at them for a minute. Not sure what to do with plastic shoes, he grabbed a small can of neutral-color polish.
"Um, umm. Blue shoes," is all he could say.
Feeling like an idiot, I paid the man and slipped out the door. I doubt that I wore them much longer.
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