Every Saturday until I was a
teenager with other stuff to do, I went with Mom on our weekly shopping pilgrimage
to the high street’s shops and for our “order” of food at the ACK-E-ME as my
mother called it – one week Mom surprised me when she said, “What would you
like special for Valentine’s ?” (I believed this was a result of a very
good report card and I wasn’t about to waste this opportunity!) I replied immediately, “Wow… I “need”
a pair of pegged-pant!” (For those who have forgotten or are too young to
remember:
Pegged Pants: Trousers that are cut full
(baggy) in the waist and thigh area and tapering to a cuff or tight gathering at
the ankle are called “pegged”. This style was extremely popular in the
1950's. Very reminiscent of the earlier style pant that was part of the “Zoot
Suit” of the early jitter-bug days of the 40’s.
Wikipedia
Her response wasn’t exactly good news, “Are
you sure you want them…I still think they look awful silly.” (It has always amazed me how parents
seemed to have a form of amnesia which causes them to forget all the “silly”
things they wore at my age).
However, I didn’t rebut, not
wanting to nix the deal. So, after she
paid the weekly Freeman’s Shoe Club dues that she collected from “the
girls” at the glass factory where she worked, we went to Frank’s Men &
Boys.
After my mother stopped rolling her
eyes Frank whispered so no other customers would hear, “I’ll make you a good deal since he likes all three –
they sell for $7.98 each…for you Margaret I give you them all for $12 becuse
you are a regular – but don’t tell anybody or you’ll ruin me. I interrupted, “These are great, but they
aren’t pegged.” Frank replied, we can
“shorten them at no charge, but pegging needs a tailor, the pantleg needs to be
tapered…it’s a big job”. Gads I thought
this was a deal breaker – but to my surprise mom said wrap them up. She was such a push-over.
We next went to the town Deluxe Dry-cleaning
&Tailoring (done on the premises) shop around the corner. I was fitted, pinned, chalked – this was a
major alteration not a simple shortening of the foot of extra cloth designed to
fit a guy seven feet tall. My pegging would
cost another $10 bucks. At first Mom
said no way – but I gave her the time test “I can chip in $5 bucks from my
allowance” whine. She gave me her “look”
and then handed over a ten spot as she opined, “Calvin, your breaking me
today!” She said that every time. Jack the tailor said as we left, “Be ready in
a week…thanks Marge!”
I hoped my new pants would be done
in time for next Saturday’s weekly Y dance.
Friday evening Angelo the tailor called and Mom and said the sewing was
done.
So, Saturday afternoon I rode my
bike the couple of miles downtown to pick them up. Angelo, the tailor, handed me a large clothes
plastic bag with three hangers poking out of a hole at the top and said to be
sure and thank your mom. I put the
hangers over my handlebars and gripped them with a tight fist holding them in
place as I was off peddling at my top speed – I couldn’t wait to try them all
on in front of my mom’s big mirror. I
hurdled up our driveway and leaped off my bike and with hangers in hand dashed
in to try on my coolest-ever pegged pants.
“Look mom,” I am interrupting her
from her never-ending battle against dirt.
I pulled up the plastic bag and…” Oh no…Oh…!” (And thought the mother of
all curse words but fortunately didn’t blurt it. THE HANGERS WERE EMPTY- my great pants had
disappeared.
Mom immediately said, “Calvin
you’ve lost your pants!” (I thought no s$%) but didn’t say that either. “Get back on you bike and ride back the way
you came and see if you can find them.
You better find them,” she added as I raced out the door.
I rode the 2 miles three
times. I looked in storm sewers. Under
parked cars. Down alleys. Asked folks if they saw any pants in the road. NO
PANTS. They were gone…gone forever. I
rode home the long way as I faded along with the daylight…each revolution my
bike tires were taking me to face the fate of a scolding or more. I heard in my mind what she would say, “How
could you be so careless…Do you know how long I had to work to pay for those
silly pants…You are going where your old pants now until the cows come home.”
(She loved that metaphor)
And when I arrived, I heard the
scolding but that was it. Matter of
fact, Mom looked very sorry for me – because I think she knew I was really
upset. I asked if I could be excused
from dinner and went up to bed. A rare
thing for me to do – skip a meal. I this
was worse than getting socks for Christmas.
Those pants – so near but now so far from having. As I was soaking my pillow with tears Mom
came into my room carrying a sandwich and milk and cookies. “Honey it’s not
good to go to bed hungry…I know you are very sad…and you weren’t really being
careless, just excited…now eat something, go to sleep and forget about those
silly pegged pants.
I eat my P&J sandwich. Cried in
my milk and then went to sleep.
The next Saturday, as all
Saturday’s of my young days we went shopping again. But to my surprise, Mom took be by the hand
and she walked me into Frank’s shop again.
“Frank Cal needs another pair of pants to peg – but just one pair, one
pair is all he’s getting today.”
Over the years I can still see me
in my Flag Flyer shoes with the square toes and those “silly” pants…a chubby
kid trying to look cool… and never again did I carry clothes by the
hanger. Until this day, leaving the
cleans, the plastic bag of clothes is folder over my right arm.
