PEGGED PANTS

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.

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