Going to school in Blaine was rather an ecumenical sort of an affair with k-12 all being scooped up and delivered back in the same bus. I rode bus number two driven by Harold Freeman who had a place out on the Sweet Road.
Now being in grade school, the best way to guarantee your survival was to be invisible. High school kids, unlike teachers, didn’t have to put up with any smart asses. This served the greater good in helping along the socialization process. It also helps with the transfer of information down the chain of command.
In this case, what I was going to be schooled on was the importance of fashion. The two high school girls sitting behind me were discussing one of the young men in their class and remarked that he even had a “White Stag.”
Now, I found this curious so I listened more intently. It turned out that a “White Stag” was a white jacket. Apparently, the wearing of the “White Stag” jacket imbued a person with a certain favorable aura. Or at least it was a good starting point.
The kid down the street across from the windmill store didn’t wear a White Stag. He wore a motorcycle jacket. I sometimes hung out at his place back in the converted chicken coop made into a shop, with the high school kids. It wasn’t long before a 57 powder blue Ford pulled in and some of the guys got out. One was wearing a White Stag jacket. It was short, thin, with no lining. It was late October and he had that look that said “I’m freezing my butt off but I’m going to smile and act like I’m not.”
I have to admit, that at that point I was somewhat confused about what fashion was and why it was important to achieve it. Being “cool” hadn’t been invented yet, but I’m sure ’57 had it’s own version and it was what it was about. But freezing your butt off seemed a high price to achieve this level of social esteem.
When Becky and I went off to teach in the Arctic fashion was simply solved during the Berry Dairy Days in Burlington when Stowe’s had it’s big sale. Buy what ever was comfortable and warm. Problem solved.
When I went to teach at a suburban school outside of Marysville, I dug through my Stowe’s sale clothes and got out some shirts, ties, and slacks. Wanting to make a good impression and not look too much like the rube from the country I got all dressed up for my first day, tied my best version of a Windsor knot and off to work I went.
I rounded up all those kids, and did all the magic teaching stuff all morning long. I was feeling good about myself as I went to the faculty room to get a cup of coffee. There a rather pious young teacher looked at me with a look of beatific innocence and said “I heard narrow ties were coming back in style.”
And, after all this practice of trying to get it just right, I must still report falling short of the mark. I was in Petersburg on the good ship Ella Marie and needed slickers for the boat. I said “Bobby, if I’m to survive the monsoon that is often Southeast, I need some slickers.
“Consider it done Dicky” says Bobby, and off we went to the store at the shipyard where Bobby was greeted as if he owned the place. “Slickers for my friend, say’s Bobby and I’m ushered off to shelf where I find my size.
Back to the cashier where Bobby is standing…silently. There is a look on his face that says that I have violated a code which should have been know, but wasn’t. The two clerks looked at Bobby with concern.
“Maybe I should have told him, but I just thought…” said one.
Bobby put his arm around me and picked up the bright yellow slickers. We walked back to the shelf that housed the slickers and returned the yellow ones and picked up the bright orange ones. Bobby leaned forward and said quietly, “Yacht people wear yellow Dicky, we wear orange.”
Returning to the till everyone brightened right up, took the cash and sent us on our way back to the dock in the borrowed truck with Bobby smiling happily. “Don’t worry Dicky, you’ll get it figured out.”
Ummmm Bobby, if I haven’t by this time, chances are I won’t.