***White socks.....and white shorts
For James And John C., Clintondale Class Of 1964
From The Pen Of Frank Jackman
Jimmy Taylor was desperate for a pair of gym-worthy white shorts, gym day worthy whites. Desperate enough to go into the dreaded battered white shorts discard cardboard box now slumped across from the shower stalls and rummage, rummage nose held, for a pair that would pass muster. Pass muster when Coach Dickson (everybody called him Coach, although he hadn’t coached a sport in Clintondale since Roosevelt was president, Teddy Roosevelt, Jimmy thought) passed down the line like some imitation colonel inspecting two things-white shorts and white socks. Clean, unwrinkled, better be pressed, white shorts of the appropriate size.
That last quality mattered, at least this is what Jimmy had heard from his own older brother, Kenny, Class of 1961, ever since one small sophomore, or maybe it was a freshman, whose brother was a behemoth on the Clintondale football team, the 1960 one that went on to win the Class D state championship if you remember that great team and that great season, “inherited” his brother’s perfectly good white shorts. Perfectly good according to this lad’s mother, and with the concurrence of many a Clintondale Irish working-class mother who knew things in that neighborhood were dear just then. They kept falling down, the behemoth's white sail shorts that is, exposing, well, exposing the fact that he did not have a jock strap on, and we will leave it at that, or could. Except Coach Dickson, cold-hearted Coach, merely cuttingly commented that he was glad there were no girls around because there would be nothing to see, wink, wink.
Needless to say every boy, particularly every senior boy, every Class of 1964 boy that is, in the place laughed or at least chuckled at Coach’s lame remark, fearful that "His Vengefulness" might hold up their graduations for failure to pass a state-mandated requirement. And according to local school lore, Clintondale High lore any way, back in those Roosevelt days (Teddy or Franklin, could have been either Jimmy again thought) he had actually done so. And the school committee backed him up, creating a legend that he lived, no, feasted off of for the next few decades. There was another story, or maybe stories, of too tight shorts exploding on the wrestling mat or while the guys were doing some gymnastic exercise. Those were just rumors though, Kenny never mentioned anything about that. In any case Coach Dickson’s Rule Three A ruled. (Rule Three being the part about clean and presentable white shorts.)
The failure to observe the afore-mentioned rule branded you as a felon not fit for civilized company, or it might as well have, for you had exactly one excused non-white short, non-white-sock gym period, per year, per student, as per Coach Dickson’s rule. (Rule Four, for all the rules see the bulletin board in front of Coach’s office. Bring a chair and reading glasses, if you need them, you will be there a while). And Jimmy had already used his up back in the fall when he had “forgotten” his after going down one of the back halls, far down in one of the back halls, with a certain girl, a certain nameless girl, and left his bag with his shorts and socks in it behind. (Really, it’s true, guys, and, oh well, he won’t mention names, although he told me it, but a certain girl, a certain very “hot” girl, could back Jimmy’s claim up. Jimmy claimed that you too would have forgotten your foolish gym bag if you had been around her, and her craze-inducing perfume or soap that made her smell like some flower, a gardenia maybe. I agree about the craze-inducing part too.)
Today he had forgotten, real forgotten, to bring his shorts, and in any case he was probably fated for the death penalty anyway since he had also forgotten to have Martha (dear, sweet mother Taylor, for those not familiar with Clintondale, or with the Taylor clan that has been part of Clintondale society since Hector was a pup, and who do not know that woman) wash his dirty pairs of shorts and socks.
Of course Jimmy's scramble for white shorts much less for white socks, white matching socks, although the now doddering Coach Dickson was not always careful in inspecting socks so there was some wiggle room, was fated to be nothing but a humiliating experience, and was designed by His Vengefulness as such, since this wretched, battered cardboard box was filled with every thrown-away, nasty, off-white, sweat-grinded pair of shorts that Coach Dickson found lying around the locker rooms, or wherever he could find such things. (Although Jimmy, in a fit of gallows humor, chuckled to himself that he bet that Coach had not found those shorts down that dark hall where he had gone with Liz, oops, no names.)
But the white socks were worse, much worse, thrown hither and yon after doing yeoman’s service on some perspiring feet. All dirt-smudged caused by rubbing against the inners of some too tight sneakers while playing volleyball, basketball, or a really athletic endeavor like throwing the medicine ball and then left on some dank floor to walk home by themselves (no kidding either) when Coach’s charges changed into “civilian” socks-brown, black, or blue to go with their penny loafers. (The rest of the “uniform” being a plaid shirt and black chino pants, cuffed, preferred, uncuffed if your mother bought them.)
Today though he also started to notice some stuff that he could have cared less about yesterday. A lot of the guys on gym day wore their white socks with their uniform (plaid shirts and, cuffed or uncuffed, black chinos, remember), with their penny loafers. Egad. Squaresville, squaresville cubed. Also he started to remember that when the Class of 1964 athletic team pictures were being taken along with the jacket, tie, and slacks he noticed that most of the guys, especially the guys who were sitting down had white socks on. Double squaresville cubed. White socks, jesus. Jimmy was dumbfounded and said to himself what, pray tell (although he may have not used that exact term), was the meaning of this sartorial display. Moreover, did it extend beyond athletics? He knew, as a creature of habit at the time and one who desperately wanted to be “in”, that he too wore his "whites," sometimes unthinkingly.
But what kind of fashion statement were they trying to make at the time? “White socks” meant only one thing- dweeb, nerd, outcast and not cool. He distinctly remembered that term in reference to scientific and engineer-types. And they were not cool. As cool as he and his corner boys tried to be were they really all dweebs who did not get the message fast enough out in the 'sticks' of Clintondale?
And that last question got Jimmy to thinking, rebelliously thinking when he started to get up a head of steam about it. Why, if you forgot your white shorts or white socks, couldn’t you just wear your civilian clothes in gym and not have to go through the indignity of the dread battered box discard pile. And while Fritz was organizing this train of revolutionary thought (to Coach and his rules, if to nobody else) in his head he added why if you did have your white shorts but had forgotten your white socks couldn’t you just use your civilian brownblackblue socks. It’s only two-period-a-week gym, right? And on that note Fritz made a momentous decision. He was, come hell or high water, going to find a pair of decent white shorts and just wear them with his brown civilian socks as a protest against the injustice of Coach’s silly rule. He then found a suitable pair, donned them and walked out to face the music.
For James And John C., Clintondale Class Of 1964
From The Pen Of Frank Jackman
Jimmy Taylor was desperate for a pair of gym-worthy white shorts, gym day worthy whites. Desperate enough to go into the dreaded battered white shorts discard cardboard box now slumped across from the shower stalls and rummage, rummage nose held, for a pair that would pass muster. Pass muster when Coach Dickson (everybody called him Coach, although he hadn’t coached a sport in Clintondale since Roosevelt was president, Teddy Roosevelt, Jimmy thought) passed down the line like some imitation colonel inspecting two things-white shorts and white socks. Clean, unwrinkled, better be pressed, white shorts of the appropriate size.
That last quality mattered, at least this is what Jimmy had heard from his own older brother, Kenny, Class of 1961, ever since one small sophomore, or maybe it was a freshman, whose brother was a behemoth on the Clintondale football team, the 1960 one that went on to win the Class D state championship if you remember that great team and that great season, “inherited” his brother’s perfectly good white shorts. Perfectly good according to this lad’s mother, and with the concurrence of many a Clintondale Irish working-class mother who knew things in that neighborhood were dear just then. They kept falling down, the behemoth's white sail shorts that is, exposing, well, exposing the fact that he did not have a jock strap on, and we will leave it at that, or could. Except Coach Dickson, cold-hearted Coach, merely cuttingly commented that he was glad there were no girls around because there would be nothing to see, wink, wink.
Needless to say every boy, particularly every senior boy, every Class of 1964 boy that is, in the place laughed or at least chuckled at Coach’s lame remark, fearful that "His Vengefulness" might hold up their graduations for failure to pass a state-mandated requirement. And according to local school lore, Clintondale High lore any way, back in those Roosevelt days (Teddy or Franklin, could have been either Jimmy again thought) he had actually done so. And the school committee backed him up, creating a legend that he lived, no, feasted off of for the next few decades. There was another story, or maybe stories, of too tight shorts exploding on the wrestling mat or while the guys were doing some gymnastic exercise. Those were just rumors though, Kenny never mentioned anything about that. In any case Coach Dickson’s Rule Three A ruled. (Rule Three being the part about clean and presentable white shorts.)
The failure to observe the afore-mentioned rule branded you as a felon not fit for civilized company, or it might as well have, for you had exactly one excused non-white short, non-white-sock gym period, per year, per student, as per Coach Dickson’s rule. (Rule Four, for all the rules see the bulletin board in front of Coach’s office. Bring a chair and reading glasses, if you need them, you will be there a while). And Jimmy had already used his up back in the fall when he had “forgotten” his after going down one of the back halls, far down in one of the back halls, with a certain girl, a certain nameless girl, and left his bag with his shorts and socks in it behind. (Really, it’s true, guys, and, oh well, he won’t mention names, although he told me it, but a certain girl, a certain very “hot” girl, could back Jimmy’s claim up. Jimmy claimed that you too would have forgotten your foolish gym bag if you had been around her, and her craze-inducing perfume or soap that made her smell like some flower, a gardenia maybe. I agree about the craze-inducing part too.)
Today he had forgotten, real forgotten, to bring his shorts, and in any case he was probably fated for the death penalty anyway since he had also forgotten to have Martha (dear, sweet mother Taylor, for those not familiar with Clintondale, or with the Taylor clan that has been part of Clintondale society since Hector was a pup, and who do not know that woman) wash his dirty pairs of shorts and socks.
Of course Jimmy's scramble for white shorts much less for white socks, white matching socks, although the now doddering Coach Dickson was not always careful in inspecting socks so there was some wiggle room, was fated to be nothing but a humiliating experience, and was designed by His Vengefulness as such, since this wretched, battered cardboard box was filled with every thrown-away, nasty, off-white, sweat-grinded pair of shorts that Coach Dickson found lying around the locker rooms, or wherever he could find such things. (Although Jimmy, in a fit of gallows humor, chuckled to himself that he bet that Coach had not found those shorts down that dark hall where he had gone with Liz, oops, no names.)
But the white socks were worse, much worse, thrown hither and yon after doing yeoman’s service on some perspiring feet. All dirt-smudged caused by rubbing against the inners of some too tight sneakers while playing volleyball, basketball, or a really athletic endeavor like throwing the medicine ball and then left on some dank floor to walk home by themselves (no kidding either) when Coach’s charges changed into “civilian” socks-brown, black, or blue to go with their penny loafers. (The rest of the “uniform” being a plaid shirt and black chino pants, cuffed, preferred, uncuffed if your mother bought them.)
Today though he also started to notice some stuff that he could have cared less about yesterday. A lot of the guys on gym day wore their white socks with their uniform (plaid shirts and, cuffed or uncuffed, black chinos, remember), with their penny loafers. Egad. Squaresville, squaresville cubed. Also he started to remember that when the Class of 1964 athletic team pictures were being taken along with the jacket, tie, and slacks he noticed that most of the guys, especially the guys who were sitting down had white socks on. Double squaresville cubed. White socks, jesus. Jimmy was dumbfounded and said to himself what, pray tell (although he may have not used that exact term), was the meaning of this sartorial display. Moreover, did it extend beyond athletics? He knew, as a creature of habit at the time and one who desperately wanted to be “in”, that he too wore his "whites," sometimes unthinkingly.
But what kind of fashion statement were they trying to make at the time? “White socks” meant only one thing- dweeb, nerd, outcast and not cool. He distinctly remembered that term in reference to scientific and engineer-types. And they were not cool. As cool as he and his corner boys tried to be were they really all dweebs who did not get the message fast enough out in the 'sticks' of Clintondale?
And that last question got Jimmy to thinking, rebelliously thinking when he started to get up a head of steam about it. Why, if you forgot your white shorts or white socks, couldn’t you just wear your civilian clothes in gym and not have to go through the indignity of the dread battered box discard pile. And while Fritz was organizing this train of revolutionary thought (to Coach and his rules, if to nobody else) in his head he added why if you did have your white shorts but had forgotten your white socks couldn’t you just use your civilian brownblackblue socks. It’s only two-period-a-week gym, right? And on that note Fritz made a momentous decision. He was, come hell or high water, going to find a pair of decent white shorts and just wear them with his brown civilian socks as a protest against the injustice of Coach’s silly rule. He then found a suitable pair, donned them and walked out to face the music.
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