Let me just begin by saying that I am not an avid fan of any sport. I like to watch the World Series and the Superbowl each year, but that has much more to do with the traditions surrounding those events and the excuse to eat unhealthy foods than with who actually wins. I also enjoy the energy, the excitement, and, O.K., the commercials. And I learned long ago about the dangers of trying to “fake” my way into having others think I really watched or cared about any sport or sports teams.
When I was eight years old, my mother decided it was time for me to have a new winter jacket. She allowed me to flip through the pages of the large Sears catalog and to pick the item myself. I was thrilled at this opportunity – I loved that Sears catalog and used to spend hours perusing the toy section and imagining myself the proud owner of many of the wonderful items they had listed. I don’t remember getting many, or any other fliers from stores back then that held so many treasured pictures. It was a whole world of opportunity right there at my fingertips.
I hadn’t spent much time looking at the clothes, though, and at first I was not too excited about the prospect of picking out a jacket. I mean, a jacket qualified as clothes to me, and as a rule I was never too thrilled to buy clothes – especially if it meant that my mom would drag me to the store and send me into the dressing room “it was even worse if she came in there with me” with what felt like 100 items to try on. I would then have to waddle out “have I mentioned my weight issue back then,” and perform several pirouettes for her while she would stand with her hand on her chin assessing the damage. The outcome was always the same – I ended up with a few pairs of Husky Tough Skin jeans “Husky was the 1970’s lingo for fat kid” that accommodated my waist line just fine but were long enough to fit a Harlem Globetrotter. “I can take those up for you at home,” she would always say. And indeed she did. The “taking up” involved a cool trick where she would hem about 10 inches of the extra leg up inside of the pants, and as I grew she would simply drop the hidden pant leg down and adjust it to my height. I am sure this was at my father’s insistence since every time we bought any item of clothing he would say “this is going to last until you go to college!”
The only problem with the disappearing pant leg trick was that once the new part of the leg was lowered, there was always a discoloration between the outside “worn” color of the fabric and the inside protected color. Much like when you move a dresser that has been over carpeting for years and realize just how filthy and disgusting your exposed carpet really is. I would have two tone pants, with the brighter part being at the bottom 10 inches of both legs. This in itself was a problem, but there was also “the fold” to deal with. The thick fabric with which Sears manufactured its Husky Tough Skin line of fat boy pants ensured that the crease formed by folding the legs inside themselves and then trying to unfold them to a larger size and pretend it never happened never really went away. There was a wave, a circular fold around the bottom of both legs once the extra pant was released. So the overall effect of these Husky dual colored Frankenstein pants was to shout out to anyone in the vicinity “Hey check out what is going on down here!” And the only thing going on down there was an incredibly large pair of feet – clown feet with big Bozo shoes that I would much rather not have any attention drawn to. In fact, I did not want any attention drawn to anything concerning my person – I just wanted to get through the school day, go home, and look through the toy section of the Sears catalog.
Which brings us, after that long journey, back to the catalog. As I said, my Mom had not required me to pick out a certain winter jacket – she had said the choice was mine. She had, however, placed a piece of paper into the large book so that when I opened it I was staring at a page full of Mighty Mac winter coats. I knew these coats well – I had been wearing a hand me down Mighty Mac from a cousin and both my aunt and Mother never missed a chance to tell me that this brand was “the top of the line” in winter clothing. I didn’t doubt that it was. They seemed very well made to me, and did keep me very warm on my many adventures in the school playground and on what seemed like endless hours playing out in the snow at home with friends. I also liked the name. “Mighty” was so much cooler than “Husky”.
The one complaint I had, and concern might be a better word than complaint here, was that I found myself getting a tad too warm inside the firm embrace of my Mighty Mac. Looking back, this probably had to do with the sheer weight of the thing. I am unsure of the material comprising the coat, but it bore a close resemblance to our tent, which also came from Sears, and the tent was made of canvas, so maybe the Might Mac was as well. I found that canvas is quite heavy, especially when it soaks up water. Canvas also is not known for its flexibility. Add to this weight the mass of the large, ridiculously heavy snowmobile boots that were standard equipment for all kids during this time, and the additional wool, cotton, and hand-knitted accessories that comprised our outdoor gear, and you end up with a child looking more like one of the first deep sea divers, sans the large iron helmet, clodding around in the snow and sweating profusely. Picture Randy in the movie “A Christmas Story” struggling on his back in the snow like a helpless bug – that was our reality. God forbid you went over on your back, or that the deeper snow pull off one of those massive snowmobile boots – you could never bend over, let alone dig in the snow to find it on your own.
So, with these vivid memories of over heating inside of the Mighty Mac fresh in my mind, I dared to flip beyond the page in that catalog that my Mom had conveniently bookmarked for me. And it didn’t take long to realize what a wise choice I had made by doing so. A page or two beyond the practical, functional cook stove style winter coats were the coolest coats I had ever seen in my life. They were on the “Player’s Page,” and, unlike the drab colors of the canvas Mighty Macs, these threads were available in every color under the rainbow! My eyes were immediately drawn to a bright red coat in the corner of the page. The coat shone in all its brightness up at me – a beacon. And the style of these amazing jackets was somehow familiar. I knew I had seen them somewhere before, but I could not immediately place where. Then it hit me. These were the same type of coats that Richie Cunningham, Ralph Malph, and Potsie “what was Potsie’s last name?” all wore on that wonderful show “Happy Days”. I flipped the page immediately to see if I would find leather “Fonzerelli” style jackets on the next page, but I did not. I would have definitely ordered one of those! So I guessed that one of these would have to do. They were unquestionably the same style as I had seen in the show – plastic or vinyl looking arms with a cloth material for the body. The red one had white arms and instead of a big high school varsity letter sewn on the chest like in Happy Days, this one had a cardinal! I loved cardinals! In fact they had been my favorite bird during the long and drawn out “bird unit” that compromised the bulk of my second grade education.
This was meant to be! The stars had aligned. I removed my mother’s homemade book mark and replaced it to this page. I also folded the top of the page over as an extra page holder for good measure. And I circled the coat – with a bright red crayon – just to make sure we didn’t lose track of it. Her first response was “It certainly is red.” Followed quickly by “Are you sure that it is going to be warm enough? You know they have Mighty Macs. And Mighty Macs are the top of the line.” And then “Do you even like that team?” Team? What did this have to do with a team? This was about coolness, and cardinals, and hanging out with new friends at Al’s Diner and hearing The Fonz talk about narrowly escaping the Mallochi Crunch in the last demolition derby! I was gone – off in fantasy land with Richie and the gang.
So my mother, God bless her, ordered me the coat. I don’t remember even asking my dad. I doubt she did. Somehow we both knew that would be a bad idea. And everyday for the next few weeks I fantasized about the moment that package would arrive in the mail “this was another great feature of the Sear’s catalog – things were mailed to your house – right to your house!” And after school I would feel the anticipation growing as I got closer and closer to the mailbox knowing that this might be the last day in my Mighty Mac – that the old me was soon to be shed and that liberation and a brand new life were imminent.
I found the package near our front door on October 17, 1978. At 3:23 p.m. After all of the anticipation, I was surprised at just how small the bundle seemed. Or that it had been left, by itself, with no guards or even a friendly delivery man with a clipboard to make sure it got to the rightful owner. It would be some years later, about 30 to be exact, until I learned that the anticipation is usually “O.K., always,” more exciting than the reality. But for now, I just wanted to slip into the new me and start my “Happy Days”. I opened the parcel with the precision of a surgeon, taking care not to mar or cut any more than necessary. Upon releasing the thing, I was immediately faced with two realizations. The first was that it seemed light, much lighter than my Mighty Mac in fact. The second was that the arms – those white vinyl arms, appeared to be very, very long.
I tried not to panic. I told myself that this jacket was lighter because it was not made of canvas. Surely it was a new, lighter insulating material that would work just as well – better, in fact, than the Mighty Mac had. And then I tried it on. Slowly putting my arms down through the endless sleeves of whiteness. It didn’t fit. It wasn’t even close. And even though the stiff vinyl made a valiant attempt to stay erect and to form the illusion of filled space near the ends, the full length mirror on the back of my parent’s bedroom door was not as kind. I beheld in that mirror what could have been Ronald McDonald’s chubby nephew, or perhaps a smaller version of Ronald’s friend Grimace, a little less purple, shoved into a red and white nightmare, arms floppy and flaccid by its sides.
And the worst part was that the body of the thing did actually fit quite well. And by that I mean it covered my bulk, my Husky, and was not too awfully long in the the torso. It was just those arms. I had visions of my mother coming home and saying “Oh, I can just take those arms in!” I didn’t think that was a good idea. I could picture the vinyl folded in at each end and stitching, most likely with black thread, zigzagging through the white arms somewhere near the elbows where the folded in arms ended. Franken-coat. Richie and the gang would laugh. Fonzi with his thumbs down. Try not to panic. Think. Think.
And then I saw the scissors I had opened the package with. They were still on the table. Light bulb moment. The perfect answer. Well, the perfect kid answer. Mom might see it differently. Dad definitely would. He still hadn’t gotten over the haircut I gave myself a few years back. But this was different, this was not hair, or even a part of my body. Cautiously, I picked the scissors up and gave them a few small snips in the air – feeling the sharpness and power in them, wondering if they could bite through the vinyl and the material underneath. They probably could – no, they certainly could – but there was the other issue of the cuffs on the end of the arms – how would the ends look if I just chopped them off with no cuffs – could my mom sew the ends to look like cuffs?
My thoughts were interrupted by my mother’s car coming up the driveway. The moment was over. My window of opportunity had passed. I shoved the extended sleeves up each arm as best I could, gripped the cuffs tightly in my hands so they would not slide back down, and smiled brightly at the door waiting for her to come in…
I kept the jacket. And my mom never altered the sleeves. She didn’t really need to. I wore it twice. The first time was the day after I got it. I wore it to school and was asked by two kids – two older kids- about how I felt with the most recent game played by the team I was now representing. Apparently that team was called the Cardinals. I had, of course, no opinion or knowledge whatsoever on that subject and wished at that moment that I could disappear. Shortly after that, a male teacher made a reference to the jacket, and the unknown sports team, asking me if I thought a certain player would be back “on the field” soon. “ I sure hope so!” I chirped. That was the last time I wore the jacket to school.
The second time I wore it was on a sledding trip with my friends. Friends who knew me and knew better than to ask about why I was wearing a jock’s jacket. They knew why. Because I am weird. So off we went to our regular sledding hill for what should have been hours. It was a short day for me. I was cold. And I couldn’t really use my arms very well. After that trip I hung the coat in my bedroom closet and never took it out again. It may still be there. And it may fit now. My mother never asked where it went, and I don’t think my father was aware I ever owned it.
I spent another year in my Mighty Mac, and by that time another Mac was handed down to me. They are good winter coats – the top of the line. This was the first time I fell victim to impulsive thinking and media images, and fantasy concerning my life and trying to be other than who I am, but it would certainly not be the last. Now I enjoy looking through the Sunday fliers in the paper and imagining myself in clothing that I have become too old for. My more mature self steps in and lets me know that I would not, in fact, look really cool in the vintage Led Zeppelin t-shirt that the 15 year old young man in the ad is wearing. I would look like a middle aged man going through his mid-life crisis on a tight budget. So I don’t buy the shirt. Ebay is my new Sears catalog, and occasionally I search for various items that I would like to have but will never buy: cowboy boots, fedora hats, Fonzerreli leather jacket. But someday perhaps I’ll order another coat – maybe another red one. With a cardinal. And I’ll wear that coat wherever I please and not care a bit about what people ask me about it. Maybe. And maybe not…
you might not have been a jock…….but you knew how to put on your little league baseball socks and I didn’t…….so thanks for showing me that……
That’s O.K. Hector. I’m pretty sure you taught me how to skate on the Ice Pond…
Brian,
Another great story.. I can almost hear Pa stating how long your clotes were to last too!!! No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it..
You keep up the good work, and I will keep passing along…
BTW, it’s Potsie Weber…
Thanks Bill. I think you rocked those Toughskin Plaid shirts very well.
It figures you would know Potsie’s last name…
Have you blocked out the shopping trip when Pa came with us and made you buy 3 pair of men’s polyester blue checked pants which I altered? It made you look like a husky midget. You and I hid them, and you never wore them.What about the chuka boots, and wearing two left gloves because the right one always got lost? What we do to our kids!!