Stylin' With Mr. C.

"I'll be in Rock Rapids, Sioux Center, Orange City,  Le Mars, and Cherokee today,"the old man would say as he headed for the garage after breakfast.  It would be another long day of driving the back roads of Northwest Iowa .  Some days he would range as far West as Inwood or way out to Fort Dodge or Webster City if he was eastbound.  He peddled mortgage loan money to farmers and banks for the Prudential Insurance company.  I still don't know why he announced his itinerary before hitting the road.  Car phones, cell phones, even CB radios weren't on our radar in the early 1960's.  From Spencer, Iowa mom couldn't get in touch with him if she needed and frankly the only reason she would want to contact him would be to complain about something horrible my brother and I had done.  We boys welcomed his time out of range as an opportunity to hone any elaborate stories required to cover our ALWAYS guilty asses.

What inspired this trip into the time tunnel containing my misspent youth was a recent series of ads in the Wall Street Journal.  It was a special weekend supplement that featured, I guess, what were the latest styles in mens' suits.  Generally speaking I am not what anyone would call a fashion plate.  Hell, I am a SLOB.   Those who know me consider it a compliment if I break out a new t-shirt for a meet up.  Dad was never like that.  He always dressed as if he planned to run into William F. Buckley or Lady Astor. (Perhaps in Cherokee??) His suits, and there were several, were always impeccably tailored; shirts and ties carefully coordinated.  Sunday afternoons were reserved for shining his shoe collection as he watched sports on television.  He even shaved on the weekends!

Naturally, my brother Steve and I steered a steady course for careers where dressing up didn't matter.  Okay...we got into jobs where showing up for work in pants was considered a major concession.  I blabbed on the radio for nearly forty years and Steve still toils as an ink stained newspaper clown.  No "best dressed" awards rest on our mantles.

One of my most vivid memories of Dad is from 1981.  He and mom were visiting me and my family in San Francisco.  I was 32 years-old and hosting a morning radio show on a major San Francisco station.  One weekday morning I suggested that my wife bring mom and dad into the city for lunch after my show was over.  They would take the BART train in from our home in an East bay suburb and we would have a nice lunch after touring the radio station.  The station was a show place.  It was located in an historic building directly across from the Trans America pyramid and right nextdoor to Melvin Beli's office.  I was proud to work there.

The folks arrived just before noon and I gave them the complete tour.  We covered three floors of offices and studios and it was fun to introduce them to all the talented people on staff.  Afterward, as we walked to a nearby restaurant, I said something like, "Well, what did you think of the station Dad?"  I will never forget his reply.

"You sure work with a bunch of bums."

I don't know what I expected.  All my co-workers, just as I did, dressed like we were still in eighth grade.   It's one of the bennies of the job.  Shaving is optional too.  It's radio.

I made sure he picked up the check at lunch.

These days I still mostly dress the same way I did in junior high, but I also own a few suits.  (You never know when a friend is going to have the temerity to die.)  Of course I don't often wear them which means it is always a surprise when I put one on.  Recently I have managed to slather on an extra five pounds and notice that the pants are becoming just a "scosh" on the snug side.  Judging by the ads in the Journal  I'd say I'm just about another five pounds away from looking cutting edge stylish.  Every single suit looks too tight!

Give me another couple of weeks and a few dozen Krispy Kremes and I'll be ready for a spread in GQ.

Now if I can only find that shoe shine kit.