Dress To Impress

Selecting the perfect garments to wear in public so as to alert discerning viewers to the secrets of your vibe is an art.  Like painting.  Or cooking at its highest level.  My wife, Georgann, had the gift while I had the gaffe.

The one time in my life when I could match the appropriate apparel to the occasion was when I worked summers in the logging woods between college semesters.  I admit my outfits were not the result of my flair for woodsy attire but, rather, the dictates of the logging environment.

You wore a metal helmet to soften the blow of a limb striking your head.  You wore wide elastic suspenders to hold up your pants because a belt might snag on something and take you along on an unpleasant journey; the stretchy braces would at least give you a chance to survive.  And you cut the hem off your pants legs, leaving a frayed but snag-proof row of little dangling threads. Complete the ensemble with your calk (pronounced "cork") boots with metal spikes on the soles and you are styling as that most heroic of all common laborers: the Oregon Logger (never "Lumberjack").

My attempts at cool dressing have gone downhill since those days setting chockers.

In the early '60s I took a job as Alumni Secretary for the University of Oregon.  In 1958 Oregon's football team went to the Rose Bowl and the Alumni Secretary at that time had purchased neckties for the alumni to wear to the game.  The ties had regimental, alternating stripes of lemon and green.  Those babies were BRIGHT.  You might wear one on a hunting trip to avoid getting shot.  And, oh my, after the game there were hundreds of neckties that never made it to Pasadena. One of my early challenges in the job.

A few years later Oregon played Texas in football and at half-time those of us in the press box were served a lunch by Texas co-eds. A young lady approached me and asked, "Are you from Oregon?" After acknowledging that, yes, I was indeed from Oregon, she continued, "That explains it.  When I first saw your tie, I just thought you had bad taste."

Yeah, Texine, your first thought was right.  And we lost the game.