Looking at this photo taken by Clare of little Bilalay “helping” PopPop has brought to mind a flood of memories of my own childhood “helping” my Dad on various projects.
One, which most of you will find the situation almost incredulous in this day of the throw-a-way society, has come to mind for unknown reason: The image I have is of me watching my Dad cobbling shoes. Yes, believe it or not, when I was young, Dad would repair the soles of all our worn out leather shoes or their heals. We had a mini-shoe-makers kit: a cast iron last that you would insert into the shoe being repaired to counter the incoming nail. Dad had an authentic cobbler’s tack hammer which was fun to play with. All this was stored in a special wooden box that also served as storage for shoe polish, sheep skin buffers, and an assortment of old rags for applying shoe wax and subsequent shining steps.
In what were called “five and dime” stores (I suppose “Dollar” stores are the current equivalent), there was a department devoted to home shoe repair supplies for those who couldn’t afford taking their shoes to a professional cobbler: an assortment of men’s and ladies’ rubber and leather heals, pre-shaped rubber and leather sole materials in various sizes, and a selection of roughly shaped leather pieces that would eventually become the soles of a good soling job.
Dad always started with these leather pieces; he would lay it carefully on the shoe to be repaired so as to make maximum use of the available material, trace the shape with a pencil, and with his trusty and always very sharp pocket knife which was always with him, would carefully trim the leather to the exact shape of the shoe being repaired. The tricky part was to bevel the rear of the sole so that it blended in near the heal. The exciting part would be the final tacking of the leather piece to the shoe. I always wondered how it was that we never felt the nails inside the shoe. I guess Dad knew exactly where to put the nails. I now suspect the cast iron last had something to do with it.
Shoe care was a big part of grooming when I was young. It seemed that I had to wax my shoes at least once a week, and while I was at it, do Dad’s and occasionally Mom’s too. When Arline was running her beauty salon, I would also be called upon to apply white cream polish to bring them up to professional status. One would never be seen going to church with shoes that had even the slightest scuff mark. Since I would be walking in front of Mom and Dad going to church, I was under close inspection along the whole route and would hear commentary along the way if I did not look right. Combed hair was part of the inspection, which I always had a problem with because I tended to have a “rooster tail” at the back of my head. Maybe that was caused by the way my hair was barbered. My barber was, of course, my Dad!
One, which most of you will find the situation almost incredulous in this day of the throw-a-way society, has come to mind for unknown reason: The image I have is of me watching my Dad cobbling shoes. Yes, believe it or not, when I was young, Dad would repair the soles of all our worn out leather shoes or their heals. We had a mini-shoe-makers kit: a cast iron last that you would insert into the shoe being repaired to counter the incoming nail. Dad had an authentic cobbler’s tack hammer which was fun to play with. All this was stored in a special wooden box that also served as storage for shoe polish, sheep skin buffers, and an assortment of old rags for applying shoe wax and subsequent shining steps.
In what were called “five and dime” stores (I suppose “Dollar” stores are the current equivalent), there was a department devoted to home shoe repair supplies for those who couldn’t afford taking their shoes to a professional cobbler: an assortment of men’s and ladies’ rubber and leather heals, pre-shaped rubber and leather sole materials in various sizes, and a selection of roughly shaped leather pieces that would eventually become the soles of a good soling job.
Dad always started with these leather pieces; he would lay it carefully on the shoe to be repaired so as to make maximum use of the available material, trace the shape with a pencil, and with his trusty and always very sharp pocket knife which was always with him, would carefully trim the leather to the exact shape of the shoe being repaired. The tricky part was to bevel the rear of the sole so that it blended in near the heal. The exciting part would be the final tacking of the leather piece to the shoe. I always wondered how it was that we never felt the nails inside the shoe. I guess Dad knew exactly where to put the nails. I now suspect the cast iron last had something to do with it.
Shoe care was a big part of grooming when I was young. It seemed that I had to wax my shoes at least once a week, and while I was at it, do Dad’s and occasionally Mom’s too. When Arline was running her beauty salon, I would also be called upon to apply white cream polish to bring them up to professional status. One would never be seen going to church with shoes that had even the slightest scuff mark. Since I would be walking in front of Mom and Dad going to church, I was under close inspection along the whole route and would hear commentary along the way if I did not look right. Combed hair was part of the inspection, which I always had a problem with because I tended to have a “rooster tail” at the back of my head. Maybe that was caused by the way my hair was barbered. My barber was, of course, my Dad!
I really like this description: very ethnographic. I always remember the buzz of repair projects that would go on whenever Grandma and Grandpa Ig would come to visit. Industriousness.
ReplyDeleteAlong these lines, I remember my mother darning socks. If the economy continues to crumble maybe all these skills will regain popularity.
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