“Ladies and gentlemen- the Beatles!” That was Ed
Sullivan introducing the four lads from Liverpool to American viewers for their
first live TV performance. It was February 1964, and I was seven years old. I
knew their names and had seen pictures of them but didn’t fully grasp what the
fanfare was all about. Except for “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and “She Loves You,”
I wasn’t that engaged in the music either. That would eventually change of
course. The one thing that did catch my attention though was their mod look-
the thick, rounded bowl-shaped mop top hair and matching slender, slim fitting
suits. But most of all it was their pointy-toed black Beatle boots with the
little elastic band at the ankles and the narrow, elevated heels. I thought
they were the coolest footwear going, perfectly complementing their trim
slightly shortened cuffless pants.
At
some point my cousin Charlie up in Peekskill started wearing Beatle boots or
something similar after he took up drums and joined a garage band. That’s when
I decided that I wanted a pair. My mother absolutely refused. “Those pointy
toes are bad for a wee boy’s growing feet,” I can imagine her saying with her
ever present hint of a Scottish brogue that she retained despite living most of
her life in the U.S. It came back to life in the presence of Scottish family
members as well as at certain motherly moments. This was one of those moments.
Mom wasn’t strict, but she could be overly protective at times. It probably
stemmed from a traumatic event in childhood in which an older brother and
sister were tragically killed in a sledding accident. Another brother had been
physically disabled since childhood after falling from a roof and suffering a
leg injury that never properly healed. It might also have been around this time
that Mom was briefly influenced by a new neighbor, an Argentinean mother originally
from Scotland who really was strict and overly protective of her
two sons. Our neighbor’s eloquent Spanish and Scottish accented English as well
as her strict parenting style set her apart from the other adults on 19th
Street in Marine Terrace. And once my mother’s protective instincts took
command, there was no turning back. Firecrackers, playing in the street, and
Beatle boots were off limits.
It
didn’t help either that my mother was not a die-hard rock-n-roll fan. She loved
Scottish and Irish songs and knew many lyrics. Her all-time favorite was “Danny
Boy” which inspired me to name my son Daniel. Mom also enjoyed Tin Pan Alley sing-alongs
and strumming the ukulele. In addition, she danced the Lindy, Scottish fling,
and a basic soft shoe tap dance. Before marrying my dad, she even “produced”
and “directed” backyard shows with my older cousins and their friends singing
the novelty songs she had taught them. Mom sure did love music, but rock-n-roll
was not her “spot of tea.”
Anyway,
I cooled off on the idea of wearing Beatle boots for a while. Then in fourth
grade I noticed a few older boys wearing pointy-toed shoes with the addition of
clickety-clacking metal taps. My classmate Joseph wore a pair. Once again, my
mother steadfastly refused. She thought Joseph’s shoes were ridiculous. One day
one of the heels snapped off as he stepped from a curb on the way home from
school, an indication that they were not of the best quality. And so, I
continued wearing the same common sense Stride Rite shoes with round roomy toes
for school and church, and P.F. Flyers for play, and permanently gave up on
Beatle boots. Even the Fab 4 eventually stopped wearing them.
In
the years that followed I exercised better judgement in the footwear
department. In sixth grade I tried comfortable lightweight Hush Puppies at my
dad’s urging. His bad flat bony feet had always compelled him to choose his
shoes wisely and care for them with shoe trees and regular polishing, a
practice he instilled in me. The swede Hush Puppies only needed a quick
brushing (no polish) now and then. What a relief! In fifth-grade we had weekly
inspections in which boys had to shine their shoes, scrub and trim their
fingernails, and clean their ears. Learning good hygiene was fine. It’s the
inspections that I didn’t like.
For a
brief period during my high school years platform shoes were the thing, but I
wanted no part of them. My parents’ good senses had finally taken hold and have
remained with me ‘til this day. During my junior year mom became gravely ill.
She passed away a few weeks before my high school graduation. It was a rough
period for our family.
Shortly
before my honorable discharge from the U.S. Army where proper fitting footwear
was a necessity, I purchased a pair of comfortable Earth shoes with spacious
rounded toes and low heels meant to mimic standing in sand. They were just what
I needed for college. Then, during my second year of teaching I developed a
severe itchy callous-forming wart condition on one foot. I had made the mistake
of stepping on a wet YMCA locker room floor with an open blister that had just
formed after a round of basketball. With his distinctive husky voice my doctor
advised me to continue the podiatrist’s treatment and “wear good soft gum soled
shoes.” Dr. Drimer wore Clarks Wallabees. Same as my dad a few years earlier
and now, my colleague, Joe G. So, I followed in their footsteps and bought a
pair of medium brown leather Wallabees, arguably the most comfortable shoes
I’ve ever worn- soft and springy, and extra roomy in the wedge-shaped toes. I
even went a step further and got two short sleeve Guayabera shirts, another of
Dr. Drimer’s fashion statements. Maybe a little old fashioned, but perfect for
the classroom during those last few days in June when the temperatures rise. I
loved my Wallabees and I loved my Guayaberas. Throughout my teaching years I
mostly wore Rockports and Wallabees while setting aside a pair of Florsheims
for dressy occasions. I currently rotate between Clarks, Sketchers, Vionics and
other sensible shoes.
A few years ago, ankle high
men’s shoes resembling Beatle boots, only without the pointy toes, made a
modest comeback. I even spotted them in the window of a Clarks store in
Manhattan. For a while I halfheartedly debated with myself whether to try on a
pair just out of curiosity, ultimately deciding against it. I was just fine
with what I had.
Recently, I watched A
Hard Day’s Night on TCM. It was the Beatles’ first film at the height of
Beatlemania. The foursome looked awkward whenever they ran to escape the
throngs of starstruck fans, mostly screaming teenage girls. In one scene George
tripped and fell, leaving his bandmates laughing. As I watched I realized their
boots were suitable for posing and performing, but not much else. That’s what
my mom would have thought, and she would have been right. Whatever the case, I’ll
always remember how cool John, Paul, George, and Ringo looked wearing their
Beatle boots to complement their matching slim fitting suits in those early
days of Beatlemania.
Steve T.
