Smelly Bowling Shoes and Parachute Pants!

There were a few things that inspired my fashion sense growing up. One was Ricky Stratton. The other was Marty McFly. The 80s dominated by two. I look on the bright side and think, at least Mr. T wasn’t involved (never liked gold chains that much).

Living in backasswards Roswell, and no such thing as the internet, the trendsetter was usually prime-time television. So I pleaded with my mother to control the dial on Saturday nights and watch Silver Spoons and Gimme a Break instead of the ex-starship captain on TJ Hooker. And no it wasn’t me that turned over to The Love Boat if there was too much Nell Carter and not enough Samantha. (ok, it was me. Sshhh! There was something appealing about Julie the cruise director.)

Ricky and Derek exposed me to Parachute Pants, Torn Tee Shirts and bright neon colors. Top Siders and Roled Jeans would follow. Who could forget the Reebok high tops with the Velcro on top! If a 10 year old boy had a fashion magazine, that show was it. It still boggles my mind how information turned into commercial products back in the stone age of the 1980s (no internet, no twitter, no social media!). One cold find a few of the fashions at Bealls but the place to be seen at was Miller’s Outpost- a chain store at the time and as popular as any Hot Topic today. It was Millers that I bought: the ultra cool Levi Jean Jacket! To be considered the ultra cool it had to have a lining. And the color and designed mattered. Plaid was the key. Red or blue. Green maybe. If it had little flowers or was satin then you just wore the earring in the wrong ear. The lining mattered as it was the thing to roll the sleeve to expose that lining. Cheerleaders talked to me because of that jacket. (well, that’s how I remember it anyways).

Also, since my mother was a conservative single parent it was hard to convince her that I needed the Parachute Pants in every color, or in one color at the least. My first pair came in as a birthday present from a good friend. They were blue. They rocked! And I wore them every other day. Then I convinced my mother to buy a gray pair and eventually a black pair (Christmas gifts if I recall). If I still had the size and shape of a 10 year old boy, I would want those pants today.

I was in a bowling league back then. It was my mother’s way of getting me out of the house on Saturday mornings and not spend the whole morning watching Saturday Morning Cartoons. (damn I miss those cartoons!!). All the Cools would pair the latest colors. I can’t explain the tinglings I got starring at Heather’s butt in a tight pair of red parachute pants in 1983 – a very strong memory of those days. I laugh as she was like 15 and I was only 11 (somewhere there’s a little Anakin and Padme joke minus the actually getting the girl and falling to the dark side). Noting attracts the babes than smelly bowling shoes and parachute pants. Heather was my real world Samanatha Kanisky.

We had a cool sound effect too. It was swish-swish-swish as we walked. Nothing like na-na- nanananana as I ran.

Then, things changed in 1985. A time traveling high schooler showed me that Levi’s with suspenders and button-down oxfords with a life preserver were cool. I was in the 7th grade and I verbally forced my mother to sew buttons on all my jeans so I could attach suspenders to them. (the clip-on versions were just lame and too Mork-like) This was under the threat that I would be a social reject if I didn’t show up at school on Monday with them. I think I wore that style until Junior Year. (did I forget to mention that I avoided change.)

Welcome to Gibson’s, you little thief!

In 1982, my Grandmother pulled her green 1966 AMC Rambler into the Gibson’s parking lot. The car was a behemoth piece of iron. The doors were heavy to pull closed. Well, to a 10 year old. It ran rough, had no air conditioning, unless you considered the windows, the driver side door had a big rusty dent and the radio only picked up the AM band, something with Paul Harvey.

I had moments earlier gotten off the 10:15 Greyhound from Roswell. After the visit to Yucca Newsstand, my Grandmother and I drove down 1st street in Alamogordo New Mexico to shop the Gibson’s. There was a Gibson’s in Roswell yet this one felt much much different. The building looked like two buildings merged into one. The one in Alamo stayed open long after the one in Roswell closed. Walking into the store via the automatic doors that required you to stand on the pressure pad before they swung open, I immediately bolted for the toy department. It was to the back and right. The store was dark and quiet. I looked over the games, puzzles, pushed my way past the display of Glo-worms, the stacks of Rubik’s Cubes and the hordes of E.T. shit. The toys I wanted to look at weren’t in the Toy Department at all.

I walked down a little ramp into the other part of Gibson’s. This section was the Home Improvement, Electronics and Outdoor items. Toward the front was Electronics. Behind the counter, next to portable cassette players and Atari cartridges were the Star Wars figures. All the figures were hanging on J-hooks behind a huge glass display case. I had to tippy-toe just to get a good look at them. If I wanted to look closer or actually touch the things, I would need a parent or guardian. Yet, that didn’t stop me from asking to look at them. Sometimes, the clerk would allow me to hold them. I’d ask to see the AT-AT Driver or Cloud Car Pilot. The zit faced punk behind the counter would hand them to me and then act annoyed. He’d stare at me as if I just farted and filled the area with noxious fumes and ask if I was going to buy it. I’d shake my head and hand them back. Of course I would go find my Grandmother and beg for one. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. I don’t recall if I was able to buy that AT-AT driver that day or another day, but it was exciting to look at the figures and envy them. I would point out the ones to my Grandmother that I really really needed and asked her to share the info with the family and Santa Claus.

Gibson’s wasn’t a kid friendly store, as I remember it. Even much later when I was older (12 or 14) if I wasn’t attended by an adult, the staff would watch you constantly. Follow you around. And sometimes stand in the isle, mere feet from you. I’m surprised I never saw them do a ninja roll or do one of those army man crawls to sneak up on me. Usually, they were sly about it, but mostly they didn’t care and wanted to make you feel like a fuckin thief as you picked up the 1982 G.I. Joe Mobile Missile System with Hawk and heaven forbid wanted to look at the box closer. (I know what you’re thinking. Earlier I stated I was not aware of GI Joe until Fall of 1983. Yet, while searching my memory banks proved I do remember looking at the toys. I just didn’t think they were as cool until I saw the G.I. Joe: An American Hero mini-series cartoon. So I wasn’t lying just hadn’t remembered it as clearly as I would have liked.) To this day, I wonder if Gibson’s spent hours training their employees on how to be douches. Were there slide shows of how to spot an innocent child and assume they would pocket everything in sight? Seminars on Customers are only over 47 and Children are a Nuisance. You might as well used the greeting, “Welcome to Gibson’s, you little thief!”

If my grandmother didn’t need any kitchen bags or laundry soap, we’d leave Gibson’s with little fuss and go back to her little apartment. Lunch would be an early afternoon affair. And if I was lucky, it would include a hot Steak-um sandwich!