Just Jeans -- School Jeans (Fourteenth in a Series)

One of the many signs that heralded the upcoming school year was not a sign at all. It was a smell.

It started with, of all things, shopping!

The Big Chief notebooks with a Native American “chief” in full headdress adorning the cover (likely modeled after the “chief” in full headdress on a can of Calumet baking powder, or the Native American who adorned the top of a TV test pattern) were, of course, staple items. They went with the big, thick pencils and transparent rulers (with NO metric scales yet) in the late-summer shopping spree right before school started. But buying school clothes was the most revered of rituals at 315 Bolton Place. And that meant only one thing for boys (sorry, but girls had to wear dresses back then) – jeans, glorious jeans!

Lee jeans were the chinos of choice (Levis also were popular, but were more expensive), and the fave store was Langston’s Department Store in Midwest City. While today, Wal-Mart, Target and the big franchises are the trendy stores for the middle class, Langston’s department store was the clothing enterprise for all classes in mid-America Oklahoma of the 1950s and 1960s.

The OTASCO store (Oklahoma Tire & Supply Company) could address the vehicle and entertainment requirements – tires, spark plugs, oil filters, radios, TVs and a limited selection of toys. On the other hand, Langston’s had everything a family needed to clothe themselves – jeans, shirts, dresses, boots, socks, underwear (only tidy-whiteys, mind you), and a smell that could make you think you were in your grandmother’s house.

Established in 1913, Langston’s flagship store was located in the stockyards area of Oklahoma City. It was built there because that’s the area where cattlemen, ranchers, etc., came to “sell their wares.” With that type of clientele, it made perfect marketing sense to peddle jeans and “western wear.” But knowing the needs of Oklahoma families, Langston’s also sold the other essentials, too.

Even though we went to a Catholic school, jeans were the universal attire for all young boys in the Sooner state. Jeans were not just staple items, they were mandatory. And while the label wasn’t that important, there were several key characteristics to being properly draped.

First and foremost, they had to be NEW! There was never a more pleasing smell than new jeans. Combined with the inherent “stiffness,” the smell of new jeans is something that I will always remember. Just thinking about that smell reminds me of the happy times of my youth. Baseball cards, Mickey Mantle, Tommy McDonald, Bud Wilkinson; playing whiffle ball with Bob Black in the back yard; carefully mowing base paths and a pitcher’s mound in the back yard; hitting a home run into our own version of the “Green Monster,” daddy’s well-trimmed hedge; watching (and laughing) as our cocker spaniel, Danny, charges the barbecue grill and leaps up and devours our cookout!

Another element critical to the proper jeans was “fullness.” Tight-fitting jeans weren’t an option. Hollywood hadn’t landed in Oklahoma City yet! If – God forbid – you got a hole in your jeans, or there was a “wear spot” in one of the knees (or both), you might as well take the scissors to them and fabricate “cut-offs.” They were totally useless, not to mention non-chic and a fashion faux pas.

The crowning jewel of well-dressed jeansman was the crease that was dutifully ironed into each well-starched pant-leg. No zippers, here, either. The correct jeans had metal-buttoned flies. Sloppiness was not allowed. Comfort was not the intent of the jeans-maker or the wearer. The creases were military-type – no breaks, and they had to be centered. When the crease wore out (which was often the case after one wearing), the jeans were deemed unwearable until they were washed and prepared again. This was an inherent Catch 22.

Of course, the jeans had to be revitalized, but, alas, washing them took the newness out and they took one more step towards the jeans graveyard. No one would be caught with faded jeans!

There were only a couple of acceptable options, or accessories to jeans, and they were a definition of your place on the geographical grid. Cowboy boots – Justin or Tony Lama – and big belt buckles were ostensible signs that you either lived outside of the city limits or you were a Cowboy wannabe. City guys wore sneakers or regular shoes – not their original Converse Chuck Taylor’s, though, because they were only for the basketball court. It was admissible, too, to put a cuff on your jeans – folding up the bottoms till the length was right.

Lee and Levi, likely to facilitate assembly, hadn’t worried that much about the length of their jeans and if you had a certain waist size, well, they came in only one length. Pity the poor guys who were either too short or too tall. They just had to live with it.

On top of that – we all wore our jeans properly – they were girded at the WAISTLINE, and if your tidy-whiteys were showing, you were a pervert! And while I’m on it, the only people who wore tattoos were ex-Navy guys and circus people!