Wescos: Old Friends And Memories

Yesterday, I was rummaging around our attic, which my partner has claimed for his own, looking for something, but discovering something else: a old pair of traditional 18" Wesco "Boss" Engineer Boots. I picked them up, looked at them closely, and thought, "what the heck are they doing here? My partner doesn't wear boots -- least of all Wescos." My partner is definitely not the Bootman in the family.

I figure he just picked them up from our bedroom sometime and put them away, thinking I wouldn't miss them. Well, he was right -- they have probably been there for 7 or 8 years, buried under boxes, but for some reason, now were uncovered and visible.

I took them out, removed the boots I was currently wearing, and pulled them on. It was a bit of a struggle -- the tall boot shafts were tight on my legs. Oh yeah, dummy, unbuckle the strap! That helped. Then I sat to muse for a while, to try to remember when and where I got them. My curiosity piqued, I got on my computer where I have anally kept track of every financial transaction I have done since 1983, and found the purchase. I got them at Mr. S. of San Francisco in December, 1989.

I remember that visit -- I had been in San Francisco for months doing earthquake relief work following the big Bay Area quake of October of that year. I finally had my first Saturday off, and I set out to explore the city. I walked for what seemed miles through what I learned was called "South of Market" (SoMa). And along the way, there was this leather store... intriguing. I didn't have much courage to go into such a place, but the boots in the window really caught this biker's eye.

So I went in. I was frightened, awed, mesmerized, and aghast, all at the same time. I was almost ready to bolt from the place when a guy came up and asked me if I'd like to try on the boots. Okay, no one else was around, no one who may jump out to attack me seems to be hiding behind that rack in the corner... so I tried 'em on. They fit great! The sales guy said that the boots were on sale for just $200. I just had to have 'em. I was stuck in the city without boots suitable for the cold, damp, wet weather. (Cowboy boots only go so far...)

Then this really good-lookin' guy about my age walked out of a dressing room. He had tried on a pair of leather pants -- man, he was gorgeous! He only had the pants on, nothing else. His chiseled, well-defined chest, muscular arms, and great smile just captivated me. Then, not even seeing me staring dumbfounded, he walked past me, picked up a pair of Dehners, and slipped them on his feet, carefully tucking the leather pants into them. Man, umm, umm, umm. What a view!

My attention on the guy was rather obvious, though, because the sales guy smiled, laughed, and whispered to me that while that guy wasn't for sale, he knew he was single....

I gathered my compsure and began to get up when Mr. Leatherman looked at me and said, "nice boots -- you should get a pair of leather jeans to go with 'em! Ride a bike? So do I!" Again, I was all mush-mouthed and stammered, but to make a long story short, I did end up buying a pair of leather jeans, too, and Mr. Leatherman waited with me and chatted while my jeans were being hemmed. He explained to me some things about leather gear that I didn't know before (and was afraid to ask! Remember, this is before the Internet was available.)

I put my jeans on with the new Wescos. My new friend nodded his approval. He decided not to buy the Dehners, so he put on his old boots -- which were Wescos, too. We paid for our purchases, put our old clothes in a bag, threw on our leather jackets, and walked proudly out of the store down the street to get some dinner. I remember thinking to myself, "I've arrived as a Leatherman... here I am in boots and leather walking with another guy in leather here in SoMa." What a powerful feeling. I really think this was the specific situation where I "came out" as a Leatherman -- meaning, I wore my leathers and boots out and in the open more often from then on.

But for those thinking something more happened, it didn't. My new friend had a date that night, and I knew I had a very early call the next morning, so we embraced, parted ways, and said, once again, "good to meet you, nice boots!"

Life is short: wear your boots!