Flap-Jacks and White Bucks

SHOES & the 50's Man

Flap Jacks Rollover for real Flap-Jacks “ Blogger  gunnypink  said...     Hi, kids, my name's Buster Brown, I live in a shoe, this is my dog Tige, he lives there too. OK Froggy, twang your magic twanger. Couldn't sell a pair of kids shoes with that today...gotta have a BB star endorse the shoe first. So, who was more ignernt? ” While the commercial for Buster Brown shoes had a sort of cult following, my gang wouldn't be caught dead wearing them.  Not that that we always had a choice.  I remember three "must have" shoes while I was growing up in Chicago. Because we wore uniforms (khaki trousers, white shirt and brown tie), shoes were the only way to have an identity, and were extremely important in determining your position on the social pecking order.  My first "must have" shoes were what I remember as "Flap-Jacks," which memory tells me were from Thom McCan?  I spent two hours trying to find them.     * Flap-Jacks - nothing.  Snap-Jacks - nothing.     * "Flap opening vintage shoes" - nothing.     * A dozen other variations got me - nothing.  I recreated them above. (Just before going to press the real ones popped up in a search for "white bucks"   The description said "with Nu-Lock Front."  Maybe in the sticks.  I can still hear the commercial for Flap-Jacks. Anyway, I wanted those flap-jacks desperately, but mother fended me off with "they'll break;"  "they look stupid;" "you'll look like a a hood"  Hood was pronounced "hewd," as in hoodlum.  The real reason was that they cost more than what she wanted to spend. She finally relented however, and I was able to maintain my gravitas at St. Francis.  BLACK ENGINEER BIKER BOOTS STEEL TOE OMG OMG OMG - these absolute "must haves" met with the greatest resistance. "You'll look like a a hood" I wanted these more than I wanted Flap-Jacks. I wanted them with  cleats. I really don't remember what it was that turned her; maybe my incessant Eric Cartman whine ,"but mommmm."  I do remember getting into the car and driving to a shoe store on Harlem Ave (and that when we left the store, it was nearly dark out). The boots pictured here (from E-bay) are the EXACT boots I got.  Hell, they might even be mine? At the checkout,  I asked if they could put cleats on them, and before the clerk could respond my mom said, "Absolutely not!  You'll already look like a hood, and I don't want my floors ruined."   The next day at recess I rode my bike to a shoe repair store,  and for 75¢ had the biggest, baddest cleats they had put on.  I made sure to walk on my toes around her, but she soon heard me outside on the sidewalk, and blew a fuse.  Took a screwdriver and ripped 'em off.   I settled for putting a lot of thumb tacks in the heels. WHITE BUCKS were next.  The stylish young man was then wearing gunmetal gray trousers, with pink stitching down the leg, a pink shirt, and black knit tie with two horizontal pink stripes.  And white buck shoes.  Mom was fine with the pink (duh), so it became a matter of whether Robert Hall (Easter Clothes store)  carried them.  They did, except for the pink shirt and stitched trousers.  She took care of that by dying one of my school shirts pink, and stitching some trousers down the pants leg. They were not gunmetal, and the stitching was .........., and not - - - - - - -.  To complete the disaster, she substituted these faux-bucks embarrassment for the realwhite bucks. Nothing about being a hood, just too expensive.  Did you notice the look of pain on my face in the "stylish" roll over?  It was tempered, somewhat, because my best pal Tim Hill's (left) mother made him wear that abortion..  Still, it's a wonder I didn't grow up to be a serial killer.