  Flap Jacks
Rollover for real Flap-Jacks
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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 real white
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.
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