When I was a kid, dressing up to go to church on Easter Sunday was a big deal. With four sons spaced evenly apart, Mom managed to masterfully synchronize our growth spurts to assure that one of us got a new suit every year.
In 1964, it was my year to get the new suit. It was also the year the British Invasion washed ashore and nearly knocked the Beach Boys off their surf board. The ensuing culture war not only changed the Top 40, it radically impacted teenage fashion. Surfer dudes sported bleeding madras shirts, tight white khakis and sockless tennis shoes while the mod-squad donned Nehru jackets, bell bottomed pants and pointed toed “Beatle Boots.” Teens hadn’t seen this kind of radical transformation since Annette blossomed into her Mousketeer sweater.
I found my new look at JC Penney’s in the Plaza Shopping Center. Anchored by a blue, double-breasted blazer with wide lapels and brass buttons, I married plaid bell bottoms to a canary yellow oxford shirt with long lapels. Emboldened by what I saw in the three-sided mirror, I flourished with a boldly stripped blue and yellow tie that was as wide as a beaver’s tail. Mom didn’t care for the mod look but she did agree that my old brown wing tips just wouldn’t fly. A quick trip downtown to Johnson’s Shoes netted a rad pair of ankle boots with high heels and pointed toes. The only detail left unattended to complete my new look was to comb out my ducktails and bob my bangs.
Easter Sunday—Sunrise Service at Oakthorpe Church
I arrived a few minutes early and shuffled downstairs to find my buddies. I stepped into the Youth Room confident that I’d manage to pull off a look that fell somewhere between George Harrison and Johnny Carson.
But I wasn’t prepared for the reception my outfit elicited. I had never considered that my peers may not be as influenced by the latest fashion trend. I should have realized that farming communities, by their very nature, aren’t trendy. I was met with howls of laughter—and I’m not talking about a few snickers here and there, nothing superfluous, no stifled chuckles. You see, they weren’t laughing out of ridicule or derision; they weren’t making fun of me. Their laughter was a genuine, smacked-on-the-funny-bone, honest to goodness, spontaneous hilarity. My eclectic ensemble hit them more like a mix of Flippo and Howdy Doody, than George and Johnny.
I froze, not sure whether to be embarrassed or to strike a pose and play up to their response. I wisely opted for the later and did a bad version of the “soft shoe shuffle,” throwing my left hand back and my right palm forward while singing, “Ta Da!” They cheered and walked around me like I was a new Corvette, whistling and smiling as they rubbed their calloused hands over my new threads. “Do you think it looks stupid?” I asked. “Yep” came the consensus, “But it sure is cool!”
I wish I had a photo of that day. It has stuck in my memory for what I hope are all the right reasons. I did look ridiculous…but then hasn’t fashion (or the lack therof) done that to all of us at one time or another? Trends come and go, but the truths we learned in that Youth Room are still wearable today.
“Your truth never goes out of fashion; it’s as up-to-date as the earth when the sun comes up.” Psalm 119:90
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.