"Your Huddled Madras Yearning to Breathe Free"

Ft Bragg to Chapel Hill

UNC - Chapel Hill Mid '60's

Dad, Sunchon Street, Ft Bragg, NC March 1966

Dad, Central Highlands, South Vietnam Summer 1966

Written earlier for my blog, "I'm Here to Leave." For a new Army Brat friend.


I remember my father coming home but rarely his leaving. Except once.

We took him to Pope Air Force Base. A short drive from our quarters. He kissed my two sisters goodbye. He kissed my mother goodbye. He turned to me, poked my chest with his finger and said, "You screw up once while I'm gone and I'll come back and kick your ass. You got that?" I nodded and he turned and walked away to Vietnam. I watched him swagger to a C 130 with a duffel bag on his shoulder, his green beret cocked at an angle.

Had he not come home -- That would've been my last memory of him.

I'm not sure any eight year old would understand him. I did. A little. I expected to be treated like a man when he said goodbye. We spent a lot of time with each other the year before he left. Racing slot cars at  Hay Hobby Shop. Riding in his Berkley at local SCCA events. Taking his dare and eating a sardine he held out as raw fish. He was never chatty but we had our moments. Now he was gone and I felt ease settle over our house on Sunchon Street.

The move to Chapel Hill took the ease and put it on an island in the Caribbean with palm trees, coconut drinks and ocean breezes. Everything about Ft Bragg disappeared and I saw that civilian life was not the pawn shops, strip joints, car lots and bars I saw on the other side of the main gate. The University of North Carolina looked like a giant officer's club and Carolina blue became my favorite color. I went into the record shops downtown where my mother picked out the latest Herb Albert and Tijuana Brass album and I lusted for Beatle's 45s with the yellow and red Capitol label.

I was enrolled in my first Catholic school in June but had three months of summer when we moved into a house in the country. Older grad students and faculty lived in the same small houses tucked away in the woods with long drive ways and a concrete storm pipe at the beginning of each. By the end of the summer I had crawled through every one.

There was an art class I attended with my sister. A student lived in an apartment in an old house on campus and gave classes in the back yard. We sat around a subject and plopped water colors on the spongy paper while the sun looked down on us. Color was everywhere. In the red brick of the campus buildings, the white of clap board houses and the green of pines everywhere.

And in 1966, there was khaki and madras as well. High water trousers, white socks and crew cuts were still in vogue although longer hair was growing in popularity with the Beatles. There was also talk of the Rolling Stones but they were associated with hoodlums and communists.

Our next door neighbor was in dental school. He was married and had a little boy who liked to drop rocks on toads and poke a wasp nest with a stick. The future dentist also had a Mustang convertible and a color tv where we all watched Cinderella. I thought it was a terrible waste of color.

Farther up the street were a Canadian couple who had a white Volvo 1800 and a West Highland Terrier named Donald Bane. He was getting his doctorate and she had her masters. He had something to do with English lit and I remember they were always laughing... a trait I associate with most Canadians today.

Behind us was a preacher going to Duke for his doctorate in something biblical. I never remember him laughing but his son and daughter were good friends and I told my first story on their door stoop. It was about the secret life of their cat. Gerald believed every word. The next day he told me his father said I had made it all up. I admitted I had and his sister asked me to make up another story. I did but it wasn't funny.

The drama teacher who had a parcel of kids and knew the writer Paul Green personally was the coolest dad. With longish hair turning grey at the the temples, he was a writer, an actor and looked like a cross between Peter Lawford and Johnny Carson. My mother only allowed tv on weekends and I remember Friday nights where all the parents got together for a party (except the preacher) and all of us kids were put in a house with a baby sitter, the Monkees on tv and a dozen hot dogs from a nearby drive in.

I wonder if it wasn't too much too soon. I was a successful story teller. I had access to sports cars, actors and color tv. I lived a Town and Country life. Campus book stores and record shops. Swinging on a massive vine in the woods. Pondering colors and shapes as I painted.  Life was good and one day I was met at the door of my house by a sunburned man wearing a madras short sleeve shirt and a sun bleached crew cut...high and tight.

Coming To New York: Madras & Popped

Castillo de San Marcos Ranger Log: Sept 1, 1984 Dr T. (John Tinseth) last day at the Castillo (old fort). Tomorrow he's off to the 'Big Apple" N.Y. Good luck Dr T from the gang.

6:00 PM Labor Day 1984- Big shot, Statue of Liberty Foundation contributor, offers yacht to NPS employees for a tour of the Hudson and East River. Third day working at the Statue and I figured this would happen many times -- hence my smile. It never happened again. Maybe because of my trousers.



How embarrassing. I 'popped' until meeting a nice girl from Chicago. She told me it was affected. I never 'popped' again.

Last Shouts of Summer

left to right: Nantucket Classics Madras, Faconnable Flowers, Lilly Pulitzer GTH

Sartorial courage increases with September in sight. Every day of August is like watching 60 Minutes on CBS. Something I look forward to -- but with a ticking dread of Monday. The queasy feeling in my gut remains unchanged 26 years since the last day of school. August colors are my last act of defiance -- the middle finger to Fall.

Dressing An Easter Basket

Pierrepont Hicks Madras Tie


Corbin MTM Canvas Trouser


It helps to have a theme. Gives you a place to start and no one needs to know. Easter is about warm days and the lure of Summer. Waxed cotton gets the heave ho and bright cotton madras dances in the sun. The green gingham is my grass in the basket while madras serves as Paas and the canvas trousers are Peeps. Does anyone know how to dye an egg madras?

Not Every Plaid Is Madras - Not Every Madras Is Plaid

Brooks Brothers Catalog - Spring 1984

Brooks Brothers Catalog - Spring 1987

Off My Back: Covert Madras

Keeping Cool Covertly

No Bleeding. No Patches. No Bandwagon.

It's been hot in NYC. I'm not saying it's Georgia hot - which is the most miserable kind of heat known to man. Thick, sticking and humid. But it's hot here. Like standing in front of a pizza oven hot. It takes a real man to put on a tie and suit in this weather. And it takes a smart man.

While everybody and his brother (not so smart) are all "kicking it" in patch madras blazers, shirts, pants and shorts, the covert cool are hiding out in solid madras. This stuff is whisper thin. Like wearing a leaf. It breathes and looks grown up with a poplin or tan mohair suit. Best of all - - No one will know you're wearing madras. Give those mean old men at J. Press a call. They'll kit you up and keep you cool.

The Madras Blazer

Gentry Magazine Summer 1953

"...introduced and immediately accepted in Palm Beach this winter..."

Trimmingham's Madras Blazer circa 1965

Trimmingham's Label

Trimmingham's Blazer Button

Buttons by Gaunt of London

The standard "two button" sleeve of the 1960's.

My first item of madras, other than the shirts I had as an eight year old, was a pair of Polo madras trousers I purchased for a college dance. Expensive but I had to have them. They were cuffed then and there because the dance was that night. I'm still an impulse buyer.

That madras jacket was bought on impulse. Although it cost less than those Polo trousers 25 years ago - - It was a thrift store find - - Worth the price of the buttons alone. Gaunt was a maker of buttons for the the military in England and Canada. From what I gather, they went out of business in the mid 1960's hence my stab at the blazer's date of origin.

The madras has a beautiful patina and soft hand with nubs of cotton imperfection here and there. The single vent is short and the pattern matching at the pockets is dead on. Sloppy pattern matching is a real problem with a lot of today's manufacturing. Even the high end stuff. According to the 1953 Summer issue of Gentry, the madras blazer made it's debut the prior Winter in Palm Beach. Where'd you expect? Lawton?

Trimmingham's was a huge department store on Front Street in Hamilton with several stores scattered around the island. It was a full block wide and was at least three stories with a men's department on a windowless ground floor. The sport coat collection was amazing but seemed to be cut for the "ass less" British customer. Whenever I tried a jacket on, the double vents made my butt look like a dinner table.

Trimmingham's is gone now. A victim of insurance companies willing to pay insane money for Hamilton office space. I understand the employees have reunions despite some bitter feelings for the owners. Alas, when the dump trucks full of cash pull up in front of your house -- It's hard to say no. I'll pass this blazer onto my nephew when the time is right and if it survives another 50 years -- I hope it makes it to a museum.

The Friday Belt - DAKS & The Penguin

The Penguin

The Rooster

DAKS

Discovered in the back of my closet. I swear.

Still on the wagon and belt less. This was going to be about Perrier versus Pellegrino. I like Perrier as a mixer because the bubbles are bigger (swear to God). I like Pellegrino by itself because it's so much softer. Either way, they both go flat in a heart beat. And there's nothing worse than drinking flat seltzer water. I heard about making your own seltzer and did a little digging. /div>

The Penguin, in the Williams Sonoma shot up there, looks like a good deal. The opening mechanism reminds me of gullwing car doors and you can adjust the bubbles. In NYC you can use tap water -- which I don't recommend in Philadelphia. The European seltzer makers are slick looking but run north of $1,000 while the Penguin is $199. Knowing my readers are made up of only the most erudite and sophisticated people -- I have to ask... Has anyone pulled the trigger on a Penguin?

In the late 60's the Rooster Tie was everywhere. And it was the tie to give and get for Christmas. At least in my families circle of friends and relatives. Uncle Clyde gave me one and I gave one to Uncle Clyde...or was it Canoe cologne? I dunno. Anyway, I'd love to tell you this was in the back of my closet. Really... So, I will. This was in the back of my closet because I'm not stupid enough to see it in a tony NYC vintage store on 23rd Street and pay $45 for it. Not me, man.

About the time Rooster Ties were all the rage - - there was the beltless Sansabelt slack. Made by those two famous designing sisters, Polly and Esther, they were particularly revolting in a light blue favored by men who paired them with white patent leather loafers. The DAKS (from "Dad" and "Slacks") waistband was created by the Brit, Alec Simpson in the early 30's and has nothing to do with Sansabelt. It's a favorite detail at Alan Flusser's shop and is popular with corduroys from the UK. There will always be that friend who will point and laugh at DAKS but these are the people you keep around for your own personal amusement.

Army Watches Madras

NYC - Summer 1985

Army "Issue" Watch with J Press Strap

Getting old always has its moments. 23 years ago and this picture tells me a couple of things I remember and some things I don't. Take the watch. I think it was a Hamilton. Not sure. Positive it wasn't Army issue. Very few of these Olive Drab watches were ever issued or I never figured out how to get one. I went off post and bought this one for $10 or so at a Surplus store in Fayettville. US Government lock sets were another story. An Army buddy helped me with the paper work. "Sgt Tintin requires a lock set to secure his personal belongings." Personal use is a big no-no but Sgt. Murphy told me no one ever read the requests for lock sets so it didn't matter.

That's a J Press strap. Blue and Yellow. My favorite colors. I'm wearing it on my right wrist because, and I'm guessing, the creeping crud I picked up in Panama during Jungle Expert School was making it's scheduled summer re-appearance wherever metal touched skin. I do remember the Rolex Sub was in for an overhaul. It stayed with the jeweler nine months because I couldn't afford to pay the repair bill. When I finally went in to pick it up this guy asked me, "What, did you forget about it?" Hardly.

The Madras shirt was Jos. Bank when they still had some soul. The great thing about Madras, then and today, was it carried huge Trad-Nads while being cheap as all get out. Something important to remember while working as a GS-5 for the Park Service. Although, what is in those Macy's bags is anyone's guess. Hopefully underwear.

Trad Dad's Solution - 1st of a Series

Mom on the Run at http://abnormallynormal2007.blogspot.com/2008/09/dear-neighbor.html had an issue with a rude and thoughtless neighbor. It got me to thinking how Trad Dad resolved a similar issue with a neighbor many years ago. That's me in the picture back in those Madras filled days of 1966. It was on this very spot at Ft Bragg... or was it Ft Bliss. Maybe Ft Sill. Anyway, it's not important. Suffice it to say, we were living on post during the height of the Vietnam War. It was crowded. Quarters were few and far between and even though Trad Dad was a captain we were quartered in senior enlisted housing. One can only hope they have since been torn down. But knowing the Army - - I doubt it.

Early one morning I watched as Trad Dad stuck the first of many little white flags into our front yard. Made from wire coat hangers and a bed sheet these flags, over a week's time, began to fill our postage stamp of a yard so much that it began to look like a putting green. After a couple of weeks Trad Dad invited the next door neighbor over for a late afternoon BBQ. Earlier in the day Trad Dad treated me to a top down drive in the Berkley (a chain driven British sports car that rarely ran) and slot car racing at a hobby track in Fayettville. I remember lusting for a Batmobile slot car but Trad Dad would have none of that. Instead, we raced a blue Ford GT 40 with a Cox hand control. It also rarely ran.

Later in the afternoon the neighbor and Trad Dad are drinking beers on the back yard (4x6) patio when the neighbor laughingly asks, "Hey, what's up with all those flags in your front yard?" Trad Dad slowly turns to him, takes a long drag off his cigarette and replies through exhaled smoke, "That's where your dog shits in my yard." Years later, when I tried to understand "Passive - Aggressive behaviour, I would think back to this story that had turned into a family legend. There you go, Mom on the Run. Sometimes a little Passive-Aggresive is just what a neighbor needs.

Trad Ranger

The scaffolding dates this... but the guy in the middle isn't dated. And isn't that the point of Trad? Simple yet loud (that madras is yelling). It is a timeless approach with these basics -- Blue Blazer, white oxford cloth button down, shotgun shell belt, Ray Ban Aviators and Madras trousers. Any of it could have been worn 20 years earlier and any of it can be worn 20 years later.

In the mid 1980's, a contributor to the Statue of Liberty Foundation offered a Manhattan cruise on his yacht to National Park Service employees assigned to the Statue of Liberty. This guy was the only Ranger who dressed properly.