By Merlin Lessler —
My favorite shirt is 38 years old. A blue, Oxford cloth, button-down collar specimen. It’s an old-timer, like me. In fact, we’re the same age if you reverse the numbers. The main issue with it is a frayed collar; it’s officially not allowed out in public. I’ve tried, but didn’t get away with it.
Even when I used some blue painter’s tape to cover the fray. The problem is, my wife has an eagle eye. So, Old Blue is under house arrest and in “work shirt” status. If I’m not careful, that will be my status as well. The shirt and I have history. It went to work with me, on vacation, to parties, and once to an opera, which neither of us got much out of.
It was a Tommy Hilfiger creation; I purchased it in his outlet store run by his sister in Elmira, N.Y. As far as I know, it was the only outlet that sold his high-end clothes at bargain basement prices. Probably because Elmira was his hometown and he wanted to share his fashions with the local people.
He put Elmira on the map as did Mark Twain, who wrote Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn, and other books in a cabin on his wife’s sister’s farm where he summered for many years. The cabin now resides on the campus at Elmira College; he resides nearby, with his wife, in Woodlawn Cemetery.
All of us old coots have some favorite old clothes, hidden in the back of our closets. The ones we’ve saved from donations to thrift stores or town dumps. I miss those clothes that were sacrificed in that manner, but having Old Blue still with me makes up for it.
Thanks, Tommy, for 38 great years.
Comments? Complaints? Send to the paper or to mlessler7@gmail.com.
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