My John Wayne

My John Wayne

By Maggie Parke

Back in the day, circa 1970, there was no wearing jeans and t-shirt to school for the female students. No, we "young ladies" were required to wear a dress or skirt, with knee socks or anklets. And it being the age of the mini skirt, there were length requirements. Exact measurements. The measurement being, 4 inches below the bottom of your fingers when standing. In the winter it was cold wearing a dress, and in the summer it was tempting to flap ones skirt for ventilation.

So one can understand how exciting it was when we were told we would have a "pants" day at least once a year in our school, South Davis Junior High. I, for one, was thrilled and could hardly wait to tell my fashion consultant. Mom.

Mom was a really good seamstress, and not to shabby as a dress designer either. She could take a pattern, change the sleeves, neckline, add embellishments, copy designs out of fashion magazines, and custom fit it. I always had the best clothes at school. I know store bought was the mode, but Moms were better. Made with care and love with finished seams, beautiful lining, hand-stitched invisible hems and perfect pockets. The button holes were a work of art. She was an artist. To this day I'm always disappointed with the quality of workmanship on off the rack clothes.

Mom and I set about planning my pants outfit for this one very special "pants allowed" day at school. We both worked on it, but she did the bigger part and fit it to me like it was a Christian Dior. I will never forget it.

A pair of chocolate brown corduroy hip hugger bell-bottoms with belt loops, worn with a crisp white blouse that had a long collar and big cuffs. Accessorized with a wonderful gold chain belt around the hips with dozens of little coins hanging from it that made a tiny tinkling noise when I walked, and a long hot pink and chocolate brown paisley neck scarf tied in a loose mans tie knot around my neck. I wore my hair down, and did Twiggy eyes make up.

But what was really amazing about this outfit was that it happened at all. We were not rich. We were a family of 2 adults and 4 kids and we had everything we needed, but not a lot left over for extras or luxuries. My Mom would always check the "end of roll" bins at the fabric store to pick up fabric on the cheep to make beautiful clothes for us. She just had the knack and the good taste to find great fabric at pennies to the dollar prices. And all the fabric she used to make this amazing outfit she had bought this way. I know she did without things she might have liked to have, to give things like this outfit to us kids.

I was so proud of this outfit, and I looked like a page right out of a fashion magazine. I even had chocolate brown boots to wear with it. So Seventies. When I walked into school that day, I felt like the richest, prettiest, luckiest girl there. It was a small moment of triumph for me when I was, for a moment, not an outsider. Where I was a class act, and no one could put me down.

As I walked from my first period class room to my second period class room, I heard my name being called over the intercom system to report to the office. I couldn't imagine why. And I was a little worried that something bad had happened.

I was met in the office by our principle Mr. Almond Flake. Now, with a name like that you gotta know he was a little strange. (Mother told me later she thought he was just this side of a pervert and the reason he hated me, which he did, was I pushed his pervert button) He was also flaming angry. With me. He gave me a half hour lecture about how I was just an attention grabbing little snot, (He would have loved to use the word slut, but didn't dare) and that I was not allowed to come to school and make such a spectacle of myself, and that if I went on like this I would end up badly used and in the gutter. It was a horrendous moment for me and I was completely overwhelmed with his voracity. He told me to go home and change my clothes or I was going to be expelled. In tears I called home.

I think Mom answered the phone, but Dad was there too. He must have been working shifts at the Air Traffic control tower and not gone into work yet. I think he ask Mom to turn the phone call over to him as he as alarmed by the call. Once I had him on the phone I broke into tears and I gave him a garbled version, I'm sure, of what had happened and that I needed to come home to change my clothes. He told me to sit tight. He was coming for me.

I remember sitting on a chair in the office in front of the glass window that everyone could see in, feeling about the size of an ant. I didn't know what Dad had in mind, but I had been so verbally beaten down by Mr. Flake, that I was half afraid I'd be in trouble with Dad too. For what, I didn't know, as he had been witness to the planning and sewing sessions for the outfit. And I had modeled it for him the day before, and he had, as a good father would, admired it, and all the work that went into it.

Sitting there feeling small and like my world had just fallen out from under my feet, I saw this tall, handsome man in a dark suit, white shirt, dark tie, who looked as good as Clark Gable ever did, striding down the hall toward the office with a very determined step. My Dad. Looking like a million bucks and angry as all get out.

He strode into that office, a commanding presence, and pretty much demanded to see Mr. Flake. He turned to me and said. "I'll be with you in a minute, wait". I didn't know what was going to happen, but with the way his eyes were flashing, it was gonna be something.

I don't think Mr. Flake had had much dealing with my Dad before so he had no idea what an articulate and forceful man Dad was. Dad backed Mr. Flake into his office, but he didn't close the door, so I saw everything. Mr. Flake retreated behind his desk, and tried to tell dad what a distraction I was, and that I was not appropriately dressed, and that he would not allow this in his school. He didn't get very far.

I though Dad was going to explode. But he didn't. He did something much better. He backed that awful Mr. Flake right up against the wall and he read that awful Mr. Flake the riot act. In a very quiet and low voice he told that awful man that I looked wonderful. That my outfit was right out of Vogue magazine. That my mother and I had designed and hand made that outfit and it was just beautiful, and I looked beautiful in it and if he thought otherwise he was mistaken. He told that Mr. Flake that he was a small minded little so and so and that if continued to take out his small little power plays on me, Dad would take it to Mr. Flakes supervisor with a vengeance. He actually told Mr. Flake that I wasn't expelled, but that he was taking me home for the day, and that tomorrow, it better dam well be a new day!

I could have cheered! I actually jumped up to do so, as Dad came out of Mr. Flakes office, but Dad wasn't one to let a child show bad manners or gloat. So he just took my arm and gently led me out to the car, which was parked in the no parking bus zone right in front of the school.

On the way home, I started to cry again. I was heartbroken to not get to wear my beautiful outfit to school, and to have been so chastised by Mr. Flake. I was also so relieved that I was out of that place, I think half the tears were pure relief. I remember my Dad telling me not to cry. There would be other days and other outfits, and small-minded people like Flake were everywhere and it was best to just ignore them and get on with ones business. He told me he didn't think Mr. Flake would give me any more trouble, but that I wasn't to exploit that. That I was a beautiful, smart girl and that I could be or do anything I wanted to if I was willing to put in the work for it.

It was a moment of epiphany for me. My Dad was totally on my side. I hadn't done anything wrong and this upstanding, handsome man had defended me fiercely to that awful Mr. Flake, and I wasn't going to be punished. In fact I got a day off school, and tomorrow was a new day. And I knew at that moment all was right in the world, even if it wasn't, because my Dad was better than John Wayne, more handsome than Clark Gable and as just as just as Gregory Peck.

I've carried that moment of justice with me through out the years, and it has become a treasured memory of mine. I learned that there is justice many times, and that small -minded people usually back down in the face of it. And I'll never forget how proud I was that this wonderful man was my Dad and that he thought the world of me.