Shortly after I moved from Winnsboro to Honey Grove my grandmother decided it would be a grand idea for the two of us to take a road trip out west to Levelland, (“There is nothing in the desert and no man needs nothing.” –Lawrence of Arabia) which was her childhood hometown.
“Lance, it will be wonderful; you’ll be able to meet all the Marcoms who have lived in Levelland for generations.” (Oh goody)
I really had no say in the matter, but Grandmother Marcom always spoiled me, and since I was a little bit mercenary even back then, I figured what the hell? I’ll probably get something out of the deal. Just about half-way to Levelland we stopped in Nocona. You know, ‘Nocona’: World Famous Texan Cowboy Boot Capital of The Universe? Yeah, that one. Grandmother informed me that I could not enter her hometown without looking like a proper Texan, so while in Nocona she got me decked out in some true Texan dude clothing and a pair of fine Nocona boots. Forty-five bucks she spent on those boots, and in my mind, that was just shy of a million. Damn expensive is what I’m telling you.
These boots were Fine. Luscious dark brown all leather vamp, all leather cow hide boot top with three rows of stitching, toes not too pointy, soft leather lining. Damn fine cowboy boots, all shiny and smellin’ richly of new leather. “Nothing smells better than a bran’ new pair of Nocona boots Son.” (I was told, but I’m thinkin’ what about a brand new Corvette? Bet that smell ranks right on up there.)
After long hot miles on desolate roads, we arrived in Levelland. (Nailed the name for that town, they did) Did the Marcom Fam-dam-ly circuit. I met aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles, lesser aunts, lesser uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins, second cousins, fourth cousins, and yawn and yawn and yawn.
I was extremely proud of my first pair of real Texas boots though. So the price of admission was worth it.
After a couple of days of my being paraded around to all the kin, we headed home to Fannin County. I absolutely could not wait to show off my new boots.
One of my hobbies at the time was building little wooden models of medieval torture and execution devices: guillotines, gallows, pendulums, the rack—see my post, “Addam’s Family Values,” and you will understand–Maybe.
I kept all my modeling stuff in my room: various pieces of scrap wood, x-acto knives, glue, brushes, sand paper, reference books, wood stain, and varnish.
One day while admiring my boots, I perceived some dullness had begun to set in. They just didn’t have that new glossy look I had been so proud of. (They also were unable to retain that new Nocona boot smell, but that didn’t concern me). I had some Kiwi shoe polish, but after working with it for some time, sweating and tiring, the results I was getting were unsatisfactory. I put the boots and polish down, thinking there must be an easier way to get some shine back on the damn things. Spying the small can of varnish on my desk ignited an idea in my mind: ‘Hey, this stuff works instantly and beautifully on my models…’
I took a little brush and painted a penny-sized spot on my left boot. Wow! Instant shine. But best let it dry a bit and make sure the wet glossiness doesn’t fade.
Thirty minutes later both boots were completely varnished and Yessir, they looked great. Better in fact than when they were new. “I wonder if anyone else knows this secret to boot shining?” I pondered. “Naw. Bet I’m the first to discover this.”
Wanting to show off my now shinier than ever boots, I put them on and headed over to a buddy’s house. “Dwayne, just take a good look here at my shiny boots,” I announced as soon as he answered my knock to his door.
“Damn! Marcom. They are right shiny,” Musta took ya ‘bout two hours of polishin’ and a whole can of Kiwi.”
“Nope. ‘Bout twenty minutes and a can of varnish,” I announced proudly.
“Varnish? Wood varnish?”
“Yep. Works great, eh?”
“Uh… I dunno. I never heard a such.”
“Well, you should try it, as you can see it works better ‘n Kiwi. Gotta go now. See ya at school,” I said and headed on home, satisfied I had properly impressed Dwayne with my ingenuity.
As I was getting ready to crawl into bed, I placed my very glossy boots on my night stand so I could get one last look at them before I turned out the lights and went to sleep.
Next morning I dressed quickly, donned my boots and couldn’t wait to get to school to parade about in them. I didn’t cop out to anyone after Dwayne as to how I had gotten them so marvelously ‘polished’. Things were going great until around lunchtime. I began to notice little cracks in the smooth veneer of my boots. My boots were cracking! How could this happen?
“Hey Marcom! Them boots lookin’ a little sad now,” was the comment of the first to notice.
“Yeah, they look kinda… uh, wrinkly,” someone else added.
Dwayne came over and announced, “He done varnished them boots y’all.”
“Varnished?” another said. “You caint be puttin’ that shit on L-e-a-t-h-e-r, you dumbass. When it gets hard, it gonna crack, just like it a-doin’ now.”
This never occurred to me. Shit.
Word spread quickly and before the end of the day, ‘Laughing Stock’ was my new claim to fame.
For weeks after that I suffered the greatest humiliations of my young life.
“Hey Marcom! I got some boots need a shine. Kin y’all hep me out?”
“Hey Lance, when ya gonna open your boot varnishin’ stand ‘front ah Ol’ Johnny Smith’s feed store?”
Folks I didn’t even know would cackle as I walked by, “Hey, there’s that dumbass kid whut varnished his Noconas. Ye ever heard a-such? Varnishin’ boots!”
I was a celebrity, just like Charley Brown.
My boots took an early retirement while I lived on in shame.