Sole Searching
A nation that tolerates shoddy shoes will one day tolerate shoddy thinking.
By Philip Gulley
Growing up, I bought all my shoes from Henry Haase in Plainfield. He sold Red Goose shoes, which were made in St. Louis. A red goose sat on the counter beside the cash register. After my mother had paid for my shoes, Henry would invite me to pull the goose’s neck. The goose innards would rumble, and a golden egg filled with toys would roll out of its backside. That pleasant enterprise caused me to look favorably upon shoes, and I have been an enthusiastic buyer of them ever since. I now possess five pairs of dress shoes, five pairs of boots, two pairs of casual shoes, and one pair each of tennis shoes, sandals, and slippers. I would own more, but my wife made me take six pairs to Goodwill last month.
These days, the best shoes in the world are made in England. Italians will quibble with that, but it’s the truth. I thought of purchasing a pair of boots made by John Lobb, bootmaker to British royalty, but they cost at least 2,000 pounds, which is like $1 million in American money. That would have been a hard purchase to slip past my wife. When my doctor tells me I am down to my last month, I am going to order a pair of John Lobb boots, slip them on, and pass away in sartorial splendor before the bill comes due.
It used to be the case that every New England town had a shoe factory, or two or three. Forty years ago, 80 percent of the shoes purchased in the United States were manufactured here. Today, less than 2 percent of the shoes sold here are made here. The Alden Shoe Company of Middleborough, Massachusetts, begun in 1884, is the only original New England shoe company still standing. It makes a fine American shoe, but they don’t come cheap—$550 for a pair of wing tips.
In 1984, I purchased a pair of four-inch chukka boots from L.L.Bean. They were handmade in Maine and cost $99. I wore them every day in the winter for 10 years before the soles finally wore through. I placed them in a box, enclosed a note asking them to replace the soles and bill me for the repair, wrote “L.L.Bean Shoe Repair, Freeport, Maine” on the outside, and mailed them off.
A month later, the boots were returned with new soles, new shoelaces, and fresh polish. I kept watch for a bill, but none arrived, so I phoned L.L.Bean and explained that they had replaced the soles on my boots and that I wanted to pay for the service.
“You must be mistaken, sir,” the lady told me. “The soles on L.L.Bean boots don’t wear out.”
At that moment, I became a loyal customer of L.L.Bean.
