Party Shoes

Why we had to go to Cobbler Bill's shoe store

I wrote this story some time ago, when a friend who still lives in my hometown sent me the picture of the old Hayes shoe store. I just found it unpublished on my blog. It's a sweet story. I don't know why I forgot to publish it. Better late than never.

Yesterday, my spouse dragged me to the shoe store. The picture above is a picture of the only pair of shoes I own.  I had been putting off this trip for as long as possible. It's been almost forty years since I've been in a real shoe store. It started casually. I could pretty much find something to shove my feet into at discount stores until the age of thirty. Then I started ordering shoes online. Then there was only one brand I could find online that would fit my feet. Then there was only one style of that brand. The last pair I ordered was exactly the same as the pair you see in the picture, but even they didn't fit correctly anymore. I returned them to the online store unworn. Our money was never refunded and when I went to complain about that, I found that there was no longer a business to complain to. I knew I was in trouble. While Asha is understandingly indulgent of some of my quirks, she wasn't going to put up with my ordering shoes and losing two hundred dollars at a whack. I had to go. Fortunately we have a shoe store in our area specializing in problem feet. My feet, bless them, have just about every difficulty known to man.

Ironically, I knew that if I went to a proper shoe store I'd never be able to just walk out of there with a new pair of shoes. They know too much. I remembered that from Mr. Hayes.

The site of the old Hayes shoe store in West Concord MA

We made the trek to Mr. Hayes shoe store at least once a year until we moved from Massachusetts when I was twelve. Now, I've never been one to feel sorry for myself, except when it comes to shoes. I have a physical disability from an accident at my birth that left me unable to walk without crutches. I had many corrective surgeries on my legs as a child. My feet are particularly quirky. Mr. Hayes' store was excellent. There was a coin operated rocking horse, a gum ball machine and we always got a lollipop with our shoes. We often had to wait, particularly in late August or early September. I often observed my fellow classmates getting fitted for their new shoes and skipping out the door to the next errand. Mr. Hayes and his staff always took their time to fit people properly, but most kids could pick pretty much what they wanted off the shelves--black patent leather Mary Janes, sandals and sweet little slip-ons. Even their every day school shoes were prettier than what I could wear. Mr. Hayes did not follow anyone else around the shoe store as he did me, commenting about what I was attracted to on the display shelves.

"Nope," he'd say. "Nope. We can't fit your orthotics in those. Why don't you take a seat and I'll show you what we have." Of course my mother was there, but she often let Mr. Hayes have this discussion with me so she didn't have to. I'm quite sure he didn't mind being the bad guy. He wasn't actually kindly in a way a child would recognize. He paid close attention to his business but didn't take a lot of direction from me about what my actual preferences were. If he had two colors I could choose from those, but he certainly wasn't about to succumb to my vanities when I protested that I wasn't happy with the stodgy lace up oxfords or brown T-straps. I'd just have to be satisfied with new shoes, whatever they looked like, watch him pack them up again in the box and mark them, and then leave we'd and wait an eon until my orthotics were made and put into them. I did notice that he often put half a dozen lollipops in the box under my shoes whenever we came back to get them. My brother and I would sit in the back of our Falcon, unrestrained by seat belts,  happily sucking away at them, waiting for my mother to look in the rear view mirror and exclaim, "Where did those come from?"

My feet don't have normal musculature. They got wider as I got older. One day, when we were at the shoe store, Mr. Hayes mentioned to my mother that he thought I might be more comfortable in a boy's shoe. WHAT? He saw the shocked look on my face and did his best to show me there was very little difference between the boy's oxford and the girl's. "Nothing that anyone would notice," he said.

"I would notice!" I thought, silently, well behaved child that I was. And suddenly I was sobbing. This of course stopped not only the discussion Mr. Hayes was having with my mother, but all the conversation in the store. "I want party shoes!" One of my friends was in the store trying on the dearest little pair of patent leather party shoes with a bow on them.

"We're not here to buy those," my mother told me quietly. I knew she meant we couldn't afford them, doubly so because they were not good for my feet.

"I don't know that I have any that would fit you, Sweetheart." Mr. Hayes said. He got right down to look in my eyes. It was the first time I realized that not only did he like me, he felt for my plight.

I knew I had to suck it up, and I did, and we left the store same as always with my shoes in a box on the counter waiting for their orthotics.

My mother and I went back on a beautiful Fall day a few weeks later. Just she and I. I think I'd been to physical therapy that day and she'd bought me an ice cream sandwich. I had to sit in the car to finish it and wipe my hands with a Wash and Dri. Mr. Hayes saw us and came to the door of his shop. "Come on in," he said. "I've been waiting for you." I don't know why, but I felt like Princess of the World for a moment the way he ushered us to sit down. His wife brought out not one, but two shoe boxes and set them beside his stool. I thought he must have someone else's shoes to fit, but there was no one else in the shop. He took out my Oxfords, put them on and checked the fit, just as he always did. When he took them off again I was expecting him to put my old shoes back on, but he produced a pair of beautiful black patent leather party shoes from the other box, and put them on my feet. They were just my size. I couldn't speak. I had heard often enough how we couldn't afford things. My mother was going through a divorce from my father at this time and things were very rough at home. She confided in only her closest friends in our wealthy little town where we were as poor as paupers. I could see that she was trying to hide her own tears.

Mr. Hayes got up and packed up the bag with the boxes. My mother told me to stay where I was and went to speak to him. They had a very hushed conversation after which she called me to come with her and we left the shop with both boxes.

"You're a very lucky girl," was all my mother said to me.

I don't know even to this day, but I believe Mr. Hayes gave me those shoes. I know he had to special order them. They were the only pair of shoes I had from his store that I got to take home with me the same day. I had this glorious moment of being like every other kid. With pretty shoes! I looked back and saw Mr. Hayes watching us from the shop window. He was smiling and I waved at him and smiled back. I think he had his moment too.