A STORY WORTH TELLING
“We’ve got to patch it up, baby/Before we fall apart at the seams.”
— “Patch it Up” performed by Elvis Presley
A well-meaning friend gave me a coffee mug on my 40th birthday … a few years ago. Theblackcup reflected the American mindset of 40 as the midnight hour of aging when birthday celebrations turn into pumpkins. And the mug bore a message, words to foreshadow the coming years: “After 40, it’s patch, patch, patch.”
How funny, we all laughed at the party.
The “Golden Years” were still a distant vision when we celebrated as I announced my intentions to remain “39 and holding.” I also used to think that motto was funny when my optimistic Uncle Freddie joked about it years earlier.
Last week as I was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital imaging area leisurely looking at dog-eared magazines dating back to Y2K, the mug’s message returned to me. And with it came memories of household items families routinely patched when I was a kid. Things that no one patches anymore. At least, not that I know of. Things like blue jeans with cuffs turned up a couple of rolls and extra leg length allowing for growing boys because buying new jeans frequently didn’t happen. These were typically adjusted for going back to school.
By the time they were finally tossed, the dark color was long gone, the cuffs completely unrolled and the knees patched, sometimes more than once.
Iron-on blue jean patches were a staple of every mother’s mending back then. New patches stood out like a sore thumb on worn jeans, something that no doubt promoted the popularity of decorative patches.
I remember going to school sporting a likeness of Davy Crockett – “King of the Wild Frontier” — on my knees. Other times, Roy Rogers was pictured riding Trigger, hat waving high above his head.
Patching clothes was not limited to blue jeans, though. Mom darned my socks. Who today even remembers the word “darning?”
It’s the domestic art of stitching up small holes in clothing by weaving thread to cleverly hide the repair. My sisters’ sweaters received the same treatment, extracting extra miles from what we wore.
Shoes were patched as well to make them good for more miles.
Every small town had a “shoe shop” where the rich smell of leather greeted customers at the door. Glynn’s Shoe Shop on the south side of the square in Mount Pleasant extended the life of footwear with new soles, heels and a complimentary shine, all at a fraction of the cost of new shoes.
Another shoe-shop service was cutting a couple of inches off the end of a leather belt and punching extra holes. This made the belt last longer to keep pants up on young boys as they sprouted into lanky teenagers.
Washing machines, refrigerators and other appliances were repaired when they stopped working. Now, we go shopping for a new model when the old one hiccups.
A popular advertising slogan touting quality back in the day proclaimed the Maytag repairman to be “the loneliest man in town.”
Today, simply finding a service technician to repair any brand in some communities is a lonely search.
Patching practices often included the family car. Patched tubes were the common fix for a flat tire on our Studebaker Starlight Coupe. A box of Camel brand inner-tube patches was ever-present in Dad’s toolbox. Like most men then, he did minor repairs on the family’s only car when automobile maintenance required only common sense and logic, and little skill.
Today’s riding lawnmower is a more complex machine than a 1950 Studebaker and three times as expensive.
Many household repairs were often creative. My grandfather patched Granny’s pots and pans utilizing a nut and bolt with flat washers on both sides of the hole. And I own a rocking chair on which he repaired a broken leg.
He patched his favorite rocker to last some 30 years that I know of.
Previous generations were adept at patching and repairing to make household items and money last longer.
A repair-shop sign I saw one time claimed, “We can repair anything but a broken heart.”
My thoughts returned to 2025 as a technician beckoned me to join the MRI party down the hall. By the time this is in print, I should know the test results.
It’s amazing what modern medicine can patch now.
Who knows? Maybe one of those Camel brand tube patches will be an option for my aching, aging shoulder.
Contact Aldridge at leonaldridge@gmail. com. Other Aldridge columns are archived at leonaldridge.com
