Story: The Day My Grandfather Took Off His Patent Leather Pumps, Part Two

by Jim
(Chicago)

My Grandfather's Pumps

I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I can still see those shining pumps sitting discarded on the floor, gleaming in the dim light of the backstage area, with their red satin lining and the bows on the front, and the outline of Grandfather?s toes through his thin dress socks.

Mr. Razin was watching the clock ticking. "SOCKS TOO!" he snapped, holding out his hand.

"Socks too!" Grandfather sighed, unbuckled his garters and his silk socks fell in black puddles around his feet. He stepped out of them and held them out to Mr. Razin, along with his pumps.

Mr. Razin took the socks and shoes like trophies and smiled approvingly. "Now walk around in the dust back there. We need some dirt on those feet! They're too clean! Those are BANKER feet! We need TRAMP feet!"

My grandfather, barefoot in his formal attire, sighed, smiled weakly and walked into the dusty back room. There was no sharp, smart click now when he walked - just the noiseless tread of his bare feet.

Looking back, I did not realize what it meant for my beloved Grandfather to allow this eccentric teacher to transform him from his elegant, dignified, spit-and-polish, commanding self into a barefoot, homeless, beaten down tramp in front of so many people in the audience who knew and respected him.

To me, it was in character for him. He was always putting family and friends first. But the sacrifice he made that day would not become apparent until I was older and knew something about life.

He was then stripped of the rest of his beautiful clothes: the white tie, cufflinks, vest, shirt, trousers and tailcoat were taken away and replaced by the tramp's ludicrous outfit.

Mr. Razin even forced him to surrender his wristwatch, his keys and his leather wallet; his business school ring was also taken away. Mr. Razin insisted that he "become" the character he was playing.

Looking back I think Mr. Razin actually relished the process of transforming this impeccably dressed "capitalist banker" into his opposite. When he appeared before Mr. Razin dressed as a derelict he was greeted with a reprimand.

"You're much too clean. And that hair!" he pointed at Grandfather?s head of thick silver-grey hair with the usual razor sharp part.

"Maybe we should shave your head! That might do it?."

Shave his head?!

Grandfather opened his eyes wide and was about to speak when Mr. Razin shook his head and said: "No, an old hat will do it."

A very dirty cloth cap was found and pulled down over his well-groomed head. Then some greasepaint and dust turned his clean-shaven face, manicured hands and even the soles and heels of his hitherto spotless feet into those of a derelict. He was even given the hint of stubble. But all the make-up in the world could not touch my grandfather's inherent dignity and character.

He was given his few lines to read off a card and placed on the stage next to a garbage can filled with old clothes. He was given an empty whiskey bottle and surrounded by cigarette butts, although he neither smoked nor drank. The theater filled with people.

The play began and grandfather played his part perfectly. He had few lines but was on stage through the whole play.

Rumors that it was "the" Mr. Wellington, investment banker, playing the tramp circulated through the theater. Soon everyone must have known. Years later, I talked about this with my grandmother; her outgoing, risk-taking personality was exactly the opposite of her dignified, self-contained husband. She was stunned when she heard about what he had done, and that made me realize what a sacrifice it was for him.

My role was over after the first half hour and I wandered into the costume area. There were my grandfather's clothes: the outfit neatly hung up, the formal shoes on a bench. In one shoe I found his wallet, wristwatch, shirt studs, keys and cuff links.

In the other, his socks were neatly folded next to his white tie and his ring. His outer identity had been left behind here while the man himself was on the stage. He had done it for me, and it was the man himself who mattered. That was my grandfather.

I still remember that day and always will.