Jack Purcells

I’ve never really been a sneaker freaker. In fact, I can probably count the pairs of sneakers I’ve owned in my entire life on two hands. That’s not a generational thing or a sign of inactivity (the sports I excelled either used cleats, bare feet or just weren’t very hard on shoes). No, it’s more of Baltimore thing. Sneakers were just not part of the culture. But when you did wear them, they were Jack Purcell.

When the Converse company bought the Jack Purcell brand and trademark from BF Goodrich, the tire maker, in 1972 and later Nike bought the Converse and Jack Purcell brands, there’s no telling if they knew what a captive audience they might have in Baltimore. But when I grew up, that city was Ground Zero for Jack that brand.

I have no idea why a shoe becomes part of a city’s culture, or any fad becomes a phenomenon. But just as shell toe Adidas became synonymous with hip hop, white on white Jack Purcells with the blue tip across the toes were the de facto choice for Black Baltimore well into the late 70s.

It may have been a cost to value proposition. When I was raised you had three sets of clothes, with just a few pieces in each. There were school clothes, play clothes and Sunday clothes. You wore your school clothes strictly to school then you came home and put on your play clothes. Tennis shoes (we never said “sneakers”) were for the school gym and for play – period. Outside of that, you wore nice slacks, a crisp shirt, good shoes and a decent haircut. If you were a girl, a little baby powder on your neck (to show you were clean) and your baby hair slicked down with some Vaseline to add to the effect.

In that dynamic you needed versatility. Jack Purcell was a tennis shoe for all reasons – baseball, kick the can and rock fights. Converse was too closely associated with high- tops and basketball. No family had the money for that kind of specificity. Worse, Converse – along with the $1.99 store brands sold at A&P -  were, in Baltimore-speak, “Fish Heads” – so called because their long tongue and string holes close to the toe gave one the impression that a fish was staring up at you from the ground.

Nothing incited universal derision like wearing a pair of fish heads. I’m talking jokes, signs on your back, brutal teasing, stolen bus tickets and beatings. So much so that when my mother went the $1.99 route one year, I sneaked a rotted, holey, stinking old pair of Jack Purcells in my lunch bag every day, promptly switching out the generic brand once I was clearly out of parental eyesight. Of course it was gross, but the alternative was much worse.

It’s not that Jack Purcells were a symbol of status. At the time, they cost a relatively modest $9. It’s just what was done. It was part of  an annual back to school ritual. You went to Mondawmin Mall, smelled the incense in the record store and sneaked a peak at the sexual positions horoscope blacklight poster, bought two pair of dungarees, some Ban-Lon sweaters and a new pair of Jack Purcells.

But looking back at it, it was more than habit it was also classic fashion. What beats a white on white sneaker for simplicity and classic sporting elegance? Pair them with yellow Lee Jeans, a silk shirt, a doo-rag and a gold tooth and you have perfection.

Okay, maybe not. But the shoe part was spot on.

After the riots that tore Baltimore apart, the fashionable reasoning for Jacks gave way to a more practical application – running from the cops.  With that, the restrictions on school clothes and play clothes began to break down, just around the time that performance sneakers started to gain a foothold.  Jack Purcells, predictably, faded into relative obscurity.

Once I became an adult, my Baltimore style carried over. Now, as then, I wear sneakers for play only.  I find the youthful concept of “dress sneakers” absurd. And just as I don’t think grown men should be caught dead with jeans that have eagles and logos blazed across their butts, I think grown men should stay clear from shoes that look like Transformers unless they are being used for the sport they are intended.

I’ve spent most of my adult life frustrated in the quest for sleek, simple, basic white sneakers without all the bells, whistles and googahs. I do not want a sneaker for every color in my outfit.  So count me excited about the gradual success of the Jack Purcell line from Converse over the last couple of years. Along with the John Varvaton line of classic Converses,  the new retro fad gives me – from Baltimore or not –stylish, affordable, adult, masculine but fashionable choices. The price has risen considerably, however, but not ridiculously.

More recently, other brands have tried to capture the market for retro simplicity. The Italian brand Superga  and States-based brand SeaVees have been riding a wave of popularity among the fashion set. And of course, in this age of high technology and Chinese labor, you can design your own Jack Purcells on the web, or buy any number of designer versions of the original.

But for me, then and always, the Jack Purcell is a timeless classic. Basic, functional, cheap, not that exciting but gets the job done. Kinda like Baltimore.