Flip-flops have been the rage across America, especially here on the beach-lined shores of Cape Cod, which prides itself on a casual lifestyle. Now though, the cooler weather of October threatens to freeze our fashionable feet. Inevitably, the coming chill means that we must don the shoes or boots we tucked away in our closets last spring or buy new ones. Chances are that either way, we will have to find a cobbler to have our footwear re-heeled, re-soled, waterproofed or otherwise repaired. Yet shoe-repair shops are nearly as scarce on the Cape as ski slopes and the end results are often as bumpy.
A wash-ashore, I once lived in Manhattan, where it was easy to find a cobbler. Shoe-repair shops were ubiquitous -- near residential apartments, office buildings and even in subways. Aside from the privileged few who patronize limousines and hire private car services, New Yorkers know that walking is the best way to way to get around, infinitely more pleasant than the riding the subways, enduring the reptilian crawl of a city bus, or attempting to flag down a cab during rainy weather. Moreover, medical experts have long insisted that walking is an excellent form of exercise, so today’s health-obsessed New Yorkers walk even more.
Walking, nevertheless, wears down shoes, especially the heels, tips and soles since they are repeatedly pounded upon concrete sidewalks and long city blocks. Fortunately, access to a nearby cobbler provides an instant remedy for damaged footwear – and often much more. Many urban shoe-repair shoes offer personal services that have transformed the simple cobbler of old into a post-modern personal grooming assistant. By 7:15 a.m., while most suburban Americans are listening to the traffic report and bucking the rush hour traffic, New Yorkers are comfortably seated at the cobblers, reading the paper, sipping coffee and having their shoes shined. Should it be raining, umbrellas and rubbers are for sale and so are pocketbooks, wallets, credit-card cases and combs. When I broke a heel or ripped the handle of my pocketbook on the way to work, my local cobbler Hector repaired them at no extra charge so quickly that I arrived on the job on time.
Today as a Cape Cod transplant, I walk less, drive more and notice that my shoes last longer than in the city. Last autumn, though, when several pairs needed repair, I began looking for a cobbler. An Internet search revealed only three cobblers in the swath of towns covering the Upper and Mid-Cape. The first cobbler I visited frowned when I arrived. When I asked the date to pick up my shoes, he surprised me with a date more than a week away. Obviously I was just one of the dozens of customers who contributed to the flood of damaged Cape Cod shoes that overworked soul needed to repair. Later that winter I visited another cobbler to repair a beloved pair of boots. Pausing, he named a price that literally set me on my heels.
Visions of my cobbler Hector, whose shop was conveniently located in the underpass of Manhattan’s 53 rd Street and Lexington subway station, floated before me. He , I knew, could have made those repairs for half the price, done so with a cheerful grin, and had them ready the next day.
“But I could buy new ones for nearly the same price,” I protested to his Cape Cod counterpart after recovering from sticker shock. “I know,” he grinned rather wickedly. The boots are still back in my closet, still in need of repair, a nostalgic memento to the conveniences of life in Manhattan.
One hundred and seventy years ago, Thoreau noted that Cape Cod fishermen considered the peninsula a large storage ship, a sanctuary where they kept their women, children, elderly and goods safe from harm. While Cape Codders often remain rooted in tradition, the scarcity of cobblers here has inadvertently hastened our complicity with America’s throwaway society. But there is hope. Leaner, meaner times may mean a revival of thrift, the soul of New England survival and a shiny new generation of local cobblers.
Source:
No comments:
Post a Comment