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The Immortal Sole
Column
The Immortal Sole
Mr. Bootblack is a philosopher with distinct views of his own. He earns a living cleaning shoes. Once every two weeks he writes an article about footwear for GDS – and about the wearers.
I had never seen the man before, and you could tell that from his shoes. “Sir”, I said, “That is a good pair of shoes made of good leather you’re wearing.” He nodded to me in acknowledgement, friendly, but uninterested. I went on: “But if you continue to do nothing more for them than simply rubbing the dirt into the welt with the electric rotary brush in the hotel then they will drop off your feet relatively soon.” He looked at his shoes, and I showed him the deep, dry crease in the leather, where the tip extends beyond the instep when walking. He picked at his beard. A very pleasant face. And very calm. “Leather”, he said, “is certainly a funny material.”
“The best”, I said.
He continued to pick at his beard, like a scatterbrained professor, and he looked at his shoes, as if he had seen them for the first time. The fact that it was the first time he had given them some thought was plain to see. Then he realized: “You can’t totally avoid the dirt.” I had to laugh. “No, Sir”, I said, “you can’t avoid getting dirty in this life. Not at all. But there are three things you can do.” Suddenly he looked at me full of energy, something I wouldn’t have believed he was capable of. Wide awake. Fully concentrated. “Yes?”, he asked. His sudden attention made me hesitant after all. Call it vanity, but you don’t want to look silly in front of someone you don’t know at all. “In life you get dirty”, I said, “and you must ensure that you get clean again.” He nodded. Okay. “And when you are clean, you must make sure you get dry again.” He looked at me questioningly and I said to him that shoes did not belong on radiators but must dry at room temperature, on the shoe tree, and this must be done each time after wearing. “Hopefully you have a second pair for the days in between?”, I asked, but he didn’t reply. He asked: “And thirdly?”
“Thirdly you should prepare yourself for the next time the shoes get dirty again. And they will get dirty. Keep the leather smooth and supple.” Now he looked at the tubes in the wooden box, which had been next to my seat since Clinton moved into the White House for the first time. It was my present to myself at that time, for the public holiday.
The professor nodded. “Do you know”, he said, “in principle we both do exactly the same thing in our professions.” He saw the question from my expression. And laughed. “We are in New York City”, he said, “I’m wearing glasses and a beard. What do you think I do?” “I assume you are a psychoanalyst, Sir?” He nodded. “Almost”, he says, “psychotherapist.”
“Then I have another tip for you”, I said, and pointed at his shoes, “one, which you can perhaps also use.” It was back again, this questioning tension of the professional listener. “Get a protective sole fixed on the leather soles. Shoes are only sold with naked soles to ensure that you can see them. But you don’t have to expose them unprotected to all of nature’s forces.”
He smiled as he got up. “It could be the first time”, he said, “that I’ve done something and only thought about it afterwards.” You can’t do anymore than that.
