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Flowers and Cars
Column
Flowers and Cars
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.
There are actually only two things which New York does particularly badly: Flowers and cars. When I mention that New York does flowers badly, I oftentimes get objections because what big city is good with flowers? But believe me: I was raised in Georgia and I don’t have to talk about the wild flowers on the edges of the rural roads, but New York is still bad in this regard even in comparison with a city like Atlanta. And it’s clear to everyone with regards to cars: In this city, they mean nothing.
A status symbol in Manhattan is no Italian sports car, but rather a limousine with a driver whereby it almost doesn’t matter at all who manufactured the limousine. In this regard, I had little pity for Jorg, the Swedish actor who was telling me about the misery his Italian driving loafers were causing him – refined, almost delicate moccasins with countless rubber studs instead of a sole. “Look at my shoes, bootblack”, he said incensed, “Just beautiful! Masterpieces! And after three months, the rubber is worn down to the leather! That sure isn’t quality!”
Suede isn’t easy to polish. In truth, one has to try to use a brush to remove the dried-on dirt from the soft rubber slats without then rubbing it into the leather – and that’s all you can do. All other methods oftentimes damage as much as they help -particularly if the shoe is already dirty. Wearing suede is like putting flowers into a vase: One has to immediately enjoy them because they will never be as beautiful again.
“Mister Jorg”, I say, “these shoes are intended to be worn to operate a gas pedal on an old roadster, not to run down half of Fifth Avenue every day.” Jorg resides way up along the park, diagonally behind the Guggenheim Museum, and I know that he likes to walk almost all the way down to Times Square when he has time and actors apparently often have a lot of time on their hands. He nodded wistfully. He is probably thinking about an MGB or an Italian Spider and probably that is the reason that he bought these shoes in the first place. That’s how people are: They buy shoes for cars which they don’t have just like they buy watches for adventures of which they can only dream. And when they buy cars, then they buy such cars with four-wheel drive which they could use to drive up the Rocky Mountains far removed from all roads although they have never driven further than to Connecticut.
“Bootblack”, he said, “You are probably right. I should buy shoes which are made for running. But …” It was a big “But”, based upon the sombre pause which he added. He must be a good actor. “But I love these shoes!” I had to grimace. “Jorg”, I said, “You’ve completely misunderstood me. What I’m trying to say is the following: Buy yourself shoes which you love and enjoy them as long as they last. Women buy shoes which they wear only on their wedding day – one single time.”
“But a wedding is a special day!”
“Then who’s saying that today isn’t a special day? What tomorrow will be, no one knows. What today will be, you can determine that yourself.”
He grimaced right back. “If you are trying to make God laugh …” he began. And I ended the sentence: “Then make a plan!” I took a flower out of the small vase which sits on my shoe-shining box from April to October and placed it in the buttonhole of his lapel. “It will last at most until this evening”, I said, “but it will cause everyone to smile whom you meet.”
He got up from the chair and stretched. Then he looked around. “It is no city for cars”, he said. And I nodded. “But it is a city for special days. That is already something.”
