In Which the Author Violates the Dress Code

We had a dress code. I'm sure it was in writing, somewhere. Girls wore dresses or skirts. Boys wore pants. If your garment had belt loops, you wore a belt. Shirts were tucked in, and T-shirts were underneath, and came in white or black. blue jeans were not allowed, but black or powder blue jeans were all right. In 1966, there were no rules about hair length or skirt length, but they were coming, and soon.

In the Spring of 1966, my mom returned to England for a month, leaving Dad and myself to muddle on as best we could. I decided to make my graduation dress while she was gone. Sewing was always a source of stress between Mom and me. Especially if I was designing it, and using four different patterns to build it. As soon as she left, I started campaigning for patterns and fabric. I convinced my dad that I needed to make the dress in some cheap cotton first, to see how it would go together. And, further, that I needed a whole other pattern in case the first idea didn't work. He eventually did notice that I made the last pattern in the cheap fabric, and it was a separate project about which I had lied to him. For some reason, he seemed upset. By then, he knew that I knew that he was a pushover with Mom gone, and that really ticked him off. I had been shamelessly manipulative.

That fifth pattern was called a "Western Granny," and Butterick made it. Granny gowns were popular at the time. They were usually made of cotton, with a small flower print. They had elastic at the neck, and at the raised waist, and the general silhouette was Empire, or Regency. Butterick's Western Granny was a plain A-line skirt with about four different blouses, all of which were Prairie or Gibson Girl style. It took me three weeks to make the blouse. It had seven vertical tucks across the front, full gathered sleeves, ending in cuffs wide enough to accommodate seven buttons. There were 13 buttons down the front, but they were merely decorative; there was a zipper up the back. I stitched it all by hand. I can't remember why I didn't use the treadle machine, but it took three weeks from cut to wear. The skirt I made in one evening. Did I mention that the skirt was ankle length?

It was in May that all of this occurred. I knew that wearing it to school would cause comment, and decided to wear the blouse with a different skirt; one I wore frequently. I took the long skirt to school in my bookbag. Once there, I changed skirts, and proceeded to get on with my day, as if I was not wearing something unusual.

Word spread; it was a small school. Eventually, I found myself eye to eye with Mrs Marochi, the Girls' Counsellor. I'm pretty sure Mrs Marochi was the product of Xenion or other alien technology, and had always been terrified of her. Suddenly, as she's telling me I'm going to have to go home and change, I realize that I am as tall as she, and she's wearing heels! I got a little giddy then, and refused to leave. Something about a history test? I lived three miles from school, so that would have been an hour's walk each way. She probably didn't know exactly where I lived, and assumed that, like most of the students, I lived within the city limits. Trust me, there was nowhere inside the city limits that you couldn't walk to, and get back from, in an hour.

Mrs Marochi told me it was a safety issue, and there was concern that my long skirt might trip someone on the stairs.

Later, when I told my best friend about it, she burst out laughing, and said, "What they really need to look out for is So and So in her tank top and mini skirt! Brian Francoeur took one look and almost fell!" This was, of course the very first mini skirt, and was maybe 4" above the knee, at the most. The tank top was a sleeveless, scoop-necked knit top, with no cleavage showing.

But, it was 1966, and nobody had ever taken hemlines up above the knee, or down as far as the ankle. It was all happening at once, and the school district was not ready.

I changed back into the other skirt and took my history test. I didn't walk home.

I did, however, wind up being suspended from school for three days, thanks to Mrs Marochi. I had never stood up for myself to anybody. Kids didn't make a habit of standing up to Mrs Marochi. She went a little funny.

...And that, dearly beloved, is the most reprehensible thing I did in high school.