By Today’s Flyover People column as seen in The Emporia Gazette:
A WELL-DRESSED MAN
The last time I saw my father, he was wearing a snappy new pair of overalls.
They were the Key brand, in the herringbone design. But Dad being Dad, at some point he had removed, most likely using his pocketknife, the diagonal stripe of green cloth on the bib which identified them as Key.
I’m guessing that Dad removed the label from the front of his overalls for the same reason he had removed the Marmie Motors nameplate from the trunk of his Chrysler. One day I noticed the tiny holes in his trunk lid and asked what that was all about. He said, “I’m not going to advertise for anyone.”
Sometimes my dad would wear jeans, but most of the time he was an overall-wearing guy. During the 1990s, each April I’d meet Dad and my stepmother, Betty, at the state fairgrounds in Hutchinson for the Mennonite Central Committee Relief Sale. Betty enjoyed the quilt auction; Dad’s favorite place was the general auction where tools and household items were sold.
So that’s where I’d find him. Dad and I would sit on the bleachers together, silent mostly; neither of us were big talkers. We’d keep an eye on the auction and watch the people streaming past us in front of the bleachers.
It’s strange now, to remember those days with Dad, 20 years ago when he was 65 and easily able to walk all over the fairgrounds, capable of confident navigation on his own. For the past five or six years his balance and his memory had both become increasingly poor. His world narrowed. At 85, didn’t get out on his own anymore.
At these MCC events, there were a number of men in overalls. As Dad and I would wind our way through a crowd, Dad would stop, make eye contact with a stranger and say, “Now there’s a well-dressed man.” And the stranger wouldn’t know how to take that until he realized that Dad, too, was wearing overalls. Then he gave my dad a smile and a nod.
One day, when Dad and Betty were both in their mid-60s, the three of us were in their backyard in Pawnee Rock. I don’t remember how the topic came up, but Dad said, “When it’s my time to go, I want to be buried in my overalls.”
Betty replied, “Oh, you will not. You’ll be buried in a suit.” And she spoke with a certain amount of authority.
With an ornery grin, Dad protested, “But no one will recognize me if I’m not in my overalls.”
Dad had, after all, worn them since he was a boy on the farm. In the earliest photos I have of him, at ages 6 and 8, he’s in overalls.
As an adult, they were his work clothes of choice, perfect for a carpenter with the various loops and pockets to carry tools and nails.
About nine years ago, the herringbone version of Key overalls became hard to come by. That particular fabric was no longer made and so Dad was facing a switch to either the solid denim or the navy-and-white striped overalls.
Then I got a lead on where I might find the herringbone – at Bill’s Hardware in Hartford. Theda Wolford had two pairs left in Dad’s size. Dad was happy. And Betty was happy. She had been be repairing his old overalls, sewing patches on top of patches. Eventually though, Dad was forced to wear the overalls of the striped variety.
I learned a few years ago, and Betty was the one who mentioned it, that she and Dad had saved back a pair of those herringbone overalls for his funeral.
On a summer evening, July 29, as I stood alone beside his casket in the mortuary, I smiled through tears at my dad in his overalls. He was wearing that nice crisp pair. For some reason, I felt the urge to write a note, something to accompany him on his journey. The only paper I had on me was one of my business cards, and I wrote on the back of it, “I love you, Daddy,” and slipped it into the bib pocket of his overalls, right next to his heart.
Rest in peace, my beloved father. You were a well-dressed man – and so much more.
Copyright 2011 ~ Cheryl Unruh
Betty and Dad
Dad and Betty paint a room in their house in Pawnee Rock.
So touching and beautiful, Cheryl.,,this leaves me with tears in my eyes & a smile on my face…thank you.
My dad was an overall guy too, Cheryl, though in retirement from farming he was less committed to them.
What a great post Cheryl, love the picture of you & your Dad, he’s my kind of guy.
I’m sitting here just bawling, Cheryl. What a wonderful piece. I am so glad he got to take that last pair with him. My grandpa wore Key overalls as well. Every one of his 46 grandkids (EVERY ONE) mentioned at the funeral dinner how disappointed we were that they’d buried Grandpa in a suit. He just didn’t look like himself without those overalls.
xoxo
Those overalls are the best, like your dad, my mom (90)does not like labels or enlarged names on garments, she, of course being a woman, does not cut them off.
Rip my heart out, Cheryl. Beautiful and touching. Your words honor your father.
Boy, that was worth the wait! What a great and touching tribute. I love the photo of your Dad sitting in his chair by the parked car. People like that make this world – and this life – worth living. Thanks for putting this up…EFH
No better words could be said.
Dear Cheryl, Thanks so much for for sharing this wonderful article. (I wouldn’t have thought you aren’t much of a talker). I remember my own dad who the rest of the family teased for always wearing tan khaki pants all his life. We called him “our man in tan”, and after 20 years I still miss him. I completely agree with your dad, and I will not be a walking billboard for anybody. God bless him, and you too. – Vivian
I just realized how great the first photo is with the subliminal surreal wood grain behind the two of you. I now see the allegory of you love and relationship, the genealogy texture, and the allusion to your father’s profession. Simply wonderful as I remember so many columns that have referenced your dad over the last several years..
I tried to post, but wasn’t logged in the other day. Cheryl, you got the emotion and meaning of the time down so well in your words. I had tears, but my heart felt good.
That picture brings tears to my eyes anew. The expression on your face. LIke you were memorizing his face. The love and admiration for him shows in that.
Hi Cheryl
My dad left us on July 11, 2001. He had his own electrical contracting business company. I had gotten my hands on one of his business cards and I wrote a note on the back. I think it went something like “Dad, thanks for 40 years of being my dad”. He was buried in a Korean Army era jacket and I tucked it in one of the pockets. Dads make us what we are now. Thanks for another great column.
Sweet story!
The picture of your dad sitting behind the Mazda blew my mind! Across the street sits a red Rambler. That car belonged to my dad and he lived in Sayler’s house from 1986 to the end of 1988. Brought back lots of memories. Love the story you wrote about your dad and his overalls. That’s all I ever saw him wear, when we lived in Pawnee Rock.
Key Overalls! Iconic. Originated in Fort Scott. The Key overall garment factory supplied clothing to railroad workers. I’ve heard there is a historic display, maybe in the state museum in Topeka, of a farmer, wearing Key overalls. My information is vague, but I think a lot of the production was moved to Mexico, but I think Key still has a presence in Fort Scott. I have a treasured red bandanna with the words “Key Overalls” all around the edge, made to commemorate some anniversary several years ago. Sally Jadlow has a poem about a bunch of “cuties in Key overalls” at a farm auction, and the cuties are all older guys in Key overalls.
Here’s the poem Peg Nichols speaks of. I wrote it when I accompanied my husband to a tractor swap meet in Kansas.
CUTIES IN KEY OVERALLS
Tractor swap-meet filled
with hopeful buyers
in Key overalls.
One saunters down an aisle
curly shoulder-length flaming hair
held back by blue bandana;
balloon belly fills his bib.
In his shadow
a shorter companion tags along;
cuffs rolled,
long beard down his chest.
Another, an over-stuffed walrus
side buttons agape,
girth too large for weak knees
rides a battery-powered scooter.
They wind through endless aisles
of old tractor parts, tires, and fenders
displayed on flat-bed trailers.
Tall shopper
overalls too generous for his thin frame
heads for his truck;
big grin shines from under his ball cap bill.
Carries a bucket of bolts, and a rusty headlight.
There is nothing I could add to the comments above. They were each so well said. Anyway, it is hard to type with all the tears in my eyes and streaming down my cheeks. Cheryl this is absolutely one of the best commentaries and tributes that I have ever read.
By the way, my first car – after I started teaching – was from Marmie’s Motors.
I’m still thinking of you. This is such a beautiful story, I had to re-read it. Thank you for sharing.