A few younger teenagers in well to do families might wear shorts until they were 12 or even Most American boys by the time they were 7 or 8 years old, however, wanted longs and could be quite insistent. For many it was the first time they drew that "line in the sand" with their mothers that is part of growing up. Many mothers, however, thought their sons looked better in shorts, but for all but the strongest willed--it was a losing battle.
Many men who grew up in this era can recall long running discussions [sorry this link is temporarily lost] with their mothers on the subject. Most American boys insisted on a long pants suits instead, as soon as they were old enough to prevail. The Eton suit with a small collarless jacket was the rage for smaller boys.
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Boys wearing Eton suits were almost always outfitted with shorts, although often with ankle rather than knee socks which some boys saw as girlish. At about 7 or 8 boys would be outfitted in a more adult looking jacket. Some would continue wearing shorts, especially boys from affluent until about 11 or 12, but most would wear long pants suits. Shirts Shirts were often made of cotton broadcloth.
Little boys had a variety of special styles, including shirts with buttons at the waist to button on to short pants. The s stle of wearing a wide open collar folded over jacket lapels was still popular in the early s, but quickly faded as the decade progressed. Older boys liked the "preppy look" with button-down shirts. They were mostly short sleeved, but long sleeve styles also were available. By the end of the decade they had become very poular. The Eton collar for little boys had disappered by the mids and Peter Pan collars were adapted for younger boys.
Coats and Jackets Teenage boys liked the James Dean look and motorcycle gang image which in fashion terms means pegged jeans and leather jackets. Figure 1.
By the s it was becoming increasingly less common for boys to wear shorts during the colder winter months. Figure 2. This of course is American Band Stand. Olympic champions in men's marathon. No getting out of it now. On Van Buren they hit traffic and the cabbie cranes his neck out the window to try to get a look at the cause of it.
Congress Street all the way out to the suburbs.
Supposed to make for less traffic but for now just making shit worse. The solution to the problem and the cause of it. Eddy would come to learn that much of the Promised Land was an illusion—Jim Crow existed in the North. Not painted on flaking facility signs or announced in color coded curfews but buried deep in the bureaucratese of discriminatory school and housing codes; flowing in the waters of Lake Michigan and off the shore of the 29th Street beach where a colored boy had best learn where not to swim; borne by a highway construction project slouching its way across the city, minority neighborhoods leveled and turned to concrete in its wake, the gulfs between black and white communities widened by 6 to 8 lanes, black residents scattered and funneled into 16 story housing projects— Affordable, clean, safe modern housing—open air porches—plenty of sunlight: Neighborhoods with names like Little Hell, spots known as Death Corner, and everyone knows Sonny Boy Williamson just got stabbed to death in a robbery on the South Side two years back, over by the Plantation Club.
They pass row houses and cold water flats; small frame brownstones with sagging porches and improvised toilets; ramshackle dwellings of aluminum-roofed lean-tos.
They come to a strip of liquor stores and painted women on-stroll and the cabbie says:. What you think, Birmingham? Get yourself some jellyroll up in there. Mess around and get knifed tonight, though. Furs, buckskins, sea otter robes. When all was over, the river canoes were far more heavily laden than when they had put ashore. Those raids were a constant threat to the early Henaksiala and Gitamaat. But, in fact, our ancestors were not easy targets. Our folk-history reminds us that we had tricks of our own. The Old People posted lookouts and had back doors and hiding places and carefully planned escape routes in case of attack.
They slept with their weapons handy. Our elders know lots of stories about raids, especially by the Haida. And in many of these stories the Haisla detected the enemy and were able to either set up a successful ambush or beat the raiders in open combat. For instance, there is the story about the time that the Haida sneak attack on the oldtime Haisla settlement at Butedale Cedixs was met by Haisla arrows and spears, killing the Haida leader and resulting in the rest of the attack force retreating in panic and heading for home.
Or, there is the story of the Haida attack on the Gitamaat village, which was then at Beese. That time, too, the Haida were defeated and made to drift their canoes along in front of the cliff at Hentlixw, where they had to shoot all of their arrows into the crack in the face of the rock there.
Those are good stories, where the Haisla out-fight or out-smart the enemy. One of those stories tells how the Henaksiala men lost the battle, but the women used their powers to turn defeat and capture into victory. This is a story about a Haida raid on the Henaksiala, when they were living in Misk'usa at the mouth of the Kitlope River.
The Kitlope people always kept a lookout stationed up in the rocks, watching for raiders. In fact, it was those guards up in the rocks that gave the Kitlope people their name, for Kitlope is the Tsimshian name for "People of the Rocks".
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But this time the warriors arrived stealthily at night and were able to burst unexpected into their victims' houses, killing many and capturing most of the women of the village. The raid was so successful that they loaded up and started for home almost immediately. They had so many captives and so much booty that they took several of the Kitlope canoes and the captives were given paddles and told, "Paddle hard and don't try any tricks.
They passed the Qawisas. They passed the mouth of the Kemano River.
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They paddled steadily and toward nightfall they approached Nuwaqela, which is now called Cornwall Point. An old woman in a canoe full of Henaksiala women paddlers said quietly, "When I finish my song, bring your paddle down on the edge of the canoe It was a special song. And when she sang the last word, all the women brought their paddles down on the side of that canoe with a bang.
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The Haida warriors in the other canoes were startled, but not worried. One of them shouted something in Haida. But, then, a remarkable thing happened. The waters became turbulent and up out of the water a reef arose. It was as long as three canoes and was right alongside their canoes.
Up it came until it stuck up out of the water about two feet. And what caught everyone's attention was that the rocks were absolutely covered with abalone. They were so thick, those abalones, that they were three, four, five deep.
barefeet and tails fins growing up in the s Manual
Well the Haidas are just crazy for abalone. And, with delighted shouts the warriors started jumping out of the canoes, grabbing for the abalones. Within seconds, those Haidas were all out on the reef scrambling for the shells. Well, the women waited until the last of the Haida warriors had climbed out onto the reef and then, at another signal from the old woman, they all brought their paddles down again on the edge of their canoe.