As we progressed through the elementary school years in the late 1960s and early 1970s, we began to learn the importance of proper attire for every occasion. In school we had to wear a shirt and tie (and this was public school), we wore uniforms to Cub Scout meetings, and you’d better get dressed up for church, especially on Easter Sunday. These fashion norms extended to our recreation time, and unless you wanted to be on the receiving end of taunts from your peers, you had to somehow convince your parents that adhering to the unwritten dress codes would save you lots of anguish.
The $1.99 SNEAKER FROM E.J. KORVETTE
I still remember making those painful treks to downtown Brooklyn where a retail store named E.J. Korvette sold the infamous $1.99 sneaker, and they were always in stock. These monstrosities were actually invaluable until the family budget or saved allowance made the purchase of the more expensive brand-name sneakers like Converses and Pumas possible. I still remember the sense of dread while riding those escalators up to the third floor of Korvettes, where a table had these things strewn all over the place, including several pairs on the floor.
I’d always hope they didn’t carry my size, which seemed to be changing by the week.
The main theme was plastic, and more plastic. Pairs of sneakers were held together by a piece of plastic threaded through a shoelace hole on each one. The sneakers were usually either black or white, and the bottoms looked like a collection of suction cups — clearly there just for show as they served no purpose — and the size was carved in as well. The soles were made of a hard plastic, and when you walked they almost sounded like the platform shoes from that era hitting the pavement.
THEN IT GOT WORSE
There was no brand name listed that I can remember — perhaps the manufacturer was too embarrassed — and the neighborhood kids simply called them “rejects” or “one ninety-nines.” If you bought white ones, the other kids would “initiate” them by stepping on them until they turned off-white or gray. This was in addition to the verbal abuse you’d take once it was discovered you were sporting a new pair. One kid would yell out “Rejects!”, followed by another, culminating in what would sound like a chorus of taunts.
“Rejects…they make your feet feel fine., Rejects, they cost one ninety-nine…”
No one was letting you on a basketball court if you were wearing those things and it was just as well. There was no arch or ankle support, nor was there any grip on the bottoms, so you were always in danger of twisting an ankle, sliding off the court or falling on it. Then, instead of helping you up, at least one smart aleck would stand over you and break out a smirking rendition of, “If your sneakers slip and slide, get the one with the star on the side!”
Oh, be quiet.
No, these were not basketball sneakers.
THE TUBE SOCK
The early 1970s brought on the rise in popularity of the white cotton tube sock, and at some point, unless you’d earned a reputation as a top player or a bully, they became must-haves if you wanted to get on the court, and they were more comfortable, anyway. Strolling onto a court wearing rejects and black dinner socks just wasn’t cutting it. You became an instant target.
A couple of the older kids would walk on the court while we were playing as elementary school kids and conduct something called a “tube check” where they’d make us roll up our pant legs to reveal what kind of socks we were wearing. You did not want to be the one caught wearing something other than the white cotton tube socks or you’d be subjected to what seemed like at least an hour of snaps.
You needed thick socks or thick skin.
EUREKA! THE SNEAKER FACTORY
As the middle school, years approached, word got out that a place nearby called the Sneaker Factory in Park Slope, Brooklyn was selling brand-name sneakers at nearly half the price the retail stores were charging. Many of us walked over and purchased our first pair of Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers there; the only ones I found in my size were green and matched nothing else I owned, but I bought them anyway. The Factory also carried the Walt “Clyde” Frazier Pumas and other brands which were growing in popularity as well as the PF Flyers (“Run faster, jump higher”), which were in decline.
The canvas Chuck Taylors weren’t ideal basketball sneakers either, especially when compared to contemporary footwear, but they did have high-tops available and you didn’t have to endure the neighborhood razzing, even if the sneakers were green.
I needed my freedom from those plastic sneakers, and I was quickly outgrowing the sizes E.J. Korvette carried, anyway. The Sneaker Factory quickly became the go-to spot for sneakers for youngsters not old enough to work, but with rapidly growing feet and an allowance.
Once equipped with the proper basketball attire, you were in a better position to get a run, if there were courts available (Man, we had to go through a lot just to get on the court, with no guarantee of staying on).
NOW ANYTHING GOES, IT SEEMS
A trip to a basketball court now will reveal all types of basketball fashion: bright orange sneakers, black socks, multi-colored socks, no socks, baggy shorts, skinny jeans, the three-point line…it doesn’t matter.
And no one cares.
Still not sure if those rejects would fly though, even now.
