As noted last week the dress code instituted by the Milwaukee Public Schools did not allow students to wear blue jeans to school. One might think the reason such a policy was adopted was to inspire students to dress in a manner commensurate with the task of learning, but having worked for and served in the administration of MPS I can tell you such thinking gives the district too much credit. Actually, it is fairly safe to say no research was ever conducted by the district or any other institution for that matter into the correlation between student clothing and academic performance. Shortly after I graduated from high school the state Supreme Court found the dress code unconstitutional. Apparently, it violated student civil rights. Here again, I have to admit that at the time I had no knowledge of what constituted a civil right and that I had any. What was clear to me at the time and remains clear to this day is that junior high school was a place to test limits. An important aspect of growing up is the ability of the individual to assert those unique attributes of his or her personality thereby establishing a distinct identity. Not too remarkable then was the contention by some well-meaning teachers that the student was going through an identity crisis. So, for example, if a student put on the heel of his new shoes the cleat recommended by the salesperson to keep the leather heel from wearing down and wore them to school despite the rule prohibiting these scuff producing agents, upon being detected he would be sent to the office where the guidance counselor would phone his home and report this identity crisis. Then, after receiving permission from the parent, who, too, knew nothing of civil rights, the counselor sent the student to the industrial arts shop where Mr. Christopherson handed him the necessary tools and watched gleefully as the implements of destruction were removed from each heel. Now, I never owned a set of cleats preferring the stacked leather heel, known at the time as a “Cuban heel.” In my estimation these soles had soul, and when walked upon correctly were every bit as loud as the metal cleat, and left an impressive scuff mark on the cheap floors. Of course, the travertine in the foyer by the office and auditorium was impervious to any assault. Conflict arose for girls, too. For many of them the opportunity to show how nicely their legs were developing meant wearing a dress or skirt with a hemline a few inches further above the knee than the prescribed distance. I’m not sure if any of them were sent to the home economics class to unstitch and redo those hems, but I’m sure their parents were informed of their identity crisis. Self-expression for me was simply wearing my shirt in the fashion of the times, which was tails out. Naturally, the authorities at Morse insisted we tuck our shirts in. In an effort to accommodate this difference many of us became proficient at folding our shirts under so they looked tucked in when passing the office, and would pull them back out as we arrived at class. Finally, during this time a lot of shirt makers, my personal favorite being Gant, took to adding a loop on the back of the shirt. I’m not sure if it was meant to hang up the shirt, but we never used it for that purpose. A number of girls took to collecting these pieces of material, calling them “fruit loops.” I’m not sure what the significance was but it did get a few girls who normally paid no attention to me to follow me around the building. As usual, your comments, criticisms, thoughts, and recollections are welcome.
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