Engineer Boots

 Engineer Boots are shown here.

As a kid, I wanted a pair of cowboy boots. My dad bought a TV when I was seven years old in 1954. I wanted cowboy boots before television came to our house, but shows I watched in black-and-white made me want cowboy boys all the more.

I enjoyed programs featuring Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, Gene Autry, Hop-Along Cassidy, The Cisco Kid, The Lone Ranger, Annie Oakley (somebody playing the part of Annie Oakley). I liked bunches of movies about cowpunchers, bad men and heroic guys who rode horses, fought with fists when necessary and fired six-shooters. 

At my rural school, Mountain View Elementary in Greenville County, S.C., a few boys had cowboy boots.

Mama thought cowboy boots were not a “good buy” for me. Dad worked at a textile mill, and Mom stayed home with Shirley, my younger sibling, and me. We didn’t have, as they say, “all the money in the world.” I begged for cowboy boots, but Mama compromised.

At the beginning of my third-grade year, Mama bought me some black engineer boots. They were high-topped, and each boot had a strap placed about mid-center, between the top of the boot and its sole. A shiny silver buckle held each strap in place and showed on the outside of the boot, so people admiring a man’s boot as it protruded from underneath a pants leg could see that metal buckle. Engineer boots weren’t cowboy boots, but I felt a little more mannish sporting my footwear that had to last through my third-grade year.

My engineer boots had rounded toes, not pointed toes like real cowboy boots. And they had no carved, decorative leatherwork on their sides. The heels of my boots were raised a bit, but not like high-heeled western boots, which could make a boy feel tall.

I realized my parents thought engineer boots were more practical for me, and I was okay with that.

I thought that when I grew up, I’d buy a pair of real cowboy boots. But I never have. I guess I’ve been practical, like my parents. I’ll soon turn 66, and it appears I might ride off into the sunset one of these days and will never have owned a pair of cowboy boots. But it’s okay. I’m at peace with that. Anyway, arthritis sometimes hurts my feet, and I don’t want to be seen limping around in cowboy boots. Somebody might call me “Limp-along Cassidy.”