Nehi and New Shoes

Some of you may remember collecting pop bottles for spending money when you were young.

When I was a girl, that’s how I got most of my spending money. I was the fourth child in a family of 13 children, so allowances were something we read about in books. But pop bottles—there was spending money free for the finding. All I had to do was go out with my wagon and pick up bottles tossed by the side of the road by those who evidently had more dollars than sense, as my father would say. I could redeem those bottles for two cents each, and since orange Nehi pop was a nickel and so was a Hershey bar, five bottles got me a real treat. But the year I was in fourth grade I turned into a pop bottle tycoon.

My mother believed in “good” shoes—strong, sturdy, supportive Buster Brown oxfords. They weren’t pretty but they lasted and lasted. Wear cheap shoes, my mother believed, and you’d have foot trouble when you got older. I’m not sure what “foot trouble” she meant, but since my feet are still in fine shape 40 years later, her strategy must have worked.

I was in fourth grade when I had my first real crush on a boy. He was tall, dark and handsome in my eyes, the local pharmacist’s son. Imagine how I felt when my best friend said, “You’re wearing the same shoes as Clark.”

“Am not!” I said. “Mine are girl shoes!”

“Are too,” my friend said. “Look.”

I looked. Sure enough, there on Clark’s feet were Buster Brown oxfords exactly like mine. I was mortified, and for the rest of that school year tried to keep my feet out of sight under my desk as much as possible.

In June the Sears Roebuck catalog arrived, and I saw a pair of shoes that stole my heart. They were made of patchwork pieces of leather, shades of brown and green and gold, and I thought they were just the classiest things I'd ever seen. They were $3.89 +shipping. Shipping was sixty-two cents, so for $4.51 I could own those beautiful shoes.

“Cheap,” my mother said. “They’ll never hold up.”

I didn’t care—I wanted those shoes. What did my mother know about that deep craving in my heart? She hadn’t seen Clark’s shoes. How could she ever understand?

Now I’ve never been very good at math, but this time I figured it out like a Math Bowl champion. I figured that if I collected bottles all summer, I'd have enough for the shoes. I needed 226 bottles. I had ten weeks to collect the bottles, order the shoes, and wait for them to come in. The lady at the Sears Roebuck catalog store said it would take two weeks to get them. So I had eight weeks to find enough bottles. Two hundred twenty-six bottles in eight weeks meant that I had to find at least 26 bottles each week. No problem, I thought.

I mapped out a route around my neighborhood and as soon as school let out for the summer, I went into the bottle business. Every day, I'd take the wagon and go out on the hunt. I broadened my collecting area as the pickings got leaner, until finally my route included the road in front of the high school. Now that was a gold mine! Teenagers evidently had lots of money, and since summer school was in session, there were always a few bottles to be found.

Then one day I found it: the mother lode of bottles. The ditch that ran alongside the school property and into a culvert. On one side of that culvert were over 60 bottles! All dirty and muddy, but they were mine--if I dared to wade in after them. And I did. I took off my shoes and socks and jumped in. Visions of those patchwork leather shoes were in front of me as I picked those bottles out of the muck. Of course, when I hauled this bounty to Manassas Market, the clerk took one look and said go home and wash them. I washed the bottles, got my money, and in just a few weeks I had enough to order those shoes.I took my pile of change to Sears and placed my order.

The two-week wait for the shoes to arrive was excruciating. Was I ever proud when I finally picked up my package! The School couldn’t begin soon enough for me, for I was determined that I would not sully those shoes by wearing them before school started. On the first day, I put on my shoes and walked slowly to the bus stop.

They were glorious. They were stylish. They were mine. I wore those shoes every day, carefully taking them off and putting on the old Buster Browns when I got home.

My mother was right, of course—those shoes were poorly made. After two months the stitches began to come loose, and the soles wore out soon after. I was wearing my old Buster Brown oxfords again before Thanksgiving.

These days, every time I see a Nehi bottle in an antique store I think about those Sears and Roebuck patchwork shoes. I remember the many miles I walked in my sturdy Buster Browns, bent on my goal of 226 pop bottles. Nehi bottles remind me of that summer of hope, when happiness surely rested on the purchase of a pair of cheap mail-order shoes.