A Word Edgewise |
![]() |
Last Updated 01/20/06
For more literature go
to Clendenin Books
Email: mjclen@our-town.com
Did You Keep Your Silk Stockings in the 'Frig'?
Last week when husband Ray decided to straighten out his sock drawer, he found eight unmatched socks. Made me think how rich most of us are in socks these days. I can remember the times when that was not the case. We didn’t change socks everyday when washing was a major job and we had only three or four pair. For work, we wore one pair until they were stiff and there was no mistaking which foot they fit. (No problem for play. I went barefoot until the first freeze.)
For school we did have anklets in colors to wear,
sometimes, if we checked the night before and hand washed the ones we wanted.
Didn’t match shoes because we had a pair of school shoes for the year, tennis
shoes usually, because we wore the same ones to play ball.
Cold winters, in younger years, meant long cotton
stockings, pulled up to underwear. The legs of the mid-thigh, one-piece
underwear were folded and the socks pulled up over. I remember a loop on the
underwear for a fastener for the stockings. My sister wore of those more than I
did. During my time we wore cover-alls, striped blue like men’s suspender
over-alls, then stockings didn’t have to be so long.
Nylon, the first man-made fiber, was produced by Du
Pont in 1937, and soon changed fashion as well as all industry. The first sheer
nylon hose went on the market in the United States in 1940—but cheering
stopped almost immediately. WAR! All nylon went into the production of
parachutes and other critical supplies.
Well, better came in 1959 when Panti-Legs were
introduced because the president of Glen Raven Mills heard his wife complain
about her problems with nylons and garter belts. At first the hose were seamed
stockings stitched to nylon panties. Stripper Sally Rand begged the producer to
make seamless panty hose. He, also, improved the product by making them more
elastic.
Back to Ray’s problem. He still hasn’t found
mates to his eight odd socks. If I can’t convince him that the washing machine
ate them, I may have to clean out my own sock drawer to find the mates.