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Page 17 · column 1 of 6 · from the scan, no model involved
By Peter Hornbostel Special to the Rappahannock News
I came across the shirt again the other day, in the back of the summer closet. It’s a wreck, roughly 60-years-old by now, and showing every day of it. I haven’t worn it for 50 years.
The outside is a sort of dirty grey with what used to be a few narrow cross-hatched stripes. On the inside, you can tell they were once blue and green and red. The material is heavy cotton that looks like an irate tiger has tried to tear it to shreds, God knows why. There are ragged holes everywhere; one of the pockets has been completely torn off. Sewn inside what’s left of the collar is a “name tag” reading “PETER HORNBOSTEL.” Summer camp required those.
I have tried to throw out that shirt at least a dozen times, but I never succeed. 20 or 30 years ago, when it still fit me, more or less, I thought I might still use it for gardening. Then, when it started to become really ratty, I would periodically decide to throw it out, and then “forget" and hang it back in the rear of the closet. When I moved to Brazil in the 90s, I was sure I had thrown it out, only to discover it in the attic in a box of old clothes when I returned. A year ago, it actually made it into the trash can outside the house. The day the garbage truck was scheduled to come by, I woke up early, dashed outside in my pajamas, and fished it out of the trash can a few minutes before the truck came down the street.
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