Story 4: Measuring Boys' Inseams

Measuring Boys’ Inseams (February 1970)

Charlie had a thing for measuring teen boys' inseams. Charlie was Danny's roommate and ex-lover, and in his bedroom door was the alleged bullet hole.

By day, Charlie was a banker, although I never really ascertained just what sort of work he did. I just know that he worked in a bank. He looked like a banker. Though he was likely in his mid-to-late twenties, just slightly older than Danny and me, he affected the appearance of one approaching middle age. His well-kept mustache, his conservative attire – even when dressed for clubbing – and his slight paunch created an impression of aging betrayed only by his youthful complexion.

Whatever Charlie did at the bank, it apparently didn't pay well enough, for he worked several evenings a week in the teen and young men's department at Davidson's, a major downtown Atlanta department store.

And while Charlie never said much about his banking duties, he regularly regaled us with tales of his Davidson's customers. It wasn't that he talked about how cute or studly some of his customers were. Most any gay guy does that. Charlie's particular joy came when a customer needed to be measured for slacks and Charlie had to measure the lad's inseam.

Charlie was sensible enough never to take liberties with any of his customers, especially since most, at best, were of the age so often described as "barely legal," and some likely wouldn't be legal for sometime. Oh, Charlie was careful, but he was also very observant.

Charlie provided me with quite an education. I'd never really been aware that some males dressed with their, um, equipment, to the right side and some to the left. I also learned from Charlie that such positioning was not a matter of chance, but personal preference. I thought it rather odd that, after 24 years of life as a male, I’d never given any thought to the matter of “positioning.”

Especially exciting – and perhaps risky – for Charlie were those occasions when the boy to measured what wearing shorts. Boys at this time didn’t wear the khaki knee-length shorts one finds at Gap or Banana Republic, or the long nylon shorts favored by today’s basketball players, ones that can almost be stretched to one’s ankles. Shorts were, well, short. Very short. Boys and young men wore briefs. Boxer underwear was not yet in fashion for any male under the age of, say, 60. Boxers wouldn’t have worked in a time when the look in clothes was the tighter, the better.

As a result, Charlie often got an eyeful or at least a glimpse of underwear. And sometimes – on very rare occasions – Charlie got a glimpse of no underwear. That surprised me. Oh, I had heard once that Elvis (who, at the time was very much alive and on the comeback trail) never wore underwear, but I had assumed he was probably the only male who did so. And I doubted that – in 1970, at least – many of Charlie’s young male customers were Elvis fans.

After I found an apartment of my own, I came to miss Charlie’s nightly tales of adventures in inseam measurement. But when I would occasionally encounter him at a club, I’d be sure to ask him about any recent inseam exploits.

To this day, every time I need some pants shortened – to my 24-inch inseam – I think of Charlie and what he taught me. And I wonder if the clerk doing the measurement takes note of my “positioning.”