Rise of the trouser

 Rise of the trouser



            the Harb corner at the time of the landmark map exhibit "Los Angeles Unfolded" in 2009


     It always amazed me how a guy as experienced in alternative lifestyles insisted on dressing like a square. As has been said, Greg was never seen wearing jeans or dungarees as they might have been called during the 60's. The closest he came to casual would be chinos and those he had tailored since he also was not an off-the-rack shopper in men's clothing. From the very beginning he preferred the traditional styles offered at Silverwoods or Kennedy's in Belmont Shore where there was a distinctive feel to walking into a true man's world. The salesmen looked sharp and the smells were pleasantly masculine (think sandlewood, musk, leather, pine) and the clothing was laid out beautifully. When Greg became a professional man he frequented the expensive G.B. Harb and Son Fine Clothier in the Biltmore at the corner of Fifth and Grand where top dollar was the only currency. There he would choose a trouser with plenty of room in the rise. The insistence on low-rise pants with little room from crotch to belt was anathema to the man. As the saying goes he liked to stay in the hotel with the biggest ballroom. You will see the man, even in casual situations like opening day was wearing a loose 1940's style cut of britches. Harb was a first-class shop and nothing was on-sale or unworthy of such deluxe surroundings. I once had an troubling hole in my socks and could not tolerate the irritation, driving me to duck into Harb to buy a pair of stockings. The price was more than I was paying for a sports coat at the time and I limped on. Yet, Greg felt right at home at G. B. Harb and knew the tailors names and enjoyed being measured by the skilled fingers of men who had shoved their hands into thousands of gentlemen's crotches in their days with a needle and thread. Of course, when you are wearing top-dollar trousers you can't put a Hawaiian shirt over the top and this man's shopping included dress shirts, modest ties and even pricey socks to be hidden under the proper break of a man's cuffs. Greg mourned a profound loss in 2009 when George Harb decided to close his doors and enjoy retirement somewhere that undoubtedly did not smell as manly as the shop at the corner of the Biltmore hotel where it had been since 1976.




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