Clothes have power. The first day of school. An interview suit. A soccer uniform.
Deep down, James knew. He was a quiet ambassador for this power. He harnessed it to make countless friends and to build connections with a community.
After his initial diagnosis and the surgeries and treatments, he came home to SLO and started rethinking what he wanted to do with his days. He settled on the idea of opening a menswear shop downtown. We had just moved to San Luis Obispo after almost twenty years in the Bay Area and he wanted to be a part of the community. He wanted to meet more people. He thought it would be fun to share his love of denim and craftsmanship and North American brands. So he opened Office Hours and got to buy and sell all his favorite things.
He particularly liked selling clothes to guys and helping them choose things for themselves. He shied away from solo moms and girlfriends and wives who elbowed their loved ones into the background and made them question what they liked. What they felt good in. Diminishing their confidence in a basic daily human experience they’d had agency over since childhood. While he generally loved all his customers, these infrequent, solo shoppers usually represented Returns and he was not a fan.
In 2016, when James was first diagnosed, Jacob was seven and Nate was five. We’d barely just emerged from the obsessive Superman shirt period known as the “Black and Blue One.” James would wear his own Superman shirt under his button-up to his scans and appointments. All the nurses noticed. Sometimes I wear my Arsenal socks when I need extra courage. They have cannons on the sides.
So when it came to picking-out James’ very last outfit, the pressure was high. When we were at Stanford hospital, I’d asked him if he had a favorite outfit or something he’d want to wear. The gist of his answer was basically that all his clothes were too nice and special to be ruined via a journey to the great beyond.
On the night he passed, a nurse named Lynn came to our house to help us through the process. She wanted to cut his clothes. Ummm, yeah no. That’s not happening. She asked me to go upstairs and pick out a change of clothes. I found myself alone, staring at fifty shades of denim shirt. I’m not exaggerating. I could only semi tell which ones were extra special. Through my tears I changed course and found his cream Office Hours t-shirt with the palm tree logo. It reminded me of our trip to Maui over Thanksgiving. I dug up a comfy pair of indigo pants that were best sellers. Pandemic people like stretch. His sister, Erin, told me it was perfect.
And we finished it off with his Superman socks.