Pants that wore!

I'm the guy on the right, and the pants I'm wearing are the stuff of legend.

If you're a resident of Mansfield, Mass., and you're old enough to remember the original weekly newspaper called the Mansfield News, you may recall that among the classified ads, there ran a simple two-line advertisement for a clothing store that read as such:

PANTS THAT WEAR

SANNIES

The ad had been placed in the local weekly from 1936 through the closing of the clothing store in 1991, without change -- even ignoring the typographical error that failed to establish the correct name of the store. It was actually "Sannie's" (please note the apostrophe), so named for the store's founder and my uncle, Santino Farinella. He and his brothers -- Frank, Tony (my dad) and Charlie -- left the bakery business that was founded by their father and went into the clothing and dry goods business, expanding the store from a single storefront in a converted livery stable to a fully-modern department store covering a significant portion of North Main Street at the intersection of Route 106 over the course of nearly 60 years until changing business conditions and attrition of the ownership finally signaled the end of the line.

Sannie, Charlie and Tony Farinella at Sannie's in 1975.

I mention the store and my family ties to it not because of its relevance to this post. It's actually not that relevant, although Sannie's remains relevant to me personally, as the inheritance that sustains me into my old age is directly tied to the thousands (maybe millions) of customers the store attracted over seven decades because it provided them with basic necessities at affordable prices. No, this mention is related more to the marketing scheme that kept that two-line classified ad running in the newspaper long after the newspaper forgot to bill the store for it.

Yesterday, I had to retire a pair of pants. No, I didn't buy them at Sannie's (although I think I still may have a few items of clothing that date back to the early 1990s). But they definitely lived up to the "pants that wear" slogan that was part of the Sannie's legend.

I'm fourth from the left in front, and those are the pants.

They were gray slacks, cotton-polyester blend, 50-inch waist and 30-inch inseam (because I'm chunky), branded "GS" by the retail concern that now calls itself "Destination XL," although I believe it was called "Casual Male" when I bought them. And for the life of me, I can't remember when that was. Cuffs were in when I bought them, if that's a hint. I have photographs of me wearing them as far back as 2010, but they look well-worn already.

I do recall that I bought three pairs of pants on the day that I bought these, and it might have been at the Casual Male store in Dedham, in the strip mall across the street from a Best Buy that used to be the famous Lechmere Sales department store. I bought the same size and style in brown and black, but over the years I wore the gray ones more. They were a match for just about all of the polo shirts I wore, and they were a little more comfortable and forgiving of my belly than the other two.

Over the years, the gray pants showed their age. They became uneven in color, showing it more around seams, the zipper and the belt loops. The fabric became thinner in texture in areas of greatest stress (mostly my butt), growing dangerously close to transparent. And the pockets were becoming frayed and were close to ripping.

But dammit, they still wore well. They were still the go-to pants I needed for casual use, even though I had purchased two new pairs (one black and one Navy blue) about a year ago -- no cuffs, but the same measurements, can you believe it? -- for more formal use. I wasn't planning upon retiring the Old Grays or their brethren just yet.

Thursday morning, I awoke and decided I'd visit my favorite diner for breakfast. I jumped out of bed, asked Alexa for the outdoor temperature to determine the proper weight and weave for the polo shirt of the day, then pulled on the Old Grays. I opted for a lunch menu instead, enjoyed my hot open-faced turkey sandwich, then eventually returned home for an afternoon of contemplating life and nature in my sunny backyard.

It was when I sat down in my brand new Coleman camping chair that I felt something amiss. My right pants leg was a little tighter than normal because I had pulled on a flexible knee brace beforehand to bolster that aching joint, but upon reaching down to make the necessary adjustment, I realized that the entire inseam above the knee had simply blown out.

The threads that held the pants leg together were so stressed and strained from literally decades of service, they had nothing left to give. The end came quickly and mercifully.

I got up, went inside and changed into shorts, and realized sadly that there would be no future life for these pants. Unlike the many polo shirts I have donated to charitable organizations over the years, these were too damaged and too worn out to be of use to anyone else. I folded them, put them in a wastebasket and saluted them for their service.

The two other pairs from that joint purchase are hanging in there, although the black pants have a small separation in the outer seam that may prove catastrophic at some point. The brown pants are in much better condition and may survive even longer.

But the Old Grays were the best of the lot, and now they are gone. If ever a pair of pants was worthy of the two-line slogan of my father's clothing store, those certainly were. They were truly pants that wore.