I don’t know if Red Goose was a real bird, but I used to love wearing her shoes. I especially loved getting them. Along with one of her golden eggs.

In Ashdown, Arkansas, Red Goose Shoes were sold at Blue Ribbon Shoe Store. It was one of thousands of shoe stores that dotted the American landscape of the mid-20th Century.

Unfortunately, shoe stores have pretty much gone the way of the buggy whip salesman.

I miss the experience of the shoe store.

Today, people generally know their shoe size and order what they want delivered. But there’s no substitute for the personal attention of a shoe salesman.

A shoe salesman with a solid chrome Brannock Device.

A Brannock Device is the large tool that’s used for measuring the length, width, and arch length of your foot. With a few adjustments, your foot could be quickly and accurately measured allowing for an almost perfectly fitted set of footwear.

Invented in the 1920’s, the Brannock Device is much more accurate than the stick that was used previously.

Brannock Devices and shoe stores are fast becoming things of the past. And that’s a shame.

There’s a comforting feeling you experience from a shoe store.

You walk in, tell the salesman what you want, and they take it from there.

There’s no way to know how how many pairs of shoes they used to keep in the back of Blue Ribbon, but they seemed endless. Especially when the older, church ladies came in to shop.

I was an easy customer. I didn’t care what pair of shoes I got, as long as I got a Red Goose Golden Egg, which was loaded with trinkets and toys.

The little old ladies, on the other hand, could go through piles of boxes of shoes and never buy a thing.

I didn’t know it at the time, but most shoe salesmen were on commission. No sale, no paycheck.

So little old ladies just browsing was time consuming and not fruitful.

Every other kid and me? We were easy.

Now, don’t get me wrong, the salesman earned his keep. Growing boys have growing feet. You had to measure and then try different pairs of shoes on me.

For whatever reason, a size 8 in one shoe didn’t always equal a size 8 in another shoe made by another company.

This is where the best part of the shoe-buying experience began.

The salesman would have you sit down, they’d whip out the Brannock Device from underneath the little stool they sat on, and off you’d go.

After measuring your feet (which, it turns out aren’t always the same size), they’d confirm with your mom what kind of shoe you were there to buy.

Remember, I was only there for the Red Goose Golden Egg. My mom picked out my shoes.

After confirming the shoe style, the salesman would disappear into a mysterious back room and reappear with a precariously balanced stack of shoeboxes.

One pair at a time, the shoes were slipped onto my feet, the laces were threaded, and I was then instructed to get up so they could watch me walk.

The salesman would mash on the toe to see where my toes were and he’d check the heels to make sure the backs of the shoes didn’t slide up and down.

Once all of the stars aligned, and all of the checklist was satisfied, I had my new pair of shoes.

Almost always, the shoes were for church, so I wasn’t allowed to wear them out of the store. They were placed back in the box. I was instructed to put on the shoes I came in with, pick up and carry my new shoes, and head to the register.

After mom paid for the new pair, I was allowed to go over and pick up my Red Goose Golden Egg.

What was inside must not have been that great because I don’t even remember what I got, but like boxes of cereal or Cracker Jack, a kid will go for the prize every time.

Hindsight, the real prize was the experience. Having someone wait on you hand and foot.

©2024 John Moore

John’s books, Puns for Groan People and Write of Passage: A Southerner’s View of Then and Now Vol. 1 and Vol. 2, are available on his website TheCountryWriter.com, where you can also send him a message.