I got my first sport coat from J. Press when I was 16. The senior salesman was huffing and puffing: “Paul Press’ son is going to Dartmouth!”
Three decades later, when I was in the New York store, one of the salesmen put his hand out and said, “I’m Dick Press.” Judging his age to be about mine, I asked, “Are you the one who defected and went to Dartmouth?”
He laughed and said, “I had to get out of New Haven.”
Dartmouth have seemed a safe haven. Princeton would have made his heresy too obvious.
Madras and J. Press — what delightful nostalgia!
I got my first sport coat from J. Press when I was 16. The senior salesman was huffing and puffing: “Paul Press’ son is going to Dartmouth!”
Three decades later, when I was in the New York store, one of the salesmen put his hand out and said, “I’m Dick Press.” Judging his age to be about mine, I asked, “Are you the one who defected and went to Dartmouth?”
He laughed and said, “I had to get out of New Haven.”
Dartmouth have seemed a safe haven. Princeton would have made his heresy too obvious.