I was 9 years old then.  The film, Dick Tracy, had been out for about a year, but it was fresh on my mind.  I visited Montgomery Ward with my father one Saturday afternoon.  Something there would allow me to actualize any fantasies I had of becoming a great detective, just like Dick.  In the boy’s section, amid the Bugle Boy pants and silk shirts, I found it.  It was a beige London Fog trench coat.

“Can I have it, Dad?”

I imagined all the adventures I’d have while wearing this thing.  Solving mysteries, saving damsels in distress, narrowing down suspects and putting them away: that was the only way to go.  I had a book at home called Nate the Great.  It was a children’s book about an egotistical little boy detective.  He had a trench coat, a Sherlock Holmes hat, and a magnifying glass.  I had a magnifying glass already.  I’d had it for years.  Never solved a mystery with it, but I had burned plenty of ants and pieces of wood.  That was gonna change.

We had a coat rack next to the front door.  It would be pretty exhilarating to rush out the door after snatching that thing down from the coat rack and throwing it over myself.  A sense of urgency and purpose should always be accompanied by donning on a uniform.  It does something to cement the gravity of the moment.

Here’s the rub.  I imagined walking to school and being recognized as the go-to guy for adventure and mystery.  I would be the boy Sam Spade, the child Eddie Valiant.  However, when I rolled up to school wearing this thing, it was all pretty anti-climactic.  A few people said, “Hey, you look like a detective.” But that was about it.  On top of that, I actually felt kind of stupid and a little silly.  I just couldn’t relax and be matter-of-fact while wearing this trench coat.  I was too self-conscious, and the novelty had worn off quickly.  The bloody thing ended up folded (actually scrunched up) and placed in my backpack.

Son, you’ve only worn your jacket twice.

Upon another visit to a store, I came across something that really got me going.  It was a nice hat: an off-white fedora.  Yellow would have been better, but this would do.  I thought about the hat taking residence above my trusty London Fog on the coat rack.  It looked beautiful.

“Can I have it, Dad?”

He held it.  Looked it over.  ”This is nice.”  The price tag? 80 dollars.  I’ll never forget the transformation on his face.  For half a second, he thought about buying it, but then he was struck by something.  That was epiphany giving him an open-handed slap to the face, like it does to parents lucky enough to experience clarity.  ”Wait a second, are you trying to look like Dick Tracy?”  I didn’t really have a chance to answer because the thought of his 9 year old son almost duping him into throwing a lot of money away on a Dick Tracy get-up made him crack up.  It made him crack the hell up!

I never wore that coat again.  It was handed down to some other little boy.  Maybe he wore it once or twice.  Maybe he had better sense, or a really nice fedora.  Till this day, my dad still brings up the time I wanted to look like Dick Tracy.

Some things are better left fantasized about.