Roland McKenry, Jr. had bought his suits at the J.C.
Penney over in Irmo, South Carolina for his entire professional
life. His father, Roland McKenry, Sr.,
founder and chairman of Farmers Community Bank, had once said
(not because it was true, but because expressing opinions gave
him a peppy, vigorous feeling) that J.C. Penney made a quality
man's suit. Always had.
And so Roland Jr. had made him eat his words, more or
less.
When -- after he graduated from Clemson with a degree in
Recreation and Parks Administration -- his Dad had offered him
the job at the bank, told him, "Son, you can have the job, but
you've got to cut your by God hair and you've got to wear a by
God suit and if you show up with that by God marijuana on your
breath, I will by God fire your ass faster'n you can roll one of
those ludicrous little cigarettes," Roland McKenry, Jr., who had
a highly developed sense of irony and
didn't give a flying fuck about suits anyway, drove the thirty
miles to the mall in Irmo, bought five suits, 100% polyester. A
Kelly green suit. A sort of rust colored suit. A white suit. A
light blue suit. A dark blue suit. Every year for the
succeeding fifteen years, on January 1 at three o'clock in the
afternoon, he would drive over to Irmo and buy two more suits,
rotating through the same string of clownish colors.
Roland McKenry, Jr.'s highly developed sense of irony made
him, for the most part, a lonely man -- folks in the town of
Buford, South Carolina being, on the whole, about as straight-
forward and unironic a bunch of sons-of-bitches as you'd be
likely to run into, ever.
He gradually metamorphosed from small town bad boy, to
small town character. Each day of the week, he wore a different
color. Monday was Kelly green, Tuesday was light blue and so on.
Pretty soon, he liked to tell people, I will have made the full
metamorphosis into small town caricature.
Thursday was always the rust colored suit. Friday was the
blinding white John Travolta one -- the only one of his five
suits, incidentally, that smelled like dope. This was because,
out of deference -- albeit ironic deference -- to his old man, he
reserved his toking for Friday evenings.
Last year his old man had said he'd make Roland McKenry,
Jr. president of the bank, if he'd just wear a dark blue suit
every day. Just to keep his highly developed sense of irony in
practice, Roland McKenry, Jr. said no, he liked his ugly suits.
His father had said, "Well, whatever," and so Roland
McKenry, Sr. had made his son president of the bank anyway.
