One of the Last of a Dying Breed

By Rosanna Trestman

“Heels Fixed While You Wait,” promises a sign affixed to Al’s Shoe Repair, located on Migeon Ave. in Torrington. After hours? Drop your shoe through a slot cut into the red clapboard building and, despite the landslide of shoes and handbags behind the counter, Al will see to in the morning. During business hours, the tinkling of a bell on the door announces a new customer. Or maybe it’s someone come to chat. Becker stops hammering or switches off a stitching machine (that should be used with ear protection), and takes a moment to chew the fat. Though it’s time taken out of a busy workday, he latches on to the positive side of life. “It’s nice to have a conversation with people once in a while,” he says. “I like people. Heck, that’s why I do this.” In business since 1957, Al Becker, who has lived in Torrington all his life, wanted a career he could retire with. At age 85, he is trim, fit and still going strong. And though he tends to talk of past accomplishments more than future plans, he doesn’t consider retirement an option. “What the heck would I want to do that for?” he demands rhetorically, “I’m afraid to quit. At my age, guys quit and then they die.” The workshop resides a few feet from the counter, but hidden from view. Moving a leather boot from a nailer to a soler to the final buffing, Al gestures to the parallel walls of hulking machinery, explaining that the neither the methods nor the means have changed in this business. “These machines are still being made in Germany. They will outlive me,” he says matter of factly. Turning back to operate a Landis 88, which stitches moccasins from the inside, he continues just a bit wistfully, “The worst part of it is that when I go it will end up in the dump. Or maybe I’ll put them on Ebay, maybe get something out of it.” As if they were old friends, he runs through the purpose of each ancient iron apparatus: nailers, solers, stitchers, splitters, long-armed Singers, a heel wheel… paint faded and anachronistic, they all operate as smoothly as day one. Becker takes good care of these adjuncts to his livelihood. Oil cans stand at the ready to lubricate at the first squeak. Tools are bunched and distributed on shelves, in boxes, on tables, in cookie tins. But, like the mountain of shoes behind the counter, it is an organized chaos that Al can navigate without hesitation. He can put his finger on a right lift, heel, upper or cleat in a snap. When someone comes to pick up their order, his finger skims along shelves with shoes lined up like soldiers, each shoe with a tag taped to the heel. The oldest of 13 children, Al was called on to help support the family. As a 12 year old he sawed wood for families all over Torrington, “I was using a 14 inch blade,” he says with disbelief, “they sure wouldn’t let a kid do that today.” Later in life, he was called on to serve his country, a mission of which he is exceedingly proud. “I was in the Battle of the Bulge” he recounts, “106th. We had 8000 casualties, most of any division. But the 99th got all the glory.” Drawing out his war story, he continues, “I was in a machine gun nest– down to one box of ammo…” then the mood changes, “I don’t like to talk about it. Too many died.” Finishing up the boots, Becker reaches for what looks like an amber volcano, which turns out to be a well used can of rubber cement, and laments that there are just a handful of cobblers left in the state, “It’s a dying trade. None of my boys want it.” This is a natural segue to indulge in the success of his musical sons and their act of 13 years. “We played in a band three nights a week, plus the Goshen Fair. We played everything from Lara’s Theme to show tunes,” he says like it was yesterday. Today he plays golf whenever he can. Assessing his performance on the links, he says bluntly, “I ain’t that bad, and I ain’t that good either.” But work is where you’ll find him “200 hours a week.” As if there weren’t enough shoes to repair, Becker also fixes handbags, sharpens shears and lawnmower blades, cuts keys and makes custom orthotics – services that cannot be imported from China. He sells belts, shoe polish (advising which brand is best suited for a man’s or woman’s footwear), pocketknives and nicely packaged shoe shine kits that would make great stocking stuffers. The interior of the shop has an incongruous shingled roof projecting from one wall. Attached to it are shoe soles of all varieties. This is not decorative, but rather facilitates the customer through the options. Similarly, other bits of décor might be taken for kitsch. People comment on the faded poster touting Cats Paw Heels (which depicts a smiling lady sporting sparkling boots), but Becker waves away any talk of nostalgia, “These are the real thing, he says, “Everything you see went up in ’57. Haven’t changed a thing.” It doesn’t look retro, it is retro. Becker has to get back to work. Stretching the boot over the last (a foot-shaped metal form), he applies cement, lays on a fresh leather sole and gives it a good whack with a mallet. He reattaches the ticket, returns it to the shelf of shoes, and moves on to the next pair.