I Was Tortured!

And it wasn't the fun S&M kind

Pendleton, Oregon, around Round Up time, many years ago.

I wander in to a little shop called Red’s. Now Red’s was a tiny place completely stuffed with very high quality hats. A one man operation, one must assume he went by the name Red.

Now Red’s wasn’t the kind of place that the Rodeo spectator or to dude ranch visitor would buy a hat from. There was that kind of place in Pendleton when I used to frequently visit there, it was called Hamley’s. Unlike Red’s, it’s still there. And in fairness, Hamley’s is an awesome place too. I’ve had their steaks in my belly, and I’ve got one of their fine hats in my closet. But, Hamley’s, it was a fancy kinda place.

Not so with Red’s. Not fancy. Nothing much to draw the Rodeo aficionado, or the dude ranch rider in. Nope, Red’s sold things to men who work. Work from horse or tractor.

So, I wander into this little shop called Red’s.

Photo by Carlee Pickering on Unsplash

“What you need?” I imagine the old fellow probably named Red asked.

“Just lookin’ at hats.” I most likely would have replied.

And to be clear for this story, I wasn’t intending to buy a hat. I didn’t need a hat. I already had a fine hat for the Round Up, and at the time it would have been atop my head.

But, I’ll never forget, Red caught me off guard.

“Let’s get your head measured up.” He said.

I of course agreed, despite knowing that I’m a 71/4 Long Oval. I agreed because I’m an agreeable guy. Plus, I do love talkin’ hats.

Then Red did something mighty unexpected. He went into the tiny backroom and grabbed some century old torture device, undoubtedly designed by the Spanish Inquisition. He moves to put this thing on my head, and I have visions of my brains exploding from my head as the round vice crushes my skull.

But, I went along, because I’m an agreeable guy.

So, he slides this huge thing on my head. (I later learn that it’s called a conformer.) It really is huge and heavy. It’s got a flat top, and these little fingers, hundreds of them it seemed, each held closed with a spring, but pushing out to meet the exact contours of my head as it’s moved into place.

I’ve got this ungodly contraption on my head, it’s big, it’s heavy, and it’s got all these tiny fingers firmly grasping my skull right at the line where a hat would properly rest.

And the thing is old. Think older than the invention of plastic old.

All of the sudden, the fellow probably known as Red twists the big knob on top of this contraption, and all of the fingers lock right into place.

He scrapes it off my head, and I thank God that I survived.

The fellow who might have been Red takes the contraption and pushes it down on a big old piece of fir lumber. A 2X8. That’s when I notice that each and every finger of the thing has a sharp steel needlepoint sticking out the end. He pushes, and each of these fingers penetrates the wood, leaving a perfect outline of my head. Every knob and ridge, valley and line was there.

He connected these dots with a pen, then took the hunk of wood to his band saw in the back. Cut on an angle, the hunk of wood was transformed into a perfect model of my head, at the precise place that a hat’s sweatband would sit.

Probably Red then drilled a hole in the middle of the thing, and explained that the hole was the right size to go over a Jack Daniels bottle. That I should take it home, his gift to me, set it on a whiskey bottle, and use it as a really cool way to store my hat.

I did that, and indeed have a hat sitting on the thing as I write this. I did though stain it, the fellow who was probably named Red left it a wee bit rough.

This whole process took quite a lot of time.

So, of course, I couldn’t just walk out of the store, model of my head in hand. I had to buy a hat. A really exceptional hat that received its final touches while that wooden block was really tightly shoved into it. The fellow probably named Red’s model of my head revealed that I don’t quite wear a size 71/4 Long Oval, I wear somewhere between that and a 71/8 Long Oval. I ended up with that smaller size, stretched the minutest amount.

I wasn’t alone, one of my friends was with me, and he too felt the need to reward the fellow who was probably Red for all of his work. Red sold two hats that day that he never would have sold otherwise. All just by showing off his unique skills, and creating something useful for each of us.

Not a bad way to make a living.

In the years since I’ve had more experience with conformers, and custom hats, but that first experience has never been rivaled. Nor has the wooden block. The other hatters have done it much easier with thick, hard foam.

Much of this had slipped my memory, until it all came flooding back when I read a comment here the other day.

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