Wisdom on a t-shirt

It is said to have evolved in the 19th century from undergarments from the one-piece ‘union suit' cut into two separate parts; it is usually buttonless, collarless, pocketless, with a round neck and short sleeves.

Miners and stevedores in the late 1800s favoured it. We are talking, of course, about the t-shirt which is said to have got its name from the garment's outline. It is reckoned that the t-shirt's universal appeal really took off after Marlon Brando donned one in A Streetcar Named Desire.

These days nearly everybody old and young owns a t-shirt. Among the wearers who enjoy promoting a slogan, most opt for humour something to make the passersby take note of and …smile, or laugh.

Over the years I have come across witty lines on t-shirts. ‘The world is going to hell and I am driving the bus', is one I recall from the hippie era, the lettering printed with psychedelic panache.

Among the more recent ones I've spotted and remembered are: ‘Deceptively normal looking', ‘My family tree is full of nuts', ‘(According to my wife) I'm very happy' where the words in parenthesis are printed in tinier font, and a final one: ‘Contents under extreme pressure'.

Losing interest

After a while, you feel the humour has run the gamut. But it is only recently that I gained further insight into t-shirts and wording. It is this: The words on a t-shirt become a lot more memorable if the wearer is in some way symbiotic with them.

Somehow, it doesn't work if some macho-looking hunk is found sporting a t-shirt proclaiming: ‘I do what the voices in my wife's head tell me to do'. The intended humour falls on its face. But suppose one day you are in a tearing hurry. You need to get from point A to B in 30 seconds flat. The straightest, shortest line from A to B is a narrow lane. Usually this is un-peopled. This day, however, it seems everyone is traversing the same path. At a snail's pace.

It's like a traffic jam on two legs. You crane the neck to see what's holding things up. Far ahead, you spot him: The very elderly man, nearly hunched over, walking cane in hand, leading the ‘walkers' in this crawl-a-thon. It is more than three minutes later that you reach your destination.

The others have scattered. But the old man is there, leaning on his stick. And as you pass him you notice his faded green t-shirt. On it, the single word: ‘Quiksilver!'

The humour of it all, mixed with the severely-suppressed hysteria from the delay, erupts and soon tears are streaming from the eyes. The legs feel like they suddenly need support. You seek out a bench; sit on it momentarily. A minute later ‘Quiksilver' arrives and joins you with a huff of contentment. By which time you're reasonably composed, though not sure you could trust your voice.

Over here, everybody says ‘hi' to everybody else. And usually, from ‘hi', the talk spreads outward like conversational ripples. It turns out you're not just sitting next to any ordinary mortal. This is Jimmy White himself (not his real name). Sixteen he was 16 years, that is when he smashed the first 100 metre record at the local grammar school. After that, as he says, the others in the suburb could only play ‘catch up'.

You think of this morning and realise: How true. You also realise how important it is to a man in his 70s, slowed by arthritis, to find every way of saying, ‘This is who I used to be'. As I said, once in a while one will spot an incredible aptness between the t-shirt and the wearer.

This is based on an actual incident.

Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.