Entirely by chance, my father is buried just a few rows away from Levi Strauss, the man whose name is synonymous with denim and one of the most enduring clothing brands in American history.
For decades, whenever I went to the cemetery just outside San Francisco, I’d quickly pause to say hello to Mr. Strauss. And I always made it a point to tell him, “Thanks for the jeans.” It was kind of our thing.
Aside from a few stray words, I seldom speak out loud if I’m by myself, even when I’m hanging out with dead people. That’s why it surprised me when, one afternoon, my relationship with Mr. Strauss took an admittedly unusual turn.
Instead of a pause on my way in, I made a hard stop. I’d just been through a difficult stretch in my work as a product developer and was reeling. Seeing that I had the ear of a fellow inventor, I decided to open up to Mr. Strauss that day, and I could tell he was a good listener. It was the first real conversation we’d ever had, and it taught me more than I could have imagined. I never talk shop when I’m visiting my father—he was a podiatrist.
Taking a moment to read the room before discussing my business in polite company, I looked around the mausoleum to where Mr. Strauss now resides and found the information I was searching for etched in white marble: LEVI STRAUSS — BORN 1829 – DIED 1902.
Seeing that he wouldn’t have even known about the earthquake—let alone all of the political matters I was about to discuss—I realized there was a lot I should catch him up on first.
Hemp Before the Fall
I told Mr. Strauss that …
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Author: LL St. John / High Times
