Wilmeth's West

Lessons learned

The Etiquette of the Hat

The Gospel according to Nana

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

     There had been a table reserved to place the hats.  At first glance, there may not have been any obvious order, but there was.  There was not a hat touching.  The majority of them were placed there on their crowns.  Another number were placed on the edge of the table with the fronts extended over the edge suspended.  Others were placed at the back of the table on their crowns, but tipped up with the fronts supported against the wall.

    Inside the chapel, Lee’s funeral service was in progress.  Friends and neighbors were gathered to pay their respects.  The men sat there in their starched white shirts, a distinct sun line on their brow, and clasped hands in their laps.

     If there was a time for a lesson in social science, it was there at that place.  It should have been started with an analysis at the table of hats.  It could have continued outside after the final amen when the families gathered to talk.  The hats were all back in place protecting heads from the sun.  Lee would have been no different.  Glad to be back outside, he would have shaken hands and hugged like everybody else.

     To the beginning        

     To the children of the ‘50s, most view that decade with increasing fondness.  We had no idea how tidy our world was.  It wasn’t necessarily innocent, but it was controlled around our edges.  We had mentors who could and would influence our lives.

    So many things in the modern world are no longer bound by rules or boundaries.  There were still rules then and they were enforced.  A sense of right and wrong prevailed.  It was a time that manners were expected.  Hats were part of that broad category of social etiquette.

    The lessons start

     Long before those little cowboys knew what they had on their heads, they were attached variously to their elders.  Grandparents were most influential.  The big outside was the domain of granddads where little cowboys could ride stick horses or the big gentle kid horse that would stand all day long in the shade saddled for any bank heist getaway that might happen to take place. 

    Hats, and boots, and imaginary .30-.30s were all part of it.  Old corrals, dirt and sun, hay bales, and ditch banks were there for fighting bad men of all shades and sizes.  It was a rough and tumble world where real men acted first and then thought about the consequences.  That was not the case at the house.

    The house was the domain of grandmothers.  “You may act uncivilized out there with your grandfather, but you sure aren’t going to do that here!” was the constant reminder.  “Take that hat off in this house and go wash your hands and face!” was the first order.  “And, I better not find that hand towel dirty!  Use the soap!” was the second, and, constant, threat.  We were broken much like any colt to the rules that existed inside the house. 

     Those in an environment of consistency and good hands responded like colts, too.  The hammer didn’t have to fall very hard if good manners were followed by clear and consistent cues.  I still remember visions of cousins and friends around those dinner tables.  There we sat with flushed faces from scrubbing.  Our hair was combed and we waited somewhat patiently for the order to start.  We were on our way to being civilized. 

     Beyond the door

     Those lessons of grandmothers were extended to all houses.  We were expected to act civilized each and every time we walked into any house.  In the case of my trainer, my maternal grandmother, gentlemen took their hats off when he entered any dwelling with doors, electricity (or propane), and people. 

     “I don’t care what those other boys do.  They are not civilized,” was her approach to the issue.   “You, take your hat off!”

    Later, she reminded me of extended etiquette.  Take your hat off when you meet a lady for the first time.  At least tip your hat thereafter, but taking it off when greeting a known or unknown lady was still the best practice.  Courtesy was always important to her and she tried her best to make it important to me.

    Dances, pool halls, ball games were no different to her.  “Take your hat off!”

    The reality, though, things got complicated and there was and is a gradient of allowance.  When you were with your granddad things were usually different.  Sitting in the back room with my granddad and Blackie Amberson watching them drink a little something, I wore my hat just like they did. 

     Generally, if you were in the presence of a group of men with their hats on, you were expected to wear yours.  It elevated your presence in a fraternity of your future peers.

     From Orthodoxy to Heathenism

     In the days of the first half of the 20^th Century, the rural West was dominated by a hat culture.  It was in those days that the influences of grandmothers altered the etiquette standards of the hat.  If you went to most dances, you checked your hat at the door. 

    Likewise, alcohol wasn’t allowed in the hall.  If you were going to imbibe, the proper thing to do was to go outside.  In fact, if you were going to do anything that bordered on my grandmother’s interpretation of uncivilized, you went outside. 

     A gradient of protocol was loosely bound into the structure of the gathering.  The gradient ran from standards of acceptable behavior inside, strict orthodoxy, to various actions of questionable behavior outside. 

     “If you want to act like a heathen you just go out there with the rest of those heathens!” was her interpretation.  She was tough and she made her point loud and clear.  If you strayed off the straight and narrow, you paid dearly for it, but she laid the foundation for behavior that will be honored forever.  Her standards of acceptable and unacceptable extended to all facets of life and most things beyond wearing a hat.  Her hat lessons, though, were foundational.

     The Dilemma of Today

     Most of our world today is not dominated by hats.  A whole different view of our world is now the norm.  One of the most profound reminders is to visit most land grant universities.  What used to be hat schools are no longer that way.  The once domination of hats is visibly reduced.

     Likewise, what used to be agriculture dominated influences on our politics and regional identity is changing.  We all know what has happened and those of us who maintain a strict sense of our surroundings have some decisions to make.  Do we adjust our responses based upon the actions of the heathens outside or do we adjust our responses based upon the orthodoxy in the hall?

     The answer is that our actions will be a blend of the two . . . just like it has always been.  When we attend those functions that elevate our lives onto a community stage, we must applaud those who are willing to wear their hats with less than full confidence to that one time a year event.  We must remind them that they, just like us, are part of this community and we thank them for their participation. 

     Likewise, there will be times when we might wear our hats into a setting that may need a reminder of our presence.  For that particular event it might be appropriate to conditionally disregard those foundational teachings that remain imbedded in us.  We must, however, know when it appropriate and when it is not.

     The old rock

    Not long ago, my wife and I attended a 50^th anniversary.  The setting was rural and gray heads were represented in abundance.  As a result, the standards of the old time dances were partially in play.  I say partially because the hall was configured with one side open to the outside and the result was a blend of outside and in. 

    The dilemma of old and new was also in play with folks who were willing to attend that once a year event where wearing a hat symbolized honor to folks with cow heritage.  The matter was cleared up for those who recognized something they witnessed.  It was offered by an older fellow who I did not know. 

     I watched him walk in from outside.  He left his hat on until he reached the point he bent over to greet a seated lady.  He then removed his hat, and he asked her to dance.  They moved onto the dance floor, and, there, took up a proper dance position.  At that point, he continued to hold his hat in his right hand behind the lady’s left shoulder.  Across the floor they flowed to the waltz. Round and round they danced with him leading her with artistry and fluid grace. 

     When the song was over he walked her back to her chair with her hand on this elevated left wrist while he continued to hold his hat in his right hand.  He bowed to her as she sat down and obviously thanked her for the dance.  He turned, put his hat on, and walked into the waning light where he stood just outside the hall.

     From time to time he would return to dance floor with various ladies and each time he acted similarly.  It was interesting watching the other folks.  Many older fellows reacted to his simple reminder of courtesy.  They responded and honored a time gone by when such simplicity was the norm.

     My grandmother would have approved.  She would have reminded me how it looked, and how folks responded.

    I can still hear what she would have said.  “Wear your hats, gentlemen . . . wear them proudly with confidence . . . but wear them with the grace and dignity that they represent to your heritage and to those who came before you . . . simply wearing a hat doesn’t make you a cowboy.”

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico.  “Leona Moss Rice, my Nana, taught me two things that I remember each and every time I do them.  The first is to clean the ring out of the tub and the second is to endeavor never to offend someone with how I wear my hat.  Perhaps the whole world would be better off to learn those two simple acts . . . maybe so.” 

THE WESTERNER says:

As a fresh graduate of NMSU in 1973 I was hired by the New Mexico Dept. of Agriculture as a Weights & Measures Inspector.

Each summer the inspectors would load 2,000 lbs. of weights in a pickup truck and check livestock scales all over the state.  At least most had pickups.  Some supervisor decided vans would be more economical, and being a new hire I was the “lucky” one who got to field test the van.  I can testify they were gutless wonders when it came to backing up to a livestock scale.

On this particular day I was on a dirt road north of Clayton, NM.  I had read about “blue northers” but had never experienced one.  I saw a few clouds building and then suddenly I was in the damndest snow/sleet/wind storm you ever saw.  Figuring only a fool would continue to head on into this, I decided to back up to place where there was a ranch gate and turn around.

The road was already muddy, the van was meandering, the weights shifted to the right side of the van and I was stuck in the bar ditch.  The gutless wonder was going nowhere.

I looked at my maps and there was a ranch house listed two miles north.  I’d had just enough experience to know that just because there was a ranch house listed didn’t mean anyone lived there.  I had passed a house about 5 miles back and had seen a vehicle there, so decided to walk out and headed south.  Hadn’t got very far and one side of me was frozen, the other side completely dry;  it was getting dark and I decided I’d better spend the night in that wonderful van.

At dawn the next morning I headed south.  My suitcase was in the van, so I had on several shirts and put t-shirts under my hat and stuffed in the back of my shirts.

Finally reached the ranch house, an elderly lady answered the door and I explained my predicament and asked if I could use her phone.

She invited me in, I called my boss, told him where I was and offered a very calm and concise opinion of the van. 

While we were waiting for help to arrive the lady fixed me breakfast. Before I finished eating the elderly woman asked, “Young man, do you know why I let you in this house?”  I set my fork down and thought here’s an elderly lady living alone and miles from any neighbor. I suddenly realized what I must have looked like standing there on the porch.

“Now that I think about it, I really don’t know why you let me in” I replied.

And she said, “Because when I opened the door,  you removed your hat and I knew you were a gentleman.”

Sure glad I was raised right, or I’d probably still be wandering about somewhere between Clayton and the Colorado line.