Guilt
Title
Guilt
Identifier
GUILT
Creator
Jacob Schlitt
Description
"In 1965, our family moved to Washington DC."
Date
2016-11-13
Format
application/pdf
Type
text
Language
en
Text
GUILT
In 1965, our family moved to Washington DC. I had a new job: Education Director of the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees. We found a house in the upper Northwest section of the city, near friends, made new friends, the kids went off to their new school, and I went off to my new job and began to explore my new town.
Washington is much smaller than New York, and is much easier to get around. It had a simple bus system then. There was a bus stop near our home, and it was a pleasant bus ride downtown. It is also an easy town for walking. I loved strolling down to the mall, and taking in the government buildings, the monuments and museums. I discovered new neighborhoods and new shopping areas. Department stores like Woodie’s (Woodward and Lothrop) and Hecht’s, the Washington equivalents of Macys and Gimbels. (Ironically, Macy’s replaced Hecht’s a few years ago.)
I eventually discovered Connecticut Avenue. Here were the fancy specialty shops, for both men and women, similar to Madison Avenue. After a year, I changed jobs, and after several more years, I change living arrangements. Both took me to within a few blocks of the fancy Connecticut Avenue shops. Where at first, I was hesitant to enter, by the early ‘70s, I began dropping in regularly, especially when they had sales.
One of my favorites was Raleigh Haberdasher. It was very inviting: large, well decorated, beautiful clothes, elegantly displayed. And they had elaborate dressing rooms where you could try on clothes in comfort. I actually once bought a suit at Raleighs. It was on sale. And it was union made.
One lunchtime, I dropped in and tried on a couple of pairs of slacks, which caught my eye. I entered the dressing room, took off my shoes and trousers, and tried on the slacks. Not bad, but a little too expensive. I knew I could do better at Woodies or Hechts. But I wouldn’t be able to try on clothes in the comfort that Raleighs provided. I took off the slacks and put on my trousers. Then I slipped on my shoes.
Resting on the table in the dressing room was a beautiful bone shoe horn with a metal, gold colored collar, and a stitched leather handle. The shoe horn measured five inches, the collar measured one inch, and the leather handle measured three inches. How do I know? Because I just measured it. Confession: after slipping on my shoes with the aid of the shoe horn, I slipped the shoe horn in my pocket. I reverted to my childhood when, on two occasions, I, together with a few friends, swiped things from F. W. Woolworth’s five and ten cent store. I am using the word “swipe” because it doesn’t have the same stigma as “stole,” but that is what I did.
Before I left Washington, I thought about returning the shoe horn; however, it struck me as silly. Though it is a classy shoe horn, I really don’t think Raleighs missed it. Over the years, I have thought about what I did. I violated the Eighth Commandment—Thou shalt not steal. My attempt to rationalize the act always comes up short. I did not take an article of clothing. I only took a damned shoe horn. It wasn’t for sale. Think of it as the equivalent of a book of matches, or a souvenir. Still, I did steal it. Sometimes, when I put on a favorite shirt or jacket, and fondly remember where and when I bought it, I have a good feeling. But every day as I put on my shoes with the shoe horn, which sits on the night table near my bed, I feel a pang of guilt. I have recently been thinking about how I can assuage the guilt. Possibly make a contribution to a Washington charity in the name of Raleighs. But Raleighs is no more. I hope I didn’t contribute to its demise.
11-13-16
In 1965, our family moved to Washington DC. I had a new job: Education Director of the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees. We found a house in the upper Northwest section of the city, near friends, made new friends, the kids went off to their new school, and I went off to my new job and began to explore my new town.
Washington is much smaller than New York, and is much easier to get around. It had a simple bus system then. There was a bus stop near our home, and it was a pleasant bus ride downtown. It is also an easy town for walking. I loved strolling down to the mall, and taking in the government buildings, the monuments and museums. I discovered new neighborhoods and new shopping areas. Department stores like Woodie’s (Woodward and Lothrop) and Hecht’s, the Washington equivalents of Macys and Gimbels. (Ironically, Macy’s replaced Hecht’s a few years ago.)
I eventually discovered Connecticut Avenue. Here were the fancy specialty shops, for both men and women, similar to Madison Avenue. After a year, I changed jobs, and after several more years, I change living arrangements. Both took me to within a few blocks of the fancy Connecticut Avenue shops. Where at first, I was hesitant to enter, by the early ‘70s, I began dropping in regularly, especially when they had sales.
One of my favorites was Raleigh Haberdasher. It was very inviting: large, well decorated, beautiful clothes, elegantly displayed. And they had elaborate dressing rooms where you could try on clothes in comfort. I actually once bought a suit at Raleighs. It was on sale. And it was union made.
One lunchtime, I dropped in and tried on a couple of pairs of slacks, which caught my eye. I entered the dressing room, took off my shoes and trousers, and tried on the slacks. Not bad, but a little too expensive. I knew I could do better at Woodies or Hechts. But I wouldn’t be able to try on clothes in the comfort that Raleighs provided. I took off the slacks and put on my trousers. Then I slipped on my shoes.
Resting on the table in the dressing room was a beautiful bone shoe horn with a metal, gold colored collar, and a stitched leather handle. The shoe horn measured five inches, the collar measured one inch, and the leather handle measured three inches. How do I know? Because I just measured it. Confession: after slipping on my shoes with the aid of the shoe horn, I slipped the shoe horn in my pocket. I reverted to my childhood when, on two occasions, I, together with a few friends, swiped things from F. W. Woolworth’s five and ten cent store. I am using the word “swipe” because it doesn’t have the same stigma as “stole,” but that is what I did.
Before I left Washington, I thought about returning the shoe horn; however, it struck me as silly. Though it is a classy shoe horn, I really don’t think Raleighs missed it. Over the years, I have thought about what I did. I violated the Eighth Commandment—Thou shalt not steal. My attempt to rationalize the act always comes up short. I did not take an article of clothing. I only took a damned shoe horn. It wasn’t for sale. Think of it as the equivalent of a book of matches, or a souvenir. Still, I did steal it. Sometimes, when I put on a favorite shirt or jacket, and fondly remember where and when I bought it, I have a good feeling. But every day as I put on my shoes with the shoe horn, which sits on the night table near my bed, I feel a pang of guilt. I have recently been thinking about how I can assuage the guilt. Possibly make a contribution to a Washington charity in the name of Raleighs. But Raleighs is no more. I hope I didn’t contribute to its demise.
11-13-16
Original Format
application/msword
Collection
Citation
Jacob Schlitt, “Guilt,” Autobiographical stories & other writing by Jacob Schlitt, accessed April 14, 2026, https://tsirlson.omeka.net/items/show/389.