Iron Bottoms

When 20-year-old Levi Strauss sailed from Manhattan round Cape Horn to San Francisco in 1850 to seek a fortune in the gold fields, he carried a roll of canvas in his baggage. He intended to sell it to a tentmaker to get enough cash for a grubstake. But when he got ashore, the complaint of a friendly miner gave him a better idea. "Pants don't wear worth a hoot up in the diggins," said the miner. "Can't get a pair strong enough to last no time."

Levi promptly went into the clothing business. He had a tailor cut a pair of trousers from his canvas roll, and soon the miner was strolling all over town, boasting how strong were these "pants of Levi's." With one satisfied customer, Strauss found he had a steady stream of men who wanted "Levis." In a shop on San Francisco's California Street, he began making dozens of pairs of the waist-high overalls which defied the wear & tear of bronc-riding, gold-mining and plain ordinary living.

Patched Pockets. When Levi Strauss & Co. celebrated its looth birthday last week in its San Francisco factory, it had turned out its 95,000,000th pair of Levis. It reserved a special tailor-made pair for California's Governor Earl Warren, who, as a father of six children, praised the low cost (about $3.50) and durability of Levis. Said he: "I'd probably have gone bankrupt without them." Editorialized the San Francisco Chronicle: "We are unable to think of any influence ... that has radiated outward from San Francisco ... to be compared with Levis."

As the influence of Levis spread, they changed a little with the times. "Alkali," a Virginia City miner, insisted on carrying rock specimens that ripped his hip pockets. The local tailor wearied of repairing them, one day seized a hammer and riveted the corners down with square iron nails. When this made Alkali practically rip-proof, Levi Strauss picked up the idea, from then on fastened all his pants' pockets with copper rivets.

Bursting Seams. Old Levi died a bachelor in 1902, leaving the company to his nephews. Blue-eyed, urbane Walter A. Haas, who married one of Levi's grandnieces, became president in 1928 and pushed its expansion. When dude ranches became popular in the '30s, Haas introduced "Levis for Ladies." But Haas really hit the big time when Levis--and similar brass-studded blue-jeans made by many another manufacturer--became a virtual campus uniform for bobby-soxers.

By World War II's end, demand was so great that Haas, who already had four factories, built four more. Since it is-privately owned, the company never reports its gross or net. It has an annual payroll of $5,000,000; sales last year mounted to 6,000,000 pairs, four times the prewar level, yet it still has to ration its output to dealers. Last week, Haas was planning to build still more factories-farther east. Like old Levi's Levis, Haas's Levis still bear the familiar boastful trademark--two horses vainly trying to pull apart a pair of pants. Now & then, some waggish farmer actually hitches up two horses and pulls a pair of Levis apart. "Whenever that happens," says Haas, "I always send the farmer another pair."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.