Cutoff Couture

IN THE DOG DAYS

of August 1954, my friend Mike and I decided we’d paddle across the Okefenokee Swamp. We had no idea of the scope of our adventure—the swamp is nearly 700 square miles. We packed a few sandwiches, our World War II-surplus canteens and headed out in a rented rowboat from Waycross, Georgia.

By noon, we were baking under the intense Georgia sun. I cut the legs off my Levis above the knees with my pocketknife.

Mike and I took turns jumping overboard into the swamp while the other stood watch for gators. We soon abandoned our foolish journey and turned back—me with sunburned legs.

It would be years before I ever saw another pair of amputated Levis—and they were on some hippies in California.