Club Obi Wan

In search of Indiana's jacket
September 3 2002

It's up there with Dorothy's ruby slippers and Bogart's trench coat - a genuine pop-culture treasure. Indiana Jones' battered leather jacket - Chris Middendorp wanted one, desperately.

At America's venerable Smithsonian Institution, the same museum that proudly displays Thomas Jefferson's desk, Abraham Lincoln's top hat and the actual Star Spangled Banner, you will find an equally notable piece of US history made of faded brown leather. It is the celebrated jacket worn by Harrison Ford in the three Indiana Jones films; perhaps most famously in 1981's blockbuster Raiders of the Lost Ark. Such is this shabby garment's totemic power that it has become as much a part of the cultural dream life as Humphrey Bogart's trench coat or Judy Garland's ruby red slippers from The Wizard of Oz.

As Jones, Harrison Ford became my generation's James Dean, a leather-clad rebel who was never fazed by anything - he could fall head first into a bucket of tarantulas and come up smiling. He was as cool as Fonzie, as nimble as McEnroe and not since John Wayne had there been anyone as tough.

The character of Indiana Jones was, of course, a metaphor for America. This daredevil adventurer, like the US itself, is irresistibly confident, somewhat brash and never takes "no" for an answer. Archaeologist Jones travels the world snatching precious things from exotic lands. Some might say the same about US foreign policy.

But the fans didn't give a toss about the geopolitical subtleties of the movie. They were too busy enjoying the rollercoaster ride and admiring Ford's swashbuckling outfit. At the time of the film's release, the cultish influence of the New York punk movement had done its best to flog the harsh black motorcycle jacket as a symbol for disaffected youth. The softer, brown Indiana jacket was the compassionate, life-affirming alternative. And you could take it home to meet mother.

That #### jacket became Raiders' most enduring cultural legacy.

In the months following the film's release, the streets of Melbourne (if not the world) thronged with young people wearing various versions of Raiders-inspired leather flight jackets, artificially aged to look worn by adventure. I was among them. The leather flight or bomber jacket became a must-have fashion item and it never really went away.

In the '80s, the closest I could find to a reasonable facsimile of that remarkable upper garment was a pre-aged bomber jacket made by Melbourne's premier bike leather specialists, Mars Leathers. But closer inspection of some movie stills established that my jacket was far from identical.

A lifetime's crusade to find an exact replica of the jacket was born. Me obsessive ... surely not? It is just that sometimes the harder something is to acquire, the more you want to get your hands on it. For a few years, I had a theory that I had come across an identical coat discarded by an ageing war veteran. I figured that the Jones jacket was just a variation of the famous American military A2 aviator jacket. I searched the retro thrift shops in Greville Street, Prahran. I cut a swathe through the recycled clothing stalls at the Camberwell flea market. Nothing. Only those hideous, 1970's wide-lapelled leather coats that everyone seems to be wearing today.

I never really gave up finding that jacket.

I was like Heinrich Schliemann in his campaign to discover the lost city of Troy.

Then there was the Internet. A couple of months ago, I accidentally blundered on to various sites dedicated to everything you ever wanted to know (and a lot you didn't) about Indiana Jones. I was shocked to discover that there are thousands of people all over the world dedicated to dressing up as Indiana Jones, from Stockholm to Santa Barbara.

Are they, as my girlfriend suggests, sad, stinky fan boys in their 30s who refuse to grow up? Tragic relics of the Spielberg generation who should shower more regularly? Probably.

On the Internet there isn't anything you can't find out. I discovered that there are at least a dozen companies who, right now, claim to offer accurate reproductions of the Indiana Jones jacket. Even Disney produces a cheap version that only the most forgiving of the cognoscenti would describe as grimly efficient.

The best reference site - www.indygear.com - revealed the secret that had been eluding me for 20 years. Like many an American icon (Bob Hope and Cary Grant spring to mind) the genuine jacket actually came from Britain. It had been manufactured by a man named Peter Botwright, a film costumer who runs Wested Leather Co in Middlesex. I rang him up.

"I made 48 jackets for the three Indiana Jones films," Botwright's cheery voice informed me. "The design was created for the film. I've still got the original patterns. Jackets were made for stunt men and stand-ins too. You need lots of everything in a film. Harrison destroyed five jackets during the chase scene with the truck in Raiders," he explained. I found myself giggling like a schoolgirl.

Botwright conceded that his jacket had inspired a million rip-offs. There was one thing I had to know. "What size did ... Harrison wear?" I asked breathlessly.

"Forty regular. For the film they were made from lambskin and aged using sand paper, bleach and a wire brush, but I wouldn't recommend that," Botwright said with a chuckle. "I can do you one in butter soft lambskin but I'd recommend goatskin for durability." Botwright told me he had sold "countless" Indy jackets to people all over the world. "I could say they have become a symbol for adventure," he said, then added, "but really, they look good."

I know mine does. Yep, I shelled out just under $500 for a goatskin jacket.

It arrived recently in an impossibly small box. It's beautiful but I'm not sure if I should wear it or hang it on the wall.

I'm now intrigued to see if I can locate other hard-to-procure objects. I have always wanted to own a life-sized working model of a Dalek from Dr Who. I am following up a lead in Kingston-upon-Thames. Excuse me while I fire up my search engine.

The best reference site - www.indygear.com - revealed the secret that had been eluding me for 20 years.

PLATON wrote:Are they, as my girlfriend suggests, sad, stinky fan boys in their 30s who refuse to grow up? Tragic relics of the Spielberg generation who should shower more regularly? Probably.