Mr. Blue Jeans—Demolished Dreams of Denim

I knew this day would eventually come, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

Mr. Blue Jeans

After sitting empty for at least 15 years—likely longer—the old Mr. Blue Jeans store at 7708 S. Cooper Street in Arlington has finally been demolished. I saw it coming; there was demolition equipment nearby yesterday, and I should have stopped to get one last photo. I didn’t, and now it’s too late. It was literally there one day and gone the next.

In a single day, the former denim emporium went from a struggling structure, to a pile of rubble, to merely a memory. I drove past it yesterday and it was still standing. I drove past it today (March 24) and it was rubble in the morning and completely gone by the evening. That little building had been hanging on by a thread; I’m surprised a strong thunderstorm hadn’t knocked it down sooner. Hopefully, the demolition was quick, painless, and conducted with mercy.

It sounds funny to say, but Mr. Blue Jeans was one of my favorite buildings in Arlington. I’ve driven past this place a thousand times. Literally. It’s been a staple of my commute for nearly 15 years, and it sits just a short drive from my parents’ house in Mansfield. I looked for it every time I passed, mostly to make sure it was still standing, though in its state it was hard to miss. Because of its longevity and location, I likely haven’t seen another building as much as I’ve seen this one, and it has stayed almost exactly the same the entire time.

I have a hazy memory of going there once as a kid with my dad, about 35 years ago. I remember seeing towering stacks of blue jeans folded neatly on the tables. The store was full of denim—mostly Wranglers—and nothing else. This was well before blue jeans got complicated or carried designer labels. It was a simple store selling simple jeans, but I had never seen so many in one place.

The building had been neglected for years, with the elements slowly taking hold. Truthfully, it was an eyesore that probably should have been torn down long ago, but it was familiar. It was nostalgic. According to the Google Street View timeline, the building appears to have been vacant since at least 2011. Various “For Sale” signs have come and gone, but nothing ever happened—until now. It looks like the lot has finally been sold and will be redeveloped.

I wonder if anyone else will miss this building now that it’s gone.

Last of a Dying Breed

I believe the store’s owner was a man named Clarence Bond. I say that because a Newspapers.com search for “Mr. Blue Jeans” brought up his obituary, noting that he died in Arlington in 2000. It stated that Mr. Bond was an entrepreneur in the retail business for decades, operating Thrifty Dry Goods and Clarence Bond Department Stores before opening Mr. Blue Jeans in 1981. The timing and his background align too perfectly for it to not be him.

When Mr. Blue Jeans opened on Cooper Street in the early ’80s, that stretch of road was much more rural, and I believe only two lanes. At the time, a physical gap still existed between Arlington and Mansfield. This was the tail end of the “Mom and Pop” era, too, before big-box stores redefined the landscape. While Arlington had Six Flags Mall and Forum 303, they were miles away. South of I-20 was still something of a retail desert. The massive boom on Cooper wouldn’t arrive until the late ’80s, anchored by the opening of The Parks at Arlington in 1988.

Niche shops like Mr. Blue Jeans were common then because they offered a specialized inventory the big retailers lacked. If you only wore denim, you didn’t want to fight mall traffic in the busy part of town. You wanted a small, no-nonsense shop that had exactly what you needed. Much of his inventory likely consisted of “irregulars”—slightly imperfect jeans bought in bulk and resold at a bargain. His customers weren’t looking for perfection; they were looking for a deal.

Newspaper ads for Clarence Bond Department Stores from the 1970s often featured hand-written text. This wasn’t a man with the corporate resources of Sears or Kmart; he was making the most of what he had. Seeing how long that building stood empty seems fitting—an abandoned structure resisting encroachment for as long as possible, kept upright by nothing but grit and sheer will. Its resiliency was admirable.

And as for that “dream” memory? In a previous blog post, I once described my recollection of the man who worked there:

“An older gentleman ran the store and sat behind the counter, surveying his kingdom of denim. He was Mr. Blue Jeans. The man had gray hair, a friendly smile, and kind eyes that shimmered with mischief.”

After seeing his photo in the obituary, I know it was him and it wasn’t a dream. That memory and his store are forever etched in my mind.

A Surreal Sight

I had to stop off and see this place one last time. It was surreal—a building I saw twice a day, and had seen for so long—to not only be knocked down, but completely gone. It was almost emotional, certainly weird, and there was an unexplainable chill in the early-spring air. We sometimes get more attached to buildings than we think, even ones we don’t really know. Maybe I’ll drive by it tomorrow and it will all have been just a dream, but I doubt it.

It’s gone.

Photos

The photos are like something from the Twilight Zone. There are differences and deterioration, of course, but the building doesn’t look drastically different in 15 years of sitting empty.