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Big dreams at The Big Shoe

There is a man who works in a shoe.

 And when it comes to leather repair, he certainly knows what to do.

No, this isn’t an nursery rhyme gone awry. It’s actually an accurate description of Felipe Torres, who operates The Big Shoe Repair at 931 Chester Ave.

In many ways, the 39-year-old native of Leon, Guanajuato, Mexico, lives a life akin to that of a fairy tale, every day going to work inside a 380-square-foot, shoe-shaped building, a unique — though not official — Bakersfield landmark  built in 1947.

The Big Shoe has been featured in movies, books and is considered an offbeat Bakersfield attraction on Web sites like roadsideamerica.com.

“To me, it’s one of the finest examples of vernacular architecture in the United States today,” said Carola Enriquez, director of the Kern County Museum.

Toiling away in a big shoe fits Torres, well, like a good pair of shoes.

When he was just 10, Torres learned to fix all things leather in his hometown. Torres’ father — now a retired cobbler himself — taught his son the trade.
And ever since, Torres has been following in his dad’s “shoe steps” — literally.

Jolly, and constantly wearing a toothy smile, Torres said when he was a journeyman, repairing leather at a kiosk in the Valley Plaza and doing odds-and-ends repair jobs around Bakersfield, he always dreamed of one day working in the famous Big Shoe.

“I used to live just off H Street, and I always wanted to come here, but I never did,” Torres said. “After they closed the shop, I said ‘Man, I’m never going to work in that shoe.’”

Originally known as Deschwanden’s Shoe Repair, the shop was closed in 1992 after the owner died. As soon as the Deschwanden family put a “for sale” sign on the window of the off-white with brown trim and black sole in 2000, Torres jumped at the opportunity to purchase The Big Shoe.

“I tried to purchase the shop in 2000, but I couldn’t — I got rejected,” said Torres.
It wasn’t until the shop was bought in 2001 by current owner Salomon Olvera that Torres finally got his opportunity.

Olvera wanted to lease the building out, and Torres figured, with his background, he would be a “shoe–in” to take over the space.

He was right.

“I always knew, one way or another, I would come to the shoe,” said Torres, whose dream to work in the shoe was supported by his wife, Sylvia and their two kids, Thomas, 14, and Sarah, 10.

For six days a week, up to nine-plus hours a day, Torres is holed up in The Big Shoe, which — even from heel to toe — is cramped. Inside, the smell of leather and oils permeates as Torres works behind the counter.

The cobbler’s most popular requests are re-soling shoes and fixing the tips of heels –Torres says it’s common for him to fix 20 or more heels a day. But Torres also repairs jackets, cleans shoes, sews, fixes zippers and anything else having to do with leather.

“He is great. My husband comes in here all the time to get his shoes fixed,” said Trish Tevlin, a Bakersfield resident who came in for a heel repair.

The typical cost to resole a shoe is around $45, and as Torres explains, re–soling a good pair of shoes is economical and good for your feet. On his feet all day, Torres knows a thing or two about the importance of a good pair of shoes.

“To me, instead of buying one good pair of shoes, then they wear out, it’s better to resole for only $45 instead of buying a new pair. People buy a cheap pair of shoes and then throw them out,” said Torres. “In the end, they spend more money buying shoes more often — it’s going to take me out of business.”

Torres resoles every pair of shoes he owns. His work shoes have an extra, inch–thick layer of mid–sole that Torres says is necessary for his type of work.
“It is hard work. It kills your back to be standing up on your feet all day,” said Torres.

“There is nothing like a good-fitting pair of shoes. If you are comfortable in shoes, then you are comfortable all day.”

Torres describes leather as the best material for weary feet because it has pores and breathes and can also form to people’s feet. He says the price of leather and misconceptions about the quality of leather, sometimes turn people off.

Torres’ Mexican hometown of Leon, Guanajuato is a city known for its manufacturing and textile industry. According to Torres, shoes are cheaper there and the use of leather, instead of a cheap synthetic imitation, is more prevalent.

“The way to tell good leather is the smell,” said Torres.

As odd as the exterior of The Big Shoe building is — including its 50-foot-long “shoelace,” which is actually a 3-inch-wide oil field rope — the inside of the footwear structure is just as quirky.

Besides a few cabinets and shelves, everything rests on the insole just as it did in 1947. Even a decrepit lobster that sits on a piece of wood by the window.  The exact origins of the sea creature are unknown, though the item has been a longtime fixture of the building, so Torres keeps it “as is” for the sake of sentiment.

“It was here when I got here, so I just left it,” said Torres.

Torres uses the building’s original equipment to repair the shoes, old and noisy sewing and buffing machines that he says are still the standard in shoe repair.

The machines run fine, and, according to Torres, are not dangerous at all, although he has been injured repairing a shoe.

When he was sewing a sole seam, Torres accidentally ran the needle right through the leather and into his finger.

“It was dumb,” said Torres. “My reaction was to pull the needle out, instead of cutting the tip and pushing it all the way through my finger.”

Torres pulled out the needle, and, with it, came a nerve that was now dangling outside his finger.

“It was a white string — I touched it, and it made the tip of my finger move, so I knew it was a nerve,” said Torres.

Among The Big Shoe’s equipment inventory is a rather unusual item — at least for a cobbler — a toaster oven.

Torres uses the minioven to heat a sole so it is more pliable and conforms to the bottom of a shoe. When Torres is ready to attach the sole, he glues the bottom of the midsole, throws the sole in the toaster oven, then attaches it to the bottom of the shoe, beating it with a hammer to make sure it sticks.

“They have fancy machines to heat the soles, but it’s the same as a toaster oven,” said Torres of his simpler choice. “I bought this one at the Goodwill for three bucks.”
Another unique sight at The Big Shoe is the big ol’, ugly, gray pair of size 20 work boots that a customer never picked up. When Torres needs  a chuckle, he brings out those boots.

“This is the worst shoe I’ve ever seen,” said Torres. “I wanted to laugh at him, but he was a big guy.”

For Torres, zapatos are definitely more than just a clothing item — he’s worked on them his whole life and doesn’t plan to stop anytime soon.

In fact, this Sole Man intends to stay inside The Big Shoe — knowing just what to do — until he, or the famous shoe, finally wears out.

“Someday, when The Big Shoe falls apart, that will be the only shoe that I can’t repair,” Torres said.