My dad seemed to spend a good portion of the '70s in a hat. He generally lost this affectation by the time Porter and I came into the picture, except when he'd garden. For years, he insisted on mowing our front yard in a pith helmet. A machete was also often involved. A very dramatic display on a very busy street in the Kansas City suburbs. He claimed to have picked up a lot of the eccentricities on his travels -- he spent a couple years running a gold mine in Bolivia (and proudly tells tales of his beer-loving monkeys to anyone who will listen), lived on an Afrikaner farm in South Africa and took a boat load of cattle to the Philippines before heading back to life in New York.