Starch madness
The Rev. Martin Wells has a big territory.
He is the Lutheran bishop of Eastern Washington, all of Idaho and a corner of Wyoming.
But he’s got a pretty small clothes closet.
“I think for a house this size, it’s terribly small,” he said, referring to the 1928 South Hill Dutch colonial he shares with his wife, the Rev. Susan Briehl, and their two daughters when they aren’t away at college.
But Wells is not a complainer. Conducting a guided tour of his upstairs master bedroom closet, he smiled often. And even when sweeping a hand over a portion of a hanging rod dedicated to clothes he can no longer fit into, he displayed an easy affability. It’s a demeanor Spokane area Lutherans have come to enjoy since he became bishop in 1999.
“I am a casual person,” said the 56-year-old onetime merchant seaman and holder of a law degree. “My dad wore a tie every day from the time he was 19 years old.”
But that’s not him. When Wells is not in clerical attire, he’s a sweaters and loafers guy.
He wondered how the tassels on his shoes would go over. “Until I saw that the farmers out in Ritzville and Othello (Wash.) had tassels on their loafers, too. So it’s OK.”
The clothes in his crowded yet neat closet range from a white pastoral vestment to a couple of colorful short-sleeve shirts from Tanzania that make most Hawaiian shirts look understated.
Then there are the sweatpants his sister-in-law made him. They are adorned with a bright Christmas-lights pattern.
Wells describes his sartorial style as “Boring.”
And truth be told, there is a lot of black and gray in there.
Does he worry about his leisure hours image?
“Only in liquor stores,” he said.
But there are stories in this closet, which has a window overlooking the front yard.
Fingering a professionally laundered, folded shirt, he smiled. “Susan fell in love with me because I wore starched shirts.”
Fondling a sneaker, he talked about how much he enjoyed playing volleyball before he hurt his back.
And asked if his wife and daughters buy him clothes, he tapped a pair of still-tagged pants on a shelf. “Nine months ago,” he said. “They don’t fit. I’ve been meaning to take them back.”
For Wells, like countless others, the clothes closet is a monument to a struggle with weight.
“What’s the last thing you bought for yourself?” he was asked.
He pointed to gray sport coat.
He was about to attend a meeting in Tacoma. The appropriate clothes available to him didn’t really fit. So he went out and bought something in a larger size.
“I just said to myself, I’m not going to this meeting feeling embarrassed about how I feel in what I’m wearing,” he said.
Still, Wells is an optimist. He believes there’s at least a prayer of a chance he’ll comfortably fit into the smaller sizes again.
“I still have my wedding suit in there. I will wear it again someday.”
The closet is also home to a self-portrait mask Susan created of her face. It’s poised atop a wall-side shoe rack.
“She intentionally hung it so that at night, when the light is on in the closet, you can see it from outside the house,” said Wells. “It really looks so bizarre.”
He shook his head just a tiny bit and smiled like a man who has no intention of ever giving up starched shirts.