Sneakers Do Kill; The Prices Are Murder

MY OLD sneakers died last week.

They lived a long time. They were some unfashionable brand never peddled on TV, but they served me well, lasted for years, and cost very little.

When they died, they went quickly - victims of one time too many around the track or one too many sudden turns on the racquetball court. The back of the right shoe just gave out, and a tuft of foam poked out to signal that the snug fit around my right ankle was gone forever.

But I resisted a trip to the sneaker store. That's because it's easier to buy a car or a house than a pair of the leather or canvas shoes that have been part of the official uniform of generations of youngsters.

Sneakers have been as enduring as blue jeans and are found on more feet than any other type of footwear in the universe. And it's just that mass popularity - coupled with greed - that causes sneaker manufacturers to jack up their prices far beyond any reasonable relationship to actual cost.

It was with a sense of dread that I finally entered one of those sneakerterias where boys in striped shirts try to sell you items they know absolutely nothing about.

There were so many types, brands and styles of sneakers that I was intimidated, and I like to think I'm an adult with some understanding of quality and a firm grasp of what I'm willing to pay for a pair of rubber-soled shoes that will wear out long before their time.

The store walls were filled with high-tops and low-tops, and in-between-tops. There were leather and rubber and leather-rubber combinations. There were red and black and white and green, and even a few in pink. There were court sneaks, running sneaks, tennis sneaks, aerobics sneaks, basketball sneaks, racquetball sneaks, and just-plain sneaks.

The sign on the door said there was a sale. But there were $50-to-$175 price tags on $10 and $15 sneakers, and kids were laying down money as if they were buying salvation.

Youngsters had thick wads of money. Others came with crumpled bills and lots of nickels, dimes and quarters - all counted to the exact amount of purchase. Still others brought their mothers and whined, pouted or cajoled to convince parents with limited incomes that hundred-dollar sneakers were like buying real estate.

And these are the ones who had begged, borrowed, stolen and saved - or sold drugs, themselves, or someone's daughter - for the money to buy the overpriced gym shoes - hyped in commercials by overpaid professional athletes.

Back on the street are other youngsters too poor to buy sneaks and too mean or unimaginative to hustle the money for them. They're the ones who assault and even kill just to make someone else's sneakers their own.

In a recent column, I blamed dollar-driven pro athletes for promoting shoes that cost more than the weekly grocery bills of many poor families. That still holds true.

Michael Jordan, Dominique Wilkins, Spud Webb, Dennis Johnson, and a host of other young men in short pants are doing a huge disservice to the young people who idolize them, by putting a premium on shoes these children do not need and cannot afford.

Parents who already have little to give materially are forced to choose between necessities and the self-esteem their children believe is tied to a high-priced pair of sneakers.

The sneaker makers say the millions of dollars they spend to influence young people to crave their products have nothing to do with accelerating rates of crime and violence.

Industry spokesmen say the violence is a social problem and sneaker makers are victims of ``advertising-bashing,'' just like the folks who advertise tobacco, alcohol, and fast food.

They don't mention there are no rising crime statistics for people being killed for cigarettes, wine or cheeseburgers. Sneaker manufacturers such as Nike and Reebok and Converse and British Knights also conveniently overlook their outlandish prices, which put the sneakers of choice out of the legal reach of large segments of their youth market.

These smart business people wouldn't pay billions of dollars to create commercials if they didn't think these promotions did some good.

The ads work. They work too well. They give kids who have access to so little the false notion that expensive sneakers are a priority item in their search for self.

Kids who often have no positive role models in their immediate neighborhoods look to sports heroes, who shamelessly read scripted lines like: ``Some people like BMWs. I like sneakers.''

It's time for pro athletes to stop contributing to the problems they say they want to correct. And sneaker companies need to realize that it doesn't matter how much money they put into stay-in-school programs, if they sell their products at prices that require dope dealing or mugging.

The fault does not rest solely with sports figures and sneaker sellers, but they do play a significant role and they need to own up to it.

We'll talk more later.

Don Williamson's column appears Tuesday and Friday on The Times' editorial page.