Photo by Rick Geary

The story I heard was that it means somebody in the vicinity is dealing.

Dear Matt: Somewhere I seem to have heard that sneakers tied together and thrown over telephone lines have some kind of meaning. Has something to do with drugs, but nobody I've talked to is quite sure what the story is. Do you know? — Sneaky, Carlsbad

As much of the rumor as there is to know, I think. The story seems to be another colorful urban legend, not as widely familiar as sewer alligators or microwaved poodles, but with a hip, “today” kind of twist. There may be more than one version, but the story I heard was that when you see sneakers with the laces tied together thrown over a telephone line, it means somebody in the vicinity is dealing. I guess the reasoning is that since you can’t put a big sign in your window that says “Dope R Us,” the rock ’em, sock ’em world of competitive drug sales requires some subtler kind of advertising.

In the interest of science, I scrummaged around in my “Alterations” file (“Mood” subcategory, “Chemically Assisted” division) and rousted a few experts with advanced degrees heavy on the life-experience. They’d all heard the story, but nobody’d actually known anyone who’d tested it. Most of them flat-out didn’t believe it was true anyway, and no one could supply any salient details. Like, how do you know where to look for the dealer? Do the sneaker toes point in the direction of the drug house? Do you stand under the sneakers and wait for somebody to come to you? And is it Air Jordans for weed, Calvin Kleins for crack, a shredded pair of red Keds for crystal? And what dealer in his right mind would troll for strangers to sell to, anyway?

I.ast week, while gazing from the veranda of the family villa on Alice Acres, I believe I saw what is closer to the truth of the suspended sneakers phenomenon. Two boys, maybe nine or ten, with a ratty pair of black high-tops. The game seemed to be that they took turns trying to fling the shoes at the telephone line and get them to stay up there. It took three or four minutes, but one of them finally did it. He was clearly pleased with himself and probably assumed top-dog status for the rest of the afternoon. They wandered off looking nothing at all like drug dealers or couriers or bag-kids. How the pastime of bored children turned into a tale of drugs and intrigue, well, I guess that’s the very heart of urban legends. A little bit of truth, a lot of imagination, and a public willing to believe any cockamamy story that whistles between their ears.