I was pleased to see that the shirts the guys had ditched at the school had pretty much stayed ditched when they headed out after school.
For instance, even that first day, I don't think any of the teachers or students with lawn-mowing gigs got shirted, though several of them stopped by the drugstore to buy and slather on sunblock lotion. "Invisible shirt" declared Mr. Garcia, my math teacher, as he oiled up at the end of the following day. It wasn't invisible, of course; it was a really nice sheen on his well defined brown torso.
The boys bagging at the supermarket, working at fast foods, and being aides at the old folks' home all buckled their belts on the diagonal across their chests, like the top of a military Sam Browne belt, so they'd have a place to pin their name tags. As the shifts wore on, some of the other male workers at each place followed suit.
The school Tutoring Corps and their (mostly jock) pupils began studying outdoors, sitting in the shade on walls or on the grass around the school. But eventually one pair of them needed some books from the public library down the block. They stood up, felt the sun on their backs, looked at each other, and the jock made an announcement to the other tutors and pupils: "We need to go inside, and I don't see the point of shirting up to do it. Can I get the rest of you to come along for moral support?" With a chorus of assent, they all stood up and marched along, heads and nipples high. Somewhat surprisingly, there were no unfortunate repercussions.
As the week wore on, more and more men and boys unconnected with the high school started following the lead of its teachers and students and shucking their own shirts. The next Sunday, the Unitarian men were almost unanimously shirtless for services, with varying percentages in other sects' congregations.
And of course all that exposed flesh encouraged better fitness among the townsfolk. The quality of human scenery has steadily improved in the weeks since.