Hurts So Good
Category: 1960s
Bringing Back The Jim-Dandy
Back in the day, a lady stood inside a car to show off her assets to passers-by.
A lady could also sit in the back of a car and wave, “What’s up, peons?” like these Dixie Belle nominees, but 1963 wasn’t the best year for riding around in convertibles. I take it the day was humid.
Cars were great for going to the drive-in, as Guinn and Wanda would attest.
Have you ever visited a Jim Dandy? I insist that we all strive to bring back the term “jim-dandy,” which means most excellent or a superior example. Ex: I did a jim-dandy job of writing this post today.
Can Music Save Your Mortal Soul?
You can plainly see why I shared Mr. Fountain with you. I felt like he needed to be in all of your lives. I did not know there was such a thing as a “nationally known clarinetist” (do we have any now?), but he was big enough to play TWO concerts at Arlington High School back in 1963.
Such were the aspirations of these teens with their instruments in the 50s.
Below is a junior high band in 1923, before electric guitars existed.
In the back row, you can see Leonardo DiCaprio during his Growing Pains years.
During the turbulent 60s, girls learned to move to the beat of a different drum. “It’s just like holding chopsticks, Melinda. Don’t try too hard.”
And these nicely-clad songbirds look confident gathered around the piano.
Hey, you wanna see what Mr. Fountain looks like these days? He threw beads out to the crowd in New Orleans last year:
I bet there’s a good chance he was at Mardi Gras this week.
P.S. Music is great, but it can’t save your mortal soul.
Brewed On The Spot!
November 23, 1963
First Position: Roasting Marshmallows
A Measure Of Success
If Ali McGraw Had A Beehive
Share A Square
Whatever outrages you the most in this shot determines your character.
- For me, it’s clearly Ottoman Head in the middle bottom row. I could plant my rump on that hair and sit a spell.
- For others, it may be the fact that these members of the Sachem Literary Society (and there were two pages of them) were all dressed in minks. Maybe you don’t like the top of the food chain to wear coats made of the animals at the bottom. I will say I wouldn’t mind wrapping myself in one right now during this frosty season, especially since those minks died around 1964. I’m just saying Nature provides for a bi-polar vortex, that’s all.
- If you were my cousin, your jaw would be dropping in a WTH response at poor Mary and Martha Russell being shoved into one frame to share it. And it’s not as though there wasn’t space on the page. There is an entire 3″x7″ blank spot right next to this–plenty of room for any sets of twins to have their own unshared portrait and own unique identity. What was the thinking on the part of the editorial staff here? Well, they look the same, so why bother taking two pictures? Who needs to see that face twice?
Perhaps I’m being presumptive; perhaps it was their own idea. Maybe they feel a connection as twins and wanted a “group” shot. Or perhaps they are really Siamese conjoined twins, unable to separate, much less turn around and face each other. Like the two women below. But even if that were the case, I don’t understand why they couldn’t take a picture of each woman and crop the other out. They shouldn’t have to share a square. Or a rectangle, as it were.
I should end the post right here. But dangit, I can’t. Conjoined twins are fascinating. So I’m going to go off on a tangent. Close this out if you are in a hurry.
Don’t you have questions about their hygiene, marriage, clothing, sleeping conditions–things all the unconjoined of us take for granted? I do. Imagine sitting right where you are, typing on your laptop with a person attached to you. And he has to use the restroom. Or he’s hungry. Or he has a fever, which you may well soon get.
Quick history lesson on the Carolina Twins above: Millie McCoy and Christine McCoy (July 11, 1851 – October 8, 1912) were born to slaves, and sold by their owner, Jabez McKay, at TEN MONTHS of age to a South Carolina man, who agreed to pay McKay a percentage of the earnings he made, exhibiting them at state fairs. The “two-headed nightingale” was sold twice more until 1863, when it/they earned their freedom. But don’t be sad; a wealthy merchant named Joseph Smith reunited the girls with their mother, Monemia. Mr. Smith and his wife then provided the twins with an education and taught them to speak five languages, dance, play music, and sing (thanks,wikipedia).
Eventually, they bought the plantation where their parents had originally worked as slaves. They still exhibited themselves, but on their own terms.
What still bothers me on this license is the fact that they are referred to as a “two-headed woman” named Millie Christine, instead of two separate people. They are actually two women, not one woman. Two brains, two hearts, two souls with separate thoughts and emotions. Now you see where Full House got the idea to bill “Mary Kate Ashley Olson” as one person, instead of giving credit to both actresses.
Perhaps that billing contributed to the mystique of the commodity they were selling. Perhaps they were only counted as one person on the census. Whatever the reason, I’m certain that Hayley Mills would not have approved.
P.S. I found the Russell twins on another page in the yearbook. Not conjoined.
One-Two Punch
Eye of the Beholder
I like how this yearbook just cuts to the chase: Pretty Girls. So there. It’s not open for discussion. And Sugie Smulcher signed her name for emphasis. Say that aloud. Sugie Smulcher. Rolls right off the tongue.
Other yearbooks try to be creative with their beauty queen section, like this classy illustration preceding the portraits.
Some editors refer to them as queens.
Others refer to them as “sweethearts.”
I doubt this girl’s destiny included being a farmer’s wife, but she took the title of FFA (Future Farmers of America) sweetheart. If she’s not a vision in lace, I don’t know what is.
“Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute.”–Albert Einstein
Now that’s science!
The Year David Schwimmer Was Born
Honestly, I don’t care when he was born, but bless his heart, I doubt he’s seen his name in print in nigh on a decade, so this is just a charity shout out. And he was indeed born in 1966, which we’ll be criticizing in about a minute.
Look, it’s true the temperature has increased twenty degrees since yesterday, it’s sunny, and I even got an overpriced game of bowling in, but mercy, I’m Old Man Grumpus today! I’m off soda and wine this weekend, so all I can think to perk myself up is to mock others’ hair. So take a seat on the shallow and petty bus, and here we go.
First off, the 80s get a bad rap as the “big hair” decade, but can we talk about this structure for a sec? That is a seriously strong neck, y’all.
I know, I know: the higher the hair, the closer to Jesus. But this is a stairway to heaven, friends. This rivals even the most Florence Jean Castleberries of the world. I didn’t know you could have several SETS of bangs. Bangs upon bangs, like the cedar shingles on the treehouse built on last night’s Treehouse Masters, a show on Animal Planet that has absolutely nothing to do with animals, and lots to do with an attention-deficit host named Pete. Oops, I got a case of the ADD myself there. Deep breath.
Linda’s bangs are tall as well, but bleached and ratty, complimented by eyeliner that says, “Yes, I will sneak out at night to drink Boone’s with you.” You know now that I think about it, I think she’s that blonde girl in the B52’s. I’m gonna have to google that.
Now this one here is working some kind of Coalminer’s Daughter thing with the whole Loretta Lynn/Kentucky Waterfall hairdo. She’s cute as a button but that is some strange styling.
I left this person’s name purposely off because…Well, because…that’s just manners. Moving on to this fellow…
I know, right? Wow. Like the elusive jackalope or the Giant Crocostempy, this is a rare find: the male double part. And don’t argue with him. He is Who is Who, and that is that, my friends.
Enjoy this Double Creature Feature. Evidently a lot of effort was put into these looks. Hair was pulled and prodded and flipped and cursed in the name of the Almighty, but where is the joy, ladies? Suzanne looks like she’s got a switchblade behind her back, and Frances just caught a whiff of polecat cologne but she’s too polite to gossip about it.
Here is the big winner:
With black eyebrows and her post-Marilyn Monroe combover, dainty features, and slim neck, there is no denying that Connie Jo is the bee’s knees.
You know what, y’all? I feel a ton better now. I really do. I just needed to get that out of my system.
I Don't Get It 