1960s – Page 27 – I Don't Get It

The Higher The Hair, The Closer To Jesus, Part I

However, Blinda’s Leaning Tower of Pisa is probably closer in proximity to The Pope. She’s certainly giving Deb a run for her money.

Teasing was involved on both of these Mary(s), and it appears as though a hairpiece or extension was haphazardly lobbed at their heads, with no regard for rhyme nor reason.

Donnita’s lithe neck can barely support the combined weight of coif and hardened Aqua Net. Any minute now, it could snap like a twig.

I don’t know what to say about Kathy. All I know is she’s in this yearbook twice. Same name, same pic, so it’s no misprint, people. Kathy with a K. Moving on…

1967 Tipi Bless her heart — 1967 Tipi
Bless her heart.

From the saucy smirks of the Nix Twins to Dennis’s kind eyes (which seem more 48 than 18 years old), to the barrel of whiskey hidden beneath the teased bleached locks of Regina, this pic does not disappoint.

I hate it when people say they gave 110% effort, because there is no such thing as more than the absolute total that exists. Having said that, Linda gave 110%. Have you ever seen a waterfall after a hard freeze?

But Travis. Sigh. Travis Isom, Travis Eyesore, old boy–what were you thinking with that unibrow? Read the page; Seniors Try Harder! You should try harder with some tweezers. Or a razor. This is unacceptable, Travis. Shame on you. Why couldn’t you have copied the simple brows of J.C. and Mike (who BTW, look pretty retro 50s greaser for a 1967 yearbook, if you ask me)?

And the winner of the most interesting hairdo is…Beverly’s ratty flattened mess, complimented by insanely dark arched caterpillar brows! You can bet David wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole! She smells like cigarettes and Binaca breath spray, and that scares the pee out of him. Does someone have a ladder so we can climb up there and crown her?

Fill ‘Er Up

A new Fort Worth Premier gas station opening in 1962 depicts great customer service for all your Chevy Impala’s needs. A sister photo reflects the steep price of gas at just over a quarter per gallon.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/seat850/3893433661/sizes/l/in/photostream/

And check it out: Buy 8 gallons of gas and for only a dollar extra, you get five place settings of fine imported silverware–enough to invite all three attendants in straw hats, as well as the two girls in modest swimwear, heels, and mod flips.

Everybody Cut Footloose

Except you, awkward white people. You need to stop.

http://pinterest.com/pin/462322717968124569/

The fine print says “Get free dance booklet at your Career Club dealer.” To those of you in your sixties (who were alive in the 60s), is that where you learned your dance moves? Your Career Club dealer? I bet your drug dealer could teach better moves. Stiff and forced, Milton practically begs for a bottle of Schlitz to loosen him up–his hand is already in position. Why, in ten minutes, he could be a poor man’s Davy Jones! I don’t recall ever seeing “the skate” performed on American Bandstand, and I can pretty well rest assured it was never on Soul Train. It looks less like skating and more like “festive ways to fart.”

End of Camelot

Yesterday I was given a stack of Houston newspapers from the week of JFK’s assassination. This November will mark the 50th anniversary of his passing, and I imagine some homage will be paid in the media. I found these brittle browning pages interesting, as they unraveled the course of history.

The page above was from the November 22, 1963 issue of The Houston Chronicle, when all was still well in Camelot. As far as they knew.

Hours later, another photo from the same scene is shown adjacent to a headline declaring “Secret Service Man Reports JFK Dead.”

The country knew that JFK and Texas Governor John Connally had both been shot, but JFK had not been officially pronounced dead.

But by November 23rd, the truth was out.

An article explains how doctors attempted to save the president’s life.

The suspect had been taken into custody.

And then the suspect himself was slain.

Finally, the president was laid to rest in Arlington Cemetery.

And Little John John bid his father farewell.

http://www.famouspictures.org/jfk-jr-salutes-jfk

Horseplay

Snap, Snap, Mexican Hat Dance

Toro! Toro! Toro! Let me count the ways I so love this ad. Okay, so this ad was in the back of the 1963 Comet, which I posted about earlier today. But I could not just drop this in to the post because it possesses clear and present superiority. It is the bomb. It requires its own post.

I love the black mantilla. Oh, yes, that’s a word for that black veil, which Spanish women wear during Holy Week in Seville, Spain during the week leading up to Easter, which is NEXT week, which means you can catch them live and in person if you so choose! Snap!

Also, I like how the skinny white girl is doing her version of an air guitar, except playing air castanets. Who would have even thunk to play air castanets? Glorious. Her undeniable skill, in combination with the mantilla and sexy red rose, playing off her innocence, is nearly enough to seduce Tim, the newest waiter.

BTW, Tim–that belt that your Aunt Marge sewed from a cast-off curtain sample does NOT look Spanish. But it would work quite well on your Ali Baba Halloween costume come October. But who cares? You get free chips and salsa, so life is good.

Now let’s talk about Janice! Janice and her look of disdain.

She can hardly keep that Saltine down. Yeah, Saltines are SOOO Mexican. I can’t help but think of Sophia Loren’s contemptuous scowl at Jayne Mansfield’s 42DD overflowy cup size.

It’s not like you’re cup doesn’t runneth over, either, Sophia. Just be glad you’re still alive. Poor Jayne never lived to do mediocre films like “Grumpy Old Men,” God bless her. Get over it.

Anyway, back to Janice. Her hair is teased to high heaven, and her blouse is buttoned high, but I think we all know the truth. You can sit there primly, holding that napkin over your nether regions, but we heard the rumors, Janice. You think your blonde friend, Cindy, knows how to keep her trap shut? Loose lips sink ships, Janice. Cindy can’t be trusted. But you just wait til the Mariachi Band shows up. You’ll get yours.

1963 Comet, Coming At You

Today’s daily dose of nostalgia comes to us from the 1962-63 Comet, just before Camelot fell apart. Join me as we tumble back into a time between the Korean War and Vietnam, where cat’s-eye glasses and buzz cuts were in. Student government was appropriately silly, but not full-on whackjob like we saw in the 1977 yearbook in Sunday’s post. Life was a barrel of laughs.

I realize it’s not the 1950s, but this is very reminiscent of Rydell HIgh.

My favorite part of this next shot is the gal holding the bottle of hooch. Pardon me, moonshine.

And the fun kept coming. Release your aggression with pinatas!

The choir fellowships as it prepares for the annual Christmas festival.But it’s not all fun and games. The German Club prepares a care package for needy families during the holidays. Because who doesn’t love German food? I’d prefer my care package from the Spanish Club, thank you. Charro beans instead of refried.

Speaking of Spanish, check out the smug grin on Lolita Ines Alverado’s (sic) face in Spanish class. Tengo el cabello más hermoso de la clase.

Lolita’s hair is much foxier than even the homecoming queen’s. In those loafers, Meiling Lung looks downright dowdy.

But by far, the most interesting pictures are of the teachers themselves.

Mrs. Brack cannot be trusted. That cropped cut betrays her. I bet she has volumes of beatnik poetry in her drawer. And Communist connections. And clove cigarettes.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end.

Why, in just a few years, some of you boys may be longhaired hippies, smoking the weed and living out of Volkswagen vans. But if the THC doesn’t lodge too deeply in your brain, try not to forget the wonderful years in high school. Harriet didn’t.

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