Category: Culture

Hey, Ladies

resizeladies

The ladies of DPS knew how to live large near the tail end of The Great Depression.  And boy howdy, could they tilt a hat just so!

As the war got into full swing, women assumed roles formerly filled by men, and literally got their hands dirty.

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But women with administrative duties were not left idle; check out the STACKS of driver license applications behind Cicely and Mrs. Miller.

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After the war ended, applications continued to pour in.

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Meanwhile, lucky teens were trying their hands at the new Aetna Steerometer, which simulated driving conditions.

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Student drivers got to take a spin in the snazzy Studebaker training car.  Hold on to your boater straw hats, gents!  Maybe they’re going to pick up the fourth member of their barbershop quartet?

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As the years rolled by, DPS workers changed with the times, as seen by the lovely hairdos of Ms. Davis and Ms. Deeds, bookending a stern bespectacled Gene Kelly.

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But secretary Tom was not about to be upstaged.

031She knew how to stay abreast of current trends.

chia-cow

Some women were forced to wear uniforms, so they had to assert their individuality with enormous glasses.  Three of these people are actually women.

034But let’s go out on a high note, with the cheery Loveboat-cruise director smile of Ms. Stade and the blonde wings of love about to give Ms. Steele lift-off into space.

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And with that, we close the chapter on DPS.  Remember that it’s the end of May, if you’re inspection sticker is almost due.  You wouldn’t want to get ticketed.

Don’t Mess With DPS

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Today’s post is Part II in the ongoing bliss that is discovering the Dept of Public Safety’s pictorial heritage.  Pictured above is a badass Texas Ranger in an armored vehicle.  As I lack a penis, I have no desire to commandeer said vehicle or even go near it.  I will speak for most ladies who have no desire to appropriate or operate any sort of tankylooking thing.  But those of you who do might want to take a little spin in it.

Police officers have a noble history of enforcing the law, which often means sucking the fun out of your good times.  I would have let this guy go, since his car is so boss, but they have quotas to fill.

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And don’t try to outrun them; they will go all Ponch and Jon on your bippy.

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The Texas Rangers are part of a major division within the Texas DPS, who investigate serious crimes.  They also will suck the wind out of a criminal’s sails.  Cross the border to nasty swampland-subpar-highway-system Louisiana if you want to play craps; there’s no gambling in Texas.

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And weed is still illegal, too–no matter what the dreadheaded, tiedyed-shirt-wearing potheads would have you believe.  I don’t have glaucoma nor a criminal history, so I don’t get up close with Mary Jane, but I didn’t think it looked so much like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

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And don’t think they’ll let you off with a warning.  This Amish guy just galloped in from Pennsylvania, and he is exhausted, so he won’t think twice about putting a bullet in your gut.    And he’s not the only one.

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When Sergeant Guthrie smells something fishy, it is on.  It is SO on.

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And Sergeant Hall?  Some say he’s certifiably insane, a bonafide 5150.  I heard he picks possums off the highway, and eats them snout and all.  Don’t sass him.  He may take you to a Mexican prison if he’s feeling ornery.  And that’s just for jaywalking.

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And don’t let Officer Lowery fool you. Word on the street is he used to be the lethal injectioner at Huntsville.  He thought sterilizing needles was a waste of time.  So do I, for that matter.

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Now look, they’re not all gruff.  Officers Turner & Powell run the night shift, so that might be the perfect time to rob a 7-11.  Just saying.

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But you won’t run forever.  Justice will have its day.  They will see to it.  Once information is sent from the transceiver, all hope is gone.

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And trust me, you do NOT want them sicking Investigator Padgett on your ass.  He’s a superhero, and I don’t mean his demon eyes.  His power is oft compared to that of Spiderman, only his wide lapel shoots out disco balls filled with elephant tranquilizer.  You don’t want to wake up from that sleep, ripe for interrogation.

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Am I right or Amarillo?

You feelin' lucky, Punk?
You feelin’ lucky, Punk?

(All of the above is purely for humorous purposes and in no way meant to disrespect any officer of the law.  So please don’t sic Padgett on me…)

License & Registration Please

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Memorial Day seems as fitting a day as ever to begin our weeklong (we’ll see about that) Texas Dept of Public Safety pictorial history retrospective, seeing as many officers lost their lives in the line of duty.  However, today’s focus is not on lost life, but on the superbadassness of the department from 1935-1980.  I realize this seems hyperspecialized, but these pics are a treasure trove of early law enforcement, as well as insight into the long-gone TWENTIETH CENTURY.  You will witness early outdated, inefficient ways of doing things, like searching for fingerprints by hand and how to confirm if someone is a doublecrossing liar.

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See how people used to communicate with typing thingies and wirey boxes.

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Experience the communications hub, the leader in advanced technology.

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You will meet important characters, like Pop and Paul!

Pop

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Shoot the breeze with Viola and Barbara, both fashioned from the hands of Jim Henson!

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And FYI, Mr. Curb is not about to take any crap from you today.

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So join me as we take a long stroll through the halls of public safety.  Drive safely!

1972: Year Of The Messed-Up World

From Pam to Renee in their 1972 yearbook:

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Actually, Renee, you may not have known it at the time, but it was gonna get a whole lot more messed-up.  Reference the 2013 gas prices.  What do you think Wayne Stevens would think about that?  He was pumping gas for a quarter a gallon.  A QUARTER PER GALLON!!!!!  Super duper indeed.

021But I get it.  It was high school.  Life wasn’t peachy keen.  Clearly, you had it in for Miss Toni.

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I have decades upon decades of yearbooks, but there is nary a HINT of profanity in any year until 1972, when the world went to hell.  Miss Toni must have liked one of the numerous boys whose name you underlined in red.  Was it Steve?  It was Steve, wasn’t it?  This is all so very Marsha, Marsha, Marsha.

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Big deal.  Take a chance on Leslie.  His hair swoops majestically like an eagle over a canyon.  Plus, he has that Taylor Lautner hammerhead shark forehead that the tweens like so much.

And hey, if you’re still bitter, shove her in a fridge, like your peers did to poor Vickie.  I think we finally found a job for the Maytag repairman.

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Gracious, Renee!  What was your problem?  I just found another girl whom you evidently perceived as the dark lord, horns and all.

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Honestly, I’m more concerned with Sandy, who seems to be melting right off the paper.

You just need to chill out in a new Pinto, car of the future.

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Or take some barbiturates–I know they sold them then.  Ask these two classmates.  They should know where to score some.

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Or hang out with the annual staffers; they know how to have fun.  Buy the world a Coke and keep it company.  And rock that tie, girl.

031And hey, if that doesn’t work, you can always pledge Zeta Phi.

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Yucca Part Deux

012All hail Nikki Hendricks, the North Texas 1946 Football Queen.  Watch her ride “in royal splendor.”  I think we both know which one is Nikki and which one wishes she were Nikki.

013And here is a rare shot of Tina Fey’s grandmother, Dude Neville McCloud.  That’s what it says, folks.  Click to enlarge if you don’t believe.

news serviceNote the publicity staff “during a busy hour.”  Mercy, how bustling.  The supervisor checks for typing errors while one girl evidently knits and glares.

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Below is the W.R.A. tumbling team.  One of the support gals in the middle appears to have sprained her eye.

014Hey, remember Time & Temperature?

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Oh, how I wish I could have been a Trojan’s date to the Sadie Hawkins Dance.  The one with the eyebrows, sitting on the haystack.

016Let’s end with this portrait of the Baptist Student Union Council.

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Just take a moment to really absorb the Doublemint Twins in the front row,  Yes, F. Day and J. Day.  Perhaps it was in honor of D-Day and VJ-Day?   You can see the disdain all over F. Day’s face.  But J. Day.  Oh, J. Day.  She looks like she smelled a fart.

Now look to J. Day’s left.  Another set of twins!  Dang, Baptists!  Way to be fruitful and multiply.  Janel and Janet Barr.  I know, super creative, right?  You just KNOW people rhymed her name with “channel” instead of the exoticish J’Nelle. That’s why Janel is fidgeting with her fingers. In the twin crapshoot, she got the bad name.   And Janet is so over this.  She threw off her jacket in a fit of rage only moments before the shoot.  She’s all Oh, yes, please let me dress in identical clothing like those damn Day hussies.  Like we’re toddlers.  As if.  Can’t people SEE we’re fraternal?  Look at her.  I bet she wasn’t Baptist for long.

The 1947 Yucca, Part I

Today we’re going back to 1947, to a post-war era at North Texas State University, when women looked like the Andrews Sisters and frat boys took preventative measures against osteoporosis.

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I love the pretty print dresses on these ladies.

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Even just one row from the yearbook can reveal a lot.

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Let’s hope for his sake, that “Dwyane” was misspelled.  But check out his two-tiered locks.  And what about John’s tousled look?  Sexy.  I’m certain he knows his way around a tractor. And Fred’s sharp threads are pretty snappy.  I’m afraid these ladies’ names have gone by the wayside.  Any preschools catering to Margie, Betty, or Ada Jo these days?

Yes, Virginia, there was life before iPods and iPads.  Youth culture existed free from technology.  Before Supercuts and Starbucks, there were barber shops and coffee shops.  Look at that TEENSY coffee cup!  No blue tooth in sight.  People were actually looking UP.

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Such was life in “Collegetown.”  Stay tuned for Part II!

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So Not Feeling 22

Taylor-Swift-22-morethanmovie

She’s on TV right this second, dancing in her new video, singing, “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22.”  And that’s great because she is 22.  She doesn’t seem to DATE 22, but whatevs.  It’s a free country.

Now, I’m not 22, so I don’t feel remotely 22.  But here’s the thing I don’t get:  I don’t feel the age that I am.  I feel more like quadruple 22.  Like a good solid 88.  What’s up with that?  It’s like middle age plus interest.

Now if I were 22, I might spin around dizzily and gloat about it as well.  I graduated college at 22, so yay–one dream accomplished.  Has it benefited me in any way?  Well, that’s another post.  I own a video of me at 22, tanned and fit, doing front handsprings in a blue gingham bikini on the back lawn of a lake house.  So, yeah, 22 was pretty freaking great.  Nicole Brown Simpson didn’t fare so well that year, but sometimes life sucks.

Taylor starts the song with these words:

It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipsters
And make fun of our exes, uh uh uh uh
It feels like a perfect night for breakfast at midnight
To fall in love with strangers

Yeah, not so much for me.  I have some reading glasses so that I can read the size 4 font on the Advil bottle, but I don’t possess any horn rim glasses, so I’m out on the hipster thing.  And exes?  Exes are something you bury deep in the recesses of the past, raised like Lazarus at the sound of arena rock songs, then quickly repressed again. Highway run… And breakfast at midnight?  Well, that’s a good possibility, due to a decade of insomnia.  But it won’t be eggs.  Gotta watch my cholesterol.  Hello, shredded wheat.  And mercy, girl, don’t fall in love with strangers.  Keep your knees together or you’ll find TROUBLE, TROUBLE, TROUBLE.

In the chorus, she sings, Everything will be alright if we just keep dancing like we’re 22.  I did a lot of dancing at 22, but it wasn’t to pop country, Miss Swift.  In fact, Shania Twain hadn’t even been invented yet.  Back then, they showed videos on MTV.  It was a very Gin Blossoms and Warren G time in history.  When Tom Petty came on the radio, singing the verse, “Oh, my my, oh, hell, yes, honey, put on that party dress,” it was a joy.  Pure joy.  But you can’t dance to Mary Jane’s Last Dance.  There was also a hit called Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm.  No lie.  That was depressing.  Can’t dance to that.  And then there was this weird totally instrumental song that sounded like monks or something called Return to Innocence by Enigma.  Can’t even sing to that.  And lastly, the omnipresent little Lisa Loeb and all her nine stories, with her cat’s eye glasses, staring into the camera, singing Stay.  Poutable, but not danceable.  

So forgive me if I can’t dance like I’m 22.  Or 32.  But I have degenerative discs now, including torn and bulging ones.  So I don’t know about you, but I should probably just sit this one out.  Maybe in the new plush recliner.  With a glass of moscato in my hand.  Yes, that sounds like a plan.

The Princess And The Pee

http://www.homeinspiration.info/
http://www.homeinspiration.info/\

This is all well and good if you don’t have to get up twice nightly to pee.  I would worry my child would fall out the opening at the top and tumble down the steps to a painful injury.  Even the bottom bunk looks painful.  I’d throw my hips out just trying to crawl up into it, and then there’s no doubt my ankles would graze those drawer knobs at the bottom and bruise me up.  And what about changing the sheets on laundry day?  That would certainly tax the lower back.  I bet it gets warm and humid in there as well, with no ventilation on the sides.  And what if she has a nightmare and bolts upright, only to bump her head on that ceiling light?  Really, this is more trouble than it’s worth.

Does That Star-Spangled Banner Yet Wave?

Flag019Every adult American remembers where he or she was on 9/11.  What you may not recall is that the following Friday was deemed a day of patriotism, and citizens were encouraged to wear their red, white, and blue to show support for all who had perished in the attacks.  That day, I took my camera and two rolls (yes, rolls) of film and drove around the county, snapping photos of homes that had otherwise never flown flags in their yards, of cars and trucks and humans decorated in American colors, and it made my heart swell to see such pride.

It wasn’t a common enemy that we shared; it was the mutual sense of loss, that life as we knew it was over, and even the young ones who had never experienced a world war or the Cold War knew that the security we had always known was gone forever.  People who didn’t know us wanted to kill us on our own soil, and they didn’t mind losing their own lives in the process.  And we didn’t get it.  Who would serve a “god” that wanted  them to kill strangers?  And why kill innocent civilians instead of soldiers, prepared for war?  Who was the Taliban?  It was sick and evil, and so were the men who perpetrated it.

But on that day, the Walmart, the Tractor Supply–all stores big and small–sported flags. Now if you don’t live in America, you might think they always have flags up.  They don’t. That’s because Americans aren’t allowed to feel pride.  Every nation’s peoples should have the right to feel proud of the land where they were born.  But not us.  We’re supposed to feel guilty for every wrong ever perpetuated in the last two hundred years, nevermind any victory in a world war.  Nevermind that we donate billions in aid to other countries, including ones that despise us.  No, we’re not perfect, but our land is not full of hate, of people who seek to destroy other nations.  This is a land with a history of welcoming immigrants who have been persecuted by their own people.

But on that Friday, we didn’t have to apologize for being born American.  It was even permissible to have faith.

What I don’t get is how brief that period of patriotism lasted, how quickly people reverted to their own lives, how little unity meant.  No, these pictures aren’t World Trade Center passersby, covered in ash, and they aren’t pictures of planes plowing into buildings. They are just a window in time during that one week in a small town, where it was “allowable” to mention God, allowable to love the United States, and every soul felt the tangible sadness of the tragedy, from large home to small.

From barbeque marquis to cardboard signs…

from lamppost to balloon…

from lumber store to hardware store…

and of course, churches.

I spotted this woman in the Walmart parking lot.

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And as the sun set that day, I saw gratitude for all of our veterans, young and old, and Todd Beamer’s immortal words “let’s roll.”

Twelve years later, I still give thanks for freedom and for all our veterans.  It doesn’t matter if it’s Memorial Day or Veteran’s Day or the Fourth of July.  Or just plain old April 13th.  God bless America.

Cow Or Camo?

http://youdrivewhat.com
http://youdrivewhat.com

Yes, it’s ugly as sin, but it still beats the daylights out of those damn omnipresent swooshes.  I HATE swooshes!  Swooshes belong on Nikes, not recreational vehicles.  I had fully intended to prepare an entire dissertation on this scourge, but dangit–somebody already did.  To see examples of other hideous RVs such as this one decorated by drunk Zorro,

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visit: http://2penniesworth.com/2010/08/30/the-good-the-bad-the-ugly-rv-graphics/.  Nothing says gas-guzzling cross-country road trip like some ugly decals.  This is a travesty!