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.
1963 Float Parade
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.
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:
In a state full of bootwearers, I don’t recall ever having seen anyone get his shoes shined, perhaps because people have no pride in personal appearance anymore, or they have no disposable income. It must be a more urban venture. I guess it’s honest work. It seems less degrading than offering your body to a stranger for money, and some places allow that. There are better ways to earn a dollar on your knees, and bootblacking is one. In fact, ICS Learning Systems should get on this asap. It’s got to be more lucrative than TV/VCR repair.
In any event, bootblacking is alive and well. Okay, alive and ailing. But like a person free to choose his own health insurance, a few of them still exist.
Jim Walker, 72, works on the shoes of Idaho Stampede Assistant Coach Barry Rohrssen, Thursday Jan. 17, 2013. (AP Photo/Idaho Statesman, Darin Oswald)
Whoever owned this razor thin 1953 yearbook from a podunk town clearly had issues.
Well, we all know how 4th Grade can really take it out of you. All the hormones raging in your 9-yr-old body and whatnot. I will assume a girl owned this book, as men are not prone to having emotions, much less sharing them or recording them. And clearly, there was some love felt for one of these siblings.
Again with the mustaches? Or are these kitten whiskers? Even the poor bus driver (singular, as in one bus in a one-horse town) could not escape her wrath.
Perhaps the mustaches were not meant to be insulting; perhaps she had a thing for facial hair on friend and foe alike. However, there is no misunderstanding this:
My new WordPress buddy, Mark, at markbialczak.com has graciously nominated me for The Seven Awards. He is a Yankee, living in a frosty, shivery land right now, but I like him anyway. Congrats to him as a recipient of The Seven Awards. But Seven Awards is like the Chili’s Appetizer Platter; that’s too much to digest in one sitting.
I perused the Sampler Platter, and chose the one consistent with my blog theme of Cheer, because on my blog, Christmas is every day! So I’ll just slip this onion ring off the plate and accept it in all its red and gold glory. Plus, I found a nice, crisp image to go with it. Don’t low-res pics on WordPress drive you NUTS?? They make my eyes squirm.
I do hope that constantly sharing black and white images of the past brings joy and hope and love, but surely not peace, as there will never be World Peace, so don’t even bother putting that on your wish list. Have you seen Russia lately? See, this is why I don’t do Awards Posts; I get off track.
This is the last award I will ever need. Just now, the lyrics portion of my brain has overridden my thought process and can only play Don Henley singing, “This is the last worth evening that you’ll ever spend…” Right, Don. That’s an empty promise if I ever heard one. Oh, that reminds me of The Eagles’ “Seven Bridges Road.” More sevens!
Think of things that come in sevens:
Days of the week
Deadly sins
Wonders of the world
Can you think of more? Where was I again? Oh, yes, the Cracking Chrispmouse Bloggywog Award. I like to say that repeatedly because it’s crazy. Not whackjob crazy like anything at Cirque de Soleil, but still. Oh, that reminds me of funny names! So I’ll nominate:
because I like to mock, and we have all have something silly about ourselves. I had a funny name growing up, so I can enjoy funny names. Okay, one down. Usually, I am quite the rule-abider, but these things are so complicated, and it’s Tuesday, and school was delayed two hours due to icicles, icicles everywhere. You think anyone is going to brave that to head to the polls and vote today? Not.
Okay, seven things about me: Oh, get this, you guys. I bought a stack of used Saveur magazines last week because I like pretty pictures of food and foreign people holding baskets of colorful produce (that is not racist) and so I noticed that the prior keeper of the magazines dogeared some recipes. Fine, perfectly normal. Except he/she dogeared at the bottom. At the bottom. What? Was she dropped on her head? Who does that? So that’s one fact about me: I don’t like people who dogear at the bottom because they weren’t raised right.
Dangit! I had to get up because the stupid wandering fat orange neighborhood cat who should not be free to roam about (because subdivisions have rules, and owners should control their beasts) has once again come to tease my dogs by walking the fenceline, which makes them howl, and there is little I like less than a vocal dog, except perhaps owners who DO NOT CONTROL THEM. So I’m going to go discipline my dogs and pray that a sharp icicle lances through the blubbery torso of said feline, at which point I may write a very joyful post about that.
Scarves and stripes always trumps Juicy sweatpants.
Gettin’ their prim and propers on during homeroom.
What I love most here: Marjorie’s accessorizing with a double belt. What I like least? Juan in his pre-restraining order days, displaying some protective aggressive tendencies toward a girl in a transparent sweater.
This is my favorite casual shot. I want to know what happened to that girl in the middle. She looks like she could get stuff done without being asked twice. I bet she knows how to delegate.
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.
I Don't Get It 