Why so gross, National Geographic? Did you have to frame your pic this way? That fish looks dry and crusty. I wouldn’t even use the herbs, for fear of nasty contact contamination. Perhaps a brighter, fresher image would do, like this one of Anthony Bourdain among seafood fare that looks much more appetizing. RIP.
School is finally out today in central Texas, where we’ve already experienced 100 degree days and no rain in sight. In two months, school will resume, with seven weeks left of summer at that point. Who makes the rules around here?
But 60 years ago, 100 degree days were rare, and I’m told that school actually started in September. In June of 1958, LIFE profiled Hempstead High School in Long Island up until their last day of graduation.
The white graduation gowns give ladies angel wings.
Harry Greene said, “Band and football have been the big things in my life at Hempstead High. Nothing like a tuba for keeping your wind in trim for the Saturday game.” But did he play both on the field AND during halftime?
Of Helen Ignelzi, both the Spanish and French teacher, students said, “A typhoon in the classroom. She had a way of looking at you over the tops of those half-glasses, which kept you on your toes. And she was a fanatic on irregular verbs!”
These students enjoyed the fall weather while cheering on a Tigers touchdown.
At the annual Greek Games, these ladies made fine Athenian horses with their chariot.
On Old Clothes Day, students sported unfashionable outfits. Harriet Hills, on the right, said, “This is the last thing in sacks. They make an hourglass figure look like a Mason jar. I come from Kentucky and always wanted to be a hillbilly.”
And lastly, we have Richard Lane and Mary Lou Albright. Mary Lou declared, “Everyone has her favorite memory of Hempstead. Mine will always be the senior prom where I felt like Cinderella in my pumpkin dress.”
Well, that wraps it up for the 1958 graduating class, who would all be around 78 years old now. Never forget you’re a tiger!
It’s Stevens Twist Twill, lest ye forget. The red lion. And just in case you’re not familiar with twill, it’s a fabric with ridges. It’s the Ruffles of the material world.
You know how people these days looooove to say how important it is to “start a dialog” about things? How necessary it is for them to “start the conversation”? It makes me want to wretch, that kind of speech. So let’s just have a chit-chat about these manufacturer names, shall we? First off: Jack Tar Togs, that’s brilliant. It sounds like the mascot for a little league team. Go, Jack Tar Togs!
Hit Em Hard seems aggressive, but the list includes many manly names like Big Dad and 5 Brother (forget 5 Sister) and Stur-Dee. Sounds super reliable, right? But then others are more vexing. Pool’s is “swetpruf”? What is that about? That’s not even phonetically-spelled.
It reminds me of Farmer Jack’s advertising ploy. But he does it on PURPOSE. Or purrpuss, shall I say?
And as for Tuf-Nut? Yikes. I’ll take your word for it.
Such a fun opening riff, a soft and easy California feeling. Chewin’ on a piece of grass, walking’ down the road…
Then Jorge stops his strumming to assert that there is no actual Ventura Highway, only Ventura County. But Otilia (the older, haggard woman in the back whose hair is struggling to flee her scalp while she strums the hammock strings) says, “No seas tonto, Jorge” and explains that the actual song was about a young boy standing on the side of the road while his dad changed a flat tire. Get with the program, Jorge. Common knowledge.
Maybe it wasn’t actually Nancy Culp from The Beverly Hillbillies. Did she even play classical guitar? She clearly hated doublenecked guitars.
And while she gained notoriety playing a spinster, she was actually married for 10 years. Per wikipedia, one reviewer said she had the “face of a shriveled balloon, the figure of a string of spaghetti, and the voice of a bullfrog in mating season.” Perhaps that’s a bit harsh. Ribbit.
This poor boy got the sunken eyes of his mama, and both ladies’ shoes makes their feet look like hooves.
The lady at the tippy top gives me the heebeejeebs. Those bangs… But what a festive smattering of smocks!
This one here looks about a century old, whatwith the bunned hair and flouncy floor-length gowns. Check out this happy lass and her parasol.
While it may sound like the name of a royal princess of Wales, Charlotte Amalie is actually the largest city of the United States Virgin Islands, located in St. Thomas. Below, you can see the celebration in Charlotte Amalie on the 50th anniversary of Transfer Day, which marked the transfer of the islands from Denmark to the United States in 1917. Last year, of course, they celebrated a full 100 years.
While an enthusiastic sailor on shore leave from the cruiser USS Newport News (and he might be smoking Newports, to boot) hurls a ball at the weighted bottles at Carnival Village, the broad donning the Faye Dunaway floppy hat seems none too thrilled to either score his hits nor score his number. She has spent all day blowing up balloons, and her cheeks are as stretched as Dizzy Gillespie’s.
Note the look of awe on the boy in the far back.
I saw this pic and immediately thought of the 1947 poem:
Hold steady to grandma, lest she fall down
Let grass stains stay clear of her three button gown
‘Twill not be flattering should she choose to go prone
Give up the ghost, and leave Grandpa alone
But what of Aunt Doris who clings to the wrist
Of my sweet Cousin Lois who dare not resist
For fear that the lips of Doris get flubbery
As she sobs while Uncle Jim hides behind shrubbery
Has he donned trousers? Hast thou the knowledge?
He only had two years at community college
He lettered in arm wrestling; his grip was quite strong
To his daughter Eleanor, the gene passed along
And now she stands confident, with nary a frown
Holding steady to grandma, lest she fall down.
I Don't Get It 