What's Wrong With These Pictures?

Fun stuff ... those line-drawn-picture-page-games in the each new issue of Highlights.  

Sure, now that you’re all grown up, pretend you don’t remember those innocuous scenes of barnyards, living rooms, forests and city streets that had a dozen or so altered bits of imagery, each somehow not quite right ... numbers out-of-order on a clock face, a space ship on a busy highway, a fish on a leash and so on and so on.  They were a few moments of distraction in the dentist’s office or until your mother yelled at you to go outside and play.

Fast forward to early November, 2015 and a visit to Fairview PreK to 8 at Fairview Commons ... at the corner of Elsmere and Hillcrest, just a stone’s throw down the road from another school you might remember. 

Since I’ve been assured that time heals all wounds, I thought I might stop in and see how the items “rescued” from FHS were getting along, in their new lobby home.  You may recall that our two Metcalf stained glass windows, the Four Freedoms reliefs from above the library doors, and Bruiser, the bulldog, each found its way there as either an act of charitable legacy-keeping or outright self-serving piracy in the name of preservation, depending on your political persuasion.  But I’m not here to make that particular judgment.  

Nooooo, not me.

It was a glorious, crystal clear, mid-autumn day ... the kind you need these days to make this part of Dayton View look decent, without the help of Norman Rockwell.  Such days allow everything to look its best ... the colors pop and even the dull and dirty seem to get time off for good behavior.  To put that euphoria to the test, I drove by the site of our Fairview, aka “the scene of the crime,” and managed not to fill my thought balloon with bitter invective  So, perhaps Zoloft does work.

To facilitate the visit, I had taken the precaution of e-mailing ahead to get permission.  I had no reason to believe the long-standing promise that our treasured bits of history would always be available for viewing.  And did I say I remembered to print off a copy of the principal’s positive reply? 

Ever-mindful of protocol with such things, I checked in at the office just off the parking lot.  The outer doors were unlocked, but the inner set were not.  At this point you are obliged to state your business through a sliding glass window, before entering the inner sanctum.  And while my pre-arrangement was acknowledged by the administrative assistant, that only allowed me to pass “Go” and move to the next increment of scrutiny.  I relinquished a driver’s license to confirm my alleged identity, whereupon several moments of computer input ensued.  No doubt I was checked against myriad databases of known felons and doers of no-good.

To the best of my knowledge, no one in my neighborhood has ever received any of those special postcards, serving notice of my proximity.

In the fullness of time, the printer spit out a lovely peel-and-stick badge, to be worn at all times, while on the premises.  I’ll treasure it always and it’s so nice to have yet another ID number to add to my collection.  And what kind of tour guide would I be if I didn’t share it with you at this juncture? 

That right of passage was accompanied by the heart-warming sound of an electronic lock opening the inside door … right, the same harsh metallic buzz you hear all the time in those prison movies … and I was allowed access to the common space.

But not to trust to that one initial screening process, my entire visit was monitored by those little black hemispherical surveillance camera fixtures mounted on the walls and ceiling.  You can sleep better now knowing that any miscreant behavior on my part can be fully documented at my trial.

However, to the matter at hand, the good news is that the aforementioned stained glass windows, Four Freedoms reliefs and bulldog are there and not in imminent threat of peril ... exposure to hundreds of grade schoolers notwithstanding.  

Exhibit A: our mascot, the bulldog.  If I remember the ancient lore correctly, Bruiser arrived at FHS when the new cafeteria was added in the ‘50s and proof that he wasn’t an afterthought was evident in the fact that his pedestal in the senior room of the cafeteria was part of that construction.  And there he sat for upwards of fifty years until he was moved to the floor at the intersection of the two first floor hallways ... Third and Main.  It’s my guess that happened because he no longer got much exposure in a cafeteria that no longer functioned as a cafeteria.  We’re not sure hot many kids tripped over him there before he was removed by the loving hands of DPS’ “Antiquities Re-purposing Committee” just prior to the demolition.

Over those years, any student in our high school, or the middle school or elementary school that followed, could become just the slightest bit happier and connected by touching him as they passed by.  But now in his new-and-improved residence he is protected by plexiglas, stanchions and rope.  No lasers were visible. 

Is it just me or does he seem to look a bit sad now? 

OK, if you’re still wearing the audio-headphones you rented when the tour began, you’ll note that we’re moving on to see the Metcalf stained glass windows.  In case you forgot to refill your memory-restoration prescription, they were in the two original landings at FHS along the Hillcrest side.  There, facing the sun always to their south, they communicated a message as only stained glass can do.  They were made for the space where they were and you saw them every day.  That message has been the subject of much recent prose of notable merit, but suffice it to say, that even if you were oblivious to them for four years then, their significance is imprinted into what makes you, you.

Now, those windows are hung like so many Walmart-framed pictures.  You don’t really like them, but since your parents gave them to you, you have to put them up or they’ll think you don’t like them.  I mean, really.  1) They’re up high in a out-of-the way corner of a chartreuse cinderblock wall.  2) They’re not on an outside wall.  3) The closest light they see is from fluorescent fixtures along their edges.  4) They compete with so much visual clutter as to be invisible.  Got the message? 

Fortunately, smarter people than you and I decided this was a far superior venue for their display than the Carillon Historical Park where untold tens of thousands from all generations and walks of life could have enjoyed them every year.

Why if I were a cynical, borderline misanthropic Mr Glass-Half-Empty, I might have said, “Why bother?”

Now, class, there’s the awkward matter of the Four Freedoms reliefs mentioned back when you were still paying attention.  As the accompanying clipping tells us, they were created by a student during the WWII era in testament not as much to the importance of the inalienable privileges enumerated, but rather to those in service to protect them.  Like the stained glass, part of why they worked so well in another Fairview was that they were painfully timely and relevant to their audience, not to mention appropriately placed ... above the library doors and backgrounded by that wonderful honey-brown brickwork. 

So, other than their presence here being so much sweetness wasted on the desert breeze, what possible problem could I have with them in their current iteration?  After all, they are above the doors to the Media Center, so there should be points awarded for continuity.  Could it have something to do with the fact that the tablets are not in the same order that they were for nigh on to seventy years in another place and time? 

That’s right.  In the ‘40s they were installed in the following order: Fear, Speech, Want and Religion.  Don’t believe me; squint through your high-end, acrylic multi-focal glasses and see for yourself.  Now take a look at how they ended up at good ol’ FPK8/FC.  Looks like Speech, Religion, Fear and Want to me!  Well, shoot me now and call me old-fashioned, but what do these current keepers of the flame know now that the artist did not, way back when?  Does that fall under artistic license?  If so, would you mind if I made some casual alterations to Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address?

Apparently I’m just a cranky old man.  Somehow I’m not even managing to be grateful that they got the tablets right-side up.  If they ever find the original Ten Commandments, do not let these same people handle them.  

But enough excitement for one day.  Hopefully the bus will be here soon to take me back to the home.

So, what’s wrong with this picture?  

If you still can’t find all the things that aren’t quite right and you’re ready to give up, go ahead and look at the answers.  They’re at the bottom of page 65, written upside down in small print.

Plan A

I’m fully prepared for you to tell me that the following bit of graphic art from your deep dark past, currently has no meaning to you whatsoever. 

Well, maybe there is one single solitary neuron firing that says, “Ya know, something about that sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t know what.”

Good, at least you’re being honest.  But if you’d told me that you knew what the jumbled-up letters actually stand for in that logo, I was more than ready to call you a liar to your seventy-year-old face.

OK, cue the History Channel Documentary soundtrack.

Things were going great guns for our Fairview High School back in the late ‘50s with regards to academic and developmental education.  And part of that high-water-mark status came from always looking for hints that there were ways to improve.  So when students started coming back to visit FHS after a year or two in college, trade school, the military or on the job saying words to the effect of, “I wish you would have taught us this, that or the other thing,” it sounded alarm bells in the first floor offices along the Philadelphia Dr. side.

The consensus seemed to be that there were both numerous and significant subject matter gaps in what those students had been exposed to in secondary school, as well as deficiencies in how they had evolved from adolescents into adults.

Mr. Longnecker and Miss Folger wisely opted not to waste valuable time seeing if other schools were experiencing similar feedback or if the school system as a whole had a fix ready.  Because Fairview was a unique situation, the solution would need to be one-of-a-kind.

The fact that standardized test scores were also taking an unexpected dip gave the administrators a way to not only confirm the nature of the problem but also gain some insights into how to turn things around.

Generally speaking, the academic areas most in need of attention were math, science, social studies and the arts.  But every bit as evident was a need to improve the way students related to others as well as to themselves.  Definitely a fine kettle of fish.  

Clearly the best answers must be based on a thorough understanding of the problems.  And while four years might seem like plenty of time for significant teaching and learning, the fact is that there was typically more exposure than education.  At the time there was significant reliance on extracurricular activities, i.e. clubs, group events, special assemblies, etc., to address the rough patches and allow for some in-depth opportunity, but it just wasn’t happening that way.  It’s just an unfortunate reality that even the most aggressive student was only going to come into contact with 25% of the teachers, and by extension, their expertise. 

For any solution to work, it had to be quickly implemented and reliant on existing resources.  Crediting equal amounts of inspiration and midnight oil, Plan A, what we came to call Basic Concepts, used a combination of faculty and staff already in-place, as well as a small number of local professionals, to present relatively intensive one-hour sessions on every subject found to be wanting in the existing coursework.

Five Mondays out of every six-week grading period had their morning periods condensed to create time for the program and the auditorium was the venue that allowed the entire freshman class, for example, to be part of the program at the same time.  So, the first four periods of the day saw the whole student body cycled through the their four different “booster shot” lectures, demonstrations, films, Q&As, whatever.

Conceptually this was team teaching and it allowed students to sample the best offerings of all teachers.

The freshman class each year would prove to be the greatest challenge, given the diverse background of the incoming population.  There’s always the risk of painting with too broad a brush.  In order to lay a groundwork for their Fairview experience, this year concentrated on developing personal skills, both on an individual basis and as part of the big picture … something of a life orientation.  Although the specific sessions would vary from year to year, they typically ran the gamut of study skills, communication, decision-making, and resolution of personal and inter-personal issues.  One end of the spectrum might discuss good grooming and hygiene with the other dealing with choosing a career.  And very little was taboo or off-limits, given the time.

My favorite was a talk entitled, “ Please, Thank-you and You’re Welcome … a Common Courtesy Sampler.”  It was presented by an impassioned Miss Folger and you could tell she was biting her tongue trying to reconcile the way she grew up just after the turn of the century with what seemed to be the realities of convenience in a brave new world.

The sophomore year was all about math and science.  While trying to concentrate on making math relevant to daily life, it had to dispel the entrenched fear of “the story problem.”  Who cares when train A leaves station B?  The science component, while trying to avoid too much dumbing-down to a least common denominator, attempted to offer a smattering of interests like geology, meteorology, forensics … things we would not be otherwise exposed to.

As Mr. Nisonger’s fair-haired boy, he and I did an experiment of tracking where weather balloons landed when released from our football field.  Yes, that was my fifteen minutes of fame.

History, in the broadest sense of the discipline, was the focus for Juniors.  Even though we had several very competent history teachers, woefully few students took advantage.  In addition to traditional by-the-age world history lectures and films, there were attempts to bring the subject kicking and screaming into our living rooms.  “The American Negro Today,” “The Role of a Free Press” and “The Cuban Situation” might give you an idea of how history was merged with current events.

Actually, for the sake of accuracy, the junior year was referred to as “backgrounds” instead of “history,” since the “h” in the hourglass logo would be needed for the senior year's exploration of the humanities.  Yeh, really.

Those seniors who didn’t get their daily infusion of Vitamin Herbst, would not escape high school without alternative exposure to a broad-spectrum survey tour de force of the arts.  Music appreciation, folk dancing, etymology, the Greek theatre, architecture and analysis of at least one Shakespeare and one modern play … a mind boggling array of anything you might want to consider under the heading of the humanities. 

Instant couth, courtesy of force-feeding.

Yesterday’s Basic Concepts program attempted to provide a real-time solution to problems of content and approach as Fairview purposed itself “to lead youth toward healthful, broadminded, service-seeking adult life.”

If, in the final analysis, you ask, “Did it work?” I reply, “Look in the mirror.”

Here and now in Ohio we see urban school systems reacting to declining standardized test scores and ever lower graduation rates by suggesting the answer lies with “improving” the tests and lowering the scores that are deemed passing.  

Just for the sake of argument, we could call that Plan F.

One School of Thought

When you get right down to it, what is life and what is history?  There are those who would have you believe that both are merely collections of countless details.  How those details interact and arrange themselves on a timeline is a brutally clinical perspective on existence.

If that outlook on life is too binary and void of the emotion we like to think of as humanity, you can always subscribe to Macbeth’s metaphor that “it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Either of those are enough to have me running to the refrigerator door for the suicide prevention hotline.  A while back, I started to develop a passion for gathering the minutia of everyday life as a way of trying to understand what makes us who we are.  Absorb enough information of what singularly seems irrelevant, and eventually a context evolves.  Whether gibberish or a story emerges is all about our ability to connect the dots.

Certainly knowing anything personal about our teachers would have been the farthest thing from my mind when I was a student at Fairview.  I was too busy worrying about how to make it through the day without catastrophically embarrassing myself.  Then there was that whole talking-to-girls thing.

Were teachers ever children?   Where did they live?  It was like teachers’ first names.  They were just Mr., Mrs., or Miss, weren’t they?  It wasn’t like they wrote their given names on the blackboard the first day of class.

“Hi, everyone.  My name is Miss Herbst, but please, just call me Dot.”  

Oh, I don’t think so!

Now, I'm not going to try to tell you that they had families, hobbies, friends and, well, normal lives, but it does turn out after all that they did not live in some communal mind-hive on the edge of Borg-space.  As with “the enemy among us,” they lived in our very midst.  Who knew?!

Miss Folger, Theresa to her posse, lived in a large, two-story frame house on Radcliff Road, tucked into one of the corners where Salem Ave intersects Catalpa Dr.  If she chose, she could take the #5 trolley, labelled “Hillcrest” to work in our time.  She started in 1922 as a teacher earning $1500 a year. 

In the ‘40s, boys referred to her as “Sticks,” almost certainly less in a mean-spirited way, so much as a puerily immature, descriptive way.  I can say that now from my lofty perch of adulthood and propriety.

There were always stories of there being “something” between Miss Folger and Mr. Longnecker.  My favorite comes from a young lady, who shall remain nameless, in the class of 1963.  She related how, in the spring of her senior year, she got a last-minute and somewhat unexpected invitation to the prom.  As the girl was a school office assistant, Miss Folger heard Cinderella one day lamenting that she had nothing appropriate to wear to the ball.  Since they were about the same build, Miss Folger asked if the girl would like to come over to her place and see if any of her dresses might be to her liking.  While they were going through the wardrobe, Miss Folger let it slip that one outfit was special because it was Mr. Longnecker’s favorite.

To the best of my knowledge, no teacher there in the early ‘60s had more seniority than Miss Folger.  That said, we did have three teachers who in 1929 came with her and her boss, Mr. Longnecker, from the first Fairview at the corner of Catalpa Dr. and Fairview Ave. to our brand new Fairview and remained there through our time.   

Dale Nisonger started in 1924 and left the year we graduated.  What does that say?  He lived on Vancouver Dr. just south of Cornell.   In the ‘40s he picked up the sobriquet “Mighty Mouse” due to his diminutive stature, plus-size ears and penchant for wearing enormous safety goggles.  I got along quite well with Potions Master Nisonger since he let me try all sorts of things in the chemistry lab after school … things that I couldn’t get away with using my Dad’s collection of Delco-surplus chemicals in our basement at home.  It’s nice that we have the EPA and OSHA now to provide oversight for such folly.   

Our geography teacher, Roy Mayberry, hired on in 1926 for the princely sum of $2100 to oversee all the sports programs at fledging Fairview, and take fullest advantage of the new gymnasium/auditorium addition.  As athletic director he made more than any of the “academic” teachers. The more things change …    

Elmer Weins preferred to be called E.C. by his peers.  He taught history when he started in 1928 and was still at it when we were there.  He lived off North Main as it goes northwest from the Shiloh neck of the woods.  After forty years he retired to Sun City Center, Florida until his  more permanent retirement in 1972.

Now, who among our teacher cadre gets prizes for the most interesting first names?  Honorable mention goes to Wonetta Bookwalter, Pierre “Skip” Barker and Willetta Peckham.  But in a unanimous first ballot decision, the winner is Cleophus “C.W.” Detrick.  By the way, you should take it as truth that his image as it appears in our yearbook is the only known photo where he is smiling.  Although widely rumored, it is unsubstantiated that he was the model for Bruiser, the  Fairview mascot.

Next of the list of pointless categories in search of a reason for being … who lived the closest to FHS and who spent a fair chunk of time making the daily commute?   

   

Suffice it to say there were two who couldn’t use “my car won’t start” as an excuse for not making it to work.  Peter Bard, taught math and never cared to talk much about having been slave labor for the Germans during WWII.  He and his wife, Virginia, lived on Sunnyview Ave., painfully close to any number of our classmates.  Mary Marts, our school secretary, who graduated from Fairview herself in 1949, lived in an apartment on Brentwood Dr. halfway in between Fairview Elementary and the high school.  Just because I know you’re curious, she started there in 1954 for $25 per week.  There.  Happy?

Those who must have really liked to spend time driving to work included a contingent from Miamisburg … Charlotte Eck and Geraldine Oliver.  Yeh, yeh, yeh, I know the stories, too.  And in case you’re interested,  Avery Allen made the same trip, too, but my stories about his shop classes aren’t as interesting.  Before I-75 was done, that trip had to take a while.

Scary close to where I lived on Torrington Place, essentially where Salem meets Philadelphia,  was everyone’s love-her-or-hate-her geometry teacher, Evelyn Rinehart.  Sometime in the ‘50s her family built on Burroughs Dr, just a few blocks away.  The house always stuck out as different … postwar modern in the middle of a mainly Tudor neighborhood.  The bright green paint didn’t do it any favors.  She did not retire until 1976.  Maybe teaching us just made her look older … maybe it was the white-white hair.  It’s interesting that she had an unlisted phone number.  Go figure.

  

Norman Feuer doesn’t fit handily into any category.  He was Jewish and I don’t recall lots of other Jewish faculty or staff in our time … interesting, given the very strong Jewish demographic in our class.  Apparently teaching was not high on the list as a career choice for Jewish folks in that generation.  What say we leave it to the cultural sociologists to explain that to us.  I have no doubt that he came to Fairview in the late ‘50s, treading water for a few years as a general science teacher, in full anticipation of Mr. Longnecker’s retirement and the need to fill the assistant principal slot when Miss Folger moved up.  After his stint as principal, following her retirement, he moved downtown to the Dayton Board of Education.  When he was our world in the ‘60s, his family lived on Florrel Crest Lane, a residential area out near where Dog Leg Road meets North Main.  That’s the kind of street name you get when you allow building contractors to name roads in areas they develop.  I suppose that means his children went to Meadowdale. 

Since, with apologies to Lesley Gore, it’s my story and I’ll write what I want to, I wrap this up with two personal favorites. 

Grace Krehbiel was a perfect mix of no-nonsense brass tacks and understanding compassion.  Somehow she managed to make ancient literature a bit less agonal.  That she had enlisted in the WAAF during WWII made her special … something which, as a veteran myself, I’ve come to appreciate even more with time.  Of all our teachers, she arguably brought the strongest skill set to the job.

Felecia Rowe was so much more than our first black teacher.  She was our exemplary role model as to how human beings should interact.  She and her husband, James, a teacher at Dunbar, lived off Gettysburg, almost in the shadow of Nettie Lee Roth … a tough area then, as now.  She started at Fairview in 1955, with Mary Marts taking her in tow, showing her the ropes, and stayed long enough to get her 25-year pin.  

So, just how was her last name pronounced, you ask.  In the south, it was “-ow” like you hurt yourself, but when they moved up north, it somehow changed to a long “o,” as in row, row, row your boat.  Needless to say, she answered to both.

So, TMI?  Just the detritus of our comings and goings … signifying nothing?

Maybe, but that’s just one school of thought.   

"... and now, a word from our sponsors."

Oh, sure, you remember the Tower News … that paragon of journalism and pride of the Fourth Estate.  If that’s the way you remember it, you’ll also recall the Pulitzer Prizes that adorned the trophy cases at Third & Main. 

OK, let me take off my rose-tinted glasses and stop in for a reality check.

Once upon a time, the newspaper was printed in-house, but by our time that chore was farmed out to a local printer.  The subscription rate was $1.05 per year or $.15 per issue.  So much for any discount for the seven-issue year.

The name of the school newspaper is a tribute to the most notable architectural cue on the first Fairview building at the corner of Fairview Ave. and Catalpa Dr.

Bingo, it had a tower.  Golly, you’re quick!

About the only other reference to that building that was any part of our school days in the early ‘60s would have been the one Rookwood ceramic fountain that was on the hallway wall in between the office and room 101, Miss Herbst’s room.  Shhhhhh … remember … always whisper when you say her name.

No doubt Mr. Longnecker and Miss Folger felt all warm and fuzzy whenever they walked by.   I mean the fountain, not Miss Herbst’s room. 

Now, if you’re still riding this train of thought, let’s pretend you also rememberer the small advertisements for local businesses that found their way onto the bottoms of the pages toward the back of the paper.  As part of the process, students on the Tower News staff had to go out into the world and beat the bushes to convince business owners to buy ad space.  You could make a good case for some of the businesses wanting to market themselves to FHS students and their families.  Some were a bit of a stretch to imagine how they would benefit.  Still others just wanted to show their support for kids getting their feet wet in the real world.

The Tower News was first published in 1925 and it is interesting and fun to look at these ads as a bit of a time capsule for our Dayton View neighborhood, people’s interests and the evolution of the local business community.

Two examples from the ‘30s show us enterprises that still managed to be there for us in the ‘60s.

These early ads also give you a chance to remember when telephone numbers were only six characters long and began with the first two letters of the name of an exchange, like RAndolph, TAylor, ADams, BAldwin or FUlton. 

Brawley’s was a drug store that also dated back to pre-war Dayton View …  located at the corner of Salem and Malvern Ave.  Just inside the front door were greeting cards and school supplies on the left and periodicals on the right.  Next on the right was the candy counter with the lady who took your money, followed by one of those spectacular white ceramic metal display cases with roasted nuts.  On back on the left was the soda fountain with its ten or so red swivel stools.  Along the very back was the pharmacy.

I just wish I could remember the name of the family that ran Brawley’s.

circa 1934

Now here’s something interesting.  We all rememberer the Mascot right across Hillcrest from school, but can anyone think back to before they were born when apparently there was a different business there?

Yeh, me neither.

So that you folks who lived up north and didn’t make it down to Salem Ave very often don’t feel left out, we’ll throw you a bone here. 

And now back to us normal people.  Here are two mainstays of the commercial world out on Salem, west of Philadelphia Dr.

Miami Hardware was run by Fairview parents, and it was where you went before there were any big boxes.  You name it; they had it.  They had paint, appliances, tools, nuts and bolts, glass, patio furniture and every sort of home repair gadget imaginable.  They also did repairs on things like windows and screen doors.

My favorite thing there was the giant machine that tested radio and TV tubes.  So when your enormous mahogany monster went on the fritz, Dad or Uncle Mike could remove the back panel, pretend he knew what he was doing and take all the tubes there to be tested.  There now, your vertical hold is all better. 

Pantorium Cleaners, was just across Litchfield from the early-‘50s Kroger’s that started the Miracle Lane ball rolling and unless I miss my guess, it’s still there.  They did dry cleaning, laundry, alterations and could lose or crush just about any button made by man.

I have two vivid memories of Pantorium Cleaners.  1) Have no doubt that many a brain cell was killed by the solvent they used for dry cleaning.  Whatever it was made carbon tet tame by comparison.  On a bad day, we could smell it on the way to school. 2) One day my Mom and I were coming home from downtown on the bus and someone hurled all over the back of Mom’s nice green coat.  Lucky eight-year-old Dan had to put the coat in his bike basket and take it to Pantorium.  Pity, I was unable to get the Guinness Book of Records people to document the amount of time I held my breath that day.

Speaking of Miracle Lane, that was the first experience most of us had with a shopping center.  It had two clusters of buildings and by and large did away with the need to go downtown as often.

  

The Metropolitan and Vernon’s Shoes were two Miracle Lane businesses that would occasionally advertise in the Tower News.  The Met was owned by a Fairview family.  By the way, does anyone know what “the bold look” was?  Vernon’s Shoes was in the smaller part of Miracle Lane back toward Prescott Ave.  It’s claim to fame was the fluoroscope machine that allowed you to X-ray your feet to see how your shoes fit.  

Yeh, that was well before any link to leukemia and birth defects was established. 

Most of the companies that advertised were small and did not have camera-ready art for their marketing program, but once in a while something a bit classier came along. 

And far and away, the most ads were for hair and beauty businesses.

And for the April issue you could count on several spots for tux rentals.

Oooooo, price war!  Perhaps cleaning was $.50 extra?

                                                                                                                           

Now, if the trip to the hairdresser or the formal wear outlet wasn’t the answer, perhaps a more basic approach was needed.

Of course, after-FHS educational opportunities ran the gamut.

Passion pit?

And since no one who was old enough to drive had hardly any gas in the tank, oil in the engine or air in the tires …

How better to close than with the dealer’s choice award …

(Eat six yeast donuts before you go to bed and
 your stomach will wake up an hour before you do!)

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.