Posts Tagged ‘vintage pin-up’

Girls of Summer: Teddi Smith, Miss July 1960

June 30, 2010


Photographed by William Graham and Edmond Leja.

Bill Graham and Ed Leja do an absolutely beautiful job with this spread. Check out especially the use of color and warm, ambient light in the exterior shots — just gorgeous and really striking. I wish the same could be said for the write-up, because Ms. Smith (not her real name but I will refer to her by it) is a fascinating, ambitious, creative and exciting woman, but it is not at all reflected in the text that accompanied her gatefold. It is one of those write-ups. The ones that make me resort to made-up epithets and food-item-substitutes for swearwords. Pop a dramamine and check it out:


I adore her expression in this picture. A lot of her shots from this spread feature an almost amused, frank and confident openness on her face. Almost catlike, almost equally curious about the lens as it is about her.

The delights of yachting are too well-known to require exhaustive comment here, but potential yachtsmen should be apprised that it’s possible to find a First Mate for a trim craft who is a trim craft herself.

(“Ship Shape.” Playboy, July 1960.)


Such a one is Miss July: Teddi Smith, a nubile native of Van Nuys, California. Weekdays she works as a receptionist, but every weekend, she undergoes a sea change and turns into the sweetest of sailors, manning a tiller with the best of them and showing the coast line’s shapeliest pair of sea legs in the process.

(Ibid.)

Franklin Delano Roosevelt, what a pile of yam fries and appleslaw! Worse than usual, even — bleah. Can you believe that sassy molassy? It’s possible they did it because Ms. Smith’s birthdate was September of ’42 and, as this gatefold appeared in July of ’60, and experience tells us the spread was photographed well ahead of its publication and distribution, then, barring some fuzzy math, Ms. Smith was rather obviously at least six months under 18 at the time of this shoot.

If that makes you feel hinky, just scroll past this gal, but do remember that in plenty of states in the U.S.A. at that time, 17 (and, in some states, younger) was the age of consent, so call me old-fashioned or statutorily perverted but I’m kind of live-and-let-live ambivalent on this one.

I know, I know: the argument is, what I just said was wrong about justifying the pics via the ol’ “but that was legal consenting age back then” line because what if it was, I don’t know, horrific nudie pics from the 1800’s of a 12 year old Apache girl getting dp’d by evil cowboys or some shit, right? Sure, there was no consenting age then but holy jesus I would be as outraged as anyone to know of such a thing, absolutely. Dreadful, expository, predatory garbage like that, reflective of only darkness and pain and violent degradation, should of course not be disseminated no matter what. That would be awful, yes. Straight abhorrent child porn. I am not arguing that at all!

But I’d pray that those cases are hopefully rare (I couldn’t sleep if I thought they abounded, so please do not tell me if you know otherwise) and you do have to draw a line somewhere with pornography laws. Look at this spread: Miss July looks happy, openly participatory, and at her age was not exactly a novitiate to puberty.

I knew exactly what I was doing at 17, as I suspect most folks of either gender do now and always have at just that age. My feeling is this: 16 is pretty dang sketchy, headed proportionally toward screwed-up based on the further the wooer is from that age, 15 is sailing in to some deep “this is really wrong — you should seek help” waters and 14 and < is straight-up NOT COOL, go directly to jail and do not collect $200. But, really, 17-18? Meh.

Hot fricasse, am I going to get arrested for saying all that? This may get edited later when I got time to look up laws. Eek… So, back to Teddi Smith and this spread: what happened was two years earlier Hugh Hefner had landed in hella hot water for using an underage girl in the magazine, despite her mom’s permission — the mother ended up prosecuted, too, under contribution to minor delinquency laws.


Elizabeth [Ann Roberts]’s pictorial was a significant one in the history of Playboy because she was only 16 at the time her photos were taken. Her pictorial was titled “Schoolmate Playmate.”

She literally had a note from her mother giving her permission to pose, but both Hugh Hefner and Roberts’ mother were arrested and charged by Chicago authorities with contributing to the delinquency of a minor. The charges were eventually dropped on the grounds of lack of evidence that Hefner had known her true age.

(the wiki)

My conjecture is that following that debacle, the understandably gun-shy editorial staff may have figured it was best to roll with a meaningless “nothing to see here, folks” line of purple prose that had nothing to do with Teddi, so no one would be too curious about her when the gatefold went to print. I’ll assume that is why the write-up blows when she is so cool a chick who deserves such better explanation.

Anyway: I’m trying to be in a good mood about humanity and “Ms. Smith” went on to do lots of really cool and interesting stuff, so let’s focus on that (and the eye-popping colors captured by Leja and Graham in this pictorial) and never speak of that awful, awful write-up again.

After this shoot, Teddi Smith went on to work as a bunny at the original Chicago Playboy Club, like so many of the rad gals we’ve highlighted over the months, and also posed for a number of Playboy covers throughout the 1960’s. Click on any cover below to see it large. They are beautiful and frequently clever, good examples of cover work from the magazine’s heyday.

After winding down her long and successful modeling career in the late 1960’s, Ms. Smith concurrently received her education and embarked on extensive and fascinating travels, including spending some very special time in Tanzania.

Inspired by the crafts of the native Tanzanian women with whom she lived, Teddi Smith became interested in the integration of tribal weaving with modern textile and organic decorative arts. This was while she was working in a research camp with scientists who were following and studying the habits of elephants. Totally awesome — but get this.

She also made and kept a candelabra that she fashioned out of a lion skull. Um, who’s a BAMF? Teddi Smith is a BAMF! Crazy-rad!

I know, right? Totally eleventy gajillion miles away from the hot fudge pickles about yachting and secretarial work suggested in her fluffy write-up! Today, “Teddi” is in the creative decorative professional field and was formerly headquartered in New York City. It appears she is semi-retired now, I’m sure well-earned. A woman who can make a candelabra out of a lion’s skull in Tanzania can I’m sure make a silk purse of the slummiest sow’s ear in a loft in Hell’s Kitchen — I’m sorry, “Clinton.” (Gentrification makes me laugh with a mouth full of blood.)

She now maintains offices in Texas and San Miguel Allende, Mexico. Teddi is on the right in the above picture, getting friendly at a B&B with Tootsie the parrot, a kitten named Harle, and a lovely German shep called Chespita. You can see she has not lost her sense of adventure or her frank, direct gaze at the camera. To the left of Ms. Smith in that picture is a Topanga, CA-based woman who is also active in textiles and decorating.

Edit: Scratch that, reverse it. Teddi’s on the left (our left) and Miss Carpets is on the right (our right). I am an adult and freely admit I still do not know my left from my right. I mix them up all the time.

If you like, and have ginger ale handy in case your stomach gets rocky, you can click above and below to read the carrotsticks and shenanigans of Teddi Smith’s original gatefold. The b&w shots are very good and the writing I guess is not that bad. It’s not “redundant-clumsily-worded-psychosexual-teenage-fantasies-by-a-crazy-virgin-cat-lady-from Utah” bad (subtle vampires-suck dig — booyakasha), just not up to very high par. Enjoy!

March Madness: Priscilla Wright, Miss March 1966

March 17, 2010

Dig those tanlines. Miss March 1966 was the lovely and talented Priscilla Wright, who preferred to go by Pat and was one helluva golfer.


Photographed by Mario Casilli.

This is a great, breezy shoot that emphasizes Ms. Wright’s love of the outdoors and brisk, sporty style. I really dig it.


My favorite shot.

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Lorem Ipsum-ing it up ’til I have time to get back in here and add all my actual text: my grandmother was having a really great day and we’d been having fun, but the mail still hasn’t come with a new box of checks for her and she’s beginning to get pretty nervous. I’m going to suggest we make smoothies (she loves the blender because the container is clear and she gets a kick out of watching it whir — the Osterizer she has had since the 50’s has a silver cup and she likes ours better). I could’ve just left no text in between, but I’m too cool and Old School. So old school I drive a yellow bus with gothic arched windows!, to quote Achewood. Catch you on the flip, ASAP.

edit: We made dyed-green mousse instead.





Special thanks to marxz on the v-e forums.

Calendar Girls Day: Hot Mormon Muffins edition

December 27, 2009

I would be remiss to leave religion to the boys. Feast your eyes on baked goods and some Latter-Day Saint ladies, ladies, ladies in the “Hot Mormon Muffins” 2010 calendar!


A new calendar pokes fun at what its creator [Chad Hardy] calls a stereotype of Mormon mothers as homemakers from another era. “Hot Mormon Muffins: A Taste of Motherhood” features 12 mothers who claim membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and each month has a muffin recipe. (“Hot Mormon Muffin Calendar Debuts.” Dobner, Jennifer. Dec. 21, 2009, AOL.com news.)


Leticia, Hot Mormon Muffin of December

In the words of Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, “well-behaved women rarely make history.” Historically, change has come from those who have dared to challenge the status quo. These twelve women are doing just that. The Mormon mothers who “bare their testimony” on the pages of the Hot Mormon Muffins calendar are women who are comfortable enough in their own beliefs, and independent and brave enough to take a stand for what they believe in regardless of what others may think. (“Meet The Muffins,” on the calendar’s official site.)


It would appear likely that the 12 moms (ranging in age from 26 to 53) appearing in “Hot Mormon Muffins” will have to watch out.

At least one of the models has already expressed her defiance. Tami Roberts, 35, of Idaho Falls, Idaho, said she did the calendar, in part, because she wants her 3 daughters to “know that everybody is not the same and it’s OK to make your own choices.”


Roberts read about the “Men on a Mission” calendar last year, and decided that she wanted to be a part of the new project after reading about [calendar creator Chad] Hardy’s punishment [of excommunication from the Mormon church].

“That made me mad, I did not agree with that,” the cover model said. “The pictures are tasteful, and it’s fun. I don’t see why people can’t have a sense of humor. I just don’t think it’s a big deal!” (“Hot Mormon Muffins Calendar Features Sexy Mormon Moms, Muffin Recipes,” October 26, 2009. Zimbio.com)

See? Not all LDS people are crazy-go-nuts. It’s just a few standouts that give the rest a bad name! (I’m looking at you, weirdo Twilight-writing crazy cat-lady, whatever your name is — I’m not taking the time to Google you.)

Swing by the Mormons Exposed website to pick up your own copy — I may have spilled some of the “hot mormon” half of the beans, but you don’t see a word of the recipes, so hopefully that will entice you. You can also buy the “Men On A Mission” 2010 calendar, a sort of male counterpart to “Hot Mormon Muffins.” Ai!

Orrrr you can buy this shirt in “Polygamy Pink”:

Yeah, I guess I can see where Chad Hardy got in some trouble, but a sense of humor never killed anyone (except people who die of overdose on ether … as they say in Radioland Murders, it’s a slow, painful, uuugly way to die (then everyone laughs).)

I guess the only compunction of guilt I have for putting this post together is that I wonder what Orson Scott Card thinks of all this … I would hate to picture him shaking his head and saying, “I am so disappointed in you, Elizabeth.”

Oh, man, now I’m super-bummed! You can rock me to sleep tonight.

Yes, Virginia, there IS a Santa Claus —

December 24, 2009


RIP, Queenie. This photograph was taken by Bunny Yeager, who sold it to Hef for use in Playboy, but like the first “centerfold” of Marilyn, was never actually taken under the auspices of the Playmate of the Month title.

— it is Bettie Page! but her eyes are wonky as hayull; why did they not reshoot this picture?

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

NSFW November: Cara Wakelin, Miss November 1999

November 28, 2009

I am beginning to see a light at the end of the tunnel. This is the last Playmate post for today. Then four tomorrow, four Monday, the really fun final post for Tuesday in which I’m planning to crunch some of the gals’ numbers and do some trendspotting, and then I’m going to be forever done with the Miss Novembers. Whew!

The lovely and talented Cara Wakelin was Playboy’s Miss November 1999.

Photograph by Richard Fegley

That centerfold picture is largely garbage, poorly lit and ill-conceived, story-wise, just overall not as strong a composition as this project has lead me to expect from Fegley. Predictable and lacking a certain joy or playfulness. But this picture harkens back to vintage pin-up style, a great composition that is also freaking adorable!


When Cara’s mom read that the Playboy 2000 Playmate search bus was coming to their hometown of Toronto looking for new Playmates, she urged her hesitant daughter to go for a photo test. Thank goodness she did.” (“Catch of the Day,” Playboy, November 1999)

Q : This is your first modeling gig. How did your mother persuade you to try out for Playboy?
A : When she saw the newspaper article about the Playmate 2000 search, she started jumping up and down, saying, “You have to do this. You can do it.” I’ve never been very confident about my appearance. As we pulled into the parking lot, I saw ten beautiful blondes waiting in line. I said, “Mom, take me home. What am I doing here?” She said, “Cara, if you don’t get out of this car right now, I’m dragging you in there.”

Golf claps for Mrs. Wakelin, please, everyone? If you want to send her a fruit basket thanking her for her maternal powers of persuasion, airmail that shit to Canadialand, and mind you wrap it up nicely so it doesn’t get frostbitten. Do you all have even postal service up there in the icy North, or do you guys just tape your mail to a moose’s antlers, point him South, slap his ass, and hope for the best?

Besides making a cameo as the Princess in Death to Smoochy, one of my favorite movies, Ms. Wakelin also wins my love for appearing on an episode of the short-lived talk show of one of my all-time favorite athletes and a man who has always been in my top five list of People I Would Like to Be Stuck In An Elevator With: John McEnroe!! She was a guest on his show for one of the last episodes and appeared alongside wonderfully creepy gap-toothed comedian Paul Scheer.

NSFW November: Playboy’s Miss November 1957, Marlene Callahan

November 11, 2009

Playboy’s November 1957 write-up on the lovely and talented Marlene Callahan provoked me to dig a little in to a subject I generally hate, the modern history of Southern California.


Photographed by Vivienne Lapham, a woman. More on her another day, promise.

See, the little blurb about her, which has a grating amount of purple prosaic references to her Irish heritage as though she is from freaking County Cork and not sunny California, which annoys me too much to reproduce it here, I’ll just link to it, also overemphasized her wholesome, small-town upbringing. But my eyebrows raised when I read this was in Ventura.

I don’t think of Ventura as wholesome and oldtimey: I guess I’m tarring it with the brush of my feelings toward more major cities in its vicinity to be guilty and glutted by filthy, phony, decaying greed by association. You know, trash everywhere, traffic jams, cement as far as your eye can see, no one gives a shit about anything but their phone and their fake tan — I just have strong feelings about that area. It offends my eyes. But I don’t have the whole story on it, I told myself, so I decided to look in to Ventura a little. Visions of carhops and mall parking lot mazes dancing in my head, I smugly decided to give this situation the ol’ googly-moogly and see just how “rural” a lass Miss Callahan was in 1957.


Answer: Pretty reasonably freaking rural. In my face!

Not easily accessible, Ventura was not a target of immigrants, and as such, remained quiet and rural. For most of the century which followed the incorporation of Ventura in 1866, it remained isolated from the rest of the state.

From the south, travel by auto was slow and hazardous, until the completion of a four-lane expressway (US Highway 101) over the Conejo Grade in 1959. This route, now further widened and improved by 1969, is known as the Ventura Freeway, which directly links Ventura with the Los Angeles metropolitan area.


The wiki reports that in “1950 the population reached 16,643, by 1970 the population was 57,964,” so this spread, photographed in 1957, and its accompanying blurb, were published just as the city’s population and industry were poised to explode due to the freeway’s construction. This town could have really stayed in a kind of innocent, mill-town type isolation (everyone in town relying on the industry of the citrus and nut farming in a symbiotic relationship of trade, labor, and self-sustenance) were it not for the freeway coming through. That is a mindfuck to me.

Of course, it is also the home of what was once the California Fruit Growers Exchange, which grew in quick order in to Sunkist Growers, Inc., a company with a history of up and down labor and ethical practices vis a vis immigrants, other farmers, and influence over politics and land use. (Until today I would have said “fie” upon them, but now I’m just a little up in the air on all kinds of my feelings.) I’m torn and conflicted by this. Being the county seat of an area essentially owned by Sunkist by the ’50’s means that the “innocence” and rurality of the leaders of the town were questionable at best, but the majority of people in the area were just living their lives, doing their best, taking simple pleasures in county fairs and cakewalks.

I’m not supposed to feel compassion or empathy for Southern California and its denizens. I need to go watch Chinatown. Yes, Chinatown needs a movie moment or two. Arg. I’m still going to wander away muttering “Fuckin’ freeways…”