Sins Of The Fathers

SITE OWNER'S NOTE: This Nifty Knick Knack is a little more serious than the usual charming look at retro goodies. As a result it is also being cross-posted to The Thin Man Returns, the usual home of densely-linked serious subject matter.

If you're looking for some light viewing to accompany a morning cup of coffee, please feel free to look at the images or browse through some of the other pages.

Thank you.

News of teenage violence today is as shocking as it is common.

There is almost daily news of young gangs holding entire neighbourhoods to ransom, violently drunk party-goers bashing someone whose equally drunken remark offended them, psychopathicly murderous females or simply opportunistic criminal activity.

At the same time, the media shakes itself out of its summer silly season news torpor to create a celebrity out of a smart-arsed teenager whose drunken, orgiastic riot masquerading as a party.

As many commentators begin to question 'what the hell has gone wrong with our teenagers?', Nick and Nora invite you to step into their way-back machine to give you a little insight into what's wrong with today's youth.

We'll rapidly rewind the 'Trust No 1' of the 1990s, the post apocalyptic 1980s, the seriously bummed out 1970s, the anarchic 1960s to take a pause in the 1950s.

Not the nostalgic-soaked Happy Days but an era when the headlines screamed 'Seven Teen Agers Murder Polio Victim'.

The crime was a brutal one, members of a gang called the Egyptian Kings, having lost a pay-per-player stick ball game with rival gang Jesters, decided to compound their welshing with vengeance.

One night they lay in wait for their foes to appear, two teenage boys wandered through the park.

They were beaten and stabbed. One of the boys, a 15 year old who suffered a limp as a result of polio was killed.

So sensational did that crime and associated trial become, it finally awakened people to the reality of street violence. It also happened 50 years ago.

The crime and trial did two things. It resonated with Broadway audiences:

ACTION
Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke,
You gotta understand,
It's just our bringin' up-ke
That gets us out of hand.
Our mothers all are junkies,
Our fathers all are drunks.
Golly Moses, natcherly we're punks!

ACTION AND JETS
Gee, Officer Krupke, we're very upset;
We never had the love that ev'ry child oughta get.
We ain't no delinquents,
We're misunderstood.
Deep down inside us there is good!

A powerful radio show about the Michael Farmer murder 50 years on is here. One of the commentators in the radio program is Nicky Cruz.

His story of transformation from criminal gang member to gospel preacher is told in part in The Cross And The Switchblade which became a best-selling book, a not-so-good movie and serialised here in comic book form.

The Cross And The Switchblade tells the story of a small town pastor, so shocked by the violence went to New York to share the gospel.

Admittedly naive, David Wilkinson's honest interest in the physical and spiritual welfare of gang members over five years of welfare and ministry won many of them over.

So was there anything particular about the 1950s that would cause a generation to run amok?

With the benefit of hindsight we can see some similarities - lack of spiritual direction, parents who are themselves dysfunctional to the point where the only familial connection their kids experience is in gangs.

But not all children involved in criminal activity or who find themselves victims of crime and violence are poor or ill-educated, indeed the Corey Worthingtons or the Matthew Stanleys of the world come from decidedly middle-class, relatively well off families.

So what went wrong?

For further insight, step back into the way-back machine for a trip past the 1940s when war ruled the world, the 1930s when the effects of the Great Depression bit hard to the Roaring 1920s, home to flappers, gangsters, wild parties and hedonistic wealth.

There is a scene the 1936 film My Man Godfrey in which the title character has it out with the brattish twentysomething daughter of his employer:

Cornelia Bullock: You can't go on like this forever. You really like me and you're afraid to admit it, aren't you?
Godfrey: You want me to tell you what I REALLY think of you?
Cornelia Bullock: Please do.
Godfrey: As Smith or as a butler?
Cornelia Bullock: Choose your own weapon.
Godfrey: You won't hold it against me?
Cornelia Bullock: It's your day off.
Godfrey: Very well. You belong to that unfortunate category that I would call the "Park Avenue brat". A spoiled child who's grown up in ease and luxury... who's always had her own way... and who's misdirected energies are so childish that they hardly deserve the comment, even of a butler on his off Thursday.
Cornelia Bullock: [hurt and angry] Thank you for a very lovely portrait.

Today there are a great deal of 'Park Avenue brats' who have grown up indulged with distractions and material possessions, wanting for nothing but consistent, effective discipline, the setting of boundaries and a realisation that the world doesn't revolve around them.

Gold Coast Bulletin columnist Robyn Wuth is on the right path when she wrote this week:

There you are, Australia. That's the youth of today -- aren't you proud?

Take a good look at the iGeneration and bear this frightening thought in mind -- this idiot and his stupid mates could be running the country in the next generation.

God help us all.

This is what the world is churning out these days and we have no one but ourselves to blame, us and the education system for turning out these ignorant little twits who are yet to have a thought, for teaching them more about their legal rights as horrid little brats instead of the three Rs.

Us, and the Government, and the legal system for making it harder and harder to discipline our children.

Us, and computer games, iPods and the internet for helping to turn out a generation of selfish little show-offs, publicity whores who want their 15 minutes of fame and then some.

Also, blame the parents of the 500 other kids who turned up and went wild. Where the hell were you? Did any one of them know where their kids were and what they were up to? I doubt it.

We can all feast on a sizeable portion of finger-pointing pie...

Long story, short: what's wrong with the kids of today? It's not just their parents, but also their grandparents, great grandparents and great, great grandparents.

The solution doesn't begin with government programs, police intervention or social workers. It begins with us.

What example do we set in our own behaviour and the standards we want to see in ourselves and others?

Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho

It's back to work week in the Charles' household.

The prospect of returning from holidays doesn't hold the same dismay as it did when Nick and Nora worked for other people or even the terror of returning back to school

Mainly, it's because we're masters of our own destiny, secondly we get to work together which has plenty of pleasant compensations.

Were things easier back in the past when housewives stayed at home to suffer through the monotony and murderous drudgery of housework and the menfolk went back into the work place to be fawned over by man-hungry, ambitious young secretaries?

Probably not.

The image at left, by the way, is in the household safety section of 1972 The Young Homemaker (Book Two) that we've previously profiled here.

Husbands worked hard to buy their womenfolk a time saving appliance like this:

Click on the image to see a much larger (and readable version from the October 9, 1948 edition of Saturday Evening Post).

While much has been written, usually in the post-feminist milieu, of capable war and home forces women being shoved back into their roles of wives, mothers and housekeepers post-World War II, there was another side of the story.

It must have been very difficult to swallow the safe predictable life of the workaday world after experiencing the life and death adrenalin rush that fed the terror of facing combat.

The subject is thoughtfully illustrated in Sloan Wilson's Man in the Gray Flannel suit (pictured is the first edition 1956 Australian copy - hence the reason why the title is changed from 'gray' [US spelling] to the local 'grey').

Filmed in 1956 starring the magnificent Gregory Peck in the title role, The Man in the Gray Flannel tells the story of a man trying hard to adjust back to the safe, monotonous civilian life after the end of the war while keeping some secrets of his time overseas.

Doubtless many men felt the same.

Still the seeds of independence were sown and young women of Nora's mother's generation read books like the 1963 Supreme Book For Girls and dreamt of a pre-marriage career as exciting Beryl (now there's a name that's fallen out of favour) the air hostess.

As always, don't forget to click to view large-size readable versions.





Ah you're back.

It's a no nonsense story, nicely handed by Beryl and happily concluded at the end of 16 frames with absolutely no appearance of anyone shouting Allahu Akbar or the intervention of an armed sky marshal.

But perhaps the woman in today's Daily Mail op-ed columns might have felt more comfortable in the above scenario if the hostie handling the problem was more like bloke instead of a mere slip of a girl.

The Boys Of Summer

To the thousands of Schoolies descending on the Gold Coast to 'party' over the next two weeks, Nick and Nora dedicate this comic book story to you.

Enjoy:
(Don't forget to click on the images they're bigger than a schoolie's hangover!)



But how could he - KISS AND TELL?!
Because he was rambling like an idiot to all of his mates after the booze he consumed. And between puking up a lung.



So sitting on the beach, risking skin cancer, our naive little beach bunny strikes up a conversation with a total stranger.

Ummm isn't he a little old looking to be a school leaver. Aren't you concerned that me might be a... Toolie?



Well, to be completely fair, our Romeo wasn't the only one tanked to the gills.

After a six pack of Vodka Cruisers our Schoolie girl would have been ready to snog anyone with lips.

Good job she's been able to snag the free condoms that they're handing out like Bindeez.



Doris and I didn't get to the beach until rather late the next morning and that's when it began...

Yep of all the things our girls packed, I bet Berocca and aspirin weren't in the kit.

Gosh! What makes you so popular all of a sudden?

Could it be her brains? Her straight As at school? Her rapier wit and insightful grasp of international politics?



Ricky told me all about you, honey -- said you could kiss like you were the one who invented kissing!

Hmmm, guess not.

Y-You - You went up and down the beach - bragging about kissing me last night - didn't you.

Like you were going to remember sister.

Besides what do you expect playing tonsil hockey with a guy you've known less than a day?



Try and date her! She's great!

Our poor heroine discovers that being an enthusiastic advocate of two wheeled public transport has taken the friendly out of environmentally friendly.

But who's now knocking at the door?



...But it wasn't they way you think! I wasn't bragging about last night, Rosemarie - !

Yeah. Right.

But all's well that ends well. Ricky's just declared his undying love after knowing Rosemary for exactly 48 hours.

What's the bet that undying love will last exactly the length of Schoolies 2008?

See kiddies, there's nothing is new under the sun.

-- Art from the early 1970s romance comic Man and Woman

She's A Real Betty

If you haven't taken a look at Nick and Nora's Lovely Link List, please do.

It's certainly worthwhile.

After taking a look today at Manolo the Shoe Blogger, Nora was charmed to find these pair of shoes by an English designer.

Of the pair - Betty and Veronica, Betty has always been the favourite - probably for the same reason that in a popularity contest, Mary-Ann always trumps Ginger.

Why? Because they're charming, approachable girls next door.

If Betty triumphs in the likeability stakes, then credit should go to comic book writer and author Al Hartley who during the late 1960s through to the 1980s was the prinicpal artist behind the Archie series of comics.

In fact he has been the only person who has been give a licence to publish Archie outside the 'official' comics for the Spire Christian Comic series of the 1970s.


The last word on Betty comes from one of Al Hartley's Archie successors Kathleen Webb:

"It was Al's 'Betty's Diary' stories that intrigued me the most," she told the Journal. "He wrote a lot of them for the Betty & Me books in the early 1970's.

"At that time, he was 'getting away with murder' - writing blatantly Christian stories that Archie went ahead and published, regardless of the fact that the publisher was Jewish.

"Al's way of handling Betty as she shared her thoughts in her diary was with insight, humor and care. He never 'preached' in those pages; he just had Betty share her feelings, good and bad.

"His other Betty & Me stories were also written well, tackling Betty's relationship with Archie carefully, never making Betty out to be so much the 'sore loser' as the 'never-give-up-gal.'

She wasn't bitter - she kept in there, swinging, believing that someday, Archie'd come to his senses.

It's the type of charm and maturity that every parent wishes for their daughter when going through the awkward and sometimes fractuous teen and dating years.

Not quite sure?

Then take a look at the five lovely comic pages where Betty shares her thoughts about Archie, her rival Veronica as well as life and love in general.

(Don't forget to click on the images for a larger view.)

I Am Woman

Below is a feminist deconstruction of the phallo-centric, patriarchic oppression of womyn in the late 20th century by means of re-enforcing gender stereotype.

As part of the sisterhood, Nora has taken her lead from such feminist 'humour' as Six Chix, Dykes To Watch Out For and Bitchy Bitch.

(Click on the images to view the detail of the denigrating archetypes):

Notice how the man uses his superior size and virility to physically intimidate our sister with an understated threat of violence. Leave him! Can't you see he's oppressing you!

Yes, typical male. Just check that aloof expression - classic emotional abuse tactics - withhold love, give love.

But check the last frame, it may be possible that there is hope.

Plans? If you mean getting a job! NEVER! Work is for squares.

As part of the progressive leftist construct, we can applaud 'the other' for exploring his feminine side through his artistic pursuits which is part of his acceptable latent homosexuality and his rejection of autocratic capitalism with a brave, impassioned appeal that should inspire the revolutionary proletariat.



But then again, perhaps not.

Yes, Dick... I DO love you enough to marry you! But listen to me... What would we live on?

What a disappointment he turned out to be. After delivering such a promising blow to the Bourgeoisie, he demands that his cultural superior conform to the despotic institution called 'marriage'.

And look at our sister suffer angst. Naturally she requires liberation as she still believes that she needs to remain dependent on a 'husband' as a father substitute. Vile men!



Good on you sister! You've broken out of the oppressive regime of male dependence! Have you thought about exploring your inner lesbian? Your friend looks nice.



Noooooo, you CAN forget him.

Look, the doctor can prescribe you some happy pills, also there is a good psychotherapist you should see.



Well I suppose if you are going to conform, this is an acceptable outcome. Look at the example of the oppressor class. On his knees, as he should be.

She is Womyn: Hear Her Roar!

Any Dream Will Do

Fascinating thing about comic books is the charactisation shorthand by the artist employed to flesh out the characters in few words and illustrative strokes of his pen.

One of the most stand out examples of this trick is Al Hartley's contemporary retelling of Joseph (you know, the one of the technicolor dreamcoat fame).

If you're not familiar with it, the story is in The Bible and you'll find it here.

You're back?

Good.

Written for Spire Christian Comics franchise of the early 1970s, My Brothers' Keeper is remarkably cinematic in scope and its deliberate anachronistic detailing (the story is set in an Islamic country, not ancient Egypt and you can safely be sure that there were NO JET FIGHTERS, in 1670 BC).

So cinematic in fact that Nick and Nora have been prompted to do a period casting based on their appearance in this comic.

First is Joseph. Doesn't he look like a young Warren Beattie?
Now what about Joseph's dad Jacob? (Who took on the family name of Israel, if you were wondering).

How about......Lorne GreeneNow the story of Joseph wouldn't be complete without the casting of the femme fatale, Potiphar's wife whose unsuccessful seduction of Joseph lands him in prison falsely accused of rape. (don't worry the story ends happily).

Hmmm, luscious, buxom, brunette and exotic......who could it be other than: Claudia Cardinale.Recognising Joseph's fiscal and governmental organisational ability (not to mention the ability to correctly interpret dreams), the King of Egypt liberates Joseph from prison and appoints him as Prime Minister.And who else would you want as the ruler of an exotic land but Yul Brynner.What do you think?

Modern Modes Go Retro

A quick fashion quiz. Name this fashion era?

Empire line mini-dress with bodice detailing.

1967?



No. It's 2007.



Here's another one.

Baby doll-inspired mini swing dress

1967?



No. It's 2007.

Achy Breaky

Ah sadly, the course of true love never runs smooth and the sooner teenage girls realise their fickle ways end up in heart ache the better.

Or at least that appears to be the thinking of the nameless author of this romance story found in the first edition of Man And Woman, a locally produced DC reprint comic. (Click on the pictures to view larger images)

The story starts with our forelorn Martha, filled with regret, standing in a phone box doing one of two things:

a) testing the world's first mobile phone (note the lack of cable connecting the handset with the phone), or

b) in her distraught condition the poor lass is actually using the phone UPSIDE DOWN.


Martha and Carl fall in love with the rapidity one expects in these publications, but by the sixth frame, someone else is whispering sweet nothings in her ear:

Honey -- that's not love! I've been watching the two of you all evening... You're kidding yourselves!

Mmmm, stalker huh?


Oh dear, Martha's head has been turned by her handsome admirer.

I'm taking a ride over to Fairview for a double malted... I'll treat you to one if you'll come along.

Double malted. Right.

Translation: "I'll ply you with hard liquor until you come across."

Wait a minute, (checks further down the panel).

No, he really does mean a double malted milkshake.

But wait. What's this? Carl's going away for two days?

Gil must be rubbing his... hands with glee.


Parties, golf, swimming, dancing, galleries, the fair, the opera, the engagement ring and the house.

In two days.

Let's count 'em again. TWO DAYS.


Well Carl seems to be taking the news well.

Or perhaps not.

Did you know he had never even touched a cigarette before that moment?

Now he's committing suicide just one nicotine laden cancer stick at a time.

At this rate he'll be dead in another 50 years.

Poor lad.

Our runaway bride then seeks professional counselling in order for her to come to terms with her inability to commit to a serious adult relationship.

Only kidding.

Useless superficial flings it is.


And now here we are.

Back to the first frame.

Will Martha win back back Carl before he turns into a two pack a day man?

Nope.