Billie Chesney vs. Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue

Billie Chesney died over the weekend. In 2013 I wrote about her efforts to keep the photos in the very first Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue out of the hands of her 13-year-old son Gary. 

Gary Chesney started subscribing to Sports Illustrated when he was in the seventh grade at Ross N. Robinson Junior High. Coincidentally that was the same year that the magazine began its annual Swimsuit issue.

“It didn’t get my attention,” recalls Gary, 50 years later. “The second Swimsuit Issue in 1965 didn’t either. But it did grab the attention of my alert mother, Billie.”

 Gary says that glancing through the weekly sports magazine was just a routine for him. “I flipped through the 1965 Swimsuit Issue and tossed it aside to read whenever.”

But later that night… “My father came into my room carrying some pages and said, ‘Son, your mother didn’t think these pictures were suitable for you but I disagreed and think you’re old enough.’”

Then he handed Gary the color pictures of girls in swimsuits that had been “surgically” removed by razor blade from his new Sports Illustrated.

“I hadn’t even noticed! I suppose this was a bonding moment of sorts for me and my dad. But mom wasn’t taking being overruled lightly. She vowed to write a letter to the magazine and let them know what she thought. Mom was always threatening to write a letter then toss it before mailing, so I gave it no more concern.”

Flash forward to 2008. Gary’s dad had just passed away.

“I was cleaning out his desk drawers. Tucked way back in an old crumpled folder containing the mundane trivia important only to Dad, I found a letter written to my mother from a female editor’s assistant at SportsIllustrated. This lady had apparently heard from plenty of America’s mothers about models in swimsuits and who should not be seeing them. One of those mothers was mine. I don’t know what Mom’s letter said, but the editor of Sports Illustrated wasn’t swayed. I never knew about this letter and I suppose Dad probably thought I was old enough to see that, too. But I also think experience told him he’d best keep quiet.”

 When the 50^th anniversary edition of the Swimsuit Issue landed in Gary’s mailbox this past week, it reminded him of his mother’s long ago exchange with SI. And he dug it out of his files.

A much-put-upon junior staffer who identified herself as Mrs. Gertrude Miner wrote to Gary’s mother:

Thank you for writing SPORTS ILLUSTRATED in regard to the January 18 cover story. We respect your views and appreciate the time you took to let us know how you feel. We are glad of this opportunity to explain our editorial position to you. Although you suggest that a fashion article does not belong in a sports magazine, we feel it does. From the magazine's inception we planned a fair amount of what might be called circumferential sportsmaterial, including travel, nature, fashions and so forth. We are sorry this particular article has caused you distress. Our readers' opinions, whether pro or con, are important to the editors and carefully considered.

Sports Illustrated admitted to Mrs. Chesney that it had received “heavy” mail about the issue. But it stood its ground and kept publishing Swimsuit Issues. And half a century later they are still publishing them. And they are still stirring up controversy.

Gary says, “I can tell you those ‘swimsuits’ in the 1964 (and ’65) issues could probably be worn to school today without violating any dress code policies.”

Once Upon a Time on a Soccer Field

I Tried My Hand, er, Foot, at Coaching

World Cup fever has not invaded my house.

That’s because I grew up during the era when soccer was considered part of the world communist conspiracy.

When I was a kid, a kickball was the closest thing you could find to a soccer ball at Dobyns-Taylor.

So it was with some trepidation a few years ago that I fielded a call from Charlie, my son’s soccer coach. “Your son put down on his sheet that you’d be willing to help coach,” he informed me.

“He what!?!?” I sputtered.

I explained that I didn’t know anything about soccer but Charlie assured me that wouldn’t be a problem. “You can just keep them busy during drills,” said head coach Charlie.

Obviously every other dad had turned him down.

That worked just fine during the pre-season. Charlie taught them plays, taught them how to kick, how to tackle. I kept the kids from hitting each other and from sitting down.

Then came the first game of the season. And a phone call the night before. “Vince, this is Charlie. Listen, I have to go out of town on business. I need you to coach the game tomorrow.”

“But, uh, you said, uh.”

“You’ll do just fine,” he said as he hung up.

And that’s how it happened that the first game of soccer I ever saw, I coached.

I was halfway hoping that a silent flu bug would invade our neighborhood overnight and not enough kids would show up to field a team. But when I arrived at the soccer field, they were all there, sporting crisp new tee shirts with “Hometown Pizza” across the front and “Oldham County Youth Soccer” and a number on the back.

“Okay, kids, get out there and warm up,” I stalled, looking skyward and thinking that rain might be my only salvation. The sun was staring down at me.

The referee blew his whistle and the kids scurried to the sideline to do what any gang of eight-years-old does: push each other. The referee ran over to me. “Coach, you can put your team on the field now,” he said.

I looked him square in the eye. “How many are we allowed to have out there?”

“Eleven,” he replied. And he didn’t even chuckle.

I remember thinking, huh, same as football, as I sent eleven kids out to man positions I didn’t even know the names of.

The other team scored in the first five minutes. But in the second half, out of a mass of little bitty flailing arms and stubby kicking legs, the ball went in the goal and we had tied the game. And that’s the way it ended.

Charlie returned to coach the next week and I finished my soccer coaching career undefeated. (Also winless.)

But I did learn a few things in that brief soccer coaching experience in the under-ten league

I learned that other people’s kids don’t mind any better than your own.

I learned that no matter how many substitutes you send into the game, one more player will come out than went in.

And I learned that it is not whether you win or lose that matters but what kind of treat you have after the game.

SIGNS, SIGNS, EVERYWHERE SIGNS

The Story of 'Sign By Felix'

You probably didn’t know his face but you certainly knew his name. and his work. “Sign By Felix” was a familiar sign around town.

Felix was Raymond Felix who created such iconic signs in Kingsport as the Oakwood Market waterfall and the Art Deco Fuller & Hillman sign. .

His daughter Lois told me his story several years back.

“My father started from scratch, coming here from his native Kentucky with nothing but some paint brushes, a talent for drawing and lettering, a creative mind, and the ambition to do something with all of the aforementioned.”

Raymond Felix arrived in Kingsport in the 20's and, according to his daughter, began his sign-painting career by going to local businesses, such as J. Fred Johnson's, and asking to paint their storefront windows.

In a 1934 classified ad he announced he was opening Felix Signs. He did the neon Freels Drug sign in 1935, painted the outfield signs for the Cherokees Ball Park and did a neon sign for Miller Service Station.

Lois said, “He was one of the first companies to do neon work in the Kingsport area. He was responsible for the Fuller & Hillman sign and almost every sign along Broad Street at one time was his handiwork, including both theaters.”

When Oakwood Supermarket opened on Supermarket Row Nov. 21, 1949 there was no waterfall sign. That was added in 1956 when the store was remodeled and enlarged. The newspaper story announced, “One of the features of the store will be a huge sign atop the building. Lighted by 16 huge colored flood lights, the sign will be an actual waterfall. Approximately 10,000 gallons of water a day will ripple down the rugged sign, giving the effect of a natural rock waterfall. It is believed to be the first of its kind in the nation.”

Today a selection of photos of Signs By Felix, courtesy of his grandson Toby Carpenter.

Felix Signs shop at the corner of Main and Commerce. Owner and founder Raymond Felix is third from left.

Don't Know Much About History...

Unless You Had Mr. Fanslow

When word reached Kingsport that legendary D-B history teacher Bob Fanslow had died – this was in 2008 - I happened to be having breakfast with Hagan Bright (D-B ’42).

Hagan said he regretted that he never cared anything about history growing up. “But I didn’t have a good history teacher. A good teacher makes all the difference.”

Bob Fanslow was the embodiment of a good teacher (he would resist the term “great teacher.”)

Mr. Fanslow – he will forever be “Mr. Fanslow” now – came to D-B in September 1950. But before he could establish himself, he was drafted into the Korean War – and thus became a part of what he would teach. He returned two years later and for the next four decades, until he retired in 1991, he was an institution.

Even in retirement he couldn’t give up his passion. He was coaxed back into teaching senior citizens as part of the Kingsport Institute for Continued Learning

When I checked in on his seniors’ class in 2004, he was discussing the Teapot Dome Scandal. He had begun his seniors’ history class a decade earlier with the voyage of Columbus. It had taken him ten years to get from Columbus to Coolidge. He told me he didn’t think he’d live long enough to get the class up to the current period.

He was – sadly – correct. Not long after that class, he was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease, which eventually took his life.

Over those forty years in the classroom he taught history to some 6,000 students. You probably learned history from Mr. Fanslow.

I wrote three columns about Mr. Fanslow during my 16 years as a Kingsport Times News columnist.

In one I followed Jane Compton, D-B ’56, as she prepared to reveal a half century secret to her old history teacher. It seemed that as a seventeen-year-old graduating senior she was too shy to tell Mr. Fanslow what an impact his teaching had had on her. So she left him an anonymous note.

Compton, who became an educator and author of two books about words, was back in Kingsport for her 50th high school reunion intent on telling him it was she who authored that anonymous fan letter back in the spring of 1956 but also worried that he might not even remember her, much less the letter.

He didn’t remember the note – it had after all been fifty years.

But he gave Jane Compton a better response than she could have ever hoped for. “Well I remember you, Jane. And if you wrote it, I know it was brilliant.”

When I wrote my original Mr. Fanslow column in 2004, Paula Bennett-Paddick, D-B ‘65 and a retired teacher in Birmingham, Alabama, put it best: “Mr. Fanslow was my Mr. Chips.”

Mr. Fanslow from D-B '60's 50th reunion

A few years ago Mr. Fanslow’s daughter Mary was going through his papers when she came across one of his exams. She sent it to me, thinking it might make a good column. It would have, if I had ever gotten around to it.

Now in retirement, I’m getting around to it.

If you want to recall your time with Mr. Fanslow, or just see what you missed, try taking this test.

I’ve also attached the answer key.

Bonus:

After posting a 1961 photo of RNRJHS teachers, I heard from a Robinson alum, who was trying to remember the words to the school song.

Here they are…

Let's give a cheer for RNR

And for her colors white and blue.

Let's give a cheer for RNR,

To her we will be true.

Of all the schools we are the best,

We have the spirit, vim and zest.

Of Robinson we are so proud

We'll sing her praises long and loud.

Let's Give a Cheer...for RNRJHS Teachers - 1961

(click on photo to enlarge)

If you went to Ross N. Robinson Junior High School, try to see how many of the teachers you recognize in this 1961 photo.

If you didn’t go to RNR, you still may recognize several faces. Some of these teachers also taught at D-B and at Sevier and before that at Junior High.

I could identify 17. And every one reminded me of a story.

The only teacher I didn’t recognize was Mr. Hicks (Sam Hicks), my seventh grade math teacher. That’s not how I remember him.

I still have a story about him. He told us that during the war (WWII) you would see cars in Kingsport driving backwards down the street. He said it was a way to beat wartime mileage rationing. Mr. Hicks was also famous for his wooden yardstick. He had mastered the technique of slapping the yardstick on a desk for maximum noise effect. It sounded like a gun going off next to your head. He knew how to get the class’s attention. (I sat behind Donna Davis in that class and she would jump every time.)

Check out the picture. Then look at the captions.

Mr. Scott (Jim Scott) gave me the photo in 2005. He was my eighth grade math teacher. I was in the first wave of advanced math students who took eighth grade math in the summer (a year-long course squeezed into half-day sessions over four weeks).

The captions are courtesy of Miss McCammon (Gerry McCammon Frazier).

My stories follow the captions.

Row 1(l to r)

Tommy Hill, Hazel Stewart, Johnnie Wray, Rowena Johnson, Maude Dishner, Mildred Kozsuch, Lucille Massengill, Shirley Garrett, Don Stevens, Delbert Webb (principal)

Row 2

Jack Campbell, Nancy Randall, Sarah McKee, Gerry McCammon (Frazier), Margaret Melton (Tunnell), Wanda Bledsoe, Lorena Hoover,  Hope King

Row 3

Oscar Dalton, Nell McLean, Bea Gilbert, Sarah Spracher, Mary Tuggle, Faye Neergaard, Madelyn Thomas, Ruth Sauer, Mary Riley, Wilma Snyder (Bunting), Dolly Wallen (behind Mr. Webb)

Row 4

Reba Robinette, Jim Scott, Jo Ann Emmert, Sam Hicks, Charles Flanary, Bob Shepherd, Don Little, David Wise

Mrs. Wray (Johnnie Wray) was married to the Sevier football coach. She introduced me to the word “underachiever.”

Sarah McKee, then Miss Gouge, was my ninth grade Civics teacher. She was famous for threatening miscreants with “20 lashes with a wet noodle.” She had taught at another school before signing on at RNR. She told us she had lunch room duty one day and a kid refused to finish his meal. She used a common admonition of the fifties, “Finish your lunch, children in Europe are starving.” She said he looked up at her and said, “Name one.”

Mrs. McLean taught Special Ed and was famous as the mother of Mike McLean, who was a year ahead of me. Mike and Ann Boyd ran for Student Council President in the spring of my 7^th grade year. Ann’s slogan was “Mike Might But Ann Can.” When they gave their speeches in the auditorium, Mike concluded his with, “Remember, Mike might.” Everyone roared with laughter and he won. He later became the weatherman at WBTV in Charlotte (which was on Kingsport’s cable system) and changed his name to Mike McKay because Charlotte already had a weatherman named Clyde McLean.

Miss Spracher (Sara) was my seventh grade Language Arts teacher, a wonderful woman and a wonderful teacher. She had a complete set of “Arizona Highways” magazines on the back table. None of us read them, we just looked at them for the spectacular photography.

Mrs Tuggle (Mary) was my 8^th grade homeroom teacher and Science teacher. She was the first divorced woman I ever knew. She was also a wonderful woman. I danced with her at a party at, I think, Gretel Case’s house. The record was “Poetry in Motion” by Johnny Tillotson. For several weeks – owing to Miss Spracher’s love of the poem “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer – I thought the lyrics were “Oh a tree in motion.”

Mrs. Thomas (Madelyn) replaced Mrs. Eason (Eleanor) teaching Algebra after Mrs. Eason’s heart attack. I don’t think Mrs. Eason ever returned to teaching, going into real estate, where she had a very successful career, Who would have thought real estate would be less stressful than teaching junior high students? Mrs. Thomas filled in without skipping a beat. I sat with her at a Lynn View reunion seven years ago – her husband was a long time teacher there. She passed away a year ago at age 88.

Mrs. Sauer (Ruth) taught 9^th grade Latin. “Italia est paeninsula.” She was a much better Latin teacher than I was a Latin student. Mrs. Sauer retired after her year with me. I don’t think I had anything to do with it. She turned 70. She died in 1978 at age 86.

Miss Riley (Mary Erim Riley) was a legend. She was my eighth grade Language Arts teacher – two periods a day, five days a week with her. She was a great teacher. She dressed every day as if it were a job interview: perfect hair, perfect makeup. She lived at the Kingsport Inn until they tore it down.

Miss Snyder (now Wilma Bunting) was my 9^th grade English teacher. She also taught Spanish. Remember the Spanish textbook: “El Camino Real?” The hoods at RNR penciled in a revised title: “Elvis’s Camino Is Unreal.” She and her husband won the lottery in the late nineties. Honest.

Mrs. Robinette (Reba) was the librarian. She kept a close eye on the reference books (think about who went to RNR – those hoods weren’t going to steal books) keeping them in a closet. You had to check them out. Her student helpers were none too swift. One day I went to check out a book. Joan, the helper asked, “What’s your name?” “Vincent.” “That’s too long. I’ll just make it Vic.”

Coach Shepard (Bob) was my 8^th grade gym teacher. He was a former Marine and he took no flack from the overage members of the class (we had guys who were 16 and driving to junior high). When he demonstrated pushups, he didn’t stop with 20 (in 20 seconds), he would then switch to one handed pushups (two handed were tough enough for weaklings like me) and then on to clap pushups (he would push up, then clap, and back down).

Missing from the photo: Mrs. Dempsey (study hall), Coach Boyer (coach), Mrs. Taylor (study hall, science). Mr. Buchanan (art), Miss Deck (Bible) and, I’m sure, others. Mrs. Goad was the office secretary.