I'm going to the bathroom to slit my wrists for some excitement

I like to think of the 1950s and early 60s as some kind of wonderful “Pleasantville” experience. I imagine I’d wear my letterman’s jacket, do well in school, and come home in time for cookies, milk, and an early bedtime. It would all be so well ordered and clear. Recently, I found a box of slides at my grandparents’ house. I sent it out to be digitized and was rather alarmed when I looked at them on screen. They must have been taken around 1963. There is an image of President Kennedy’s funeral on the television. Some of the photos are at my great grandparents’ anniversary party. Others are at an unknown social event.

The upside is the television tray usage. I still have those TV trays. I use them at home with family, but didn’t realize they were appropriate for a party. Now I see how handy they can be. The downside is the subtext in every image of restrained frustration. Nobody looks comfortable. Everyone looks like they could use a stiff martini. I imagine the polite chatter, “Bob, how’s your golf game these days,” “Betty, I loved the coffee cake,” “Could you be more proud of Sherman, valedictorian?” But I’ve seen enough movies to know that everyone goes home drinks too much, cries, and screams. I hope. Otherwise there’s a whole lot o’ suppressed issues here.

This is a glimpse into the reality of the late 1950s. There was no room for differences or individuality. God forbid someone was African-American, Asian, gay, or just a little odd. Somehow this seems obvious on an episode of American Experience, but these slides made it real for me. It clarified why, several years later, my parents dropped out and moved to the Haight. And why there was so much tension between my parents and my grandparents, and I was somewhere in the middle.

Russell and LaPrele Adams, 1962

Good TV tray use, 1962

This party is out of control!

Adams and Jeffs family, 1960

My Jeffs cousins, 1960

More bored and uptight white people, 1959

JFK funeral on TV, 1963

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The Angry Black South, 1962

Designers often ask me what I look for in a portfolio. I always look at typography. There are a million decisions and variables in type. If someone can manipulate the complex issues of legibility, form, scale, and meaning with combinations of 26 letters, and create something wonderful, they can probably manage any project. But what makes good typography? It’s not about choosing beautifully drawn typefaces (but that’s a big part), or setting everything at 4 point (some of us like to read the words). It isn’t about maintaining a rigid Swiss structure (but that’s a good place to start). It’s about making a dynamic, exciting, and meaningful experience.

I’ve seen solutions that are incredibly elegant, but make no sense. A refined cut of Didot is probably not needed for a poster about seal clubbing (the animals and blood, not the musician and nightclubs). I don’t like typography that’s just nice. There’s enough boring stuff to look at already. If the type is classical and elegant, it should be so beautiful that you want to throw up. If the subject, such as The Angry Black South needs simple communication, let it be just that: simple communication. I like to think of typography as pictures of words. Which makes the statement, A picture is worth a thousand words,” a very complex math problem.

Robert Indiana, A Day Book, 1972

Larry Ratzkin, Black Power : The Politics of Liberation, 1967

Roy Kuhlman, New French Writing, 1961

Roy Kuhlman, Krapp's Last Tape, 1960

Roy Kuhlman, Three Plays By Harold Pinter, 1960

Roy Kuhlman, Ping Pong, 1959

S. Neil Fujita, In Cold Blood, 1966

AdamsMorioka, Building Sex, 1995

Roy Kuhlman, Four Plays, 1958

Roy Kuhlman, Nadja

Roy Kuhlman, Revolutionary Notes, 1969

Robert Indiana, Kulcher No. 17., 1965

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Where the Boys Are, poster, 1960

Where the Boys Are, title, 1960

Where the Boys Are, Dolores Hart and George Hamilton, 1960

When you are old, you take for granted that others know what you are discussing. This is, of course, not correct. When I make a joke in the office about Gidget and get blank stares, I know I’ve crossed that line. Last week, I recapped the entire plot of the movie Where the Boys Are after I found that nobody had seen it. I won’t go into depth here. It’s not an like the Bourne Identity with multiple plot twists and turns. A group of college coeds go to Fort Lauderdale for spring beak. They share a motel room. The see lots of half naked boys. They sit on the beach that is clearly in a sound stage. Paula Prentiss is the tall girl. She says, “Do you still find me strangely attractive?” This is a good line on any date. Connie Francis sings the theme song “Where the Boys Are.” George Hamilton is the super tan rich playboy. Yvette Mimieux is the naive youngest girl. There are good tips for clothing such as Jim Hutton’s very cool straw hat.

The one plot twist that made no sense to me was Yvette Mimieux’s bad date. She goes out one night with a boy we know is not chivalrous. I think he has sex with her, but he may have just tried kissing her. The film is rather vague here. Nothing violent has occurred. Something has happened, however. The episode leaves Mimieux in a hospital bed catatonic. We are left to imagine that her date is so bad or remarkable at love-making that she is left senseless. Or she has a horrible secret, such as disgusting full body Wolverine scars, that are discovered and that leaves her senseless. Or she has had plain old teenage sex.

The activities are unclear, but the message to all young people is clear: if you are a woman and have relations with a boy you will end up catatonic in a hospital. If you are a boy who has relations with a young lady you will be forced to flee town in shame after she becomes catatonic. For any teens reading this post, I assure you, this is true.

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Echo magazine, 1960, page

It’s a sad fact that many of us were forced to buy a record at a record store, go home, listen to the one song you liked, and then hate the rest of the album. But, tough luck. That was how the world worked pre-digital music downloads. Horrible. Today, I can create my own playlist, ignore the crap songs on the rest of an album, and even take a walk while listening.

In 1960, however, true interactive music media was invented. Echo magazine was a “magazine you play on your phonograph.” Pretty cool. You could read an article, and play a record bound into the publication. This made magazines seem stupid because they didn’t have sound, and records equally dumb, because they only had liner notes. Boring.

Unfortunately, a magazine/record didn’t catch on in 1960. In reality, the issue could have been manufacturing related. I have this issue, and I’ll be damned if I can figure out how to separate the record from the pages. I don’t want to put the whole magazine on the turntable and flip around. The cover may also have added to the confusion. Only today, did I realize that it’s a representation of a phonograph player. For years, I thought it was someone’s arm and hand who was very shaky.

Echo magazine, 1960, page

Echo magazine, 1960, the clear vinyl record

Echo magazine, 1960, spread and record (the right page)

Echo magazine, 1960, typography

Echo magazine, 1960, spread with Shelley Berman

Echo magazine, 1960, page with France Nuyen

Echo magazine, 1960, spread with Brigitte Bardot

Echo magazine, 1960, cover

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Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, 1960

When I start talking about identity design, everyone loses his or her sense of humor. “Logos? That’s no laughing matter,” is the tone. There’s no room for funny in logo design or ID systems. Don’t you people understand this is a serious business? Of course it’s serious business. It’s the cornerstone and foundation of a company’s communications plan. But does that mean every logo should be a hard lined box with a tortured letterform, and a system with a vertical blue bar on every piece of collateral? I would say, “No.” Communications should engage and delight. That applies to identity design as well as a website, brochure, or signage program.

A great example of this approach is Alexander Girard’s design for La Fonda del Sol restaurant. In 1960, Restaurant Associates hired Girard to oversee all elements from the logo to the plates. Located in the Time & Life building in New York, La Fonda del Sol embraced the international ambitions of Rockefeller Center. Girard’s identity is varied and uses a multiple set of icons. What, you say, more than one logo? Was he mad? I don’t know about Girard’s psychological health, but it works for me. The restaurant paired the hand-made, craft of Mexico with a high-end and cosmopolitan tone. The solution was years ahead of a tongue-in-cheek tone now used by Jet Blue and Virgin Air. I especially like the newspaper ad that reads, “Will the lady who lost her composure during Fiesta at La Fonda del Sol please come back this Sunday?” I’m not so sure about the completely non-politically correct Siesta ad.

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, logo, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, menu, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, matches, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, logo, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, ladies room, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, a guy and the room, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, cool wall thing, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, table setting, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, 1960

La Fonda del Sol, non PC ad, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, newspaper ads, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, ceramics, 1960

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