Miss America

   When I was growing up in the pre-feminist 50’s, one of the yearly television highlights was the Miss America contest.  My whole family, Dad included, would gather in the living room to watch the annual pageant.  (Given that in those days our television received only two channels, this was not a huge sacrifice on my dad’s part!)  We would all curl up in the living room, Mom on the couch, Dad usually in his recliner, and Jeanne and me stretched out on the floor, where we would munch on popcorn while we admired the evening dresses, critiqued the talent contest, and cheered on our favorites.  

    Miss America was not just a one night phenomena that went away after Bert Parks sang to the winner.  For weeks after, Jeanne and I would play Miss America painting our lips with our mother’s lipstick and wearing gowns created out of her slips and petticoats.  My cousin Linda and I would spend hours walking up and down the stairs at her house with books on our head in an effort to perfect a graceful walk.  And I would fall asleep for many nights after imagining myself wearing a glittering evening gown and reciting a poem I’d written.  (I was enough of a realist to know that even in my wildest dreams I had no talent as a singer, dancer, piano player, or even a baton twirler but I thought I might make it as a poet. It does occur to me now, however, that in those simpler days, while I had doubts about my talent, I seem to have had no doubts about my beauty.)

    My Miss America dreams faded and dissipated as I grew older and the conservative ‘50’s turned into the rebellious and tumultuous ‘60’s and ‘70’s.  With one exception.  Miss American 1968, Judy Ford, enrolled at the University of Illinois in 1969 after her reign as the first trampoline jumping beauty queen, and I, an embarrassed budding feminist, hid behind posts in the armory and followed her around as she was registering for classes so I could see a real Miss America in person!

    The Miss America contest was an insignificant part of my life for many years after that ignoble event.  While I’m sure that I must have watched occasionally, I don’t have any significant Miss America memories while I was a newlywed or a busy young mother.  And, since by then televisions had many more channels than two, Jim certainly never felt compelled to watch the competition with me.     

    But the Miss America fascination must have been smouldering somewhere in my brain all those years.  That’s the only reason I can come up with for what I did years ago on a vacation to Florida.  My sister Jeanne and I established an annual tradition of a trip to Florida with her two daughters and my two youngest after the traumatic summer of 1988 that saw Johanna diagnosed with a brain tumor and Jeanne diagnosed with breast cancer.  For years we flew off to Florida in August right before school started for a week of sun and fun in a condo by the ocean.

    One day, after a long morning on the beach, Jeanne and I brought everyone inside during the hottest part of the afternoon and instead of just letting the four girls veg out in front of the tv, I proposed that we have our very own “Miss Florida” contest, with bathing suit, evening gown, and talent competitions.  The girls were delighted with the idea and soon were busy scrounging bed sheets and towels and beach coverups to create their costumes.  At first there was just lots of laughing and giggling, but soon I began to hear other sounds and I began to realize that my fun afternoon game might not be quite the happy event I had anticipated.  “What’s the prize?” asked Jill.  “Who’s going to pick the winner?” asked Alex.  

    I shouldn’t have been surprised.  Competition between these two cousins was fierce.  If they were diving in the pool, they would argue about whose toes were the most pointed.  They argued over who found the biggest sand dollar or the most shells.  One day they were bobbing.  “How many bobs did you do?” asked Jill.  “Thirty,” answered Alex too quickly.  “I did thirty-one,” said Jill.

    I tried the old ‘this is just for fun’ trick, but they weren’t buying it.  Out they paraded in their bathing suits for the first competition, glaring at each other.  Even they had to laugh at Johanna, who had stuffed tennis balls into the top of her suit, giving her a Dolly Parton look.  But Johanna wasn’t the competition they were worried about.  Out they paraded in their evening gowns, Alex looking confident, Jill less so.  And then out they came, singing.  Jill, ever dramatic, sang her heart out.  She looked confident, Alex less so.

    If I remember correctly, the judges tried their best to make everyone happy.  Johanna, we announced, was the swimsuit winner.  Alex, we announced, was the evening gown winner.  Jill, we announced, was the talent winner.  And Bess was Miss Florida.

    Bess was thrilled.  Johanna was happy.  Johanna, in fact, may have also won Miss Congeniality, because she was the only child who went up and hugged and congratulated the new Miss Florida.  Jill and Alex were both irate and complained about the results for the rest of the trip.  As to prizes, Jeanne and I bought trinkets at a souvenir shop.  I don’t remember what Johanna and Bess got, but Jill and Alex got tiny ceramic crabs!

    Both Jill and Alex have gone on to their own successes, but Jill at least has never quite forgiven me for Bess’s victory.  I have a picture of the four cousins in their contest finery hanging at the lake house and Jill grimaces every time she looks at it. “But Mom,” she says, “Did you hear Bess sing?”

    I’m pretty sure that to this day Jill regrets not slipping tennis balls into her bathing suit top!