Upon the recent release of "Where the Boys Are," the George Hamilton, Yvette Mimeux, Dolores Heart, Paula Prentiss, Jim Hutton film that captured the spirit of the 1960's and ‘70's, I was immediately drawn to purchase it.
When I saw it's gleaming cover and the images of so many of the film stars I "grew up to," I realized that this one movie was for me and so many of my age bracket the seminal movie of our generation. At least for us girls. The ultimate chick flick. It represents the preponderance of the eighteen and nineteen year old girls and boys like me who and what we were going through.
The four females epitomized each then stereotype. Dolores Hart as the too-good girl whose virtue wins her the Brown University hunk played by George Hamilton. There is the ditzy blond played by Yvette Mimeax. The too tall, gawky Paula Prentiss who is Every girl. And the captain of the hockey team, played by newcomer Connie Francis.
From the moment the wistfully sung Connie Francis theme song begins, I am sucked into some vortex of my past. On is it their past? Or, more correctly, our past? And I am sure I am not alone.
What is it about Ft. Lauderdale, Florida and the concept of "Easter Vacation," that plucks the heartstrings of so many, especially us originally east coasters? Pink flamingos, pastel stucco motels, neon "Vacancy" signs. The place was magic.
For me 1968 was my first Ft. Lauderdale. And what a special week of my first truly "grown up" vacation it was. I was a "nose," a "brain," as they called us at Northwestern high school. I didn't fit in with the really "cool" kids who stood outside where the busses stopped smoking cigarettes. So the fact that I made it to Ft. Lauderdale at all was an act of sheer luck on my part.
It was there that two of my high school acquaintances, Bonnie Stover and Bonnie Swicegood, and I shared an apartment. Trust me, I was the dork. They were the cool babes. Why they ever even spoke to me was unfathomable, I felt back then. However, since we were splitting the costs by thirds, I made their trip more affordable.
We went to the beach each day, passed the bottle of Johnson's baby oil doctored with a liberal dose of iodine to help us burn in the already hot Florida sun. I burned. The two Bonnie's tanned, of course.
I used to harbor this fantasy that one day all of my freckles would merge giving me the greatest tan of all. Of course, it never happened.
If I am not mistaken, Bonnie and Bonnie met two strikingly handsome college boys from who knows where. I met a nice guy from New Jersey who drove his Harley down to the beach city in quest of a little action. His name was Moose. Some how, I had imagined a college man. Instead, I had Moose and his truly greaser friends.
Today I remember little about Moose except that I remember thinking that he was the type guy who I would probably wind up with: muscular, greaser with gnawed fingernails, slick hair, and a heavy Jersey accent. He showed me pictures of him with his Harley in the backyard of his parents house. Yes, even greasers lived with their parents back then.
I suspect that Bonnie and Bonnie's experience was much closer to that of Dolores Hart and George Hamilton in the film. Nothing cultural or calamitous happened to me. I don't remember if the two Bonnie's got to "keep" their guys.
I wonder to this day what happened to Moose and the two Bonnie's. And I wonder if they too saw the glossy cover of the "Where the Boys Are" DVD on their local Blockbuster and said, "I have to have that." I watched the film within minutes of returning home from the store. It was everything I thought it would be - a wonderful trip down Every girl's quirky growing up time.
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