Not Tupperware Nor Tupperwear but ......wearWednesday, April 20, 2016
Until Rosemary, our two daughters and I moved to Vancouver in 1975 our life in Mexico City was hectic (lots of bumper to bumper driving) but paradoxically quite staid. Rosemary and I even had siestas between our teaching assignments on some days. Excitement was playing volleyball on the street in our neighbourhood and then retiring to one of our homes where one of us hosted dinner (pizza or tacos) over a game of dominoes. If there was any excitement it was not usually noticed as many of us where suffering the effects of cuba libres during those volleyball games under a hot sun.
Most of our routine changed in Vancouver and particularly when I began to work as a freelance photographer for Vancouver Magazine and business magazines.
My writer friend Les Wiseman and I conned Vancouver Magazine Editor Malcolm (known as Mac in those days) into doing a story on strippers. Mac thought it was a lousy idea until Wiseman gave him the money numbers and how much cash changed hands.
That Vancouver Magazine article and one for Equity Magazine (Sex Sells) got me exclusive entry into the dressing rooms of most of the strip clubs (called Show Lounges) in town.
In the late 70s I was able to get a loan (to buy a studio lighting system) at my Burnaby Branch of the Bank of Montreal from a serious looking older Scottish bank officer. She asked me what I could offer as collateral. I placed in front of her a large stack of Bi-Lines which was a gay and lesbian weekly. I was the staff photographer. I was the only straight employee. The woman gave me the loan ($2500) on the spot. I photographed for Bi-Line a few serious businessmen and broadcasters who later became Senators and local politicians
In the early 80s I conned both the Vancouver Province and Maclean’s to send me to LasVegas to cover a first ever stripper convention. Both publications got a scoop as a Vancouver woman became the Golden G-String Award winner.
There were many bizarre assignments but one of the most hilarious was this one where I photographed not a Tupperware Party, or a variation that might have been called Tupperwear. We called it a ……wear party. The women were all happy to see me even though I was not wearing tight jeans.
Now Rosemary and I in our Kitsilano home almost feel like we might try having a few siestas again.