Not Tupperware Nor Tupperwear but ......wear
Wednesday, 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.
