I thought I would spend some time today dragging you back to the reality that was the 1960’s. I’ve written this story one other time many years ago but I think it never hurts to repeat something that makes me smile. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did at the time.

Let me take you back to the 1960s when life was good, drugs were plentiful, and love was free (as we all know it’s never free). I was a struggling Art major attending a small midwestern school with my fair share of financial difficulties as most college students have. I was forced to take jobs that I hated but sometimes you just have no choice in the matter. I was a busboy in the college cafeteria during my freshman year which was quite possibly the most demeaning job I’ve ever had. It was awash with benefits like the $1.50 an hour I was making and the incredible amount of crap I had to take from my fellow students. I decided a short time later that I’d never bus tables again, resigned my position, and walked away.

By walking away it made my financial situation a bit more difficult forcing me to scramble to find some kind of work to pay my bills. Where do you go in a case like that, the student billboard of course. As I was perusing through the tons of nonsense hanging on that billboard I found a small note with only three words on it and a telephone number, NUDE MODEL WANTED. I put the note in my pocket and returned to my dorm room to give it more thought. An hour or so later I finally called the number and surprise, surprise, it was one of my professors home telephone number. In those days $10 an hour was a lot of money but the consequences of modeling nude were numerous. He assured me I wouldn’t be required to model for my own classmates but I knew that being in such a small school the word would get out quickly enough. For about a week I weighed the pros and cons of sitting nude before numerous art classes and finally made the fatal telephone call and accepted the job.

You have to understand something, I was at that time in my life extremely shy and my self-esteem had yet to be developed to its present fantastic levels. My instructions were as follows; sit unmoving for one to two hours a session (10 min. break per hour), make no unnecessary facial expressions, no acknowledgment of friends, and TO BE TOTALLY FREAKING NAKED. I must’ve been out of my mind.

Day one started in front of the mirror in my dorm room checking my body for unnecessary hair in odd places and zits no matter where they were. There was only so much I can do because “what you see is what you get”, so I made my way to the Art building for my debut. I stood in the hallway, removed my robe and pranced (I could’ve used a better word here) naked into the room. Unfortunately as I looked around I knew damn near everyone. All of my so-called friends and classmates decided they would show their moral support by attending. The hooting and catcalls only lasted for a few minutes until the instructor quieted things down. He was grinning and enjoying himself like everyone else. As I told them all the next day and as I’m telling you now, “it was a VERY, VERY cold room”. I was able to ignore all the laughter, lewd comments, and the snickering but I managed to survive.

Over the next three months I modeled for probably 500 students and I soon became quite popular in the artist community. I had more dates than I can handle and my dance card was always filled on the weekends. Is there a moral to this story? I really can’t say. Getting naked in front of strangers was difficult but the money was good and kept my head above water for that school year. I got naked many times over the years since but only in special one-on-one situations with female friends where I immediately waived my fee.

I LOVED THE 60’S AND I LOVE GETTING NAKED