The Pie Is The Limit
It wasn’t just young men in Austria who saw these ads of promise and hope. An entire post-war generation, wondering what to do now that the shooting was over, was restless. The ones who didn’t want to expand their chest size wanted to at least pick up a marketable skill. The time was ripe for correspondence schools and study-at-home programs, creating thousands of “institutes” around the country hawking their disciplines. Most of these efforts were aimed at men, and they thrived, in part, thanks to lots of government education money going to the vets. They didn’t promise more muscles, but they all suggest that big money is just around the corner once you learn how to make synthetic marble, or nail the finer points of butchering, all in the comfort of your own home (see Figure 8).
Figure 8: I’m kind of curious how you can train at home to be a movie projectionist, but if that doesn’t work out, there’s always the lure of liquid marble.
These ads took on a distinct graphic look and language of their own, and became a staple in the back-of-book ad sections of hundreds of magazines. They appealed to the perceived independence of post-war men by suggesting various work-at-home businesses that in today’s light look like parodies (see Figure 9). Had our governor-elect chosen to send for any number of other free brochures (see Figures 10 and 11), we may have had a taxidermist in the Governor’s mansion. (Actually, thanks to Jerry Brown, we don’t have a governor’s mansion in California. It didn’t match the Plymouth Fury Jerry drove, so they cut the funding.)
Figure 9: My dad wanted me to go into venetian-blind laundering, but my mom was always partial to the mushroom gig.
Figure 10: In case the joy is going out of your hunting activities, you may want to consider the art of taxidermy. Imagine little Fifi as an adorable and practical lamp.
Figure 11:There’s money in hamsters if you play your cards right, and the good news is they’re clean and odorless.
A Big Demand for Art
I guess all the guys going into body building and mushroom farming were bound to need some creative services — what with all those photos of yourself and clever ad-slogan puns about manure. So if the he-man thing wasn’t in your genes, you could choose a more artistic path (see Figure 12).
Figure 12: Art is not only the ticket to a fine job in newspapers, advertising or department stores, but a great setup if you want to be your own boss.
The great thing about being an artist in the ’50s, was that, according to most of the ads, you didn’t really have to have any talent. And from the looks of it, even if you were a gentle, sensitive, frail guy, you could still get chicks with a funny drawing (see Figure 13). And under the guise of “anatomy drawing,” you could put in lots of extra study time, though most of it, I fear, would be alone in your depressing tenement (see Figure 14).
Figure 13: If you can draw as well as this guy…. Well, if you’re that good, you’re not reading this column, you’re cruising on your big-fat yacht.
Figure 14: If studying every “detailed part of the human body” is your obsession, there’s a book to show you how, and a number of study-at-home schools to show you the path to happiness.
And for all the Gomer Pyles still scratching around the edges, there was always the lucrative art of cartooning (see Figure 15). I suppose all those muscular guys had to have something to keep them amused while they got oiled.
Figure 15: And if the muscle-thing doesn’t work out, you can always be a skinny, weakling of a cartoonist, cashing in on the hot market for humor.
There Was Hope For Everyone
Even those with no perceptible talent had hope in those glorious times. You could always choose the fascinating world of printing, which not only paid big but promised “no art ability needed” (see Figure 16).
Figure 16: Whether letterpress or screen, printing appealed to all the masochistic and self-loathing readers of men’s magazines.
And if you were particularly hopeless, there was fortunately the option of studying journalism at home, or breaking into the rich field of magazine writing (see Figure 17).
Figure 17: And for the total losers, journalism-by-mail and magazine writing classes could pave the way to riches unknown (and mostly unrealized).
But if it had been me, I know exactly which ads I would have responded to. I can only guess what the world of “Ceramizing” is about, but I like the business model. Seems once you learn ceramizing, you can begin “turning worthless objects into valuable treasures.” God knows I have plenty of worthless objects around here to work with. Does anyone want a ceramic yogurt maker?
And since I’d be retired very soon, basking in the goodness of that magic junk-to-riches formula, I’d send for one more thing: The J. Houston Maupin Company in Tipp City Iowa, offers, for one dollar, plans by which you can build a jet engine for your bicycle (see Figure 18).
Figure 18: Any occupation that turns worthless objects into valuable treasures is the one for me. I’ll use the proceeds to outfit my bike with that homemade jet engine.
Come to think of it, didn’t Arnold have one of those in “True Lies“? I guess the he-men really do get all the good stuff in life. Maybe those ruptures are worth it.
Read more by Gene Gable.
This article was last modified on May 19, 2023
This article was first published on October 30, 2003
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