Few things are as satisfying as a trip down memory lane — and it’s even better when you find something you didn’t notice before. Because as Ferris Bueller said — life moves pretty fast. Here are dozens of pictures of celebrities and remarkable people of yesteryear in all their beautiful, vintage glory. The glamour, the fashions, the hair — whether classically elegant, effortlessly cool, or interestingly tacky, we shall not see their like again. Here’s to the movie stars who were larger than life, here’s to the rock stars who lived on the edge, here’s to the comedians who still make us smile, here’s to the bit players who had those moments of glory that changed their lives forever. It’s all good, it’s all groovy, and the rest is history.
Perhaps it was her Scandinavian free-spiritedness — Swedish-born actress and singer Ann-Margret seemed on call to be as sexy as necessary. Need an actress to smother Jack Nicholson with her cleavage? Ann-Margret would do it (in Carnal Knowledge, 1972). Need an actress to writhe in satin sheets and foam, then get sprayed by baked beans? Ann-Margret’s your girl (in Tommy, 1975). Need an actress to ride a large motorcycle in a thigh-high sweater dress and calf-high boots? Ann-Margret’s raring to go (in The Prophet, 1968). Need an actress who can shake her fringe top and miniskirt like a professional go-go dancer? Ann-Margret has that exact skill (in Appointment in Beirut, 1969). Need an actress you could cover in fluorescent paint and drag around a canvas like a human paintbrush while burly men in tribal garb howl and beat their bongos? That was so Ann-Margret’s thing (in The Swinger, 1966). Need an actress to wear a bra at a photo shoot on a chilly day? Not her thing, man.–Advertisment–
“Jungle Pam” Hardy, one of drag racing’s main attractions in the ’70s.
Jim Liberman was a drag racer who went by the nickname of “Jungle Jim.” He won a lot of races in the 1970s. Fans loved him for his flamboyant personality and masterful driving. But this is not a picture of Jungle Jim — this is “Jungle Pam” Hardy, Jim’s sidekick, who commanded attention at the track with her tight, skimpy outfits. She had a job to do, as Jim’s “backup girl,” she helped guide him as he drove his Chevy Vega backward on the track after a burnout. Pam joined Jim’s team in 1973, and in 1977 Jim died on an off-track car accident. Though she only did the job for four years, Jungle Pam remains the most iconic backup girl in drag racing history.
Burt Reynolds and Farrah Fawcett during filming of the 1981 comedy “The Cannonball Run.”
The 1981 road-racing comedy The Cannonball Run was packed with star power: Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Adrienne Barbeau, Mel Tillis, Terry Bradshaw, Dom DeLuise, Jackie Chan and 007 himself, Roger Moore. But you could have left all of them on the side of the road and powered to box office success with this supernaturally attractive pair of human beings: Burt Reynolds and Farrah Fawcett. He was the greatest heartthrob of the late ’70s; she had the decade’s hottest poster, and was the hottest lady detective on Charlie’s Angels, a show that was completely about conspicuously hot lady detectives. The chemistry in the movie (and this photo) wasn’t fake — Fawcett and Reynolds were romantically involved for a time.
Marcia, Marcia, Marcia! You’re gonna lose! Lose! Lose! A miffed Maureen McCormick on The Brady Bunch, 1972.
Be honest — which of these three sparklers from 1983 would you have pegged to be the future governor of Minnesota? History tells us it was Jesse “the Body” Ventura (at right), and not Randy “Macho Man” Savage or the lovely Elizabeth “Miss Elizabeth” Hulette. Randy and Elizabeth would marry the following year, and she would later debut in the WWF as Macho Man’s mysterious, glamorous manager. Sadly, neither Macho Man nor Elizabeth are with us today. Ventura, who served one term as governor and has since remained a popular political figure, occasionally floats the idea of a bid for the U.S. presidency. That seems far-fetched, as American voters would never make a crass TV blowhard the leader of the free world.
Cindy Morgan as ‘Lacey Underall’ in a scene from the comedy film “Caddyshack,” 1980.
I Discovered Hotel Receipts in My Husband’s Car, Uncovering a Heartbreaking Truth — but Karma Took Its Toll on Him Severely
This shift in his pattern piqued my curiosity and concern. One weekend, while Derek was out visiting a friend, I decided to clean his car—a task that he usually took upon himself.
As I vacuumed the interior and wiped down the dashboard, I stumbled upon a stack of receipts tucked away in the glove compartment. My hands trembled slightly as I unfolded them, revealing charges for a hotel room right here in our town. The dates on these receipts coincided perfectly with the days he claimed to be out of town for work.
My initial instinct was to rationalize these findings. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation, like a mix-up with the receipts or perhaps he was helping out a friend in need. But as much as I wanted to dismiss my growing suspicions, the seeds of doubt had already been planted deep in my mind.
Determined to get to the bottom of this, I started to pay closer attention to Derek’s comings and goings. I started noting the times he left the house and the purported destinations for his business trips.
My scrutiny extended to collecting any and all receipts I could find—whether they were casually discarded in his pockets or left behind in his car. Most were mundane, everyday purchases, but every so often, another hotel receipt would surface among them, each one like a small jolt to my heart.
This pattern continued, each receipt adding weight to the uneasy feeling settling in my chest. The more I found, the more the pieces began to form a picture I was afraid to confront.
Yet, despite the mounting evidence, I hadn’t brought up my concerns with Derek. I was torn between not wanting to believe my husband could be deceiving me and the growing realization that I needed to address these doubts somehow.
The next few days were filled with a thick tension that seemed to permeate our home. Derek’s comings and goings became even more erratic, and his excuses grew increasingly flimsy. “I have to leave urgently,” he’d announce abruptly, and I’d nod, feigning indifference. But inside, my suspicion and resentment were building to a crescendo.
One evening, fed up with the lies, I decided to follow him. He left the house in a rush, barely managing a goodbye. I waited a few minutes before I quietly slipped into my car and trailed behind him from a safe distance.
My heart pounded as I drove, each turn he took adding to the tight knot of anxiety in my stomach. He didn’t head towards the office or any business district; instead, he pulled into the parking lot of the same hotel from the receipts.
I parked a little way off and made my way to the lobby, trying to blend in with the crowd. I found a discreet spot near the elevators from where I could observe without being seen.
It wasn’t long before I saw him—Derek, my husband, the father of my children—walking side by side with a woman. They were laughing, touching each other’s arms intimately, and then they embraced, a long, passionate hug that made my heart sink.
The shock of seeing them together, so close, so personal, was nearly overwhelming. My hands shook with a mix of anger, sorrow, and disbelief. Driven by a surge of adrenaline, I stepped out from my hiding spot and confronted them. The look on their faces was priceless—shock, guilt, fear—it was all there. Derek stammered, and tried to explain, but I didn’t want to hear any of it.
The next few days were a blur of arguments, tears, and revelations. It turned out that the woman was more than just a fling; Derek had believed they had something special.
But the ultimate betrayal came when I learned from a mutual friend that, shortly after our breakup, she had scammed him. She had persuaded Derek to open a joint account under the guise of starting a new life together. Then, without warning, she withdrew every penny and disappeared, leaving him devastated and financially ruined.
This revelation didn’t bring me any satisfaction. Instead, there was a hollow feeling of vindication mixed with immense sadness for the chaos that now surrounded what was once a family united. Derek was a broken man, deceived by someone he trusted, just as he had deceived me.
In the wake of our separation, I found myself reevaluating everything that had happened. Our home felt different, and emptier, as I dealt with the aftermath of Derek’s actions on our marriage and our family’s financial stability. The prenup, once a simple precaution, now seemed like a prescient safeguard that protected what little I had left for our children’s future.
Derek’s affair and the subsequent scam had not only ended our marriage but had also left him in ruins. It was a painful irony that he was duped in much the same way he had deceived me. Despite everything, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him—he was, after all, the man I had once loved deeply.
Now, as I stand in the quiet of what used to be our shared living room, I realize the depth of the betrayal and the indelible mark it has left on my life. Moving forward won’t be easy, but it’s necessary. For me, for our kids, and even for Derek, the path to healing is going to be a long one, but it starts with stepping out of the shadows of deception and reclaiming my life, one day at a time.
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