Floozies, Guzzling Booze and Wearing Jeans!

Jiggling like a barrel of jelly...

The year is 1972. Melba G., a 20-year-old college coed, is confused, so she poses a question to popular newspaper advice columnist Dr. George Crane. It seems Melba G’s roommate is “a zealot for the women’s lib.”

“She was never popular with the boys, and has adopted a lot of male customs, such as wearing jeans, smoking and drinking liquor,” Melba G. laments.

Take a moment to gasp at such hussy-like behavior. Jezebel! Strumpet! Vamp! Trollop! Women wearing blue jeans? Well, I never!

As always, Dr. Crane cuts right to the chase: “The only hard-core members of the Women’s Lib are psychologically sick,” he confidently informs Melba G.

Such opinions were served up regularly to readers of Crane’s syndicated “Worry Clinic” column, in The Indianapolis Star, and many other newspapers - 250 papers at his peak - when I was a young reporter starting out in journalism.

I have carried the Melba G. clipping with me for more than half a century, to many journalism jobs, including my postings with Reuters. I pull it out now and then as a reality check, to show how things used to be.

With the direction our country is rapidly heading, now seems like a good time to share the doctor’s opinions with anybody who thinks those were the good old days. They were not. People used to think that way, and they could easily do it again.

Do not dismiss Dr. Crane as just some marginal nutjob. When he died in 1995, he scored a huge obituary in the New York Times. He came off as homespun and folksy. If The Times thought he was a crackpot, they didn’t let on.

I used to read Crane’s column aloud along with other sniggering journalists in the newsroom in Indianapolis, for our own amusement.

One colleague even held a competition to see who could produce the best Crane parody. I won that contest, and come to think of it, I think she still owes me my prize.

Fast-forward to 2024. Recently, on a frigid winter day with nothing better to do, I journeyed beyond Melba G. and took a deep dive into numerous other “Worry Clinic” columns. I wanted to see if Crane was as bad as I remembered.

Indeed he was, and in fact, he was even worse.

(A diaphanous nightie, circa the 1970s)

If there was sexual trouble in a marriage, Crane told his readers, it was likely the wife’s fault. She should “feign ardor in the boudoir,” just to keep her hubby from straying. As part of this feigned ardor, the wife should douse herself in exotic perfume and put on a “diaphanous nightie.”

 Those were his words, not mine, and diaphanous nighties seemed to crop up in way more Crane columns than you might expect from a normal person. It was almost as if he had a thing about them.

One of Crane’s readers, a 38-year-old woman named Marilyn D., took Crane’s advice and lost 24 pounds, which turned her marriage right around.

“I also adopted a new, exotic type of perfume and some diaphanous nighties!” Mrs. D. said as she headed off to Hawaii for a second honeymoon.

This is food for thought, ladies. And speaking of food, Crane had little use for plump wives. A few extra pounds, and there goes the marital spark. Shame on them for having children.

Of course, being a trained psychologist, Crane approached this subject delicately and with great sensitivity.

Husbands “can’t feel romantic about a female human walrus who jiggles like a barrel of jelly as she waddles down the street,” he warned.

Nice, Doc. Ever wonder why a lot of your patients waddle out in the middle of their first session and don’t come back?

In one column, a reader named Dinah told Crane some women always seem ready for sex, and she wondered where their “excessive ardor” came from.

Such women were known as “nymphomaniacs,” Crane explained.

Asked and answered. Thanks for coming, Dinah. Remember to get your parking ticket validated on the way out.

Another patient, named Celia, was concerned about women’s liberation, and asked Crane if these women were “freaks” in need of help.

Crane agreed that some “women’s libbers” did need psychiatric help but said there may be a simpler cure for them.

“A good romance with a dominant male would quickly make them prefer their ‘unliberated’ role,” he sagely advised.

An 18-year-old coed named Vera T. informed Crane that some women have stopped wearing bras, and she wondered if this was healthy.

Crane informed her that “the wearing of a brassiere probably started with Eve in the Garden of Eden.”

What? So Adam had to figure out how to unhook a bra before he could get to second base, even in the Garden of Eden? Crane’s source for this startling biblical information was pretty vague, and I note that in paintings of Adam and Eve, she is hardly ever wearing a bra.

One reader had problems with an alcoholic husband. Alcohol abuse is a tragic and complex problem, so let’s listen in to see what Dr. Crane advised:

“You wives can quickly stop your mate’s addiction to whisky by use of diaphanous nighties and the other ingredients of my recipe for boudoir cheesecake.”

Boudoir cheesecake? Yes. Crane talked about that almost as often as diaphanous nighties.

“Boudoir Cheesecake is far superior to any of the concoctions of Betty Crocker as regards preventing divorce!” Crane told Mary X, in a 1974 column.

And that is why, to this day, I almost never go to the Cheesecake Factory.