Tags: Dar es Salaam, Shannon Moeser, Tanzania, Zanzibar
A hole. The toilet was a hole in the ground. I wasn’t prissy. As a teenager in Canada, I’d often used my aunt’s outhouse and just wrinkled my nose to block the stench. This hole was more sanitary – there was water flowing into it – and didn’t smell nearly as bad as that outhouse. But my western body had not developed the muscles needed to rise from a squatting position. The wall was not close enough to use for balance; if I crouched too low, I would fall on my bum. I peed – a bit – not very efficiently. Luckily there was a shower nearby, so I washed. But what would I do for the next three days?
Three weeks earlier, Solange had said, “Let’s go to Zanzibar for the Saba Saba holiday.”
And I thought, “Why not? I’ve lived in Dar es Salaam seven months and haven’t seen hardly anything outside the city.”
So I helped Solange compose a letter seeking a place to stay – a note to Dr. Coutah that included our photographs. I’d never met him but Solange told me he often visited the U.N. office where we worked A few days later, Solange mentioned that Dr. Coutah had written to say he would not be in Zanzibar during the holiday, and so instead she’d made plans for us to stay with her friend Joseph and his family. Joseph was part of Solange’s circle, not someone I’d have encountered through work or social functions.
On June 22, 1964, I received a letter from Dr. Coutah. His small, neat handwriting contrasted with his lavish, unrestrained prose. After thanking me for “my very sweet letter” and describing how he was on a “secret job” that required quiet, he added:
How pretty Solange is – and you, wow! Incidentally, I am married, although my wife is permanently in Nairobi – not divorced nor separated – but allowing me the liberties of life so soon.
Then he continued:
My friends were disappointed that you and Solange were to stay with Joseph – that’s his name I presume. They were planning to take you two out on a picnic to a neighbouring island … and on my suggestion would have shown you around Z’bar Island. All that unlucky for me and without me. You could then have had Monday with your host. But your host will not like that, I am sure – too bad! Nevertheless, please do write and let me know how you feel about it all. Say what you want done – rub against the magic lamp – and my fair lady thy will shalt be done.
He signed it, “Eddie, that’s me name.” One small slip, me instead of my. His first language would be one of the Indian dialects, his second probably Swahili. English was likely his third language, yet he made only one error in two pages of dense handwritten prose.
When he previously responded to Solange’s request, possibly he had made a similar suggestion – that he could arrange for his friends to take us on a picnic and tour of the island. If so, she hadn’t mentioned it when telling me that Eddie (Dr. Coutah) would not be in Zanzibar during our visit. Maybe she knew that accommodation with Joseph also meant that Joseph organized our entertainment. Eddie’s mocking comment – too bad – suggested friction about his proposed scenario. That could be why he was now writing directly to me. Still, the trip had been Solange’s idea and she was making all arrangements, so I wrote Eddie a short note, thanking him for his concerns, and stating that Solange had already set up our schedule. What I didn’t tell him was that I was feeling listless and was just going along with whatever Solange planned. I attributed my low spirits to the fact that my boyfriend had been away from Dar for almost five months.
The day before we left, I received another letter. This one was brief. Eddie said he would be in Zanzibar during our visit. He wrote:
I was not allowed by my Minister to go to Nairobi yesterday. I must stay here for a very urgent job that entails ‘round the clock’ sessions. I am still being hopeful that I might meet you – but if not do please be my guests some other time.
Solange and I worked at the Dar es Salaam United Nations regional office. Dar es Salaam was the capital of Tanzania (formerly Tanganyika). Tanganyika was granted independence in 1961. Of the approximately 4,500 Europeans who had been living there, nearly 1,000 departed. This exodus resulted in a shortage of English-speaking office workers. Within a few days of arriving in Dar, I quickly obtained a job as an executive secretary, with my own private air-conditioned office, even though I was only 23. Solange had no secretarial skills but spoke fluent English and Swahili, and easily found employment as a receptionist at age 20.
In Dar, there were three major racial groups – European, South Asian, and African. Each had its own residential sections (one for Europeans, several for Asians and Africans). This segregation was initially established by colonial policy and continued after independence through neighbourhood housing preferences. Although I was European, I lived in the South Asian downtown area, boarding with Muslims – an Indian Ismaili family.
Solange was part African and part European, with possibly a bit of South Asian as well. She had emigrated from the Seychelles with her mother and several younger siblings, living with them on the outskirts of the city, in an area accommodating many Christians – both African and Indian. Solange was a devout Catholic.
Both of us had African boyfriends, but mine was no longer living in Dar and Solange was in the process of breaking up with hers, so a short vacation would help us forget our troubles.
When I arrived in Dar es Salaam, it was the capital of Tanganyika; now it was the capital of Tanzania. Initially, Tanganyika was one of four countries forming British East Africa, the others being Kenya, Uganda, and Zanzibar. Tanganyika was the first to gain independence – in 1961. Independence was granted to Uganda in 1962 and to Kenya and Zanzibar in 1963. A bloody coup occurred in Zanzibar on January 12, 1964, just one month after attaining independence. The Sultan (with his Arab government) was overthrown and replaced by an African-led Revolutionary Council. This occurred while I was living in Dar but all I remember about that incident was a bit of tension in the streets for a couple of weeks. My work and social life carried on as usual.
Less than four months later, on April 26, 1964, Tanganyika and Zanzibar merged, forming a single country – Tanzania. That was just six weeks before Solange suggested visiting Zanzibar during the Saba Saba holiday. Saba Saba (Swahili for seven seven) was a festival held on July 7th in Dar es Salaam. Our office would be closed Monday and Tuesday, July 6 and 7.
As the finishing touches of the alliance forming Tanzania had not yet been completed, Saba Saba would not be celebrated in Zanzibar this year, making it easy for Solange to find us accommodation. For me, it was a great opportunity to visit another part of Africa at a relatively low cost.
On July 4th, Solange and I worked until noon, our usual Saturday quitting time, and then caught the ferry. I carried a small navy bag containing two extra cotton dresses, a robe to wear when visiting the bathroom, extra underwear, a toothbrush, toothpaste, lipstick, and my camera. My purse held my passport and a few shillings – enough money for a small emergency, not so much that I would worry if it disappeared.
For three hours, we suffered on uncomfortable wood benches. The sky was deep blue, the ocean calm, but still our boat bobbed and rolled. My stomach uneasy, my mind a bit hazy, I said little. Usually we talked incessantly about work, our love lives, and our families. Unlike most young women in Dar, we two were free – allowed to work, date, dance, travel alone, and make choices without male interference. We wore simple cotton dresses, sleeveless, fitted to display our legs and the natural curves of our bodies. This was what we always wore in Dar, which was cosmopolitan, even though about 65% of the population was Muslim. We never thought that our attire might not be appropriate in Zanzibar, a conservative Muslim town seeped in Arab tradition. The immigration officer, however, was surly, especially to me. He eventually stamped our passports but we were restricted to a four-day visit.
Joseph, a South Asian, greeted us at the Zanzibar landing dock. He had hired a cab to drive to his apartment, a short distance away, close to the sea and the town centre.
At Joseph’s apartment, we met his wife, who showed us our bedroom. She said, “We have only two beds. Our daughters can share one and you can share the other.”
They were twin beds.
I didn’t expect luxurious accommodations and had assumed that Solange and I would share a bed, but I worried about its size. In Dar, I had learned to lie in the middle of my bed, with no part of me touching the mosquito net. By sharing a small bed with Solange, parts of my body would brush against the net, and those blood-sucking fiends would land on vulnerable areas of my anatomy. Throughout Joseph’s house, I could hear the high-pitched whine of mosquitoes, just waiting.
Nonetheless, after the long ferry trip, I just wanted to relax and soothe my queasy stomach. I plopped on the bed besides Solange and we napped. When we woke, I headed for the bathroom, and discovered the hole.
Our host had arranged to take us to dinner at a restaurant. Solange and I wore our simple dresses; Joseph had donned a crisp new cotton shirt and his wife a light blue sari. We strolled down the street, talking and laughing until we reached the restaurant, where Joseph was greeted by friends. He had brought special guests – Solange and me. In front of us were mangos, papaya, bananas, and guavas. There was curried chicken and rice. Plantains cooked with peanut curry. Lively music. Non-stop chatter.
A man slipped into the seat beside me. Unlike the others, he was dressed informally, wearing a simple white shirt, his sleeves rolled up. He spoke only to me. Eddie. He was taking a break from work and would return to his office after dinner.
In the middle of the festivities, I felt dizzy, sick.
“I need fresh air,” I said.
Outside I vomited. On the sidewalk, thank God, not in the restaurant. Eddie stood beside me. I saw Solange, maybe Joseph …
“I need to lie down.”
Everything was a blur. Eddie took charge. I was in his car, then in a bedroom at his apartment.
“Lie here while I get a doctor,” he said.
How would he find a doctor on a Saturday night? I only needed to rest awhile and I would be fine.
I removed my dress and draped it over the back of a chair. Then I crawled into bed and covered myself with a sheet. A few minutes later, Eddie arrived with a doctor, who examined me while Eddie hovered in the background. “Malaria,” the doctor said.
How could I have malaria? I took my quinine pill each morning. But I had been feeling low lately. Thought it was because I was lonely, my boyfriend now living in Cairo. Maybe I had also been fighting an infection.
The doctor gave me medicine; I swallowed, and fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, I woke and saw the shadowy outline of a man.
Rape! I’m going to be raped.
I vaguely remembered the doctor leaving as I fell asleep. I was in an empty apartment with a stranger. I didn’t move, though my eyes were open. Did he realize I was awake?
As my vision adjusted to the darkness, I saw the figure clearly through the mosquito net.
Eddie sat on a chair. His brows were furrowed, his gaze focused on my face. He didn’t move, just stared like a grief-stricken father. He barely knew me but he was worried. He was watching over me, making sure I didn’t take a turn for the worse. I relaxed, closed my eyes, and fell back to sleep.
A soft breeze blew through the window cooling the humid air. Through half-opened eyes, I saw my navy bag by the door. My mind was no longer groggy, my stomach no longer upset. Still, it was my full bladder that impelled me to push aside the bed sheet, untuck the net, slip on my robe, and find the bathroom. Relief. Eddie had a real toilet.
Back in the bedroom, I dressed and then ventured into the kitchen. Eddie sat at the table, writing. He looked up and smiled. Not a broad smile, just a gentle, quizzical half-smile.
“I feel better now,” I said.
Eddie got up and sliced a banana into a bowl. He suggested I try to eat while he fetched the doctor.
I ate and still felt hungry. Eddie returned with the doctor who examined me, said my temperature was normal, gave me another pill, and told me to take it easy for the next few days. Then the doctor left.
Eddie prepared us a small breakfast – a mango, sweet rolls and coffee. I thanked him for looking after me and fetching my bag.
“Solange did the packing.” he said. “I hope nothing is missing. I invited Solange to come along and join us but she wished to stay with Joseph.”
When speaking about Solange’s decision, the tone of his voice implied criticism. Without addressing the topic directly, Eddie conveyed the message that he expected me to stay with him. I knew that if I insisted, he would drive me to Joseph’s place. But I didn’t really want to go. Here I had my own bed, fewer mosquitoes, and a real toilet.
Tags: Shannon Moeser
I have lost 15 lbs since those pictures shown in the post “Me Old” were taken. I look more like the photo on top of the page now. Thanks to David and John.
I will post a new photo when I get back to Butchart Gardens again. That might not be for awhile, as we are now entering winter and I usually visit Butchart Gardens in spring.
Tags: Changu Island, Prison Island, Shannon Moeser, Zanzibar
I am busy writing a long story and won’t be able to post much. This picture will appear in the story. Can anyone guess where it was taken? (Continent doesn’t count; you must name the specific location.) When the story is posted — hopefully in about three months — you will know then. Meanwhile, I hope to whet your appetite.
When I first started this site, it’s intention was to be a forum for the creative non-fiction stories (memoirs) that I wrote. Then My Archives folded, and I began including short comments (with plenty of pictures) that normally I would have included in the My Archives discussion forum.
I also wrote a non-fiction essay (Myarchives.net is Dead).
I recently realized that my many short comments were crowding out my memoir stories. One really has to search to find these stories. So I’ve now changed my categories to:
– Memoir – Non-fiction stories
– Non-fiction essays
The fluff is all the short comments with pictures. I don’t want to delete them, but I want those few people who would like to read my stories to be able to easily find them.
The one question I have for you is: Is the piece on My Modelling Names an essay or fluff? It’s not a very well-written essay, if it is an essay. Do you think it should stay in fluff, where I have presently placed it?
Tags: Gloria Dawn
Someone is trying to sell the centerfold from a PIX magazine on eBay, which is being marketed as a photo of “Gloria Dawn.” They can do this legitimately, as long as they sell the actual centerfold — just like anyone can legitimately sell the magazine itself. However, I just purchased the entire magazine — it’s not that hard to find. Initially, I bid on one and lost the magazine to someone who got it for $17. The second time it came up, I got it for $25. I was going to surprise you by posting some of the photos here. It’s another set of the photos of three girls on a boat cruise by Ron Vogel (all photos in black and white) that was first published in Topper.
I’ve been busy lately. I’m taking a writing course and it is keeping me so busy that I haven’t had time to post anything. Anyway, here is a very rough copy of the centerfold. I’ll post a better copy in Gloria Dawn Photos when I have time (probably not until after the course ends in the middle of December).
Too bad this eBay seller, styxiejones, had to mess up my surprise for you. He/she is probably going to try to sell several of the fold-out pages from the magazine individually, for the same price it costs to purchase the entire magazine.
Tags: Elmer Batters, Gloria Dawn
George (known as “Teogan” to former My Archives members) recently discovered this picture on eBay, informed me and I won the auction. It is unique because, to the best of my knowledge, it is the only published colour photo of my dark blond hair. Elmer Batters took it — read “Nude in Black and Blonde” if you don’t remember the episode. The fact that my hair ends are nicely flipped tells me that he took it early in our session; my ultra-fine hair drooped quickly. All the other photos I’ve seen from that session are in black and white. Five other photos appear in the Champagne magazine feature (entitled “Nude in Black Gloves”), but this full-page picture is the only one in colour. Maybe after taking this photo, Batters decided that colour film wasn’t suitable for the lighting setup. (He liked to work with natural light, even when indoors.)
The photo does not appear to have been touched up in any way. Even my appendix scar, which is often air brushed out in nude photos, is visible. I did find my lips disconcerting; they appear garish and odd shaped. It’s not the bright red colour; photographers often asked me to wear bright red lipstick, even when I had light blond hair. It’s the shape. After zooming in on them using Photoshop, I realized that the makeup artist had drawn them larger than normal, and my normal lips are full enough, thank you very much. It’s as if she was not used to working with full-lipped models (and actresses) and drew her pencil lines beyond the natural ridges, making them appear bizarre. Below, on the left, is a close up of my lips are they appear in the photo; on the right is my attempt to draw my lips their proper shape using Photoshop. (My Photoshop skills are not perfect, so this is only an approximate rendering of how my lips should have appeared.)
In black and white photos, the garish red disappears amongst the ridges of my natural lip line as seen below. But in that colour movie, which was never completed, I must have looked tawdry. Probably one reason the movie was never completed.
The black and white photos in the Champagne feature are full-length and more flattering than the colour photo. As per the “Donna Cole” set (see: http://gloriadawn.wordpress.com/2013/06/13/donna-cole-picture/), I am wearing black nylons, black gloves and a teeny black bikini bottom. In the Champagne pictures, taken before filming began, I look more refreshed. Also, Batters took pains to make my breasts more attractive. He didn’t always focus 100% on legs, you know. Eventually, I’ll post the complete set on gloriadawn.wordpress.com. But don’t look for them to appear soon. I have lots of other things to do first.
Tags: Gloria Dawn, Phil Jacobson
The only thing Adam 1964 forgot to mention was that I had also appeared in Adam thirteen months earlier (Dec 1962). These were some of my favorite photos, taken by Phil Jacobson. I wonder why Adam 1964 (Jan 1964) failed to mention that I was in the earlier feature?
Tags: Gloria Dawn, Keith Bernard
I just got a new Adam magazine with new “Susan Norman” photos of me, taken by Keith Bernard. I was surprised to find that the blurb accompanying the photo layout was TRUE. He got my measurements correct (well maybe cut one inch off the hips) — but mostly correct, whereas most of the blurbs are way off. He also correctly identified my birthplace (Canada) and where I was currently living (Hollywood). But most of all, he got the fact that I was planning to go to Africa correct. The only thing I found odd was that when I modeled for Keith, in early June 1963, I was planning to go to Kenya, but I’m sure that I never mentioned Tanganyika, because I never even thought of going there until I re-connected with an African I’d met two years earlier; I didn’t reconnect with him until August 1963. Keith may have kept accurate notes, but he couldn’t have known about Tanganyika. My agent didn’t know where I’d gone. Only a couple of close friends at the Hollywood Studio Club knew. So Keith must have found out that I’d left for Tanganyika from one of them. Anyway, here are two of the pages (full-page B&W photographs) censored. I’ll post the uncensored versions later in the Keith Bernard section of Gloria Dawn Photos.
PS added September 12: I’ve lost ten pounds since these photos were taken in May, thanks to the encouragement of my two “buddies.”
Photos of me taken a week ago. I need to lose weight. I need someone to keep prodding me! Any volunteers? (I don’t know how long I’ll keep these pictures up.)
Tags: Gloria Dawn, My Archives, Shannon Moeser
The My Archives Vintage Porn internet site has vanished. In mid-October 2012, its picture gallery disappeared but regular members continued to visit by linking directly to discussion forums. These forums, and other components such as the chatbox and private message system, remained intact. At first we were told the gallery was backed up and would return online after a programmer updated the operating system. But as time progressed, the gallery remained inaccessible and other structures stopped working. When only the chatbox and discussion forums still functioned, I frantically started copying posts from my 36-page discussion thread. Among the more than 800 posts to this thread were several thoughtful exchanges that I didn’t want to lose. Another member told me how to quickly back up the entire thread; three days later, the website crashed.
My Archives lasted less than eight years.
How long should internet material endure? Should it last as long as print material? Will digital forms of communication replace printed matter?
A while ago, I decided to re-read a Ruth Rendell book of short stories that I first read in 1982. It was not in my local library system, so I tried Amazon. An anthology, consisting of her four published books of short stories, was issued in 1987 with several reprints. Amazon’s third-party dealers were selling used copies. For $6.50 (which included postage), I purchased a 1991 edition of Rendell’s Collected Short Stories in excellent condition, pages just slightly tinged yellow. With careful handling, it will last another 30 years. Ruth Rendell is now 83 years old but her writing will last long after her death.
I wonder if Tony T thought his comments would last at least a few years after he died. Tony T was the moral centre of the My Archives discussion forums. Many visitors to the website ignored the discussion forums; they only were interested in looking at “dirty” pictures. But a loyal group took part in the forum exchanges, where members analyzed and debated various aspects of the porn industry and model anatomy. Whenever a discussion became contentious – and several did – Tony T would weigh in with a balanced comment. Even when there was no controversy, Tony often posted comments that encouraged reflection on a topic. He joined the community in 2005 when the site contained only photos taken prior to 1980. About a month before the gallery disappeared, Tony wrote his final post, stating that his cancer treatment had not succeeded and he was moving to a hospice. We don’t know if Tony has died, or whether his family tried to notify us only to find that they couldn’t enter the site using its entrance link. Before My Archives vanished, one member was copying what he considered the most important discussion forums. I don’t know how to access these copies. All I have to remember Tony are a few private messages and his comments on my discussion thread.
Photos posted to My Archives were submitted by members – mostly scans of pictures found in vintage porn magazines. Images from books that had lasted 40 to 60 years, as well as some 90-year-old postcards. Print material endures!
Volunteers vetted the posts and ensured they were placed in correct folders. The domain name was owned by “Tiger.” He paid for the server space – a major expense given the huge number of posts each day, especially after the cut-off date was changed to 1989 in 2006 and to 1999 three years later. The few advertisements, all for pay-for-view porn sites, were supposed to cover expenses. They probably didn’t cover these costs, particularly when a major overhaul of the operating system was needed.
One reason expenses overran revenues was internet thievery. Images posted on My Archives could be copied and pasted to another site. I didn’t realize this at first, and by the time I discovered it, my pictures were published on numerous tumblr sites. Tumblr is a network for sharing internet photos. A visitor would capture an image from My Archives and post it on his/her tumblr site; others would “reblog” the original post until it circulated around the network. My modelling name was usually included with the image (that’s how I acquired more fans); however My Archives was never identified as the original source, so it never received “value” from this circulation of its images.
Had I known my photos were going to be passed around the internet, I never would have put the private ones on My Archives. These were pictures I owned that were not scanned from magazines. Initially I hoped to sell some of these private shots as autographed pictures, but now anyone can copy them without my permission.
Within its own realm, tumblr is relatively innocuous. Unfortunately, these images are captured by other internet users who place them on commercial websites. I’ve found my photos on sites selling hair products and espousing political views I don’t agree with.
Other porn sites also contained photos copied from My Archives. For example, one member found a photo of me on Vintage Stockings. Although this image had originally appeared in a magazine and conceivably could have been scanned directly from that magazine, I knew that this one was captured from my post on My Archives; unique changes I had made to the magazine image were present also in the Vintage Stockings version. Management at Vintage Stockings relies on posts by its members and members can “pass off” images taken from other websites as their own scans.
Similarly, some My Archives members posted images from other internet sources on My Archives. The photo below was posted in the “Gloria Dawn” folder of the gallery by a member who did not know where he initially obtained it. Since then, I have been trying to locate the original source. I know it is a Ron Vogel shot and it looks like it appeared in a magazine – but not in any magazine I own. (If anyone knows its original source, please let me know.)
When it comes to stealing images, the worst perpetrators are eBay sellers. About two years ago, other My Archives members informed me that eBay dealers were selling prints of photos I first posted on My Archives. Because these photos contained my image, I was able to have the auctions stopped. However, eBay will not halt auctions unless I find the offending photos and fill out a complicated form. Finding the stolen images among the thousands published on eBay each day is the problem, and I must rely on friends to inform me about them. In one year, I had photos removed from those listed by slipboy, fleamarketkings, your-usa-seller, ultrararefinds, arieteii and massrappc. I started writing my name and “My Archives” on each new image I posted. This didn’t stop the thieves. Below, on top, is a private photo I just had removed from a listing by t50fox. Beneath it is the original I posted. You can see that t50fox simply cropped the image to remove its source (and then had to compensate by cutting off the top and bottom portions of the photo to fit it onto 8 x 10 photo paper).
I sent a message to t50 fox asking:
Did you copy this image off an internet post?
I don’t recall the original source of the photo. As a hobby, I have collected photos from many sources (scans, originals, downloads, etc.) for many years.
My photos are of little consequence to eBay thieves because I was a 1960s model, just one of the horde of unknown 60s vintage models (unknown at least until I joined My Archives). For every print of my image they attempt to sell, they list 30 different photos of Bettie Page and 10 of Joyce Gibson. Many of these images were initially published on My Archives. In their eBay listings, print sellers use words to suggest that they are selling prints of original photos they posses; to mislead buyers, they use phrases like “reprinted from my personal collection,” “60s vintage print,” or “original print.” What they really sell are copies of images downloaded from the internet.
People who originally posted these images cannot get the auctions stopped because eBay has no mechanism to allow for removal of pictures stolen from other internet sites. (I can get my personal images removed because the sellers do not have my permission to advertise and sell pictures of me.) As one former My Archives member wrote to me:
I can recognize my work most of the time and most of these jerks refer to their items as part of “their private collections.” I knew my Bettie photos would show up elsewhere but I still get cranky when I see my stuff pop up unattributed. When a dirty little scumbag appropriates a Bettie that I paid $200 for and then spent a gazillion hours reconstituting and refining, I can’t stifle my rage. EBay won’t answer my complaints and it doesn’t give you a proper way to report thieves.
EBay makes money from these thieves, but given the millions of legitimate auctions that take place each day, I wonder whey they facilitate felonious behaviour to earn a few thousand dollars a year.
The internet is still evolving and many who initially flocked to publish material have discovered that ideas and images are easily stolen. Many sites will disappear during the next few years; their stories and pictures will vanish. Newspapers have already found that it was not a good idea to provide information free of charge. Porn sites that once offered free access are now charging their customers. At present, I post my images on www.gloriadawn.wordpress at a low dpi and small size so clear prints cannot be produced from them. They still can be shared by tumblr members using small-sized viewing devices, but if the effort and cost of maintaining my website becomes too onerous, and no one wants to purchase autographed photos, this site too will come down.
In an email to me, Tony T wrote:
Like you my main interest lies in the true vintage and retro periods, although I also like the early days of photography, the 1860s onwards – I think the ladies of the 1900s/1920s like the Ziegfeld beauties are something else.
My own feelings about the site have been gradually changing since they allowed firstly the 80s some years back when I voiced an opinion that it was the thin end of the wedge, then the 90s. This latter has resulted in a takeover of modern posts that can be found on any porn site.
When I visited MA yesterday there were five pages of new posts since my previous visit the day before. Four of the pages were 1990s videos. In the gallery updates there were again five pages of which the major proportion was either 1990s models or silicone enhanced 1980s ones. There were two sets of pictures from Harrison Marks Kamera magazine and a couple of other pictures that were of interest – so I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies.
All this from a site that started out to archive vintage and retro material before it was lost in the mists of time!
Like Tony, I feel that the site lost its original mandate once 1990s material was added.
My Archives is dead. The list of model indices for the 1950s and 1960s – a massive undertaking – is no longer available. It served as a wonderful resource for identifying models. Many vintage models who had been identified and allotted folders will return to being “unknown.” No other porn site provided this service for the vast number of women who graced figure magazines printed in the 1960s. (The Spiderpool group is still attempting to identify a select group of models who worked during the 1950s.)
I miss the back-and-forth interactions with others who appreciated the classic porn era, interactions that provided information about the industry that I wasn’t aware of, even though I worked in it. Now I still post stories about my experiences on my two wordpress blogs, but this format does not allow for back-and-forth discussions.
Perhaps it was inevitable that My Archives would die given the unhampered capturing of its images, the lack of protection from theft. I am seriously wondering if I should continue to maintain the gloriadawn blog, or whether I should just write my stories and self-publish a few copies of a book to give to family and friends. At least print endures.