There's a fella in Baton Rouge who's hit the mother lode of TV-commercial nostalgia for those of us -- those of us of a certain age -- who grew up in Red Stick.
In other words, this YouTube page is something akin to video meth for Baby Boomers from thereabouts. I mean,
But there you go! And Goudchaux's, too (where the difference was U). If I have to explain it, you ain't from there, and most likely don't care anyway.
FOR THOSE of you who do care, though, let me present the Baton Rouge edition of Ain't Dere No More, beginning in three . . . two . . . one . . . roll 'em!
PHIL'S! Oysters! (sob)
AMERICAN BANK . . . ain't dere no more. And we ain't Young Americans no more, neither.
ABBY! The only chick who ever gave a guy a buck on a Saturday night. (Hey, it's the '70s . . . I'm supposed to be sexist!)
SIMPLE THINGS, like two in the morning . . . life was simple yesterday. And these Louisiana National Bank ads -- almost 40 years later -- are doin' their best to bring me yesterday.
LNB. My first bank. Sigh.
CAPITAL BANK. Weill/Strother ad agency, before Ray went to D.C., and became a political guru.
WHEN Bon Carré was Bon Marché, and it was THE place to shop.
OBVIOUSLY, Ossie Brown never spied the bodacious tatas on display in this Del Lago commercial, being that the spot presumably aired more than once . . . and the meat market that was orders of magnitude groovier than Smiley's shook its booty for some years to come. That ad probably aired only on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings, when Ossie was safely ensconced in a church pew.
No, the late district attorney was not a Del Lago kind of guy. But every testosterone-crazed high school boy sure as hell wanted to be.
THE GAP wasn't the only thing that was widening here. Go buy yourself an RCA XL-100 color TV and hep'
STILL MR. BINGLE gently weeps . . . cause ain't no Goudchaux's . . . or Maison Blanche . . . or that God-awful slash-o-nated thing dere no more.
Well, that's about it for now. I do declare, the only thing that could have improved upon this experience would be going to the videotape of Al Crouch laying a sloppy, wet one on Joni Anderson, Tex Carpenter warning Channel 9 weather watchers about the nefarious "troffaloff" . . . or uncovering complete episodes of The Buckskin Bill Show or Storyland.
Because, boys and girls, Baton Rouge was a zoo. Count Macabre said.