The Pittsburgh Press (February 2, 1946)
Othman: The naked truth
By Fred Othman
WASHINGTON – Congress is going to pass a bill (if I have any influence) outlawing as a public menace Hollywood’s new naked bosom dress.
How could a congressman keep his mind on his work if all the congresswomen strolled in wearing frocks that turned out to be skirts? Where would the ladies pin their orchids? Did you ever see a lady without a shirt eating an orange? Or 400 naked ladies strolling through a meadow in the sunshine?
These things I have seen. I’m not bragging about it; I’m just trying to explain why I, as an acknowledged expert on the subject, have been retained as an adviser on the anti-bare bosom legislation.
Authority on bosoms
Seven long years I spent in Hollywood, where I met Renie, the designer of the dress with the goose-pimpled chest. There I became an authority on bosoms, genuine and simulated. I know some movie beauties who could not wear a Renie dress without a top; they would not dare. I once spent an enlightening day in a studio wardrobe department, looking over costumes with bosoms built in. Upon being sworn never to mention the lady’s name, I even was shown the artificial legs (they were made of sponge rubber and shipped on like overalls) worn by a star over her own spindly ones. I know about these things and I am amazed at Renie’s program to reveal the naked truth.
What you do not know about a lady is a good thing. Only a few weeks ago I arrived by airplane on a South Sea island and there was a lady sitting on her front porch eating an orange. She was plump, dark in color, and wearing not much of anything. As I have told my conferees, her orange was juicy, and I wish I could forget I saw her. I can’t and that’s another reason why we believe there has got to be a law.
Give a lady an inch and, well, look at the 1946 bathing suits. We lawmakers are of the opinion that if she takes off the top of her dress, she might decide to remove the bottom, too. It just happens that I also am well informed on that subject.
Once visited nudist camp
Ignoring the fact that I am a sensitive fellow, my employers once assigned me to spend a week at a nudists’ convention. This was at a mountain camp near Santa Cruz, Calif., where I was informed that only naked people were allowed inside. The president of this lodge said I could retain my shoes because the ground was rocky and my wrist watch so I would know what time it was. I fudged a little and wore also a pencil behind my ear. Only at meal time did we nudists wear anything else. Then we had napkins.
Most of these ladies were athletically inclined. So it was that one afternoon I sat on a log, horror stricken, watching four feminine nudists play a fast set of tennis. That did it.
The sight was overwhelming. It was stupefying. I never did learn which side won. All I did learn is that an active lady in the altogether looks peculiar. She should wear clothes. These must consist of a bottom and also a top. If Mrs. Renie in Hollywood won’t settle for at least a few ruffles, then the special Othman Committee on Bare Fronts for Females will whip up a law quicker than she can say undershirt.
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