I was 10 years old when Billy’s big brother, Jimmy, was elected President of the United States, and the beer-swilling, quasi-street-smart Billy made quite a positive impression on me and my peers (remember, Northern California in the mid-70s was all about the celebration of dissipation and substance abuse, preferably involving a Chevrolet truck).
Billy posed in a suit of chainmail made from beer-can pull tabs and scammed the Libyans out of a half-million bucks while his wholesome, atomic-scientist, turn-the-other-cheek-Christian big brother dropped a big wet blanket on America by telling us we couldn’t have everything we wanted all the time.
Yes, chronic screwup Billy was a big embarrassment to straight-arrow Jimmy, and I’m sure there was some head-clutching in the White House when Jimmy learned that Revell was going to turn a generation of American model-building boys into Southern-fried drunken gearheads in the Curtis Turner mold. Hell, Revell might as well have included a couple of Lynyrd Skynyrd 8-tracks, a church key, and a pack of Zig-Zags in every kit… read more >
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