In a Life magazine article from September 24, 1956, the country saw Gov. Luther H. Hodges, the straitlaced head of North Carolina’s executive branch, showering. In a suit. “He Showers Praise on Tarheel Wares,” the headline read. Punny! The story goes on to talk about how North Carolina was the most industrial state in the largely nonindustrial Southeast. But things could be better, and to prove that North Carolina was the place where even more stuff could be made, Hodges acted a fool.
So, there’s the suit thing: He showered in it because it was made of quick-drying fiber created in North Carolina. In another picture, he dishes out cat food made from Beaufort fish scraps. He fiddles with locally made clothespins. He grins over Charlotte-made “Lazy Laces,” created with elastic to allow people to remove their shoes without untying them. He snags a local fishing lure on his pants while casting a line. There’s headache powder from Durham, VapoRub from Greensboro, and locally woven sheets and blankets. He models underwear, proudly pulling up a pair of skivvies manufactured in Asheboro. Through it all, he’s mugging hard, like an extra in a movie who overacts in an attempt to upstage the stars.
I have no idea if this paid off, but under Hodges, the economy was humming along, buoyed by the postwar boom. Factories opened. Research Triangle Park was established. Hodges himself had been a business executive at Marshall Field and Company before holding office, and later served as U.S. Commerce Secretary under Kennedy and Johnson. And it’s clear from the Life story that he knew how to get attention as a businessman. He “usually showers with his clothes off,” the article stated — buddy, don’t we all — “but Governor Hodges is a man with a mission and to further it he is perfectly willing to indulge in a little gubernatorial horseplay.”
In North Carolina, spring brings the scent of fresh-cut grass and memories of helping Dad mow the lawn.
Nostalgic burger joints are like time machines, delivering something extra special that keeps us coming back.
This tiny city block in downtown Greensboro once had a gigantic reputation. Not so much for its charbroiled beef patties — though they, too, were plentiful — but for its colorful characters and their wild shenanigans.
In the 1950s, as Americans hit freshly paved roads in shiny new cars during the postwar boom, a new kind of restaurant took shape: the drive-in. From those first thin patties to the elaborate gourmet hamburgers of today, North Carolina has spent the past 80 years making burger history.
