Dear Bettie,

You weren't my first, you weren't my last. But you were the best. For a young man navigating the treacherous waters of puberty clutching illicit photos in one hand, pulling his hair out with the other, it was your faded black & whites that offered the most comfort. Sure, you had a fine frame, and I was warm for your form in spades, but your smile just knocked me out. It seemed no matter what precarious situation you found yourself in, you always made with the bright and pearlies. You were sexy beyond words.

You can't swing a dead hepcat these days without hitting a chica with your haircut and upholstery. They're all sorts of fun to eyeball and ogle, but they miss the point. They miss the moxy and the poise. They miss the subtlety and smolder of the slow burn. They miss the sweetness, and the melancholy that sweetness brought when it collided with the puritanical and the uptight.

Bettie, you made it OK to express affection even when it colored outside the lines. No shame in your game, you helped our freak flags fly.

The way you presented yourself in Irving and Bunny's viewfinders is the way I expect to see women whenever I strap on a camera and attempt to capture and interpret their pulchritude. It's a lofty goal, and some of them come pretty damn close; they get the pose, the attitude, and the outfits right, but the only way I'm ever gonna see that kind of smile is in faded photos of you. Good night, Miss Page.

Love,

Frank

Pin-up queen of the 1950's Bettie Page died on Thursday, December 11, 2008, after suffering a heart attack earlier this month.--ED