Another selection from our collection of terrifying Eisenhower-era children's books

Found this one a few weeks ago, and immediately knew it would be perfect reading for those days when my daughter runs to me sobbing asking why "Mama had to go to work." See, I'll say, Some women have jobs. And these are the seven jobs that women have.
The Table of Contents is preceded by an acknowledgments page, which reads, "For every page of Women at Work, the author is indebted to many individuals who furnished the necessary details of the occupations described. She wishes to thank these persons for their help, their interest, and their encouragement." Well, Ruth Shaw Radlauer, you totally forgot several positions that could have been held by a woman in 1959, such as secretaries, elevator girls, movie stars, seamstresses, cosmetic saleswomen, chambermaids, switchboard operators, bank tellers, and stay-at-home mothers. That last one doesn't count as a "job" of course (it's more like a duty). You also forgot the oldest profession in the world, which may not be the most appropriate for a children's book, but you could have called it something vague like "courtesan" or something biblical like "harlot." I would have really liked to have seen the illustrations old Jaroslav Gebr would have come up for that one.



What, no sexy glasses? Maybe sexy librarians have a different uniform in Prague or wherever it was Jaroslav came from.

This chapter is so great because there are so many openings every year in the local ballet company, it really gives all those tutu-clad little girls hope for the future.


Um, okay stewardesses blah blah blah the real question here is how badly do you think the bullies will beat up my son when I dress him in clothes like that dandy little chap's outfit EVERY DAY?


So I was thinking the "PRACTICAL NURSE" chapter would be all about nurses helping surgeons perform appendectomies, but a practical nurse is apparently just some sturdy old lady whose kids are all grown up so someone else pays her to take care of their kids. Nice.


This chapter is my daughter's favorite, because "the walls in the shop are pink. The chairs are pink. The curtains are pink. The beautician wears a pink dress. The shop even smells like pink perfume." I think if my daughter had any concept of heaven, that is exactly how she would describe it.

That piano teacher looks like she's thinking, "If I'm going to listen to another one of these suburban brats play a shitty version of Au Clair de la Lune this afternoon I'm really going to need a Nembutal and half a glass of wine."



Oh Ruth Shaw Radlauer, author of this book, I hope you lived long enough to see the revised edition of your book published with a few thousand more chapters.

[I am working on a new Mr. T coloring book, should have it ready tomorrow, soon (maybe Monday?). Turned out to be more work than I thought.]