F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel The Great Gatsby captured the rebellious spirit of the 1920s, when women like his characters Daisy Buchanan and Jordan Baker cut their hair and shortened their skirts. Reminisce readers were there, too, and asserted their independence in fashion and life, as you’ll see in this collection of photos celebrating women in the roaring ‘20s.

More from our readers…First bobbers might have well as dropped a bomb!

At a slumber party one night in the 1920s, a group of us teenagers started talking about the new short hairstyle, when one of the more adventurous girls shouted, “Let’s all cut our hair.”

At first it was just a joke, but as we pored over pictures of movie stars and celebrities who had embraced the “short cut,” we decided it would be a great idea. Our hostess’ mother even agreed to help us, and pretty soon, I no longer had long curls falling below my shoulders.

Nothing could have prepared me for the reaction I got when I went home and walked in the kitchen the next morning. If a bombshell had dropped at my father’s feet, he could not have looked more stricken.

After staring at me for what seemed like an eternity, he murmured, “Honey, what have you done?” Then he turned quickly and went out to the barn.

Mother stood tight-lipped for a full minute, then told me we’d go to a hairdresser the next day. “Your curls were your father’s pride and joy,” she informed me. “And the Bible says a woman’s hair is her crowning glory.”

I couldn’t speak over the lump in my throat. I’d never stopped to consider how my parents would feel! I went to my room and cried for hours.

The next day, a hairdresser improved my shaggy appearance. Mother’s only comment was, “If I’d known you wanted short hair, we would have done it right in the first place.” That experience taught me a valuable lesson—never do anything important on impulse.

Viola Zumault • Kansas City, MO

My folks bought their first house in the early 1940s after Dad got a better job with the Duluth, South Shore & Atlantic Railway in Marquette, Michigan. We lived just inside the city limits in what was still a rural area.

Mom was raised on a farm, so she was pleased that our new place included a small barn with two stalls and a chicken house.

In the spring of 1948, when I was 6 years old, my parents bought a calf to replace our cow, which had been butchered the year before. So one day we drove to a local farm and returned with a white and brown calf we named Tubby.

We didn’t own a truck, so Tubby rode home in the backseat of Dad’s car with my 9-year-old brother, Steve, and me. As you can imagine, the trip was a lot of fun for us kids.

Later that summer, Mom thought it would be cute to take a picture of me sitting on Tubby’s back. All went well until the snap of the camera shutter sent Tubby charging off on a run, with me holding on for dear life.

I lasted for about 30 feet before I hit the ground. Mom was quick enough to shoot a follow-up picture, so we had photos of me both on and off Tubby!

When summer had passed, the day arrived for poor Tubby to fill our freezer. I must have been somewhere else with my Mom on the fateful day, because I have no recollection of how it happened. All I knew was that the barn was empty, and that we had plenty of meat for dinners.

I hadn’t lived on a farm like my mother, so I didn’t understand that what happened to Tubby was not unusual. Livestock aren’t meant to be pets, and most farm kids know and accept that truth.

Whenever we had beef for dinner, I would tearfully ask, “Is this Tubby?” This went on for a couple of weeks until Dad had finally had enough and declared, “No more cows!” That made me feel a little better about poor Tubby.

Mae Trotochaud • Bruce Crossing, Michigan

Can you believe it was 1973 when Motorola executive Martin Cooper made the first public cellphone call from a noisy Manhattan street? Normally unflappable New Yorkers gaped. A photographer circled him. In this historic moment, whom would Cooper call? He punched in the number for his chief rival, a Bell Laboratories research engineer named Joel Engel. “Joel! This is Marty Cooper. I’m calling you on a cellphone. But a real cellphone. A personal, portable handheld cellphone.”

Had they been making an episode of That ’70s Show back then, here’s where the Ashton Kutcher character would have burst through Engel’s door and yelled, “Burn!” But rivalry aside, who better to share such a moment? Cooper’s folks would have been proud, but did they get the principles of cellular telephony? Would they get what it really meant to take that concept—conceived by Bell Labs, incidentally—and use it to call them from outdoors? Cooper and Engel must have shared a pure moment of understanding. They were two of very few who understood this new device beyond the initial Whoa!

Match the TV star to her sitcom role below.

CLUES

1. Phylicia Rashad
2. Isabel Sanford
3. Barbara Billingsley
4. Marion Ross
5. Florence Henderson
6. Shirley Jones
7. Carolyn Jones
8. Jean Stapleton

A. Carol Brady, The Brady Bunch
B. Louise Jefferson, The Jeffersons
C. Morticia Addams, The Addams Family
D. June Cleaver, Leave It to Beaver
E. Shirley Partridge, The Partridge Family
F. Marion Cunningham, Happy Days
G. Edith Bunker, All in the Family
H. Clair Huxtable, The Cosby Show

Time’s up, pencils down! Click here for the answers.

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Before the 1930s, the family pet typically shared groceries with the rest of the house. Then the commercial pet food industry took off. Feast on these vintage magazine ads promoting convenience foods for Fido and his friends.

Pard Dog Food, 1952

French's Bird Seed and Biscuit, 1952

Puss 'n Boots Cat Food, 1951

Puss 'n Boots Cat Food, 1949

Red Heart Dog Food, 1950

French's Parakeet Seed, 1960

Gaines burgers, 1965

Red Heart Dog Food, 1940

Kellogg's Gro-Pup Dog Food, 1949

Dash Armour Dog Food, 1948

We didn’t have any Little League teams when I was 12, but I always had a uniform. My mom, Adeline Lopatka, would take one of my dad’s old uniforms and shrink it down about 10 sizes so it would fit me.

Mom helped outfit my friend Bobby Campbell, too. His mother offered to buy him a Chicago Cubs uniform, but he insisted on a Birtman Electric one. Back then, my dad played for Birtman Electric’s factory team, so Mrs. Campbell offered to pay my mom to make Bobby a uniform like mine. Mom never took the money, no matter how hard Mrs. Campbell tried to pay her.

In 1955 I turned 15 and finally joined a team with real uniforms, playing catcher for the Amvets in Chicago’s Humboldt Park. We didn’t have protective cups back then, just a padded flap that I used to signal the pitcher (see picture at right). I still have the trophy that commemorates our 29 wins and one loss that year.

My baseball career came full circle in 1974 when I coached my son Ken’s Little League team in Downers Grove. He and his teammates (at left) wore their uniforms as proudly as Bobby and I had as boys.

Greg Lopatka • Downers Grove, Illinois

Six of us GIs were sitting around one typically wet Saturday afternoon in the Philippines when a little brown-and-white basenji puppy came prancing into our tent. He didn’t seem to have a home, so we thought it would be fun to give him one. We named him Kilroy because, like his namesake, he left plenty of physical evidence that he’d been almost everywhere.

Like most Army outfits during World War 2, our company fell out for muster each morning at 6 for announcements, work assignments and other tidbits of information.

The Monday morning following Kilroy’s arrival, we learned a new commander had been assigned to our company. As new leaders generally do, this one wanted to inspect his troops.

As usual, the men from our tent stood in the front rank. First Sgt. “Curly” Carruthers called us to attention and then turned us over to our new commander, Capt. Murphy. After a few introductory remarks, he and Sgt. Carruthers began their walk-through inspection.

They’d barely started when I felt something brush against my leg. I glanced down, and there, right beside me, was Kilroy, his little white-tipped tail going like a wigwag signal at a train crossing.

Even if there had been time to take the pup back to the tent, we were at attention and couldn’t leave the formation. I shifted my eyes to one of my tent mates and saw him looking sideways at me. He finally raised his eyebrows as if to say, Maybe they won’t notice, then shrugged in resignation.

I could feel the captain’s glare even before I heard him say, “Sergeant, are the men allowed to have dogs as pets in this company?”

“No, sir,” Curly replied.

Looking straight at me, the captain demanded, “Soldier, is this your dog?”

With a gulp, I answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Are you aware that it’s against this company’s regulations to have a pet dog?” the captain asked.

“No, sir, I wasn’t until now,” I mumbled, envisioning several hours of KP ahead of me.

“Sergeant, are any pets allowed on this base?” Capt. Murphy inquired.

Curly thought a moment before saying, “Well, sir, as I recall, Capt. Jacobs had an aquarium full of tropical fish when he was the commander here.”

“Hmm,” mused the captain. Then he smiled slyly, turned to me again and said, “Private, that’s a fine-looking goldfish you have there. Ask the mess sergeant to give you whatever food you need to keep it healthy and happy.” The spontaneous laughter and cheers were quickly squelched as Sgt. Carruthers, struggling to keep a straight face, growled, “As you were! You’re at attention here!” Then the sergeant and the suddenly very popular captain moved on down the line.

I believe Capt. Murphy understood what that stray pup meant to us. From that day forward, Kilroy never missed a muster—or a meal.

Ralph Butterworth • Santa Clara, California

“Use this to buy your mother a gift for Mother’s Day,” my dad said as he handed me a dime.

It was 1938, and I was 10 years old. Being the older of two boys, I took the mission seriously. I was going to find Mom a useful gift that showed her how much we loved, cherished and appreciated her.

Woolworth’s five-and-dime was the place to shop if you had only a dime to spend. There was so much to choose from—small bottles of perfume, various ribbons, barrettes and knickknacks. But it was while looking in the kitchen hardware section that I spotted what I thought was the perfect gift: a potato peeler.

We ate potatoes nearly every day. My earliest memories are of my mother standing at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes swiftly and expertly with her favorite paring knife. This new peeler, with its swivel handle attached to glistening double blades, would make her job so much easier.

After breakfast on Mother’s Day, Mom opened her gift. I studied her eyes and saw only delight as she exclaimed, “What a nice gift! Oh, thank you!” She gingerly kissed my brother and me on the forehead.

I was eager to see the new peeler in operation, but I noticed that my mother kept using her old paring knife. After several days of disappointment, I asked her, “Mom, why don’t you use the new potato peeler?”

“Oh, my goodness, I must have forgotten,” she replied. “I’ll use it tomorrow.”

But she didn’t. I concealed my dismay as she continued to use the paring knife. I even hid it once in the dark recesses of the drawer, hoping she’d have to use the new peeler. But Mom found the old knife and kept using it.

Maybe she hoped I would forget about the peeler, but it really bugged me. Finally I asked her if there was something wrong with her Mother’s Day gift.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to level with me.

“Alvin, the best part of the potato is just under the skin,” she explained. “This new type of peeler wastes too much of the potato and removes the best part.”

Seeing the hurt look on my face, she added, “Alvin, I’ll always remember your gift. I’ll keep it in the drawer forever so that every time I open it and see the peeler I’ll be reminded of what a wonderful Mother’s Day it was.”

She gently kissed my forehead and continued peeling potatoes.

Fifty years later, my brother and I stand in that same kitchen, sorting through Mom and Dad’s estate. Every item brings back a memory. As I dump the contents of a drawer into a box for auction, I spot the double-bladed, swivel-handled potato peeler. I pick it up and wonder how many times she held it in her hands and thought, What a wonderful Mother’s Day it was.

Alvin Rosser • Sparta, New Jersey

America’s Corvette craze began during the summer of 1953. The first production model rolled off the assembly line in June—mere months after the public raved about the roadster’s prototype at the General Motors 1953 Motorama show. Often considered the first American sports car, the Corvette revved up demand for faster, flashier automobiles.

Check out the slide show below to see the evolution of the Corvette, from 1953 to now.

1953 Chevrolet Corvette

1957 Chevrolet Corvette

1960 Chevrolet Corvette

1963 Chevrolet Corvette: the first Sting Ray

1968 Chevrolet Corvette

1977 Chevrolet Corvette

1984 Chevrolet Corvette

1997 Chevrolet Corvette

2005 Chevrolet Corvette

2014 Chevrolet Corvette

All photos courtesy of General Motors