When Route 66 Came Through Town

It ain't St Augustine but it's close

Glenn Corbett's Pullover (as opposed to Popover) via Instagram




All photos from Ohio 66

Graphic designer and friend of 37 years, David Belmonte, remembers the filming of the '60s television show, "Route 66" in St Augustine, FL. The episode, "This is Going to Hurt Me More Than it Hurts You" starred Soupy Sales and featured a pie fight in my college dining room.

If, from the title of this post you thought that the famous U.S. highway went through my hometown, you’d be forgiven. No, the Mother Road unfolded west. Gloriously West. From Chicago to The Coast. But Route 66, the television show went everywhere, including south by southeast, for at least part of a broadcast season. And ultimately snaked its way over to my neck of the coastal woods, St. Augustine, Florida. It was the early 1960s. It was very cool. And I was there.

Sometime in the warm fall of 1963, and shortly after our family moved there, the show series made a filming stop. It happened at about the same time as the assassination of John F. Kennedy. With that exception, the early 1960s was a rather quiet time. And to be honest, I actually liked it that way.

It was to be my only peek, however brief, at our nation that, for the most part, was still unified. And that also meant everyone was unified around the television watching Route 66 on its appointed night. Tellingly, it was also as if our culture was on the eve of great fracture, while on the show, the central characters were trying to keep it all stitched together with an asphalt thread.

Never mind that we were too young to always get the plots. They were going places! The actors weren’t locked into some stage set, so the show had a much more realistic look and feel to it. We’d see establishing shots of them rolling into towns from then very empty highways.

When Tod (Martin Milner) and Linc (Glenn Corbett replacing George Maharis) drove into our own town onscreen, past the conquistador statues with their swords held high in welcome, we shouted with recognition. They were actually driving on the same concrete roads we drove on! How cool was that? And it only got better as scenes of a pre-boutique, pre-Disney era St. Augustine flickered by.

When the Route 66 film company came to town, we all wanted to get a glimpse of the two stars, somehow resembling better versions of our average selves in that peculiar way that only Hollywood can conjure up. It was announced that a public press conference/public greeting would be held at the hospital where they had been filming. We headed to the lot next to the side of the building where a sizable crowd had gathered.

There were lights on stands, lots and lots of cables and big moving vans of equipment, on the sides of each were emblazoned the show’s name. Standing in the middle of it all were Milner and McCord. They smiled and waved and answered a few questions. They were trim, pressed and polished.

Local society women wearing whipped-up do’s and their Sunday best pushed close and flirted and asked for autographs. Men in dark suits nervously shuffled, trying not to look embarrassed at being fans of the show. It was the first time ever that I saw news cameras and reporters.

But what everyone wanted to see was The Car. Especially with the two actors in it. A Corvette, any Corvette would have been so rare in a small town in those days that it might as well have been a UFO. The Car wasn’t at the press conference, and I was very bummed. My memory tells me that during filming we would catch glimpses of their ‘63 or new model ‘64 Sting Ray skimming around town, with or without film crew in pursuit.

I can’t square that in my mind because what I would have seen was a tan Corvette, not red, not blue. (A tan version was used later in the series because it reflected less contrast on black and white film.) I still want to remember seeing it somewhere, though. Maybe around the central square, cruising under the live oaks hung with Spanish moss, so bright and otherworldly it would have looked as if it was lit by its own sun. So did I ever see it? I don’t remember.

While they were filming at the hospital, a friend of the family was cast as an extra. Her part was to walk out of one room, head down the hall, and walk back into another room. For a while the whole town sort of felt like we were at the center of the TV universe. Then it was over and the film company was gone.

When the highly anticipated St. Augustine episode finally aired we were of course excited, but also a little puzzled that the writers decided to go campy with it. Something about idle yachting types and Soupy Sales and pie throwing. Why had they chosen such a silly plot? Surely there were other more interesting ideas to be explored.

It seemed out of character for both the show and our sublime city. But as the episode played out, it actually managed to work okay, with a sprinkling of hero shots of “the ancient city” throughout. We eventually spotted our friend in her scene, barely recognizable with her back to the camera, walking away. More shouting and pointing at the TV set. Everyone was happy, and it generated a lot of local buzz.

So what of Route 66’s influence, if any, on style? The show occupied its pop culture spot at the very zenith of trad. At the precipice of a giant cultural shift, clothing style may have gone arguably downhill from there. But if you view trad style through the prism of Mad Men, it’s no wonder each generation puts its stamp on couture, having followed for years the fashion dictates-—read conformity—of its parents. In the show the two actors often wore slim jeans-cut chinos. And white socks with black loafers. Or boots. And cropped canvas jackets. Did Tod and Linc wear sunglasses? Maybe. Hats, never.

This much I know: It was Tod and Linc whom Tintin had in mind twenty years after the show ended when he was allowed by the owner of a venerable St. Augustine men’s shop to explore the back stockroom for authentic trad wear. Tintin let me in on his find with a big treasure-finding grin. He’d discovered several shelves of original 1960s madras plaid shirts from exactly that Route 66 era. Tags, cardboard, tissue and cello wrap: all original.

Interestingly, the Route 66 theme music was not the “Get Your Kicks On Route 66” song written by Bobbie Troup that pops up every now and then in your head, but was in fact a lilting piano theme by Nelson Riddle. And that theme was very “of the era,” especially compared to TV themes that came later like Lalo Schifrin’s more urgent “Mission Impossible.” Distopian times called for strident themes, and we had not yet arrived.

For Tintin, with his depth of experience with clothing and style, this blog site is self-explanatory. We can explore and take subtle style cues from those earlier days. And chuckle to ourselves, smug in the knowledge that an unnerving number of men today dress like they’re about to mow the lawn. Or just did. Even at restaurants—a vulgar notion that never would have occurred to most men of Tod or Linc’s era, the early 1960s. The trad sixties.

Etched forever in my memory is an old yet modern TV show about two sharp young men and a cool car shimmering on a hot road and heading to our little corner in this vast and confident nation. David Belmonte


Route 66 Credits

My First Playboy Magazine

My first Playboy at 12. I've been a fan of blue and yellow ever since.

I didn't understand this at all. But I liked the Morning Coat.

My scotch is Canter's.

I thought the woman in the doorway was waiting for the two in the foreground to leave so she could smell some of those colognes. Actually, it's still confusing. I'm not sure if I'd ever take a cologne break...Maybe he just needs the bottle.

You can never forget your first Playboy. This was mine. Purchased in Montreal when I was 12. We were visiting friends of my parents. Eight people crammed into a tiny townhouse if I remember correctly. I was sent on a errand to get milk or something at a Canadian 7/11. Instead of Playboy being under the counter - - this issue was proudly displayed on the magazine rack.

With more courage than I knew I had, I stepped up to the register with the milk or whatever and plunked the magazine down like I had done it a million times. The clerk picks up the Playboy, looks at me and says something in French with "Pla-boyye" ending his sentence. "Yeah, it's a Playboy," I say. "Oh, you're American. Where are you from?" I know this is all about confidence. "Virgina, we're visiting some friends." He's ringing it up and says, "Va-geeenia. Thaz a looong way." "Uh-huh." I give him a twenty and I'm out the door with Miss July. That's when I first learned there's a huge pay off in taking risk.

A block or two from the townhouse, I crammed the magazine into the back of my pants and un-tucked my shirt over it. Once inside, I deliver the milk or whatever to an adult and make a bee-line for the bathroom. There, I conceal Miss July under a big pile of towels stacked under the sink. "So far so good," I thought as I wondered if everyone would go through all the towels before I came back for my prize. I also discovered, about this time, that when I concentrated--really focused--I could do anything. Even wake myself up in the middle of the night.

Like James Bond I snap awake at 0200 hours. In a Bruce Lee-like tip toe, I dart into the bathroom and quietly collect the magazine. With hardly a thought and acting on pure instinct, I head for the garage, open our station wagon door and proceed to stuff the magazine under the front seat. The intense rush at sneaking around like this cannot be described. I don't think jumping out of a plane ever came close.

On the way home I sat next to my father while my two sisters and mother sat in the back seat. I was always told I was the navigator but my old man never listened to my directions--which were always wrong-- and still are. No, I was up front so he could reach me. I don't remember how long we had been on the road when I first saw trouble. I do know my ballooning confidence at pulling off this amazing caper disappeared when I saw the US / Canadian Border. Police were everywhere motioning cars to pull over...other cars being searched...clothes hauled out of trunks. This was not good.

I looked at my father. A man who wore a crew cut and frowned throughout my childhood. He was two years out of Vietnam. Now a major with a real career in front of him... Unless his son put the whole family in a Canadian jail for the transportation of pornography. What would you do? I fessed up fast. "We gotta pull over now." He looks at me confused, "What?" I breathe deep. "I have something in the car. We have to pull over before we get up there." From the back seat I hear my mother, "What? What did he say?" My father is slowing down at this point and he looks at me like he's gonna throw up. He's more scared than I am. You have to remember...there were a lot of drugs back in 1971. I never went near them. Not with a Green Beret for a Dad. But he didn't know that.

My mother is leaning forward in her seat, "What's he saying?" My father tells her to sit back and he shoots me a look, "What's in the car?" We're too close now. If we pull over the cops are gonna know. "I have a Playboy magazine stuffed under my seat. If they search the car we're gonna be in big trouble." I looked at him expecting full furry and I remember seeing the relief. And then he laughed. "I think we're gonna be okay," he said. I'm sitting in a pool of sweat on cheap Plymouth vinyl and I can only look down at my hands clenched tight. I rub them on my tie dyed bell bottoms and look at him. He's smiling as he steers into an inspection lane.

After we pull away - -without being searched - - he asks me quietly, "Where did you get it?" I tell him about the clerk at the Canadian 7/11. He nods. A few more miles down the road my mother is talking to my sister and my father looks at me like he never looked at me before and says, "If you ever want one..you let me know." When we got home I was convinced I'd make a great spy (sans the confession back there at the border) and asked my father how I might go about it. "The only country you'd be good at spying on is this one," he snorted and went back to reading Evergreen or the LA Free Press. For a career Army officer, my father was a bit out of the box. Brilliant, but out of the box.

Playboy was everything to me. Back then, I could spot one in a pile of magazines at a neighbor's house from 50 paces save for 'Southern Living' magazine that would occasionally throw me with its similar binding. I look back and realize Playboy is a lot like watching an episode of Rat Patrol. Much of it hokey and cheesy. But sometimes you just wanna watch 'em ride around the desert in jeeps.

The Turtleneck and Alexander Mundy

I must have been doing my Alexander Mundy impersonation the day this was taken. Despite great effort I never could get my hair to part to the right.

3rd Season opening to "It Takes a Thief." Cool didn't get any cooler.

"Let me get this straight...you want me to steal?" Oh, man...how I wanted to be Alexander Mundy when I was a kid.

I usually kicked off my Robert Wagner impersonation with, "Noah...let me get this straight" to establish with my audience - - usually at the lunch table - - just where this line was coming from. The key was Noah 'cause every kid I knew watched the show and it was darned difficult to cram "Alexander Mundy" into the lead. We're talking six syllables compared to just two. More importantly than the "No-ah" utterance was the turtleneck. It really helped pull off the Al Mundy impersonation. My preference was black. A shoulder holster would've helped enormously but those were difficult to secure even then.

Turtlenecks are still an important part of Autumnal Trad wear. And I've had many that refused to die. I may even have the one I'm wearing in the picture. Maybe it's because they're seasonal and get a rest...I don't really know but they can go on forever. Cotton is great. Merino is cool. But you really graduate when you buy cashmere. Two ply or three will keep the turtleneck from turning into a cowlneck. I can't wear my black cashmere turtleneck without a desire to spin a combination dial and steal my girlfriend's jewelry. I like to wear it with black wool trousers, black tassel loafers and tucked in with a simple black calf strap with sterling monogrammed buckle. Very slimming as well.

Despite all of the years trying - - I never got beyond, "Let me get this straight...you want me to steal?" But after many decades of trying I finally got my hair to part to the right.