By the age of 28, Richard Pesta had become independently wealthy thanks to a lucrative fiberglass and foam business. So he decided to fulfill his dream of being a superhero, and in 1973 he turned himself into Captain Sticky, "Supreme Commander in Chief of the World Organization Against Evil". The name referred to his fondness for peanut butter.
He drove around Orange County in his Stickymobile looking for crime, outfitted with a peanut butter gun and "peanut butter grenades" made of peanut butter, vinegar and alka seltzer.
He also became a fixture at San Diego Comic Con, and was constantly trying to get Marvel to make a comic book about him, but this never happened.
Apparently his superhero act wasn't entirely just a way to get attention. He used his influence to advocate for various causes such as improving nursing homes and preventing rental-car ripoffs.
1979: James Mack, a candy manufacturer representative, told government officials that banning candy sales from schools could lead to "injury, drug abuse and drinking." His reasoning was that candy provided children with an "island of pleasure," and if denied this they might seek out worse things such as drugs. They might even "leave the school premises [to seek out candy] and encounter traffic hazards".
Wisconsin State Journal - Jan 31, 1979
Posted By: Alex - Sat May 22, 2021 -
Comments (4)
Category: Candy, 1970s
According to author Christopher P. Lehman, Hanna-Barbera "dress[ed] the bears in counterculture apparel" in order to stay on track with the "mainstream" fashion in the United States.
Minnesota artist Mark Larson debuted his line of Art-Necko ties in 1978. These were plastic, see-through ties, and the gimmick was that he filled them with various stuff.
As described in the Minneapolis Star Tribune (Nov 26, 1978):
There is the aquarium tie (a snail, a plant, some gravel and a puzzled guppie floating on the wearer's chest). The Paint-by-Number tie. The captured-flight tie (two broken toy airplanes and a dead moth). The floral arrangement tie (dirt and live plants). The regimental stripe (available in dirt and candy stripes or the more restrained hairline stripes, executed in human hair in gentle tones of rust, brown and gray).
The neon tie, however, is the current front-runner. Larson's favorite, it's a stunning red-and-blue creation that makes a glowing statement about the wearer—providing he's hooked up to a power source.
And these have nothing on the proposed ties. There could be—well, the world's loudest tie (armed with a tiny loudspeaker to broadcast jets taking off); the horror movie or Vincent Price model (containing dry ice, with tiny holes in the front to permit the wearer to trail wisps of fog); the Fit-to-be-Tied Tie (a self-inflating strait-jacket that takes over when you feel you are losing control), and the chow mein tie, inspired by the Seal-a-Meal machine that is basic to the Art-Necko process.
The cowboy tie
People magazine (Jan 15, 1979) listed a few more:
Railroad Tie has an HO-gauge track, pebbles and a miniature crossing sign inside.
Fishing Tackle features Goldfish crackers, a hook, sinker and a rubber worm. Vanity contains false eyelashes and phony fingernails. And for the ghoulish, there's Bones—scrubbed and boiled shortribs.
1979: After being evicted from the townhouse he was renting, R.L. Ussery filed a lawsuit against his former landlord seeking $11,000 in compensation. Ussery claimed that the eviction had caused him and his family to suffer from "colds, nausea, upset stomach, diarrhea dysentery, loss of hair, sweating palms, the need to void, the inability to void, nightmares, insomnia, dandruff, bad breath, dirty fingernails, odoriferous body odors, especially of the feet, palm itching, the blues and the blahs, nervousness, dry heaves and crying spells."
I don't know what the result of the lawsuit was, but I think it's highly unlikely that Ussery won.
The Equinox Bar, on the 22nd floor of the Hyatt-Regency, was the only revolving restaurant/bar in San Francisco, until it closed in 2007.
In April 1978, a large octopus was found in the women's restroom of the bar. I haven't found any follow-ups to this story explaining why someone left an octopus there.
Paul Di Filippo
Paul has been paid to put weird ideas into fictional form for over thirty years, in his career as a noted science fiction writer. He has recently begun blogging on many curious topics with three fellow writers at The Inferior 4+1.