Seriously, I think I may have invented The Facebook.
Light up something and drift back with me. It’s 1957 (year of the Chevy), my first year at Texas Tech, when freshmen still wore beanies. Men and women.
Adding weight to this solemn passage, the Greeks decreed that women who wanted to pledge a sorority were sentenced to two weeks of silence. No talking with the guys. Except me.
As luck would have it, I worked at one of the two downtown department stores where the frosh beanies were sold. Hemphill Wells was the Neiman Marcus of the south plains.
And all those young lovelies were coming to downtown Lubbock just to see me. It was heaven; I was the only male they could talk to without risking social ruin. Besides, I had to measure them for a hat size (I never told anyone the beanies were made in but one size).
I had convinced my bosses to let me sell the beanies – and sign up the coeds in my own personal, private, double secret log book. For later use in a direct mail campaign, or so I told my bosses. Thus, as I logged each young thing into my notebook, I also entered a “hotness” code beside each name.
And hat measurements.
Next, I set out to sell my logbook to the fraternity studs. Ten bucks a book.
Think about it. It’s The Facebook Point One. Hell, I may be Zuckerberg’s daddy.