Old School

A new edition of National Lampoon’s parody yearbook pulls the same pranks, but proves its influence on contemporary comedy.

by Frank Halperin

Decades before The Onion began peeling away at the dubious vicissitudes of our world, the National Lampoonís monthly roundup of satirically slaughtered sacred cows was a phenomenon that would influence comedic attitudes long after their presses stopped rolling. Throughout the 1970s, until its last gasp in the í80s, the stunning masthead of talent that flawlessly vandalized the conventions of the day -- including writers like the late Doug Kenney and Michael OíDonoghue, Chris Miller, Sean Kelly, Tony Hendra (whose 1987 book Going Too Far is an exhaustive history of the Lampoon, in addition to being an insightful evaluation of mid- to late 20th-century humor), Bruce McCall and P.J. OíRourke -- changed the direction of comedy in both print and performance. As the magazine continued to build a devout following, it would enjoy subsequent success with its ventures into stage revues, record albums and a mid-í70s syndicated radio show, The National Lampoon Radio Hour, which boasted a whoís-who of nascent comic pranksters (Richard Belzer, Billy Crystal, John Belushi, Chevy Chase, Gilda Radner and Bill Murray) who would subsequently achieve superstardom. Yet it was the magazine that continued to set the standard, and in 1974 the depraved geniuses who provided its editorial assault would produce a landmark for the ages, the National Lampoon 1964 High School Yearbook Parody, that would prompt Harperís to praise it as "the finest example of group writing since the King James Bible."

Welcome to the '64 class of C. Estes Kefauver High School in Dacron, Ohio, and, in particular, the Kaleidoscope yearbook belonging to one Larry Kroger, an unassuming graduate who, according to the elliptically captioned bio under his picture, is a "nice guy lives close to school" and "mows lawns in the summer." Each page is a telling glimpse into his prefabricated academic existence, thanks to the complementary gallery of classmates with the usual stereotypes: the brain (Gilbert Bunsen Scrabbler, a.k.a. "Univac"), the whore (Maria Teresa Spermatozoa, a.k.a. "Quickie") and the class clown (Herbert Leonard Weisenheimer, a.k.a. "Wing-Ding"); the illustrious faculty, headed by principal Dr. Humphrey C. Cornholt, who may or may not be the notorious feces-dropping phantom known as the "Mad Crapper"; and the junk-drawer appendix found in Kroger's annual, which contains a fold-your-own "Cootie Catcher," complete copies of the school paper and literary magazine, as well as a titillating assortment of mementoes that reinforce the particulars of his -- and, metaphysically, our -- high-school experience.

This is precisely why the Yearbook is so triumphant: It reproduces the staid, superficial minutiae inherent to high-school life that remains universal. Even more impressive is the subtle but nonetheless truly menacing bite of its satire. The era may be the mid-'60s, with incidental nods to madras shirts, bouffants and The Beatles, but there is not one dose of wistful sentiment, not one nostalgic intent anywhere. There is, for example, a consciously sincere tribute to JFK, followed several pages later by a senior prom spread that inexplicably reflects the chosen theme as "Camelot." And in the same senior prom layout, the hokey snapshots of frivolity are punctuated by an uncaptioned photograph of a deadly car wreck that happened on the same night. This, to be sure, is not nostalgia; it's anti-nostalgia.

Four years after the High School Yearbook Parody was published, the idea would itself matriculate to a milieu of higher learning with National Lampoon's most profitable media venture, Animal House, which was written by Kenney, Miller and Radio Hour writer/performer Harold Ramis; not so coincidentally, a character named Larry Kroger would show up in the film to pledge the Delta House and soon be christened "Pinto." But while Animal House brought school shenanigans to a high-concept, gross-out zenith that would give future filmmakers like the Farrelly brothers a reason to exist, the Yearbook was just as funny but infinitely more sophisticated. The dashing new commemorative edition includes a mildly amusing "where are they now" bonus addendum and introduction written by O'Rourke (who appeared in the Yearbook as two different teachers), but it's the original work that continues to reflect the legendary brilliance of this once-revolutionary comedic entity.

National Lampoon 1964 High School Yearbook: 39th Reunion Edition

Edited by P.J. OíRourke and Doug Kenney Rugged Land, 176 pp., $19.95

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