Miss Minnesota follows, the girl a charm school tried to teach to walk. "She didn't learn anything," someone remarks.
Miss Michigan arrives, sweetly blonde. She has won a swimsuit preliminary (she cannot swim). "Flabby thighs," a lady reporter notes.
Few people in Convention Hall are making such cool assessments. The audience is enjoying the spangle of color and music and the patter of Bert Parks. It wants to laugh a little and cry a little and believe that Miss America, whoever she may be, will live happily ever after. But the judges have noticed it all. The talent. The hair. The walk. The thighs. Now they vote. Four certified public accountants tally the ballots. The winner...(pause)...is Miss Michigan, Pamela Anne Eldred. They crown her, cloak her in velvet and ermine and give her a scepter. Suddenly it is midnight. Is the coach turning into a pumpkin? Who left this glass slipper behind?