Junior Miss Bows Out True to Tradition -- Gracefully

Underneath grand crystal chandeliers, gold-framed portraits line the empty hallway of America’s Junior Miss antebellum headquarters. Frozen in time, the fresh-faced young American women smile dreamily. Strewn below them in the hall are boxes containing a clutter of discarded pageant programs and Old Navy boot-cut jeans.

A week ago, the 48-year-old pageant held its last national final. You might not have seen it -- the live broadcast was local-only and the national feed went out a couple of days later, on PAXTV.

Somewhere along the way, America lost its enchantment with the wholesome young woman.

In an era when flawed contestants scheme against each other on reality TV shows such as “The Bachelor,” “The Swan” and “Survivor,” America’s Junior Miss has decided to bow out in a dignified, orderly manner.

“The networks tell us they want swimsuits,” sighed Lynne Bellew, executive director of America’s Junior Miss, as she contemplated the faces of former pageant winners. “Can you imagine classical singers in swimsuits?”

Neatly attired in a lime-green top, denim skirt and gold sandals, Bellew exuded the poise of a pageant contestant as she explained the program’s challenge: how to adapt to changing times without compromising its traditional values.

“We didn’t want our girls eating bugs or taking their clothes off,” Bellew said. “We decided to draw a line in the sand.”

America’s Junior Miss was a pageant meant to honor an age of innocence. Its contestants were girls just graduated from high school -- not the more worldly women you would find over in, say, Atlantic City, at the Miss America contest. None of its winners had to turn in her crown after nude pictures popped up somewhere.

Yet the show’s popularity has dwindled since its heyday in 1965, when it began a 23-year run on national television and was sponsored by Coca-Cola and Kodak.

This year, Junior Miss relied heavily on local taxpayer support, with the city and county of Mobile providing a third of the program’s $1-million budget.

After experimenting with a behind-the-scenes “reality” TV concept last year, the program was told it needed more cutthroat competition.

“They tell us they want more backstabbing,” Bellew said, “but ugliness and viciousness is a problem for us. Those things would have to be staged.”

The contestants, she said, delivered the best reality they could.

Yet even the program’s most devoted fans admit the show’s format was stilted.

Last week, as Bellew was watching the televised show, a volunteer turned to her and said: “If I didn’t know the girls, I wouldn’t watch that for two hours.” Every former Junior Miss and volunteer in the room agreed.

America’s Junior Miss is not the only distressed pageant.

Miss America, perhaps the nation’s most historically successful pageant, was dropped by ABC last year after its television audience fell below 10 million. Last week, the 84-year-old show, which had 85 million viewers in 1985, announced it was moving to a cable channel, Country Music Television.

Traditional competitions are flailing behind more sensational contests such as Miss USA, which teamed up with “Fear Factor” this year to show bikini-wearing contestants covered in gallons of live worms and fish oil.

The Miss USA program, which is owned by Donald Trump, attracted 8 million viewers in April.

“Donald Trump has a different product,” Bellew said. “He doesn’t try to change what Miss USA is. Part of that is a smart move: to embrace who you are.”

At America’s Junior Miss headquarters, “pageant” is a sensitive word. Executives seem to grimace every time they hear it. “We don’t call ourselves a pageant,” said Bellew, “although we are formatted in a pageant fashion.”

America’s Junior Miss prided itself on its differences from conventional pageants. Beauty was not one of the judging criteria. Instead, contestants were judged on interview technique, talent, scholastics, fitness and self-expression.

Contestants could apply only once to become America’s Junior Miss. They had to win their local and state contests so they could get to the national finals in Mobile within six months of graduating from high school. Most contestants made the decision to apply before or during their sophomore year to make that timeline.

Junior Miss competitions have awarded about $90 million to participants across the country. “When we began, there were no opportunities for women for scholarships,” Bellew said. “We like to think we pioneered that thought.”

Originally conceived in the 1920s as a traditional Southern beauty pageant to promote Mobile’s azalea blossoms, the event grew in the post-war years. In 1957, local businessmen established a national scholarship program, and the first national competition was held in Mobile the following year.

In the past 48 years, more than 700,000 young American women -- including Diane Sawyer, Kim Basinger and Debra Messing -- have taken part in Junior Miss programs across the country.

Ideals of American femininity have changed since Phyllis A. Whitenack of West Virginia won the first Junior Miss Pageant in 1958. With a crown on her head and a silver scepter in her hand, Whitenack posed demurely in a flouncy white dress with a billowing pink satin train.

The crowns and scepters were eventually dropped in favor of Olympic-style medallions. And this year, contestants danced on stage in tight low-rise jeans and strappy gold sandals.

“Superficially, it’s changed,” said Valerie Lowrance-Tyler, a lawyer who teaches law at the University of Texas in Austin, and has watched 18 of the 20 pageants since she won the title in 1985. “But its core values have remained the same. That’s amazing to me.”

Those core values may be why America’s Junior Miss has lost its audience.

“People are no longer interested in the traditional and virtuous version of femininity that pageants offer,” said Sarah Banet-Weiser, author of “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World: Beauty Pageants and National Identity” and an assistant professor at the University of Southern California’s Annenberg School for Communication. “We’re dealing with an increasingly savvy youth who consider this vision of femininity archaic and quaint.”

Although some pageants have worked to dispel the stereotype that they are only interested in the prettiest girl, Banet-Weiser said, they remain obsessed with a particular kind of beauty: the girl next door. “It’s not exotic,” she said. “You can’t be a single mom with a mixed-race kid.”

According to Lowrance-Tyler, Junior Miss contestants strive to look “together,” but they do not epitomize beauty as defined by a modeling agency.

“If you look at our portraits,” she said, “you never say, ‘Bless her heart, she doesn’t look too good!’ But nor do you say, ‘Oh my goodness! They all look like models.’ ”

Lowrance-Tyler attributes America’s Junior Miss’ identity crisis to contemporary cynicism: “Audiences want to watch people make the wrong choices. They want to believe we have deep dark secrets and hidden character flaws. They don’t believe we really are who we say we are.”

For many years, America’s Junior Miss employed consultants to revamp its image. In 1989, the program changed its name to America’s Young Woman of the Year, only to revert to Junior Miss in 1993 because it had greater brand recognition. In 1994, on consultants’ advice, the program tweaked judging criteria to emphasize talent more.

Last year, the board asked the William Morris Agency to search for sponsors.

When the renowned marketing company couldn’t suggest any viable ideas to save the show, the board voted in May to end the program. The decision was not unanimous.

In Mobile, a port city with a population of about 200,000, most residents regret the passing of the tradition.

“It’s sad,” said Lynne Cary, the owner of a day spa in west Mobile. “It’s something that started here and something that should go on here.”

Mobile Mayor Mike Dow laments that something is missing in America now.

According to a poll conducted by the Mobile Register newspaper and the University of South Alabama, about half of the city’s residents said they would support more government funding to save the program.

There has been some speculation that the program’s devotees in Tennessee might resurrect the contest in Chattanooga, but America’s Junior Miss officials said no one had approached them with an official proposal.

“We feel we’ve tried everything,” Bellew said, “but if someone comes up with a new idea, we’d love to hear it.”

Kelli Lynn Schutz might be America’s Junior Miss for the rest of her life.

On June 25, the 18-year-old ballet dancer from Brandon, Miss., won the 2005 title and $50,000 in cash scholarships. Unlike the girls who have gone before her, though, she does not have a contract with Junior Miss, and she will not be whisked up to New York to meet Diane Sawyer at ABC.

After training since eighth grade for the contest -- enduring, her mom said, constant ridicule at school -- Kelli said her victory felt bittersweet.

“As much as it’s an honor to be the last Junior Miss,” she said, “it’s sad that other girls will never get to be one.”