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And they go to great lengths in seeking it. Linda Yueh, a Harvard Ph.D. candidate and Georgetown law student, was denied the Maryland crown (though she had won the early competitions) after a wrangle over her eligibility. Last week, still hoping to be onstage in Atlantic City, she sued the state and national pageants. Dershowitz, who took time out from jogging beside the O.J. limo to advise Yueh, waxes apoplectic at the injustice: "The Miss America contest should not turn into the World Wrestling Federation. We don't want Miss America to become the Quiz Show of the 1990s." A New Jersey judge ruled that Yueh could not take part in the pageant but might still recover damages.
Of those who make it to Atlantic City, some have been pageanteers most of their life. Jennifer Curry, Miss Iowa, started when she was nine, was crowned Miss Iowa National Teenager and competed to be America's Miss Charm. Girls get the Miss America bug for all sorts of reasons: self-improvement, blond ambition, because it's there. In the pursuit of distant goals, kids can be wonderfully stubborn: some forge themselves into Olympic figure skaters, others into masters of the 18-ft. jump shot. The pageant hopeful may have this doggedness. She can't get prettier, but she can hone her talent, polish her poise. By the time she makes the top 50, she has become a curious hybrid: the professional amateur.
The women ("girls," in pageant parlance) grow savvier with each local contest. Many wear Firm Grip, a sports adhesive, to keep their swimsuits from riding up. Miss Vermont eats bananas to steady her nerves. Rebecca Gray, Miss Indiana, confides, "I have really fine hair, so I fill in my hairline with dark eye shadow." Even these beauty tips can't help them compete forever. There is an age limit, a kind of Menudo Line, of 25 for contestants. Elizabeth McIntyre, Miss West Virginia, is 24, and when she won her state title, she says, she felt "relieved. I was aging out this year." It's a phrase often used by the senior Misses.
Brains are part of the beauty now. Four of this year's 50 plan a career in law, four in medicine. Many plan to teach. Miss Massachusetts, a junior at Harvard, lists as her ambition "U.S. Senator." Four would make a mark in broadcast journalism. Miss Illinois has an edge here; she looks like a young Diane Sawyer. And Pat Robertson, take note: Miss North Dakota lists her ambition as "news anchor for Christian network."
The most popular business to pursue is show business. Get ready for dramatic recitations and piano flourishes, tap dancing and clog dancing. To ensure again that TV viewers will be exposed to more opera on this one show than in the rest of the year, five of the 50 promise a "classical vocal." Classical, perhaps; classic, perhaps not. To have a "talent" is not always to be talented. Then again, anticipating the mangling of a high C is one of the evil joys of pageant watching.