Those records still show up in the thrift shop bins, often ignored by those hoping to strike it rich with some Beatles rarity.

We have preached for some time that one of the unforeseen merits of the 12-inch LP record was the restricted field it presented for artistic composition. Just as the author of a haiku is required to focus his or her eloquence in a limited number of syllables, so we can watch the development of the record jacket during a compressed, 40-year "golden era," starting with two colors and plain text in 1948, as succeeding generations answered the question: "What can you do with this 12-inch square?"

Three of today's four entries offer young models who would go on to fame and fortune in other fields. The fourth is just our old friend, Florida keyboard virtuoso Lenny Dee, caught in a candid snapshot exchanging greetings with a young neighbor on his way to work. Lenny's watchword was always "safety first," and if you look real close, you'll see the little friend atop his electric organ IS wearing a doggie life preserver.