Photograph by Bruce H. Cox / Los Angeles Times
Phyllis Kirk and George Eckstein at the Hollywood Bowl, September 1951.
Just a reminder on how this works: I post the mystery photo on Monday and reveal the answer on Friday. To keep the mystery photo from getting lost in the other entries, I move it from Monday to Tuesday to Wednesday, etc., adding a photo every day.
I have to approve all comments, so if your guess is posted immediately, that means you're wrong. (And if a wrong guess has already been submitted by someone else, there's no point in submitting it again). If you're right, you will have to wait until Friday. There's no need to submit your guess five times. Once is enough. The only prize is bragging rights.
The answer to last week's photo: Betty Bronson. A Daily Mirror reader named Pat has scanned in some stills from Betty Bronson's "Peter Pan." Recall that The Times' library only had one photo of Bronson in her most famous role--and it was heavily repainted.
Update: This is, as many Daily Mirror readers guessed, Phyllis Kirk. Congratulations! For some reason, her photo file at The Times doesn't have any pictures from "House of Wax," which many Daily Mirror readers recalled fondly.
Larry Harnisch reflects on Los Angeles history
Ads for Gilmore gas take a more informal tone than most others.
"City Life," painted by Victor Arnautoff in 1934.
In San Francisco, the Depression's artistic legacyBy Christopher Reynolds,
Reporting from San Francisco
10:20 AM PST, March 07, 2009
Stocks have crashed, industry is shuddering and banks are failing. The restless unemployed will soon fill the streets. Yet in San Francisco, some crazed optimist in the Pacific Stock Exchange Tower has hired Diego Rivera to decorate a private club for stockbrokers.
Could this be the most doomed, stupid idea of all 1930? Here is Rivera, an intermittent communist who'd met with Stalin in Russia only two years before, perched on the scaffolding above the financial titans of Sansome Street. He's supposed to sketch grand visions of happy, healthy California, its produce plump and shiny, its hills dotted with oil wells, the Golden State agleam with capitalism. All this, a year into the Great Depression.
What is the muralist thinking? What are the stockbrokers thinking?
Photograph by Tom Uhlman / AP
Mary Ann Sell holds one of her
more than 25,000 discs.
View-Master to stop selling scenic photos
Fisher-Price will continue making discs of more popular cartoon characters.Associated Press
March 8, 2009
Columbus, Ohio — Amber LaPointe's introduction to one of the country's greatest tourist attractions came from small square pictures on a white wheel.
"It was like you could look into a world away," said the 28-year-old from Toledo, Ohio. "My only image of the Grand Canyon was from the View-Master."
The iconic reels of tourist attractions, often packaged with a clunky plastic viewer and first sold to promote 3-D photography, are ending their 70-year run after years of diminishing sales.
Collectors like Mary Ann Sell of Maineville, Ohio, are dismayed.
||This postcard of a dragon in Chinatown has been listed on EBay, mailed to Staten Island, N.Y., in 1908. Bidding starts at $1.99.
Dr. Zhivago's Life Slightly Confusing
Robert Ruark, my competent colleague from darkest Africa and a few dimly lit saloons, is, I fear, a periodic victim of his own vitriol.
Occasionally he's able to find instant relief by blasting the brains out of a hapless water buffalo.
Apparently, however, when the Great White Hunter misses a shot, he's inclined to turn and draw a bead on his own readers, among whom I number myself.
I read Ruark for more or less the same reason I read Nick Kenny's poems -- out of a sense of professional obligation.
But a Kenny poem has never personally offended me. The worst it's ever done was to give me a mild sense of guilt for not writing. Ruark, on the other hand, offends me frequently.
He did it again the other day. After probably firing wide at a wildebeest, he sat down and wrote a bitter tirade accusing all of us who've read: "Dr. Zhivago" of being wishful highbrows.
The crack was entirely uncalled-for. I'm no highbrow. I bought "Zhivago" only because I was slipping too far behind in literary matters, and it was causing me a great deal of embarrassment at cocktail parties.
(For example, I didn't even read "Lolita." Somebody told me it was a story about a little girl, and I assumed it must have been written by Louisa May Alcott, which is not my speed.)
When, later, I became confused about whether Boris Pasternak was the author of "Dr. Zhivago" or Dr. Zhivago was the author or "Boris Pasternak," I decided it was high time to buy the damn book and find out.
I've read it. And I'm here to tell you I didn't understand it. As a matter of fact, no red-blooded American can read a Russian novel and make any sense of it. You lose the entire thread of the story in a maze of utterly impossible names.
The hero is a physician named Zhivago. I caught on to that right away. But it wasn't until Page 261 that I realized he was also known as Yuril Andreievich, who I thought was another character altogether.
This, of course, put a different light on the story, and I had to go back and read the whole thing over again.
On another occasion, I got hung up for an hour of reading in reverse while I tried to recall the identity of Prov Afanasievich Sokolov, only to find that he was somebody's cousin twice removed, and didn't add a thing to the plot.
Sifting Out Identities
Finally, I was able to eke out the reliable information that Antonina Alexandrovna was not Zhivago's brother. It was his wife. And he loved her with a kind of melancholy, Russian passion. But he couldn't keep his grubby little hands off the wife of a man named Pavel Antipov who was also known, for reasons far beyond me, as Strelnikov.
In their tender, clandestine meetings, Yurii Andreievich calls Pavel Antipov's wife "Lara," except for one scene when he takes her in his arms and calls her "Larisa Feodorovna."
Now, if we don't assume that Lara and Larisa Feodorovna are the same person, we are left only to believe that Yuril Andreievich is an adulterer on a wholesale scale.
Just at the point in Pasternak's book when I began to get all these characters fairly well fixed in my mind, everybody becomes a Bolshevik, goes underground and starts using aliases.
This whole experience has left me with only one conclusion. I want peace in our time as much as the next person. But coexistence is impossible, unless the Russians agree to shorten their names.
L.A. is doomed! ... Again!
"I was one of the lucky ones. I was born at the right time," Gilliam told The Times' John Wiebusch.
By 1969 a coach with the Dodgers after a long and versatile career, Gilliam told about his early days in the Negro League. He started playing at 15 and was 21 when the Dodgers signed him.
"I think of the old days often, " he said. "I think of the games we played at Bugle Field in Baltimore and how rough it was then. I think of the guys who made it--the Roy Campanellas, the Monte Irvins, the Larry Dobys, the Willie Mayes... the Junior Gilliams.
"Then I think of Josh Gibson and the others. And Satchel Paige and the barnstorming days and the guys who played for the New York Black Yankees and the Washington Homestead Grays."
Gilliam said if a scout tried to sign Gibson in 1969, "they would have a blank spot on the contract and say, 'Fill the amount in.' That's how good Josh Gibson was."
The Global League was supposed to be just that, with teams in the Caribbean, Japan, Mexico and the United States. A.B. (Happy) Chandler, a former baseball commissioner, had signed on for the same title with the new league.
Ross Newman's short story in The Times had a lot of detail on Fregosi, who said he turned down $500,000 over four years. "The cash was there, there never was a doubt in my mind about that," Fregosi said. "I can assure you that it is very difficult turning down security for life."
Fregosi was the Angels' first big attraction, their all-star shortstop and future manager. Newhan reported on March 2 that Fregosi had agreed to a new deal for "a small cut" from the previous year's salary of $65,000--at that time the highest-paid Angel ever.
He said he considered the Global League offer for two weeks but the Angels "have treated me well in every respect."
|Someone went to Little Joe's, in what used to be an Italian neighborhood but is now Chinatown, and swiped an ashtray. Although the restaurant closed years ago, the building remains, although it has been heavily modified over the years. Bidding starts at $14.99, which seems a bit steep.|