photo by Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

by Randy Gambill

Bettie Page, who passed away at the age of 85 this past December, has the distinction of having her icon status declared by no less a purveyor of all things in voyeuristic pop culture than Hugh Hefner: “She became, in time, an American icon, her winning smile and effervescent personality apparent in every pose. A kinky connection was added by Irving Klaw’s spanking, fetish, and bondage photos, which became part of the Bettie Page mystique. They were playful parodies that are now perceived as the early inspiration for Madonna’s excursions into the realm of sexual perversion.” 

The infamous pin-up with the trademark bangs and the knockout curves is renowned for her cheesecake/fetishistic bondage photos and “specialty” films from the 1950’s, but was hardly appreciated in her own time, at least not publicly. In her heyday, 1952-57, Bettie was an underground sensation, featured in a series of titillating photos and short films, frequently in bondage, sometimes in jungle girl regalia, always dangerously sexy yet somehow wholesome. Bettie’s alluring poses and killer smile, according to Playboy, “suggested forbidden fruit as well as apple pie.” It was a dangerous combination. 

She graced the pages of 50’s magazines with titles like, Wink, Twitter, Eyeful, Whisper, and Flirt, eventually grabbing the T & A brass ring by appearing in the January 1955 centerfold of a new little magazine called Playboy, wearing only a Santa hat and a wink. Page graduated to starring in 8mm & 16mm epics with titles like Dominant Betty Dances With Whip and Rumble Seat Bondage. She earned the title “Miss Pin-Up Girl of the World”. She also earned nicknames like “The Dark Angel” and “The Queen of Curves”. Bettie Page was the dirty little secret of Eisenhower’s perfect 50’s utopia, the kinky treat underneath the tract homes and perfectly manicured lawns that World War II bought and paid for. 

Bettie was born poor in Nashville, Tennessee, the second of six children. Her father was a lout who allegedly molested Bettie and her sisters. After he was imprisoned for car theft, Bettie’s mother, who she felt ignored by, had trouble keeping the family together; Bettie and her two sisters spent some time in an orphanage. Bettie rose above it all, becoming an honor student who was salutatorian of her high school class. She won a scholarship to George Peabody Teachers College, where she earned her degree but that career path didn’t pan out. “I couldn’t control my students, especially the boys,” she is quoted as saying. 

Movie stardom was what Bettie really craved. She had said that her favorite actress of all times was Bette Davis, specifically her role in Dark Victory (1939). Bettie moved to New York, studied acting and struggled in the actress game, to little success. She supported herself as a secretary until one fateful day when Bettie was discovered Lana Turner- style while wandering the beach at Coney Island, playing hooky from a boring secretarial job. An off-duty policeman and amateur shutterbug named Jerry Tibbs noticed Bettie’s curves and asked her to pose for some pictures (Poor Bettie, even NYPD’s finest saw her ripe for exploitation!) Tibbs helped her get a pin-up portfolio together, convinced her to wear her trademark bangs (Bettie had a lot of forehead real estate) and steered her into posing for photographs by amateur cheesecake aficionados who legitimized their illicit hobby by forming ‘camera clubs’. Page quickly segued into posing for professionals, making money and liking the work. Bettie recalled in one interview, “I never thought it was shameful. I felt normal. It’s just that it was much better than pounding a typewriter eight hours a day, which gets monotonous.” 

Then came Bettie’s association with the infamous Irving Klaw and his sister Paula who produced the series of bondage pictures and videos with titles like Leopard Bikini Bound and Hobbled in Kid Leather Harness that formed – the quintessential images of her sexual legacy. Bettie’s work with the Klaws which featured her clad in black lingerie or leopard print, wearing 6-inch spiked heels and leather bondage gear, and acting out sado-masochistic scenarios – would provide the iconography of her career. Bettie found steady work with other photographers as well and reached another career peak in a series of photos by Bunny Yeager entitled “Jungle Bettie”, with her posing nude with two cheetahs named Mojah and Mbili. These photos feature a radiantly naughty Bettie at her most risqué and jubilant. 

But all of Bettie Page’s pin-up work, estimated at up to 20,000 pictures alone, is stunning; all the more so due to the crudity of the still photography and peek-a-boo films in which she performed. The photos were amateurish and the movies were badly made but Bettie was the real deal. Her star quality was incandescent, she made soft-core pornography joyful, her wickedly delicious smile and delectable curves made bondage games, jungle scenarios, and frolicking with cheetahs irresistible. There was a sense of innocent fun in her work that took the edge off the smuttiness and helped bridge the gap between burlesque and hardcore porn. Many feel she helped usher in the sexual revolution of the 60’s. In the world of underground smut Bettie was an undisputed star! 

And then she vanished. After a Senate Committee investigation into pornography targeted her, Bettie left New York for good. Like Garbo, she walked away from it all at the height of her career, knowing at 35 that her days as “The Girl with the Perfect Figure” wouldn’t last forever. 

Like many artists who no longer practice their art, she found God. Disappearing into obscurity for more than 30 years, Betty became a devout Christian, tried unsuccessfully to become a missionary, and did a stint with the Billy Graham ministry. There was a string of failed marriages and a series of bouts with mental illness, the last of which kept her institutionalized for eight years. By the 90’s Page was at a low ebb and completely unaware of the profound impact her work had made on pop culture and sexual mores, not to mention the cottage industry in full swing exploiting her 50’s work. 

A fanzine called “The Betty Pages” had sprouted up in the 80’s. Artists from the worlds of erotic painting, fashion, music, movies, and comic books such as the aforementioned Madonna, Dave Stevens, Harlan Ellison, Katy Perry, Uma Thurman, Rihanna, Christina Aquilera, Todd Oldham, Dolce & Gabbana and Olivia have created work inspired by or outright ripped-off from Bettie’s signature look and poses. Countless websites, various books, tribute songs, and rockabilly/retro clothing stores sprung up in her honor. By the early 90’s the woman’s image was becoming as ubiquitous as other legendary icons like James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, and Elvis Presley. But they were dead and Bettie was alive. Where was she? 

Bettie Page finally re-emerged in the early 90’s to tell her story. In 1996 her authorized biography was published and was followed a year later by a more salacious but possibly more truthful tell-all. A 2006 biopic was produced. She retained a lawyer and was able to benefit from the merchandise that bore her likeness. Bettie Page, in the twilight of her life had finally arrived. 

Through it all, Bettie maintained that air of mystery that all great stars do, preferring, in Garbo fashion, not to be photographed in her last years, “ I want to be remembered as I was when I was young and in my golden times.” She finally agreed to be photographed, fittingly enough in 2003 at the 50th anniversary party for Playboy. Still beautiful with that killer smile and those trademark bangs, now gray, Page finally got her close-up. Now, sadly she he has passed but her remarkable legacy is in its infancy. 

Pop culture critic and author Mikal Gilmore describes the enduring appeal of Bettie Page in this way, “No matter how much you stare or dream or pray, you could never get enough of what it is that her face and body seem to promise.” Bettie Page has done what an icon should do, she has left us wanting more. 

Carroll O’Connor enjoyed a long, fruitful career in film and television.
He made his film debut in 1962’s The Lonely and the Brave starring Kirk Douglas and was a prolific character actor throughout the ’60s, appearing on just about every action or drama series, including Gunsmoke, I Spy, Bonanza, The Fugitive, and The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
So why would he flush a promising career down the “ter-let” by accepting a role as a crude, offensive bigot who referred to members of his own family as “dingbat” and “meathead?” It was, in fact, a brilliant move. As the patriarch of the CBS hit All in the Family from 1971-1979, O’Connor created one of the most distinctive and ingeniously crafted characters in the history of television. He won four Emmys in a role nobody believed would ever make it to the small screen in the first place.
The truth is, almost 40 years later, a character as un-PC as Archie Bunker would never see the light of day. Too offensive. But if Archie Bunker were to reclaim his well-worn high-back chair from the Smithsonian and plop down in front of the television, it’s safe to say his cigar would drop out of his mouth and into his beer. Still, for all the tits, ass, and erectile dysfunction ads crowding the airwaves, the medium is safer than ever.
O’Connor was born August 2, 1924 in the Bronx and grew up in Queens, the same borough that would one day serve as his iconic character’s home. He studied literature and acting at National University in Ireland and appeared on the stage throughout Europe before breaking into movies.
At the time Norman Lear asked him to star in his new sitcom based on the British comedy, Till Death Us Do Part, O’Connor was living in Italy. The actor was so certain the show would fail that his contract stipulated the studio would cover his return airfare back home. Instead, a national phenomenon was created.
The show deftly used humor to tackle racism and other topics that reflected the social consciousness of the day. And O’Connor was able to say the most asinine things and somehow be likable. Viewers embraced Archie Bunker not because they agreed with him but because he did not obey the rules of “proper” behavior that up to this point, had been television’s responsibility to uphold.
O’Connor was very opinionated when it came to his character, and, ultimately, the show. He regularly clashed with creator/writer Lear, and would often seek to rewrite or improvise on the set. At the beginning of the show’s fifth season, a contract dispute caused O’Connor to miss the first couple episodes. But for all their creative jousting, the two had great respect for each other.
If there was a downside for O’Connor, it was that he was concerned that the public would not be able to see him as anyone except Archie. He still wanted to work as an actor after All in the Family – and its spinoff, Archie Bunker’s Place had run its course.
Fortunately, his career entered a new chapter when he took the role of a Southern police chief, whose top detective is African American, in the series In the Heat of the Night, based on the 1967 film of the same name. The character was a complete departure from Archie Bunker, and O’Connor served as executive producer and head writer for the show, which aired from 1988-1994.
In a personal tragedy, O’Connor gained national headlines when his son, Hugh, committed suicide and O’Connor was instrumental in getting his drug dealer sent to jail. “Nothing will give me any peace,” he once said. “I’ve lost a son. And I’ll go to my grave without any peace over that.”
Carroll O’Connor died on June 21, 2001, and is buried at Westwood Memorial Park, between two other great icons of entertainment:
Billy Wilder and Jack Lemmon.

It was the summer of 1956, and the guys at Surfrider in Malibu didn’t know what to make of this girl who had suddenly materialized in their midst. They had names like Moondoggie and Misto and Tubesteak, and they threw everything they had at her. They called her Gidget. They buried her surfboard in the sand. They stole the distributor cap to her car. If she left them alone, it still wasn’t enough. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” 

They could not have known that this girl — this Gidget — would become an icon of American surfing. She didn’t know how to surf, but she bought her own board, and she paddled out and watched and learned and caught her own waves. She brought them peanut butter and radish sandwiches, and gradually she stole her way into their hearts. She kept a diary and recorded her surfing adventures: “Boy the surf was so bitchin’ today I couldn’t believe it. I got some real good rides from inside.” 

One day, she announced to her father, Frederick Kohner, that she wanted to write a book about her experiences. A Hollywood screenwriter, Kohner was fascinated by her stories and offered to write the book for her. The novel “Gidget” hit number seven on the New York Times bestseller list; Kerouac’s beat classic “On the Road” was number eight. “Gidget”, perhaps more than Kerouac and his merry band, had resonated with younger readers. Gidget and her pals at the Pit were that to which all American youth, then and now, aspired: they were cool. 

The original Gidget movie starred a comely unknown named Sandra Dee as Gidget, who said things like, “surfing is the ultimate!” Following on the success of the first movie, Columbia cranked out Gidget Goes Hawaiian and several more. An unknown teenager named Sally Field played Gidget in the original TV series. The beach scenes were shot in winter, when the water was numbingly cold. Still, Field remembers this as “one of the great, wonderful things of my life.” Field, whose feisty personality closely mirrors that of Kathy Kohner, said, “She will always be me. The Gidget is inside.” 

Kathy Kohner — the real Gidget — went to college and got married and raised a family. But her summer in the surf inspired countless other young girls to take up surfing, living proof that girls could ride the waves just like the boys. Seven-time world surf champion Layne Beachley said Gidget was her nickname too; “If they looked for Layne, no one knew who they were talking about.” Surfer magazine, which is mostly about dudes who surf, named Gidget the 7th most influential surfer
of the century. 

In the foreword to the 2001 re-release of “Gidget” the book, Kohner wrote, “Now that Gidget is back — the real Gidget will be back, too. Who says 60-year-old Gidgets can’t ride the waves anymore?” 

You’d be crazy to bet against Gidget. A surfing buddy coaxed her into participating in the Legends of Longboards, a fundraiser for the cancer center at Scripps in San Diego. So early morning, she paddled out to First Break at Surfrider. Someone gave her board a shove: “Shoot it, Gidget, shoot the curl!” So this tiny 60-something woman got up on that board, and suddenly it’s the summer of ’56 and this girl, this midget, this Gidget shoots the curl. 

Today, Kathy Kohner (now Kathy Zuckerman) is in demand as a speaker to youth groups, seniors, even Republicans. When asked her political affiliation, she diplomatically replied, “There are no politics in the water.” Some want to turn Gidget into a proto-feminist, but Kohner isn’t having any of it. “I don’t even know what that is,” she insists. She would rather be remembered as the young girl who spent a summer surfing with the guys — an “Accidental Icon”. A documentary by that name was released in 2006, with Kohner, Sally Field and others looking back on 50 years of the Gidget phenomenon. 

She doesn’t paddle out anymore, but you might see her walking on the beach at Malibu, trim and youthful. “I feel very much at peace,” she says. “I feel very much at home.” 

Linda Chase is the author of “Surfing: Women of the Waves” (Gibbs-Smith, 2007). She is currently working on a book on Las Vegas.

Robert Evans has been blessed with this all-important Hollywood trifecta since day one.

Today at age 77, despite having a multiple stroke ten years ago, he is ebullient, healthy, and is still producing movies. This year marks the 40th anniversary of his seminal film, Rosemary’s Baby – his first production for Paramount. Last month, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences honored Evans with both a screening of the film as well as tributes from friends and colleagues, including Slash, Peter Bart, Brett Ratner, and Sumner Redstone. Ratner, who became ensconced in the Evans fold a number of years back, spoke of the wisdom he has gained under the watchful eye of his friend (albeit beneath those famous omnipresent sunglasses). “I’m not picking his brain, I’m eating his brain.” 

Robert Evans wasn’t even into the Hollywood thing in the beginning. He was into Evan-Picone, his brother-in-law’s Manhattan clothing line. 

But on a business sojourn out West, he was discovered by chance, much like Lana Turner – though this time it wasn’t at Schwab’s, it was poolside at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Out of the gate he was starring opposite Jimmy Cagney in Man of a Thousand Faces, being touted as the next Rudolph Valentino. Overnight, he was the latest Hollywood sensation. “I was a half-assed actor,” he says. Maybe acting wasn’t his forté, but while filming Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, he witnessed firsthand the power of the producer. Hemingway – along with co-stars Ava Gardner, Eddie Albert, and Tyrone Power, wanted Evans out of the movie and let their producer know by telegram. Darryl F. Zanuck, who was running the show, resolutely replied, “The kid stays in the picture.” This same line would be immortalized almost forty years later as the title of his autobiography. He realized the world of producing was where he truly belonged. 

“When you own property, you’re king. Without it, you’re a pee-on,” he says in the documentary based on his book. The first property he acquired was a book called The Detective, which he eventually made into a movie starring Frank Sinatra. He was already getting a reputation – young, handsome, and aggressive in his production style. Peter Bart, then a writer for the New York Times, wrote an article about him that caught the eye of Gulf & Western executive Charlie Bludhorn, who hired the young up and comer to run Paramount. At that time, the studio was at the bottom of the heap, #9 in town. Evans was inexperienced, but he came equipped with a voracious appetite to succeed and a visionary’s manifesto that said nothing comes easy. Soon he had his first project: Rosemary’s Baby. He chose the young European director Roman Polanski to helm the film, and like Evans, Polanski was relatively green in the ways of Hollywood. Yet this was a match made in celluloid heaven. They were innovators in the midst of a filmic revolution – the old stodgies at the studios still wanted the Rock Hudson/Doris Day goody-goody films like Paint Your Wagon. This was 1968 and that type of fare was rebuked by the masses. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated, the Vietnam War was erupting, and the Summer of Love had gone way beyond June, July, and August. Rosemary’s Baby became a box office smash, made Mia Farrow a star, and won Ruth Gordon an Oscar. 

Eli Wallach once said, “Having the critics praise you is like having the hangman say you’ve got a pretty neck.” And for Evans, his was now on the line. The heads of Gulf and Western weren’t happy. Even though Rosemary was a hit, they wanted to shut down Paramount, which was hemorrhaging money. Evans pulled out his trump card – a little film called Love Story, starring his soon to be wife, Ali McGraw. Despite facing a roomful of out-of-touch, conservative old money grubbers, Evans won them over, and convinced them to move forward with Love Story and another little project he was working on, entitled The Godfather.

By now, he had become incredibly savvy when it came to recognizing talent — he was one of the pioneers of cultivating writers from the early stages. For example, The Godfather started out as nothing more than a 30-page treatment from Mario Puzo. Yet under the tutelage of Evans, that treatment became the film that made Francis Ford Coppola and won three Oscars.

Yet despite these achievements, Evans was still dissatisfied. His marriage to McGraw was over. He wanted more money. And he wanted to produce – not just run the studio. He struck an unprecedented deal with Paramount to work independently to produce films under his own banner as well as maintain his senior management position. His first film out of the gate was Chinatown, which garnered numerous Oscar nominations and kicked the envy of others around the lot into high gear. This eventually proved problematic and he stepped down as the head of the studio and produced films on his own, including Marathon Man, Urban Cowboy,
and Popeye. 

Of course, there were the bad years for Evans in the 1980’s. He hit rock bottom – too much coke, bad press, and a link to an investor who would become solely known as a murder victim. Then top that off with the aforementioned triple stroke. Five years ago in Esquire Magazine’s now mainstay column, “What I’ve Learned”, Evans spouted, “Rejection breeds obsession.” He is the reincarnation of the Phoenix; despite the obstacles thrown in his path, he doesn’t see these as problems but rather challenges. There is always an opportunity to rise up and start anew; there is no end, no finality in sight. For Robert Evans, there is just another opportunity to be first again. 

A Robert Evans Sampler
Films He Produced/Developed During His Tenure At Paramount 

Rosemary’s Baby 

Love Story 

The Godfather 

Marathon Man

Chinatown 

Urban Cowboy 

Harold And Maude 

Serpico 

Barefoot In The Park 

Considered by many to be the fairy godmother of the Southern California folk rock scene, Joni Mitchell is arguably one of the most important and influential female recording artists ever to grace the world’s ears. She’s also an accomplished visual artist who once described herself as a “painter derailed by circumstance.” 

As odd as it may seem, the native Canadian took up singing while hospitalized for polio at the age of nine. As she puts it, “They said I might not walk again, and that I would not be able to go home for Christmas. I wouldn’t go for it. So I started to sing Christmas carols and I used to sing them real loud. The boy in the bed next to me, you know, used to complain. And I discovered I was a ham.” Also at the age of nine, she picked up the art of smoking, a skill that many associate with her as well as her husky singing. 

From there, she taught herself the guitar and began playing at parties and eventually coffeehouses up and down the North American East Coast. It was in such a place that David Crosby happened upon her in 1967, and convinced her to travel to Los Angeles where he produced her first album, Song to a Seagull, which showcased her poetic voice and highly rhythmic picking / strumming guitar style with odd non-standard tunings. 

What followed has been a legendary career as a singer / songwriter and visual artist. She’s won many Grammys and collaborated with the likes of Charles Mingus, Willie Nelson, Billy Idol, Don Henley, Peter Gabriel, and Tom Petty and performed with everyone from Bob Dylan to Van Morrison. Queen Elizabeth herself even made a point to check her out live. But perhaps what is even more remarkable about Joni is the influence she’s had on some of the greatest musicians of our time: Led Zeppelin sang about her, Madonna’s memorized the lyrics to whole albums, and Prince drew her name in flowers. 

These days she rarely performs, though occasionally she takes the time to speak publicly about the environment. Recently an original ballet, “The Fiddle and the Drum”, was choreographed and performed to her songs in Calgary. Last year she released her first album in nine years, Shine, an album she says was inspired by the war in Iraq and “something her grandson had said while listening to family fighting: ‘Bad dreams are good—in the great plan.’” She continues to dabble in photography and painting though she never sells any of her paintings and rarely exhibits them. Also in the works is a multi-volume autobiography and a documentary about her life these days. 

As an added bit of insight, below are thoughts from legendary music photographer Henry Diltz about Joni as he takes us back to the early days when she first arrived in Los Angeles and discusses his visits with her over the years. 

“When I first met her, David Crosby brought her up to Mama Cass’s house and Mama Cass, being the earth mother that she was, was always meeting musicians, specifically English musicians that had never been to L.A. and introducing them around. So, she’d met Eric Clapton at a show when he was in Cream, and he didn’t know anybody in town, so she invited him up to her house one afternoon to have a little backyard picnic and she invited a few friends, including David Crosby. Micky Dolenz was there and I was there and David brought Joni, she was kind of his protégé. He was having great fun taking her around to different places and having her sing to people and it always blew their minds, and man, she blew our minds that afternoon. Eric Clapton was just sitting there, staring at her fingers playing guitar. 

At a party, she loves to talk to people and she smokes a lot (laughs), so she’ll sit there chain smoking and talking to a little group of people sitting at her feet, it’s very interesting to see. She tells some great stories and everyone’s just riveted, first of all because it’s Joni Mitchell, but also because what she’s saying is so amazing. I’ve done the thing where I’ve gone to her house to bring her some proof sheets and I ended up sitting there for five hours talking to her. I mean it’s mostly her talking, but it’s so damn interesting, you just wish you were writing it all down or something (laughs). 

A little while back, she did an art show which was a series of photos she’d taken off of her broken TV set. It showed a negative image rather than a positive picture, so all the blacks were white and all the whites were black, except in this case, everything was pastel, pink, and green. But it was so fascinating because of the colors and the patterns she had from these old Busby Berkeley movies with these little cardboard disposable cameras. She’d spend all night photographing her TV because that’s when the good old movies would come on. And then she would blow them up in triptec, one on top of the other about the size of a door and they were amazing. 

Last time I sat down and talked to her, she had just started writing a song. She hadn’t written a song in years and years, and she’d written a little haiku about her cats playing in the garden and that started her off, it got her impulses going again and she went on to record a whole album which came out last year (Shine). 

She flows in all directions, whether it’s painting or photography or music or the ballet. She’s very deep and caring and just a true artist, in the sense that the songs and the paintings and things that she produces are emanating from within her. She’s certainly not copying anybody, she’s an original. A true artist is sort of that way. The true artists come along and then everyone copies them and then it goes off in one direction, but she’s a real true artist.”