tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53399536397299462062024-03-12T20:57:52.311-07:00The Selvedge YardA Historical Record of Artistry, Anarchy, Alchemy & Authenticity.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-53878568248570673062011-03-19T09:45:00.000-07:002011-03-19T09:57:39.106-07:00THE SELVEDGE YARD PRESENTS — SHUTTER SPEED @SECRET SERVICE LA, SATURDAY MARCH 26TH, 7-11PM COME!<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2eRV4Vga68U/TYTf1tNGG3I/AAAAAAAAApE/Qr-LYK7bmH4/s1600/TSY%2BSescret%2BService%2Bevent_032611.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 471px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2eRV4Vga68U/TYTf1tNGG3I/AAAAAAAAApE/Qr-LYK7bmH4/s400/TSY%2BSescret%2BService%2Bevent_032611.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585835551606840178" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; line-height: 22px; font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:13px;"><p style=" margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; text-align: justify; font-size:1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: normal;font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px; font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></span></span></p><p size="1em" style=" margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; text-align: justify; "><b><i><br /></i></b></p></span></u></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-64869657989583879542010-08-29T07:46:00.000-07:002010-08-29T08:03:27.355-07:00CARROLL SHELBY COBRA GT 350/500 | KING OF THE ROAD<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/THp04ZIHumI/AAAAAAAAAok/8MkcMDVOOJ8/s1600/090926-shelby-cobra.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 552px; height: 791px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/THp04ZIHumI/AAAAAAAAAok/8MkcMDVOOJ8/s800/090926-shelby-cobra.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510845606207666786" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">CARROLL SHELBY DESIGNED HIS COBRA GT TO GO LIKE IT LOOKS.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/THpznVRwQFI/AAAAAAAAAoc/nPrXcEtKUbg/s1600/091016-shelby-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 552px; height: 800px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/THpznVRwQFI/AAAAAAAAAoc/nPrXcEtKUbg/s800/091016-shelby-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510844213604925522" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">CARROLL SHELBY HAS GONE AND DONE IT! CONVERTIBLE TYPES, REJOICE.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/THpzOwcHLRI/AAAAAAAAAoM/smezKXJ62lU/s1600/091016-shelby-2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 552px; height: 772px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/THpzOwcHLRI/AAAAAAAAAoM/smezKXJ62lU/s800/091016-shelby-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510843791399398674" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">CARROLL SHELBY HAS PULLED THE TRICK OF THE YEAR. HE'S COMBINED FORD'S NEW DRAG CHAMPION 428 COBRA JET WITH HIS COMPLETE ROADCAR, THE COBRA GT 500.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-73992859982737709362010-07-17T05:32:00.000-07:002010-07-17T05:37:28.112-07:00ROCK THE VOTE | SUPPORT TSY IN THE DETAILS MAG FASHION BLOG AWARDS<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 19px; font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif;font-size:13px;"><p><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" target="_self">BE HEARD AND CAST YOUR VOTE IN SUPPORT OF TSY, CLICK HERE!</a></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span mce_name="strong" mce_style="font-weight: bold;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" target="_self"><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">TSY</span></a> is honored to be nominated, and is up against some very stiff competition. If you love what we do here, and would like to <a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" target="_self">support us by voting--</a> we'd really appreciate it, friends!</span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-16622" title="details_fashion_blog_awards" src="http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/details_fashion_blog_awards.jpg" mce_src="http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/details_fashion_blog_awards.jpg" alt="" width="552" height="240" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; " /></a></p><p><br /></p><p><a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-16635" title="VOTE FOR TSY" src="http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/4afea38aec5b05f3_landing.jpeg" mce_src="http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/4afea38aec5b05f3_landing.jpeg" alt="" width="600" height="589" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; " /></a></p><p><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">Martha's Vineyard locals cast their <a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" target="_self">vote for TSY</a> in an epic show of support. --LIFE archives</span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span mce_style="color: #ffffff;" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-16639" title="Ike votes for TSY" src="http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/1092e40fddc3c660_large.jpeg" mce_src="http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/1092e40fddc3c660_large.jpeg" alt="" width="600" height="901" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; " /></a></span></span></p><p><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span mce_style="color: #333333;" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); ">Ike casts his <a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" target="_self">vote for TSY</a> in Gettsyburg. --LIFE archives.</span></span></p><p><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span mce_style="color: #333333;" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><br /></span></span></p><p><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span mce_style="color: #333333;" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><br /></span></span></p><p><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span mce_style="color: #ffffff;" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-16642" title="vote for The Selvedge Yard" src="http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/253c72fb99096284_large.jpeg" mce_src="http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/253c72fb99096284_large.jpeg" alt="" width="600" height="824" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; " /></a></span></span></p><p><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">A</span><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">vid Detroit supporters lining up outside the fire station to <a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" target="_self">vote for The Selvedge Yard</a> --LIFE archives</span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span mce_style="color: #ffffff;" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-16644" title="details_fashion_blog_awards" src="http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/details_fashion_blog_awards1.jpg" mce_src="http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/details_fashion_blog_awards1.jpg" alt="" width="552" height="240" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; " /></a></span></span></p><p><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span mce_style="color: #ffffff;" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><a href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" mce_href="http://www.details.com/style-advice/perfect-wardrobe/201006/fashion-advice-blog-awards" target="_self">CLICK HERE TO VOTE!</a></span></span></p><div><span mce_name="em" mce_style="font-style: italic;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><br /></span></div></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-32471450265407290762010-02-07T17:11:00.000-08:002010-02-08T05:23:26.918-08:00STEVE McQUEEN GOES FOR BROKE IN THE ROUGH LIFE, 1963 | "IF YOU CAN'T CUT IT, YOU GOTTA BACK OUT."<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29q3j04_2I/AAAAAAAAAnY/Sgm3R0tMCoM/s1600-h/c58772740f001fb8_large.jpeg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 787px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29q3j04_2I/AAAAAAAAAnY/Sgm3R0tMCoM/s8%3Cspan%20style=" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Wincing, Steve McQueen gets his blistered hands treated in Pearblossom, Calif. Steve says of his dangerous sport, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">"If you can't cut it, you gotta back out."</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29qxpFxubI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/Zx8cWRy4-IA/s1600-h/28868ce56190ee22_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 440px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29qxpFxubI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/Zx8cWRy4-IA/s800/28868ce56190ee22_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435680676335696306" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Rounding a bend in a cross-country motorcycle race, Steve McQueen (right) a long-time racer, keeps up a torrid pace. He was one of 300 entrants. The race took 2 days, went across the Mojave Desert.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29qtRPCQgI/AAAAAAAAAnI/y52teHoeYiQ/s1600-h/a0de9d4399b7d34b_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 787px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29qtRPCQgI/AAAAAAAAAnI/y52teHoeYiQ/s800/a0de9d4399b7d34b_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435680601212600834" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">The race over, Steve McQueen wearily puts on his jacket after a brief cooling-off. He led the amateur class until his motorcycle broke down three miles from the finish.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29qbmL8DQI/AAAAAAAAAnA/yrMAQxPyJRY/s1600-h/6f65c979ecf9adb5_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 438px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29qbmL8DQI/AAAAAAAAAnA/yrMAQxPyJRY/s800/6f65c979ecf9adb5_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435680297599110402" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Looking like a helmeted James Cagney, Steve McQueen talks with his buddies during a respite. A crack auto racer, he even raced with Stirling Moss-- but he gave up the sport to please his wife.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29qR3s0mOI/AAAAAAAAAm4/KaEEuUlOGNQ/s1600-h/cf07c9aa4ef899a0_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 582px; height: 800px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29qR3s0mOI/AAAAAAAAAm4/KaEEuUlOGNQ/s800/cf07c9aa4ef899a0_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435680130501744866" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">On a camping trip in the Sierra Madre, Steve McQueen is rudely awakened by his dog Mike, a Malamute. He often takes his whole family along on camping trips, but this time went with old buddies. <i>"This is it, man"</i> says Steve. <i>"I'd rather wake up in the middle of nowhere than in any city on earth.</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><i>"</i></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29qDGag4sI/AAAAAAAAAmw/wxfdRrJBBtI/s1600-h/b8fbc6320b9428a7_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 594px; height: 800px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29qDGag4sI/AAAAAAAAAmw/wxfdRrJBBtI/s800/b8fbc6320b9428a7_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435679876753449666" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">In their Palm Springs bungalow, Steve McQueen and his wife Neile chat affectionately.</span> </span></div></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>"Man, if I hadn't made my own scene," </i>says Steve McQueen, <i>"I could have wound up a hood instead of an actor."</i> He talks the lingo of the rough world that spawned him-- a world of hipsters, race car drivers, beach boys, drifters, and carnival barkers. Steve has been al of these. He has also tended bar, sold encyclopedias, made sandals, and even been a runner in a Port Arthur, TX brothel-- going from one job to the next, trying to run from his dreary, dreadful past.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Steve has been running that way ever since he was a kid. His father began it by running out on the family while Steve was still a baby. Mrs. McQueen farmed Steve out to an Uncle in Missouri. At 12 Steve fled to New York. He later lived with his mother and new stepfather in California, but that was no improvement. He spent so much time on the streets, and so little time in school, that his mother sent him away for rehabilitation. He promptly ran away and wound up in jail. Even in the Marines, Steve McQueen wouldn't stay put-- he spent 41 days in the brig for going AWOL.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div> </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29p9yYHyzI/AAAAAAAAAmo/c1avaRCigyE/s1600-h/347cc2fd810d8add_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 522px; height: 800px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29p9yYHyzI/AAAAAAAAAmo/c1avaRCigyE/s800/347cc2fd810d8add_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435679785475361586" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">At Big Sur, Steve McQueen and Neile take a sulphur bath together, a bottle of wine propped nearby. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He was in New York in 1951, working as a bartender, when a friend took him along with her to an acting school. Willing to try anything, he auditioned there, and to his astonishment was accepted. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>"I took up acting,"</i> he explains,<i> "because it let e burn off energy. Besides, I wanted to beat the 40-hour-a-week rap. But, Man, I didn't escape. Now I'm working 72 hours a week, so there you go."</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i> </i></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29px2NHJ6I/AAAAAAAAAmg/sgkBAs9xZ9k/s1600-h/4c68f15032fcde22_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 795px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29px2NHJ6I/AAAAAAAAAmg/sgkBAs9xZ9k/s800/4c68f15032fcde22_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435679580344493986" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">While waiting in the kitchen for Neile to serve up a snack, Steve gives her a fond tweak. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Steve McQueen works at acting with the same urgency that he races motorcycles. <i>"I'm the greatest scammer in the business," </i>says Steve.<i> "But acting's a hard scene for me. Every script I get is an enemy I have to conquer."</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But he shuns the duties that go with being a movie star. He seldom attends parties or nightclubs, and sulks at movie premieres. <i> "When I get in a room with five strangers, that's my nut,"</i> he says,<i> "I feel like I can't breathe, O.K.?"</i> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29poPMexWI/AAAAAAAAAmY/n0p9JuzezJM/s1600-h/5574f03820d19a32_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 780px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29poPMexWI/AAAAAAAAAmY/n0p9JuzezJM/s800/5574f03820d19a32_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435679415254041954" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Steve McQueen cozies up with his wife Neile, who is of English, German, Spanish and Chinese descent. They met when she was on Broadway in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Pajama Game. Says he, "</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">My old lady is the heart of my home." </span><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When he is with his wife and children, Steve McQueen quickly gets his breath back. Though married seven years, the McQueens are still as lovey-dovey as newlyweds. "When I come home nights," says Steve, "I dig my old lady, not the maid, serving me dinner."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Others he digs are hard-luck characters who, like him, drew a raw deal, and he tries to help them. <i>"When you take a little out,"</i> Steve explains, <i>"you gotta put a little back in." </i>He and Dr. Herman Salk, a Palm Springs veterinarian who is Jonas Salk's brother, raise money to buy vaccines and antibiotics for Navajo Indians. Periodically they drive to the reservation to deliver the drugs. <i>"I really dig those Navajos,"</i> says Steve. <i>"They have a saying they live by: A land where there is time enough and room enough. I want that too."</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29o5Wm2mvI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/8AZSDFbgkrw/s1600-h/b4693344caac86bb_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 550px; height: 800px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29o5Wm2mvI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/8AZSDFbgkrw/s800/b4693344caac86bb_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435678609789852402" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Steve McQueen, who delights in giving his son the love he lacked while growing up, romps with Chad, 2.</span><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Last week Steve McQueen bought a three-acre, quarter-million-dollar mansion overlooking the Pacific. <i>"It's got trees for the kids to swing on," he says, voice all aquiver, "and the biggest, strongest front gate you ever saw. Man, I don't wanna be bugged by anyone, O.K.?"</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>But once there, Steve is likely to want out. It is too near Hollywood. <i> "You won't find me hanging by my toes in a manhole,"</i> he promises. <i>"Man, after I've gotten my sugar out of this business, I'm gonna take off-- and run like a thief."</i> </div><div><i> </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>-Peter Bunzel, photos by John Dominis, 1963.</i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><br /></i></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29oPItfpJI/AAAAAAAAAmI/d5EBMvYkaOI/s1600-h/023e4e6be5d76cac_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 767px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/S29oPItfpJI/AAAAAAAAAmI/d5EBMvYkaOI/s800/023e4e6be5d76cac_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435677884505105554" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">In a rented tuxedo (he does not own one), Steve McQueen gives a goodnight kiss to Terry, 4, before making one of his rare appearances at at Hollywood opening. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">"My family is very, very tight."</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"> says McQueen. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">"But the world is full of phonies, so you gotta build a wall to keep them out."</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"> </span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-84059421795233641342010-01-01T06:25:00.000-08:002010-01-01T07:33:06.466-08:00STEVE McQUEEN DOIN' IT IN THE DIRT AND DUNES | THE TRIUMPH DESERT RACE BIKE CUSTOM MODIFIED BY BUD EKINS.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://nostalgiaonwheels.blogspot.com/">Nostalgia on Wheels</a> posted these incredible pictures of Steve McQueen and his Bud Ekins' desert-modified Triumph Bonneville racer from the June 1964 edition of <i>Cycle World Magazine</i>. Original photos by Cal West.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Sz4G0n01aOI/AAAAAAAAAlo/q1_33RJmAAE/s1600-h/Steve+McQueen+desert+Triumph+motorcycle.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 378px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Sz4G0n01aOI/AAAAAAAAAlo/q1_33RJmAAE/s800/Steve+McQueen+desert+Triumph+motorcycle.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421778502514206946" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Actor Steve McQueen and his Triumph desert bike in their native habitat.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Sz4GsV865HI/AAAAAAAAAlg/U2roqgMypNA/s1600-h/Steve++McQueen+Triumph.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 408px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Sz4GsV865HI/AAAAAAAAAlg/U2roqgMypNA/s800/Steve++McQueen+Triumph.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421778360277329010" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Many modifications make a desert bike. Crossovers, skid plate, giant filters, etc.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Sz4Gi9KA75I/AAAAAAAAAlY/Md1eh5En9Xk/s1600-h/Steve+McQueen+Triumph+motorcycle.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 386px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Sz4Gi9KA75I/AAAAAAAAAlY/Md1eh5En9Xk/s800/Steve+McQueen+Triumph+motorcycle.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421778199002541970" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Paper-pack air cleaners are connected to carbs by special a collector box. A Cushy saddle and high pipes are essential in the desert.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>IN McQUEEN'S SERVICE</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Winning desert races is what this machine was set up for. It is the mount of actor Steve McQueen, who recently won the novice class in a one-hour desert scrambles. The victory only proved what a close look at his Triumph Bonneville suggests: McQueen takes his motorcycling seriously.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It takes some modifications to wing the rough, dusty hare 'n hounds, scrambles and enduros that are popular in the southwestern desert. McQueen's machine was prepared in Bud Ekins' Sherman Oaks, California shop. They started by replacing the stock wheel with a 1956 Triumph hub and 19" wheel to reduce unsprung weight. The forks were fitted with sidecar springs and the rake increased slightly by altering the frame at the steering crown. The rear frame hoop was bent upward to accommodate a 4.00 x 18 Dunlop sports knobby, and to it were welded brackets for the Bates cross-country seat. The bars are by Flanders, with leather hand guards, and the throttle cables run over the tank, through alloy brackets to the twin 1 1/8" Amal carburetors.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A Harlan skidplate protects the underside of the motor, the footpegs were braced, and the rear brake rod was increased to 5/16" diameter and rerouted inside the frame and shock (where sagebrush can't damege it). The oil tank was modified to increase its capacity and bring the filler out the side fom under the seat. It also serves as part of the mudguard, saving weight.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The engine is basically a stock Bonneville but the compression was lowered from 12 : 1 to 8 1/2 : 1 for reliability, and the sagebrush-snagging oil pressure indicator was converted t a pop-off relief valve with a return line back to the oil tank. McQueen runs Jomo TT cams and Lode RL47 Platinum tip plugs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The important job of filtering all that dirt out of the desert air is handled by paper-pack air cleaners connected by a special collector box to the carbs. This box is finished in black wrinkle-finish paint while the tanks are dark green. The cross-over pipes are Ekins' own design, and are left unplated for better heat dissipation. Perhaps if McQueen were riding this motorcycle in the movie, he would have made his "Great Escape."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">--Cycle World Magazine, June 1964 </div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://nostalgiaonwheels.blogspot.com/2009/12/steve-mcqueens-triumph-desert-race-bike.html">Via Nostalgia on Wheels</a> </div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"> </div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-87120690434133721602009-11-21T09:59:00.000-08:002009-11-21T14:21:10.168-08:00KENNY HOWARD PT. II | THE MASTER PAINTER, STRIPER & CUSTOM FABRICATOR ALSO KNOWN AS VON DUTCH<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Swgrk14zCbI/AAAAAAAAAlM/3T0T2GdmMws/s1600/1965zzDutch1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 784px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Swgrk14zCbI/AAAAAAAAAlM/3T0T2GdmMws/s800/1965zzDutch1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406619264598870450" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">What Ever Happened to Von Dutch?</span> <a href="http://showandgo.blogspot.com/2009/10/long-live-memory-of-von-dutch.html"> --Modern Cycle magazine, 1965 </a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SwgreIUiuaI/AAAAAAAAAlE/riUR1XxP36c/s1600/1965zzDutch2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 787px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SwgreIUiuaI/AAAAAAAAAlE/riUR1XxP36c/s800/1965zzDutch2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406619149287995810" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">WORLD FAMOUS BODY STRIPER NOW "IN HIDING" AT SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA CYCLE SHOP.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Automotive striping, whether for motorcycles or cars, was a dead art form in this country when 15-year-old Von Dutch went to work in George Beerup's motorcycle shop back in the mid forties. Six or seven years later is was a thriving trade carried on by several hundred artistically inclined body men around the country, and no self-respecting Hot Rodder would consider his customizing finished until the striping had been put on.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Few people realize that striping, even to this day is strictly a hand craft. At the Triumph factory, for instance, one elderly gentleman who appears to have been with the company for a century, spends his working day doing nothing but placing the finishing stripes o fenders and fuel tanks by hand. The same is true at the Enfield works... and the Rolls Royce works. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The last automobile hand striping by American car makers was done by General Motors cars in 1938 (excluding, of course, any special bodies created later). Then, nearly 20 years later, youthful car customers brought it back in vogue with some outlandish designs, often believing they were doing something entirely new. The man who started the vogue was a young motorcycle mechanic named Von Dutch. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Today Dutch is "in hiding" as a result of the reputation he built. Working as a mechanic once again, he'll do an occasional striping job on a fender or a tank for a friend. But he made us promise not to identify the shop where he works because <i>"I don't want any damn kids around here trying to get me to stripe their cars."</i> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SwgrXWapMkI/AAAAAAAAAk8/pYSe98e-pxI/s1600/1965zzDutch3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 787px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SwgrXWapMkI/AAAAAAAAAk8/pYSe98e-pxI/s800/1965zzDutch3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406619032812597826" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">DUTCH STRIPES WITHOUT ANY PLANNING WHATSOEVER. HE DID THIS JOB IN APPROXIMATELY 10 MINUTES, TALKING CONSTANTLY WITH PHOTOGRAPHER JIM SULLIVAN. DUTCH DIPS HIS DAGGER STRIPING BRUSH ON HIS FAVORITE PALET, THE TELEPHONE BOOK</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">.</span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At 15, Von Dutch was what he called "the gunk boy" in George Beerup's motorcycle shop in Southern California when he took one of the bikes home, painted it and striped it with his father's brushes. (The elder Von Dutch had done some motorcycle striping and worked mostly as a sign painter.) When he brought the bike back, Beerup refused to believe he had done the striping himself. So he got the brushes and did another job. As soon as Beerup saw what he could do, he took Dutch off mechanical work and put him to painting and striping, and for the next decade he built a reputation he didn't want.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>"I'm a mechanic first,"</i> he says. <i>"If I had my way, I'd be a gunsmith, but there isn't enough of that kind of work to make a living. I like to make things out of metal, because metal is forever. When you paint something, how long does it last? A few years, and then it's gone." </i><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SwgrO4ZrHDI/AAAAAAAAAk0/pFMCvJ1bzhw/s1600/1965zzDutch4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 784px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SwgrO4ZrHDI/AAAAAAAAAk0/pFMCvJ1bzhw/s800/1965zzDutch4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406618887316511794" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">ABOVE, TOP: IN CASE YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE IT, THAT'S AN M-1 DUTCH IS POLISHING. THIS IS DUTCH'S IDEA FOR A SCOTT-POWERED MACHINE USING REYNOLDS TYPE FORKS AND MODERN REAR SUSPENSION, WITH DISC BRAKES. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">ABOVE RIGHT: ANOTHER OF DUTCH'S DREAMS, UTILIZING A 750cc INLINE FOUR WITH "OFFENHAUSER CHARACTERISTICS," EARLES TYPE FORKS AND THE SWING ARM OF CAST MAGNESIUM FORMING A CHAIN CASE, THE WHOLE AFAIR SWINGING ON THE AXIS OF THE COUNTERSHAFT TO ELIMINATE CHAIN DEFLECTION.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">ABOVE, BOTTOM: DUTCH ON HIS BABY, A 1930 SCOTT "FLYING SQUIRREL" 600cc WATER COOLED TWO STROKER. With 5 1/:1 COMPRESSION IT DEVELOPS 33 hp AT 4500 rpm. COMPLETELY RESTORED, IT IS UNMODIFIED EXCEPT FOR A SEPARATE OIL TANK, SUPPLYING LUBRICANT UNDER PRESSURE TO MAINS AND CRANKPINS.</span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For the next several years, Dutch worked at nothing but motorcycle painting and striping moving from shop to shop, "saturating each area," he says. By the mid fifties he had still not touched a car, but had painted and striped thousands of bikes. After a year or so of building his reputation, </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Striping cars started as a gag when I was working Al Titus' motorcycle shop down in Lynwood," Dutch says. Then the idea ballooned. He was hired to stripe some custom jobs for one of the auto shows, an while there was approached by a man known as the Crazy Arab who thought it could be worked into a full time occupation. Dutch didn't believe it, but he tried it, and for the next three years he worked at it until <i>"it nearly drove me out of my mind."</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When Von Dutch quit striping around 1958, his talents were still in great demand. Customers all over the country had heard of him, and cars had come as far away as the East Coast to be striped. Moreover, when a car owner came to him, he didn't tell Dutch what he wanted: he just told him how much time he was willing to purchase. The designs were up to Dutch, and some of them were as wild and far out as his eccentric imagination. He had hundreds of imitators, and when you went to a body shop to inquire about such work, you didn't ask if they knew how to stripe, you asked if they knew how to "Von Dutch."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Despite this, Dutch never made any money from striping, because money is something he hates, as unorthodox as that sounds. After a year or so of building his reputation, he doubled his hourly rate just to weed out some of the customers. So many were coming to him that he couldn't stand it anymore. But the gambit didn't work. No matter how much he charged, he still did better work for less money than any competitor.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He could have charged much more. He could have charged $20 an hour and gotten away with it easily back then. Moreover, he could have done six or eight cars a day, if he really wanted to work at all. But Dutch is blissfully devoid of the driving force that motivates most Americans. He couldn't care less about material possessions.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>"I make a point of staying right at the bridge of poverty. I don't have a pair of pants without a hole in them, and the only pair of boots I own are the ones I have on. I don't have anything else to put on my feet. I don't spend money on unnecessary stuff, so i don't have to have a lot of money. I don't need it. I keep as poor as I can and just get along. I like that. I believe that's the way it's meant to be. There's a struggle you have to go through, and if you make a lot of money, it doesn't make the struggle go away. It just makes it more complicated. If you keep poor, the struggle is simple. "</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>"That's why I never overcharged anybody, or made this thing commercial. You can't do good work if you're thinking about the money angle all the time. To me the work is important; that's number one."</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Most of Dutch's custom work is now done exclusively on antique motorcycles belonging to the shop where he works. The shop is not known to have a painting department, but a fellow in North Carolina, who knew where to go, sent them a tank and fenders from a brand new Triumph to be painted as they saw fit, and Dutch did the work.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dutch's personal motorcycle is a 1930 Scott twin, a two stroke water-cooled job that most motorcycle enthusiasts had never heard of. When something wears out on it, he manufactures the part himself. He also has a customized Honda, of which he says, <i>"I had to paint it so I could find it. There are so many around that mine was getting lost in the crowd." </i> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dutch's whole life is more or less devoted to individualism, to expressing himself. He says he can no longer take paint work as a steady diet, but once you get him started on a project, you can't stop him until his imagination is temporarily worn out. He takes plain metal and turns it into a gun of his own design. Lately, he has taken to engraving designs on Aluminum fenders. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There seems to be no end to his creative aptitudes, despite his refusal to use them for profit. One of his co-workers calls him <i>"That artistic creep,"</i> but in may ways he's the Einstein of the motor world. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-28387546584344121772009-10-30T20:50:00.000-07:002009-10-30T22:00:06.818-07:00HUSQVARNA | THE SCREAMIN' SWEDE SUPER-BIKE THAT STARTED A MOTORCYCLE RACING REVOLUTION<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu3oq84C4I/AAAAAAAAAkU/iYrsEcDKfEI/s1600-h/3392294032_5eb8347f85_b.jpg"></a><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu3YgV0H3I/AAAAAAAAAkM/J-AOcFGq2qM/s1600-h/husky1963r_600.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 360px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu3YgV0H3I/AAAAAAAAAkM/J-AOcFGq2qM/s800/husky1963r_600.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398610209959845746" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The bike that got American motocross off the ground-- the 1963 Husqvarna (Husky) Racer. This unrestored bike is No. 59 of just 100 250cc race machines Husqvarna built in ’63.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">With its signature red and chrome glistening gas tank, the <a href="http://theselvedgeyard.wordpress.com/2009/07/07/husqvarna/">Husqvarna</a> (or “Husky” as it’s affectionately known) was a stunning beauty of a bike, and a mud-slinging beast on the American motocross circuit. Back in the 1960s, the increasingly popular sport of American motocross was bogged down by clumsily modified (not to mention heavy) Harley-Davidson, Triumph & BSA road bikes. It was lumbering in antiquity and in dire need of innovation. Enter Edison Dye.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">While on a motorcycle tour of Europe, Dye took particular note of European motocross and the lighter-weight, nimble, two-stroke bikes that were in stark contrast to the American scene. Swedish maker <a href="http://theselvedgeyard.wordpress.com/2009/07/07/husqvarna/">Husqvarna</a> particulary stood out with their alloy engine components, and distinctive exhaust. He asked motorcycling legend Malcolm Smith (Steve McQueen’s riding chum in “On Any Sunday”) to take a Husky and put it through its paces for him. Upon Smith’s glowing review, Edison Dye decided to sign on as Husqvarna’s U.S. importer. The Screamin’ Swede was about to take American motocross by storm.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu3NDIcd6I/AAAAAAAAAkE/lMVKA3Bm9hs/s1600-h/mikkola21.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 558px; height: 800px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu3NDIcd6I/AAAAAAAAAkE/lMVKA3Bm9hs/s800/mikkola21.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398610013140580258" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Heikki Mikkola, the “Flyin’ Finn” was one of the most popular and feared motocross racers of the 1970s. During his illustrious career, Mikkola collected four World Grand Prix Motocross Championship titles. In 1974 he won the World Grand Prix 500cc Championship on a Husqvarna.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the early 1970s, Steve McQueen was the man (still is). He was the highest-paid star of the silver screen, a major sex symbol and an obsessed motorhead with a staggering collection of sports cars, four-wheelers and of course– bikes. So when McQueen dropped his trusty Triumph in favor of the new <a href="http://www.mcqueenonline.com/lostmotorcyclediscovered.htm">Husqvarna 400 Cross</a> – overnight Husky became the only off-road bike that seemed to matter. The Husky also got a starring role alongside Steve McQueen (as well as riding legends <a href="http://www.motorcyclemuseum.org/halloffame/hofbiopage.asp?id=7">Mert Lawwill</a> and <a href="http://www.motorcyclemuseum.org/halloffame/hofbiopage.asp?id=91">Malcolm Smith</a>) in Director Bruce Brown’s classic– ”On Any Sunday”.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.motorcyclemuseum.org/halloffame/hofbiopage.asp?id=135">Bruce Brown</a> recounts working with McQueen and the significant impact the film had–</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I remember going to Ascot Park and watching the dirt track races,” Brown said. “I met a few of the racers and was struck by how approachable and how nice most of these guys were. It wasn’t at all like the image a lot of people had about motorcycle riders in those days. I just thought it would be neat to do a movie about motorcycle racing and the people involved.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Even though Brown already had a successful movie to his credit, he found that financing a film on motorcycling wasn’t going to be easy.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu3Gex-S_I/AAAAAAAAAj8/kVs1wfjFdp4/s1600-h/husky400_600-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 359px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu3Gex-S_I/AAAAAAAAAj8/kVs1wfjFdp4/s800/husky400_600-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398609900303436786" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The Husqvarna 400 Cross-- The bike Steve McQueen made an overnight legend, and highly collectible.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">“I talked to a few folks and knew that <a href="http://www.motorcyclemuseum.org/halloffame/hofbiopage.asp?id=227">Steve McQueen</a> was a rider,” Brown said. “Even though I’d never met him, I set up a meeting to talk about doing ‘On Any Sunday.’ We talked about the concept of the film, which he really liked. Then he asked what I wanted him to do in the film. I told him I wanted him to finance it. He laughed and told me he acted in films, he didn’t finance them. I then jokingly told him, ‘Alright, then, you can’t be in the movie.’</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“The next day after the meeting, I got a call and it was McQueen. He told me to go ahead and get the ball rolling with movie — he’d back it.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu3A4LMEbI/AAAAAAAAAj0/cpgtQ192NE0/s1600-h/196323-1020-a1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 506px; height: 800px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu3A4LMEbI/AAAAAAAAAj0/cpgtQ192NE0/s800/196323-1020-a1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398609804040868274" /></a><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At one point, Brown found a perfect location for a sunset beach riding shot — Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Base.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I figured there would be no way to get approval to film on the Marine base,” Brown recalls. “Steve McQueen said he’d see what he could find out. The next day he called and told to contact some General and the next thing you know we are shooting the beach sequences. It was pretty amazing the doors he was able to open.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“On Any Sunday” seemed to strike a chord with youngsters. Kids would hide in movie theater bathrooms between showings so they could watch the film two or three times in one day. Thousands of kids across the country started saving money from their paper routes and summer jobs to buy a minibike after being inspired by the movie.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu1diTwsKI/AAAAAAAAAjs/-KZc8t0_bzg/s1600-h/1970husky250gpsmith-r_6001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 362px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu1diTwsKI/AAAAAAAAAjs/-KZc8t0_bzg/s800/1970husky250gpsmith-r_6001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398608097364193442" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">1970 Husqvarna 250 eight-speed, just like the one ridden by Malcolm Smith in”On Any Sunday”. “The Husky 250 eight-speed was just a really easy bike to ride,” Smith recalls. “It wasn’t super powerful, but on the fast roads of Elsinore, I could go over 100 mph. And because of the eight-speed gearbox, I could easily negotiate the tight stuff.”</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I think many people changed their minds about motorcyclists after watching the movie,” Brown said. “One particularly funny story was told by Mert Lawwill. Being a motorcycle racer he was sort of considered the Black Sheep of the family. The old patriarch of the family, Lawwill’s grandmother-in-law, went to see the movie and in the middle of one of the scenes featuring Lawwill she stood up and shouted, ‘That’s my grandson!’ Suddenly he was the big hero of the family.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu1SjC_D9I/AAAAAAAAAjk/HZ4NPCUvNn0/s1600-h/MSTomFritzPhoto.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 488px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu1SjC_D9I/AAAAAAAAAjk/HZ4NPCUvNn0/s800/MSTomFritzPhoto.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398607908583706578" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Malcolm Smith flat-out gettin’ after it, Husqvarna style.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu1ImomhiI/AAAAAAAAAjc/19szxzXX5og/s1600-h/1mcq.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 750px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu1ImomhiI/AAAAAAAAAjc/19szxzXX5og/s800/1mcq.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398607737748096546" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Steve McQueen on his Husqvarna 1971 400cc Cross. This is the bike that Steve rode on screen -- "On Any Sunday".</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu03SI2P0I/AAAAAAAAAjU/8MTY3EOpyZc/s1600-h/huskyaction_600.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 710px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu03SI2P0I/AAAAAAAAAjU/8MTY3EOpyZc/s800/huskyaction_600.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398607440188424002" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Steve McQueen romping on his Husqvarna 400 Cross –Sports Illustrated, 1971.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu0r_sY1oI/AAAAAAAAAjM/nOOCe1q-lFg/s1600-h/vintageMS_Husky.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu0r_sY1oI/AAAAAAAAAjM/nOOCe1q-lFg/s800/vintageMS_Husky.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398607246258656898" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The legendary motorcyclist and Husqvarna rider– Malcolm Smith.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu0TQdUwhI/AAAAAAAAAjE/F-g9K1WCuRs/s1600-h/xlch-02.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 581px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Suu0TQdUwhI/AAAAAAAAAjE/F-g9K1WCuRs/s800/xlch-02.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398606821262148114" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wrenchmonkees.blogspot.com/">Wrenchmonkees’</a> insane flat track inspired Harley Davidson Sportster with an old Husqvarna tank.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-56036471100931993062009-10-21T19:02:00.000-07:002010-01-02T07:10:48.348-08:00"REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE" CURSE |THE CURIOUS CAST OF CHARACTERS AND TRAGIC DEATHS BEHIND THE 1955 FILM<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_EvyrQBFI/AAAAAAAAAi8/zm5UCVSM5Vk/s1600-h/0000302236-050.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 447px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_EvyrQBFI/AAAAAAAAAi8/zm5UCVSM5Vk/s800/0000302236-050.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395247203949216850" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">James Dean as Jim Stark in "Rebel Without a Cause"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The 1950s were a very cool time, I only wish I could have experienced them for myself. It is a time in American pop culture that is highly idealized for it’s music, fashion, style and culture. Everyone looked incredible, and seemed so squeaky clean– but you just knew there had to be much more going on behind the scenes. Rebel Without a Cause is one of the most iconic films from that era, and the stories behind the making of the James Dean classic are as incredible as the movie itself. And truth be told, Dean was not the only rebel on the set. Nicholas Ray, Dennis Hopper, Nick Adams and Natalie Wood definitely held there own. There is a great article from the <a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2005/03/rebel200503?currentPage=1">Vanity Fair</a> archives that is definitely required reading if you’re a fan of the film. They get into some of the details about the Rebel wardrobe and off-screen shenanigans that I have excerpted and added to–</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_EekaoV_I/AAAAAAAAAi0/ykHATSsSdAo/s1600-h/2739487230_da5ac03905_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 473px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_EekaoV_I/AAAAAAAAAi0/ykHATSsSdAo/s800/2739487230_da5ac03905_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395246908063635442" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Natalie Wood, James Dean, and Nick Ray</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Striving for authenticity in every detail, Ray turned his attention to the high-school gang members who surround and threaten Jim Stark. One of the actors he interviewed was Frank Mazzola, the leader of a real gang called the Athenians. Mazzola had been weeded out by the casting director but muscled his way in to see Ray anyway. “They thought that because I was in a gang, I might create problems on the set. I came out of the Depression, really,” Mazzola explains in a West Hollywood restaurant, his hair, still jet black, tied back in a ponytail. “We didn’t have any pop culture. The guys that we loved flew, like my uncle, a pilot in the Second World War. Everybody I knew wanted to grow up and fly P-38s.… And so these clubs started forming—ours was called the Athenians. We defended our turf. You’d probably get in two or three fights a night just defending Hollywood. It was like a sport.”</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_ERs-8oaI/AAAAAAAAAis/vhW44jMHO30/s1600-h/3188982106_6efe8b2130_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 762px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_ERs-8oaI/AAAAAAAAAis/vhW44jMHO30/s800/3188982106_6efe8b2130_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395246687025144226" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">James Dean and Natalie Wood on the set of "Rebel Without a Cause"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ray not only cast Mazzola, he gave him an office on the Warner lot, from which he could serve as technical adviser on gang behavior. Ray instructed him to hang out with Dean and take him to meetings of the Athenians. “I want you to get us the cars, tell us what kind of clothes we should be wearing,” Ray told him. Mazzola had the wardrobe department buy the gang’s clothes at Matson’s, on Hollywood Boulevard, where the Athenians bought their club jackets. The wardrobe department then soiled and laundered more than 400 pairs of Levi 501s for the cast. –I would love to get my hands on those old selvedge jeans.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_EC0VaiCI/AAAAAAAAAik/vv6C5Tzwa28/s1600-h/b1beaf49cfea0c86e71fc4d7983af92d.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 600px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_EC0VaiCI/AAAAAAAAAik/vv6C5Tzwa28/s800/b1beaf49cfea0c86e71fc4d7983af92d.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395246431300388898" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The iconic Baracuta jacket is often credited as the famous red jacket in Rebel Without a Cause -- but some say it was a McGregor or fabricated by the film’s costume designer Moss Mabry, as he himself claims. There are accounts from staffers that it was bought at Matson’s men’s store for use in the 1955 film, but costume designer Moss Mabry has insisted all along that he made three of the jackets from a bolt of red nylon, and painstakingly worked on the size of the collar and the placement of the pockets. “Even though the jacket looked simple,” Mabry said, “it wasn’t.” Mabry even designed a special bra for Natalie Wood for the film Rebel, which became known as the “Natalie Wood bra,” though he declined to reveal the secret of its design.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_DzCq9MEI/AAAAAAAAAic/bGAz1jPWW2s/s1600-h/147014284_6c64f5fb7e_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 406px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_DzCq9MEI/AAAAAAAAAic/bGAz1jPWW2s/s800/147014284_6c64f5fb7e_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395246160270929986" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Dennis Hopper and Nick Ray many years after "Rebel Without a Cause"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Natalie Wood, who was only 16 at the time, soon became involved with director Nicholas Ray. Wood’s affair with Ray awakened her sexuality—and emboldened her to initiate another love affair, this one with Dennis Hopper, who had been cast as Goon. “I was astonished,” Hopper later said. “I came from a very conventional, middle-class family in San Diego … and this was the 1950s, when girls who’d turned sixteen only a few months earlier just didn’t do things like that.” The sexually charged situation created ill will between Ray and Hopper. Maria Gurdin, having found out about both affairs, complained to Warner Bros. that Hopper was involved with her daughter; ever ambitious for Natalie, she didn’t mention that Ray was as well. “I was furious with [Nick Ray],” Hopper said about the incident. “The studio came down on me, and he came out of it as pure as snow.” The two ran into each other years later at a Grateful Dead concert and buried the hatchet. Hopper went as far as to help the grizzled Ray get back on his feet, and even helped him land a job teaching film students at Binghamton University. Nicholas Ray is a fascinating character and some of the details of his life are pretty heavy stuff– read the Vanity Fair article and find out more.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_DepwjOEI/AAAAAAAAAiU/R8TFyQ6FJmc/s1600-h/2739487608_a78ebddeb2_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 750px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_DepwjOEI/AAAAAAAAAiU/R8TFyQ6FJmc/s800/2739487608_a78ebddeb2_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395245809986123842" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">James Dean and Sal Mineo</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sal Mineo—so affecting as the essentially fatherless outcast Plato—later commented that he had portrayed the first gay teenager on film. There are little clues: the photograph of Alan Ladd taped to his locker door, his longing looks at Jim Stark, his disguised declaration of love in the abandoned mansion. Ray was aware of Dean’s bisexuality and encouraged the actor to use it in certain scenes. Dean instructed Mineo, “Look at me the way I look at Natalie,” for their intimate scene in the Getty mansion. It had to be subtle. A Production Code officer had written in a memo to Jack L. Warner on March 22, “It is of course vital that there be no inference of a questionable or homosexual relationship between Plato and Jim.” In real life Mineo was gay, and it is even rumored that he and Ray (who was bisexual) also had a tryst while filming Rebel. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_C-g8V8AI/AAAAAAAAAiM/XBsZ7fzhtvo/s1600-h/42-15424322.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 477px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/St_C-g8V8AI/AAAAAAAAAiM/XBsZ7fzhtvo/s800/42-15424322.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395245257863852034" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Dennis Hopper and James Dean in "Rebel Without a Cause"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The real life drama behind "Rebel Without a Cause" is still a riddle wrapped in mystery. James Dean's fatal car crash one month before the film's release resulted in the beginning of the "Rebel death curse" theories, which were further fueled when Natalie Wood, Sal Mineo and Nick Adams also suffered eerie, premature deaths. There's still plenty of talk and speculation about who actually slept with whom -- and the controversy that clouds the issue of who was the true voice behind "Rebel Without a Cause" — Nicholas Ray or James Dean?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-65029112397163631462009-10-18T08:37:00.001-07:002009-10-18T10:49:18.814-07:00ART ICON JACKSON POLLOCK | THE LEGENDARY AND MISUNDERSTOOD PAINTER ALSO KNOWN AS "JACK THE DRIPPER"<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttGQRB-mPI/AAAAAAAAAh4/Slv_h9L2BrA/s1600-h/b19dbd973f4e9241_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 534px; height: 800px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttGQRB-mPI/AAAAAAAAAh4/Slv_h9L2BrA/s800/b19dbd973f4e9241_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393982223969851634" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Painter Jackson Pollock (seated R) sitting on the steps of painter Thomas Hart Benton's summer home w. Rita Benton (sitting, in white hat) and author Coburn Gilman (standing). Martha's Vineyard, ca. 1937.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><div style="text-align: justify;">THE ORIGINAL POST ON <a href="http://theselvedgeyard.wordpress.com/2009/01/05/jackson-pollock-jack-the-dripper/">JACKSON POLLOCK</a>, DONE WITHIN THE FIRST WEEK OF THESELVEDGEYARD's INCEPTION, CONTINUES TO BE ONE OF TSY's TOP POSTS EVER. I THINK IT SPEAKS VOLUMES ABOUT POLLOCK'S RELEVANCE, TIMELESSNESS, AND MYSTIQUE. OBVIOUSLY THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT THE MAN AND HIS LEGENDARY WORK THAT KEEPS PEOPLE COMING BACK DAY AFTER DAY, YEARS AFTER HIS PASSING.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttFsOQZ--I/AAAAAAAAAhw/7rYJHtucXpQ/s1600-h/c-31.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 629px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttFsOQZ--I/AAAAAAAAAhw/7rYJHtucXpQ/s800/c-31.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393981604749769698" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Artist Jackson Pollock painting in his Springs, NY studio, ca. 1949.</div></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">ART ICON JACKSON POLLOCK WAS A MAJOR FORCE IN THE ABSTRACT EXPRESSIONISM MOVEMENT, AND KNOWN THROUGHOUT THE ART WORLD AS A DARK AND MOODY MAVERICK. HE WAS UNDENIABLY AN OBSESSED AND INNOVATIVE GENIUS, AND MUCH MORE. POLLOCK'S TECHNIQUE HAS BEEN CAREFULLY STUDIED OVER THE YEARS, AND IT'S THOUGHT BY MANY THAT SOME OF HIS WORKS CONTAIN PROPERTIES SPECIFIC TO MATHEMATIC FRACTALS, AND THAT THE WORKS AS A WHOLE BECOME MORE FRACTAL-LIKE CHRONOLOGICALLY. SOME EVEN GO SO FAR AS TO SPECULATE THAT POLLOCK MAY HAVE BEEN AWARE OF THE NATURE OF CHAOTIC MOTION, AND THROUGH HIS PAINTINGS WAS CREATING WHAT HE PERCEIVED AS PERFECT REPRESENTATIONS OF MATHEMATICAL CHAOS -- AND ALL THIS MORE THAN 10 YEARS BEFORE CHAOS THEORY WAS DISCOVERED. SO I ASK YOU -- IS IT ARTISTIC INSPIRATION, MATHEMATICAL GENIUS, RANDOM DRIPPINGS, OR ALL OF THE ABOVE?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttFWwbBnDI/AAAAAAAAAho/cYtSTF16_I8/s1600-h/537824867_930119d160_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttFWwbBnDI/AAAAAAAAAho/cYtSTF16_I8/s800/537824867_930119d160_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393981235963993138" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Jackson Pollock's "One: Number 31", painted 1950.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CrVE-WQBcYQ">CLICK HERE</a> TO SEE AN AMAZING OLD FILM ON THE ARTIST, STARRING AND NARRATED BY NONE OTHER THAN JACKSON POLLOCK HIMSELF. WATCHING THE FILM, IT STRUCK ME THROUGH HIS STIFF VOICE AND PHRASING THAT THIS WAS DEFINITELY A SOCIALLY AWKWARD MAN, WHO FELT MORE COMFORTABLE IN HIS ART THAN AROUND PEOPLE. ALL THE TALES AND ACCOUNTS THAT SURROUND HIS LIFE, AND THE AMAZING PORTRAYAL IN FILM BY ED HARRIS, DEFINITELY SUPPORT THIS AS WELL.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttFImYSzfI/AAAAAAAAAhg/5wGf-UrpvRw/s1600-h/jacksonpollock.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 477px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttFImYSzfI/AAAAAAAAAhg/5wGf-UrpvRw/s800/jacksonpollock.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393980992750013938" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Painter Jackson Pollock, master of chaos, in his Springs, NY studio.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">SADLY IN 1955, THE WORLD LOST A LEGEND. AFTER A LONG AND TUMULTUOUS STRUGGLE WITH ALCOHOLISM, EVER DEEPENED BY THE PRESSURES OF FAME AND HIS AUDIENCE'S EXPECTATIONS, POLLOCK CRASHED HIS CAR LESS THAN A MILE FROM HIS EAST HAMPTON HOME AND WAS KILLED. HIS INFLUENCE LIVES ON TODAY IN ANOTHER WAY, AS HE WAS NOT JUST A SOURCE OF INSPIRATION FOR PAINTERS, ARTISTS AND MUSICIANS WHO EMULATE HIS STYLE -- BUT ALSO THE COUNTLESS FASHION DESIGNERS AND VINTAGE CLOTHING NUTS WHO FOR YEARS HAVE CAREFULLY STUDIED OLD PHOTOS OF POLLOCK. THEY SCRUTINIZE EVERY DETAIL OF HIS WORN & SPLATTERED DENIM AND WORKWEAR -- AN INSPIRATION AND LEGACY THAT EVEN JACKSON POLLOCK HIMSELF CERTAINLY NEVER IMAGINED HE'D HAVE.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttE-iM_qWI/AAAAAAAAAhY/PVit7Ljxz-0/s1600-h/arnold_newman_jackson_pollock_long_island_1949_photo_arnold_newman_arnold_newman_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 741px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttE-iM_qWI/AAAAAAAAAhY/PVit7Ljxz-0/s800/arnold_newman_jackson_pollock_long_island_1949_photo_arnold_newman_arnold_newman_.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393980819830188386" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Painter Jackson Pollock, also a huge inspiration to men's workwear designers, in his Springs, East Hampton, NY studio.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttE30JtG1I/AAAAAAAAAhQ/BDChJTqFMiU/s1600-h/c-30.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttE30JtG1I/AAAAAAAAAhQ/BDChJTqFMiU/s800/c-30.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393980704389143378" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Jackson Pollock in his Springs, NY painting studio, ca. 1949.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttD6wbQI5I/AAAAAAAAAhI/nblA7Hxpw_M/s1600-h/b2662df71cb2d32d_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 600px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttD6wbQI5I/AAAAAAAAAhI/nblA7Hxpw_M/s800/b2662df71cb2d32d_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393979655416980370" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Jackson Pollock with a Long Island neighbor, amateur artist Mary Monteverdi, looking over her works, ca. 1949.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttDrjZSTXI/AAAAAAAAAhA/i87kvl9pEFo/s1600-h/f7eda0a54e9b7f38_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 612px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttDrjZSTXI/AAAAAAAAAhA/i87kvl9pEFo/s800/f7eda0a54e9b7f38_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393979394221034866" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Painter Jackson Pollock, and wife Lee Krasner, talking with a guest at their East Hampton home, ca. 1949.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttDhP8lF-I/AAAAAAAAAg4/iVMRG2_CUlA/s1600-h/43f150361a4cf02f_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 774px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SttDhP8lF-I/AAAAAAAAAg4/iVMRG2_CUlA/s800/43f150361a4cf02f_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393979217201666018" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Husband & wife artists Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner walking outside on Long Island with their dog, ca. 1949.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Sts5Pg_fW4I/AAAAAAAAAgY/AZ8GkskZGgg/s1600-h/d467d4177b02f80b_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 723px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Sts5Pg_fW4I/AAAAAAAAAgY/AZ8GkskZGgg/s800/d467d4177b02f80b_large.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393967917423352706" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Group portrait of American Abstract Expressionists, "The Irascibles." From left, rear: Willem de Kooning, Adolph Gottleib, Ad Reinhardt, Hedda Sterne;(next row) Richard Pousette-Dart, William Baziotes, Jimmy Ernst (w. bow tie), Jackson Pollock (in striped jacket), James Brooks, Clyfford Still (leaning on knee), Robert Motherwell, Bradley Walker Tomlin; (in foreground) Theodoros Stamos (on bench), Barnett Newman (on stool), Mark Rothko (with glasses), NY, NY, ca. 1950.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-43496995284990503882009-10-11T18:57:00.000-07:002009-10-11T20:01:54.287-07:00VINTAGE SPORTS ILLUSTRATED ca. 1966 | STEVE McQUEEN REVIEWS THE HOTTEST NEW GT's<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I STILL GET GOOSE PIMPLES </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">BY STEVE McQUEEN WITH KEN RUDEEN</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKOKRcnJBI/AAAAAAAAAfw/au3E5oU9vEo/s1600-h/si66page1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 582px; height: 800px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKOKRcnJBI/AAAAAAAAAfw/au3E5oU9vEo/s800/si66page1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391528011049149458" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>A STAR AMONG FAST FRIENDS</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">STEVE McQUEEN IS SOMEWHAT BETTER KNOWN AS A MOVIE ACTOR ("THE GREAT ESCAPE," "NEVADA SMITH") THAN AS A DRIVER OF FAST CARS. BUT AS HE DEMONSTRATES BELOW, CORNERING SMARTLY IN THE NEW JAGUAR 2+2, AND AS HE SAYS IN THE STORY BEGINNING ON PAGE 39, HE "AIN'T A BAD DRIVER, EITHER." FORMERLY A SPORTS CAR RACER OF PROMISE, McQUEEN WAS ORDERED OFF THE TRACKS BY HIS STUDIO, ON THE THEORY HIS BEAUTIFULLY BATTERED FACE NEEDS NO FURTHER CORRUGATIONS. HE HAS NOT LOST HIS ENTHUSIASM FOR SWIFT MOTORING, HOWEVER, AND WHEN SPORTS ILLUSTRATED ASKED HIM TO DRIVE EIGHT OF THE WORLD'S MOST DISTINGUISHED GRAND TOURING CARS ON THE RACE COURSE AT RIVERSIDE, CALIF., HE WAS, AS THEY SAY, FLAT OUT. KEEP READING FOR PICTURES OF STEVE IN A REAL-LIFE ROLE, AND FOR HIS ANALYSIS OF THE STATE OF THE GRAND TOURING ART IN THIS MIDSUMMER 1966.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKOCsgayyI/AAAAAAAAAfo/NN9HN5-iQAA/s1600-h/si66page2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 592px; height: 800px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKOCsgayyI/AAAAAAAAAfo/NN9HN5-iQAA/s800/si66page2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391527880873921314" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>SIZING UP THE NEW JAGUAR 2+2, DRIVER McQUEEN FOUND IT "VERY SMOOTH DOWN THE BACK STRAIGHT AT 110 MPH," YET STILL SUITABLE FOR TRIPS WITH THE FAMILY. MRS. McQUEEN, HE REPORTED, WAS "KIND OF KEEN ON IT."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKN8Y5VlvI/AAAAAAAAAfg/IbXhLxxdYQw/s1600-h/si66page3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKN8Y5VlvI/AAAAAAAAAfg/IbXhLxxdYQw/s800/si66page3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391527772530513650" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">THE CORVETTE STING RAY (ABOVE) IMPRESSED McQUEEN -- AND SURPRISED HIM A LITTLE -- WITH ITS POWER, FINE HANDLING AND ACCURATE STEERING. TOP MODEL ($5,538) HAS A BIG 427-INCH V-8 ENGINE AND HEAVY DUTY SUSPENSION.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">THE FERRARI 275 GTS WITH A 3.3-LITER V-12 ENGINE, REAR-MOUNTED FIVE SPEED GEARBOX AND PININFARINA COACHWORK DREW A WORSHIPFUL "WOW!" FROM STEVE, WHO REGARDS FERRARI AS A SUPREME ENGINEER. PRICE: $14,500.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKN2fBcJAI/AAAAAAAAAfY/SfAea0n4tR8/s1600-h/si66page4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 592px; height: 800px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKN2fBcJAI/AAAAAAAAAfY/SfAea0n4tR8/s800/si66page4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391527671095895042" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">THE ALFA ROMEO SPIDER (ABOVE), THE LATEST MODEL FROM SMALL, DISTINGUISHED MILAN WORKS, CORNERED BRILLIANTLY, AND HAD SUPERIOR BRAKES. McQUEEN ALSO ADMIRED ITS LOOKS, BUT WOULD HAVE LIKED MORE POWER IN A $4,000 CAR.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">THE PORSCHE 911 DELIGHTED McQUEEN WITH PREDICTABLE HANDLING IN FURIOUS CORNERING, PROVING THAT PORSCHE HAS SOLVED THE OVERSTEER PROBLEMS STEVE REMEMBERED FROM HIS RACING DAYS. THIS REAR-ENGINED 6 COSTS: $6,450.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKNwV9k8OI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/N6yWyseBhtU/s1600-h/si66page5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 590px; height: 800px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKNwV9k8OI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/N6yWyseBhtU/s800/si66page5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391527565584560354" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">THE ASTON MARTIN DB6 (ABOVE), THE MOST EXPENSIVE MODEL TESTED ($15,400), STRUCK McQUEEN AS A "GENTLEMAN'S CAR" IN ITS CLEAN DESIGN, LUXURIOUS APPOINTMENTS, AND VIRILE PERFORMANCE, BUT FIFTH GEAR WAS DISAPPOINTING.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">THE SHELBY COBRA 427 WAS "A REAL STOPLIGHT BANDIT" ON ACCELERATION, ATTESTING TO THE STRENGTH OF ITS 7-LITER PUSHROD V-8. McQUEEN WAS LESS PLEASED WITH ITS HANDLING, AND FELT THE SEAT BELT POSITIONING SHOULD BE IMPROVED. PRICE: $7,495.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKNr62aDNI/AAAAAAAAAfI/1jC6HFf79mM/s1600-h/si66page6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKNr62aDNI/AAAAAAAAAfI/1jC6HFf79mM/s800/si66page6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391527489587252434" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKNlE4RNzI/AAAAAAAAAfA/xwX3bkUXCO0/s1600-h/si66page7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 582px; height: 800px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKNlE4RNzI/AAAAAAAAAfA/xwX3bkUXCO0/s800/si66page7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391527372020332338" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">THE MERCEDES 230SL WAS HANDSOME AND HANDLED WELL. "I DROVE IT HARD AND GOT IT OUT OF SHAPE A BIT," McQUEEN NOTED, "AND IT BEHAVED VERY NICELY, NEVER TRIED TO BITE ME." THE MERCEDES AUTOMATIC TRANSMISSION WAS THE BEST FROM EUROPE HE HAD SEEN, "VERY SUITABLE FOR PEOPLE WHO DO NOT LIKE TO SHIFT."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKNfbz60jI/AAAAAAAAAe4/hb67Vzd9xXg/s1600-h/si66page8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 594px; height: 800px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKNfbz60jI/AAAAAAAAAe4/hb67Vzd9xXg/s800/si66page8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391527275096887858" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKNYS_nI6I/AAAAAAAAAew/zbdY4AazWwA/s1600-h/si66page9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 590px; height: 800px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StKNYS_nI6I/AAAAAAAAAew/zbdY4AazWwA/s800/si66page9.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391527152470926242" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.mcqueenonline.com/sportsillustrated66.htm">VIA STEVE McQUEEN ONLINE</a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-43118346070960688392009-10-10T14:24:00.000-07:002009-10-10T15:37:05.800-07:00ANITA PALLENBERG | THE ROLLING STONES BOHEMIAN STYLE MUSE AND SENSUAL SOULMATE<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StECEa7jdpI/AAAAAAAAAeo/4g3CrKysJyI/s1600-h/pallenberg-15.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 567px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StECEa7jdpI/AAAAAAAAAeo/4g3CrKysJyI/s800/pallenberg-15.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391092503911036562" /></a><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://theselvedgeyard.wordpress.com/2009/08/13/keith-richards-gram-parsons-1971-summer-in-exile-villa-nellcote/">Anita Pallenberg</a> entered The Rolling Stones’ lives when in 1965 a friend took her to Munich for one of their concerts, and they worked their way backstage. Anita offered The Stones some hash, but they said they couldn’t smoke before a concert– though Brian Jones was ‘kind enough’ to invite her to his hotel room afterwards. They stayed together for two years but he was increasingly abusive, drunk and paranoid. On holiday in Morocco in 1967, Keith saw Brian beating Anita up and grabbed her, threw her in his car and took her back to England. She from then on lived with Keith Richards.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEB-GB1E6I/AAAAAAAAAeg/MErccoeKMc4/s1600-h/pallenberg-6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 459px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEB-GB1E6I/AAAAAAAAAeg/MErccoeKMc4/s800/pallenberg-6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391092395220997026" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">Life with the Stones was fun at the beginning, Pallenberg says, because they were always playing music– but soured once they became a huge money-making machine. She says she didn’t even see them that much, “because at that time no girls were allowed in the studio when they were recording. You weren’t allowed even to ring. I did other things, I didn’t sit at home.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What she did do– a few films, lots of drugs and tons of screwing around…</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEB2Jk33YI/AAAAAAAAAeY/_wb3TO3Pjh8/s1600-h/pallenberg-5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 630px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEB2Jk33YI/AAAAAAAAAeY/_wb3TO3Pjh8/s800/pallenberg-5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391092258734333314" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Sexy, insatiable Anita Pallenberg with son Marlon Richards.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEBul9hwlI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/DlQ1DT1hU5c/s1600-h/pallenberg-2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 479px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEBul9hwlI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/DlQ1DT1hU5c/s800/pallenberg-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391092128914981458" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Author A. E. Hotchner has this to say about Pallenberg’s influence on the development and presentation of The Rolling Stones from the late 1960s and through the 1970s– She played an unusual role in the male-dominated world of rock music in the late 1960s, acting as much more than just a groupie or partner of a band member. Mick Jagger apparently respected her opinion enough that tracks on Beggars Banquet were remixed when Pallenberg criticised them. In the 2002 compilation release of Forty Licks, Pallenberg is credited as singing background vocals on Sympathy for the Devil.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEBmXwvVKI/AAAAAAAAAeI/1lgKqgdmxLY/s1600-h/pallenberg-1a.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 435px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEBmXwvVKI/AAAAAAAAAeI/1lgKqgdmxLY/s800/pallenberg-1a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391091987664295074" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Throughout the decade that she was Richards’ companion in vice, her interest in the occult was a featured style component that marked The Stones concerts and public presentation. Tony Sanchez’s account of his time as Richards’ bodyguard and drug dealer mentions Pallenberg’s strange spiritual practices– ”She was obsessed with black magic and began to carry a string of garlic with her everywhere — even to bed—to ward off vampires. She also had a strange mysterious old shaker for holy water which she used for some of her rituals. Her ceremonies became increasingly secret, and she warned me never to interrupt her when she was working on a spell.”</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEBC_u_OgI/AAAAAAAAAeA/c1QVex6ZRMo/s1600-h/Anita20Mick20Keith202620Marlon20-20.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 485px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEBC_u_OgI/AAAAAAAAAeA/c1QVex6ZRMo/s800/Anita20Mick20Keith202620Marlon20-20.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391091379919075842" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anita Pallenberg more than shared Richards’ drug addiction and was charged in the 1977 Toronto heroin arrest that almost destroyed The Rolling Stones. A warrant for her arrest was the reason that police came to search Richards and Pallenberg’s hotel rooms; she pled guilty to marijuana possession and was fined, several weeks after Richards’ headline-grabbing arrest. Richards and Pallenberg separated on the advice of Richards’ lawyers, who believed that if they stayed together, they would end up in more serious trouble. Richards stated that he still loved Anita and saw her as much as he ever did, despite his relationship with his future wife Patti Hansen. In a 1985 Rolling Stone interview, Mick Jagger claimed that Pallenberg “nearly killed me“, when he was asked whether The Rolling Stones had any responsibility for the personal drug addictions of people close to the band.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEA6mWWG7I/AAAAAAAAAd4/of_nVTbF6Zo/s1600-h/anita+pallenberg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 600px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEA6mWWG7I/AAAAAAAAAd4/of_nVTbF6Zo/s800/anita+pallenberg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391091235665877938" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There were persisting rumors that Anita Pallenburg also had a brief affair with Keith Richards’ band-mate Mick Jagger while the two worked together during the filming of Performance, although Pallenberg denies this. Personally, I wouldn’t put it past either of them, if you know what I mean. They both were easy pickin’ back then .</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEAw_fkCbI/AAAAAAAAAdw/HwA0QGXTDQo/s1600-h/a0tt751.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 500px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StEAw_fkCbI/AAAAAAAAAdw/HwA0QGXTDQo/s800/a0tt751.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391091070616734130" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Brian Jones and Anita Pallenberg BK-- <i>Before Keith.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StD-B9HGNXI/AAAAAAAAAdo/u6e8myuGCpA/s1600-h/3160912130_e117d0278c_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 485px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StD-B9HGNXI/AAAAAAAAAdo/u6e8myuGCpA/s800/3160912130_e117d0278c_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391088063500137842" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Wild and insatiable Anita Pallenberg proved to be a handful, even for Keith Richards.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StD9zD9w4rI/AAAAAAAAAdg/6YOf3wQBJnQ/s1600-h/2477342359_764e57b39e_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StD9zD9w4rI/AAAAAAAAAdg/6YOf3wQBJnQ/s800/2477342359_764e57b39e_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391087807642002098" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Anita Pallenberg's personal style was said to rub off on The Stones and influenced the bands look. I kind of look at her as an early, "dirty" version of Tory Burch.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StD9iwzayeI/AAAAAAAAAdY/3JdGVm8kOcI/s1600-h/484613690_54744d47b2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 387px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StD9iwzayeI/AAAAAAAAAdY/3JdGVm8kOcI/s800/484613690_54744d47b2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391087527620430306" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Often cited as The Rolling Stones' style muse-- Anita Pallenberg is seen here showing the boys how 1970s Bohemian chic is done.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-79573008032022426132009-10-10T10:56:00.000-07:002009-10-10T12:00:31.947-07:00THE TSY FASHION FLASHBACK | AMERICAN MENSWEAR DESIGNER ICONS<div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>The Coty (American Fashion Critics’) Awards</i> first officially acknowledged excellence in menswear design back in 1970, with the honor going to none other than <a href="http://theselvedgeyard.wordpress.com/2009/03/26/ralph-lauren-wwd-2002-retrospective/">Ralph Lauren</a>. It signaled a new designer age in American menswear. True men’s fashion icons emerged and soon became household names <i>– Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein, Alexander Julian —</i> all went on to become institutions that inspire, influence, and in the case of Ralph, still strongly lead to this day. It’s a time in menswear that I’m unapologetically nostalgic over, having largely missed it– but I’ve been fortunate enough to work with a few legends of that golden age, and never miss an opportunity to mine them for all the nuggets I can get.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDSmN3OBNI/AAAAAAAAAdA/m3DaLDN1f3w/s1600-h/CN00104916.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 398px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDSmN3OBNI/AAAAAAAAAdA/m3DaLDN1f3w/s800/CN00104916.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391040307960612050" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>American fashion icon Ralph Lauren working in his office --1971.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Back in the early 70s, <i><a href="http://42ndblackwatch1881.wordpress.com/2009/01/05/tartan-romancing-the-plaid/">Jeffrey Banks</a></i> (now a legendary fashion designer in his own right) was hand-plucked from <i>Britches</i> of Georgetown by Ralph Lauren personally, and came to work for him as a part-time design assistant. Part-time because Jeffrey was still in high school. Jeffrey shared a story with me of when he had to get a shipment of hot-selling shirts over to Bloomies quick– Ralph’s orders. Time was tight, and Jeffrey was getting the runaround from receiving department at the store– so he decides to cast store policy aside and brazenly walked through the front doors of Bloomingdale’s 59th Street, both arms bursting with shirts for the Polo shop, much to the chagrin (read: screams) of the operations staff at the store. Here are your shirts, have a great weekend. Love it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sometimes rules are for schmucks and you simply have to take matters into your own hands. Ralph certainly didn’t get where his is today by politely following the rules, he led. See, when you work for Ralph, you quickly realize that you’re a part of something much bigger than yourself, and there’s this incredible power of the brand behind you moving mountains out of your way. It’s a pretty awesome thing really.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDSfqyGoSI/AAAAAAAAAc4/Ee2kc9-YSi0/s1600-h/CN00104917.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 410px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDSfqyGoSI/AAAAAAAAAc4/Ee2kc9-YSi0/s800/CN00104917.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391040195464700194" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Ralph Lauren checking out the Polo boutique at Bloomingdale's --1971</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ralph launched <i>Polo Ralph Lauren</i> back in 1967 (some say it was actually ‘68) with $50,000 loaned to him by<i> Norman Hilton</i> (another menswear icon, and father of <i>Nick Hilton</i>) he set out to put his mark on neckwear. During his time working for the tie manufacturer <i>A.Rivetz & Co.</i>, Ralph became obsessed with bringing back the beautiful wide neckties oft worn by his boyhood matinee idols– and this was the late 60s, when the skinny tie was the established code. On top of it all, Ralph’s was seeking to fetch retail prices well above where the rest of the neckwear market was. He first met with <i>Bloomingdale’s</i>, who flatly refused to buy the line without considerable compromises on Ralph’s part– like changing the label and narrowing the ties considerably. Ralph wasn’t interested in selling out, so he simply walked away. According to an old gent I met many years ago named Jerry Sudak who grew up with Ralph in the Bronx and was a longtime exec at <i>Saks 5th Avenue</i>, he was able to get Ralph in the door at <i>Saks</i> to present the neckwear line and they bought into the vision. It was a big success, <i>Bloomingdale’s</i> also crawled back to Ralph to buy the line, and Ralph was well on his way to stardom.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDR0PD0m1I/AAAAAAAAAcw/pwXiQ9IP4LI/s1600-h/42-21004789.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 480px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDR0PD0m1I/AAAAAAAAAcw/pwXiQ9IP4LI/s800/42-21004789.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391039449288448850" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Designer Calvin Klein-- looking very clean, uncluttered and contemporary</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Also hailing from the Bronx was Calvin Klein, seen above before the much-talked-about plastic surgeries that gave him his finely chiseled features. Calvin of course started a huge designer jean craze in the 1970s with the famous Brooke Shields “Nothing comes between me and my Calvins” ad campaign. Calvin’s clean, modern aesthetic was a welcome juxtaposition to Ralph’s traditional taste, and I’d go as far to say that Calvin Klein was the first metrosexual brand. It was for the guy who wanted to harness the power of sexuality and separate himself from the preppy crowd through powerful scents, boxer briefs and designer jeans. Paving the way for them both was none other than the legendary Bill Blass.</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:100%;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 22px;font-size:13px;"><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 22px; font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:13px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: normal;font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 22px;font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div></span></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDMS6Jw6uI/AAAAAAAAAcA/bjqMfh0x7U4/s1600-h/30fblass550.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 600px; height: 437px; " src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDMS6Jw6uI/AAAAAAAAAcA/bjqMfh0x7U4/s800/30fblass550.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391033379182406370" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><a href="http://www.billblass.com/history_bill_blass_bio.htm">Bill Blass</a></i> is the man to whom both <i>Ralph Lauren</i> and <i>Calvin Klein</i> owe a huge debt. I always think of Blass as the first male fashion designer to truly leverage his talent, presence and ‘cult of personality’ to propel a brand forward through marketing and the press. He really created the mold and showed them how it was done. <i>Bill Blass</i> was a true trail-blazer that just about every public male designer has borrowed a page or two from, whether they realize it or not.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">Born William Ralph Blass in Fort Wayne, Indiana to a part-time dressmaker and a traveling hardware salesman. Blass’s father committed suicide when Blass was five. At 15, Blass began selling sketches of evening gowns for $25 each to a New York manufacturer. At 17 he left home to attend fashion school in New York. Blass excelled and at 18 became the first man to win Mademoiselle’s Design for Living award. He found work as a sketch artist with the sportswear house of David Crystal. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In 1942 Blass enlisted in the Army and was assigned to the 603rd Camouflage Battalion a classified division, its mission was to fool the Germans through the use of recordings, dummy tanks and other false materiel, into believing the Allies were positioned other than where they actually were. Blass left the Army in 1945 and went back to New York, where he went to work for Anne Klein. Klein fired Blass less than a year later, calling him talentless. Next Blass started as an assistant designer at <i>Anna Miller and Company</i>, and later at the fashion house Maurice Rentner. In 1970, Blass established <i>Bill Blass Limited</i>. He was most noted for high-quality, high-priced clothing featuring a look of sporty sophistication and casual glamour.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">His classic style, which was less severe than that of many contemporaries, attracted a wide audience. He won numerous fashion awards; his designs included sportswear, rainwear, accessories, and evening wear. Beginning in the late 1960s, he also designed menswear. In December 1998, Blass suffered a minor stroke. His company had grown to a $700-million-a-year concern. But after he presented his final collection to in September of 1999, the designer sold <i>Bill Blass Limited</i> for $50 million and retired. In 2000, he was diagnosed with oral cancer, which later spread to his throat. It proved terminal, but his legendary class and style will forever endure.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-65987077841358983542009-10-07T05:35:00.000-07:002009-10-08T05:29:47.607-07:00LIVE FAST, RIDE FREE | ROLAND "ROLLIE" FREE'S 1948 MOTORCYCLE WORLD SPEED RECORD<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.motorcyclemuseum.org/halloffame/hofbiopage.asp?id=178">Rollie Free</a> made made history aboard a 1948 <a href="http://www.vincentmotors.com/HIS/">Vincent</a> HRD V-Twin motorcycle, often referred to as the “Bathing Suit Bike” due to the scant attire of its rider, Roland “Rollie” Free. John Edgar hired Free to make the attempt at the <a href="http://theselvedgeyard.wordpress.com/2009/06/06/flat-out-on-the-salt-flats-the-1954-bonneville-hot-rod-meet/">Bonneville Salt Flats</a> on <a href="http://www.cycleworld.com/article.asp?section_id=44&article_id=1107">Sept. 13, 1948</a>. Free initially removed the bike seat and laid flat out on his stomach to minimize wind resistance, and when the stitching on his leathers failed and they began flapping in the breeze, he discarded them too, opting instead for a simple pair of tight bathing trunks, a swim cap, and a pair of tennis shoes. Tragedy could have been the result, but Free averaged a smoldering 150.313 mph, smashing the previous American speed record and establishing a new world record for unstreamlined and unsupercharged bikes.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyMGAQeOaI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/YCU8pV39_RQ/s1600-h/c-1-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 468px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyMGAQeOaI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/YCU8pV39_RQ/s800/c-1-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389836888831834530" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Roland Free breaking world's speed record on Bonneville Salt Flats while laying on his bike --September, 1948.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyMAyQuJ8I/AAAAAAAAAaI/UZ7J6POTtXM/s1600-h/c-4.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 470px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyMAyQuJ8I/AAAAAAAAAaI/UZ7J6POTtXM/s800/c-4.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389836799175436226" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Roland Free breaking world's speed record on Bonneville Salt Flats --September, 1948.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyL6TN0a0I/AAAAAAAAAaA/GCgD0qh7hTw/s1600-h/c-3.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 461px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyL6TN0a0I/AAAAAAAAAaA/GCgD0qh7hTw/s800/c-3.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389836687762549570" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Roland Free breaking world's speed record on Bonneville Salt Flats while photographers try to snap pictures --September, 1948.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyLzX59cgI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/kAlO0cGjfM4/s1600-h/c-2-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 446px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyLzX59cgI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/kAlO0cGjfM4/s800/c-2-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389836568762348034" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Roland Free chatting with photographer at Bonneville Salt Flat --September, 1948.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-78226699641751894122009-10-07T05:00:00.000-07:002009-10-07T05:20:12.723-07:00MAD MAX BUBECK & HIS INDIAN CHOUT | HELL ON HYBRID WHEELS<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Max Bubeck (below) sitting on his 135.58mph hybrid Indian Chief/Scout that he rode at Rosamond Dry Lake on June 27th, 1948. The Pop Shunk-built "Chout" is as lean and mean as a straight razor except for two big-assed carburetors that look big enough to pluck poultry. Bubeck's "Chout" still holds the record for the world's fastest unfaired Indian motorcycle.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyDyPegITI/AAAAAAAAAZw/LIQJ8UnOIc0/s1600-h/max_chout1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 782px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyDyPegITI/AAAAAAAAAZw/LIQJ8UnOIc0/s800/max_chout1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389827753226805554" /></a><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.motorcyclemuseum.org/halloffame/hofbiopage.asp?id=137">“Mad Max” Bubeck</a> made a name for himself dominating the enduro scene from the 1930s to the 1970s. Bubeck was also a speed racer & builder who in June of 1948 rode his Indian “Chout” (an Indian Chief 80 c.i. engine jammed into the smaller & lighter Scout frame) to a record speed of 135.58 mph on the Rosamond Dry Lake north of Los Angeles. It’s a record that still stands for an unstreamlined, normally aspirated 80 cubic inch displacement Indian motorycle. After retiring from competition in the late-1970s, Bubeck continued to be active in motorcycling, doing everything from restoring classic Indian motorcycles to sponsoring antique motorcycle meetings.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyDmIrncTI/AAAAAAAAAZo/WpciiPmjMQI/s1600-h/pics01-00057-l.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyDmIrncTI/AAAAAAAAAZo/WpciiPmjMQI/s800/pics01-00057-l.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389827545244332338" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>One of Bubeck’s most popular wins came in 1950 aboard the new Indian Warrior. That year, he won the Cactus Derby, a long-distance desert race and mountain race originated in Riverside, California. The race was unique in that it started at midnight. That year, Bubeck’s bike lost its lighting barely an hour into the race. He managed to continue by riding with other riders and using their lights. A few times he lost touch with the other riders and rode in complete darkness. In that same event, a long, slow-moving freight train was blocking a crossing. Bubeck sped ahead of the train and crossed the tracks so as to not lose too much time. Despite the darkness, the trains and riding a supposedly uncompetitive bike, Bubeck still managed to win the event. It went down as one of the most memorable victories in his career.</div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyDO2qhoyI/AAAAAAAAAZg/Eh67GubzN7o/s1600-h/pics01-00058-l.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsyDO2qhoyI/AAAAAAAAAZg/Eh67GubzN7o/s800/pics01-00058-l.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389827145270928162" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>Being born in the LA area was a very fortunate happening for me. By 1933 at age 15, I already had my first motorcycle, a 1930 101 Scout. It wasn’t long before I got acquainted with the local “hounds,” as we were known then, and every week end we would be off to some event, usually a TT race, field event, or beer bust.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the favorite spots was about 15 miles east of LA at Sam Parriots’ in Puente Ranch. The LA 45 Club put on steak feeds and field meets at least twice a year and one of the big attractions was a straight, blacktop road that ran for a mile, then made a dogleg turn to the right, then left and up a hill. This was known as the Puente Strip.</div><div><br /></div><div>By 1937, we would convene our motorcycles in “drag outs” or speed runs at least once a month on early Saturday mornings before there was any traffic. By 1939, Frank Christian had built an electric-eye timing clock so we could get accurate times. This was a great help to the local racers and speed-trialers to check their machines for performance. It was in October of 1941 and I left home early Saturday morning on my ‘39 Indian Four, headed for Puente. The route was east on Valley Blvd to Fifth Street, in Puente, a right turn across some railroad tracks, then a left turn onto the strip.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I came around the corner at about 30mph, I saw three machines just starting on a run. The one on the left was Ed Kretz on his #38 Sport Scout race bike, and the others were a couple of Harleys. I thought, why not see if I could catch them, so I pulled the Four back into second gear and got on it. I was gaining on all three, and soon passed the Harleys but Kretz was still ahead. I was slightly to the left of him and my front wheel was along side his rear wheel, both of us still in second at 75mph. Ed looked over his right shoulder, saw the Harleys behind him, snapped into high gear and laid down on the Scout. I did the same on my Four and the Scout started to pull away at 90mph. So I edged into his draft about three feet behind and managed to stay there at over 100mph. The immediate reaction after clearing the timing traps was to sit up and get on the brakes because that dogleg was pretty sharp at that speed.</div><div><br /></div><div>So Kretz did the usual and turned around to see how far ahead he was of the Harleys. I still laugh when I think of the look on his face when he saw me three feet behind him! His eyes bugged out and almost pushed his goggles off! As we slowed, I came alongside of him and he said, :Where did you come from?” I said, “I was there all the time.” My speedometer stop-hand read 114mph and when we got back to the timer, we found out we had hit 112.50mph.</div><div><br /></div><div>I later took the Four through at 108.43mph, without the benefit of the draft—this was just as I rode it on the streets—headlights, fenders, saddlebags, the works. Sam Parriot tried to talk me into talking off the extra garbage and trying again, but I was happy with that speed. Remember—this was 1941, when few machines would clock an honest 100mph.</div><div><br /></div><div>Kretz asked me to take his Scout through and see what I could get out of it, as I was about 40 pounds lighter. It clocked exactly 112.50mph with me on it, too. This was the week before the big 200 mile race at Oakland. Kretz had the best qualifying time at 94mph on the very rough one mile track, paved with a low bank on the turns. Kretz, of course, had the pole and at the end of the first lap had a 200 foot lead, which kept increasing every lap until he lapped the second-place rider on the 32nd lap.</div><div><br /></div><div>Soon after that, there was a very bad accident in the south turn, which resulted in two deaths and several others taken out of the race. How Ed didn’t go down is a miracle of some sort. Movies taken of the accident make you shake your head in wonder that Kretz didn’t end up in the pile of motorcycles sliding into the fence. Later, when asked how he got through, Ed said he closed his eyes and held on. Anyway, Ed managed to get through the mess without going down and lead until the 117th lap, when his front chain broke and put him out of the race. Front chains weren’t supposed to break on Indians with the oil bath but his did. I guess Indian must’ve gotten a batch of bad chains, improperly heat-treated.</div><div><br /></div><div>Those were great days! As well as riding my ‘39 Four on the streets and on trips, I also rode the Four in cross-country events like the Greenhorn 500-miler. I had the privilege of travelling with Ed Kretz, and sometimes Jimmy Kelly another good Indian rider. We usually piled into the car late on Saturday, and drove long, hard, and late at night to make some Sunday racemeet at some distance from LA. Many were the pranks and jokes. The world was our playground and we would never grow old.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.indianmotorbikes.com/reprints/mmm/madmax.htm">–Max Bubeck as told to Jerry Hatfield in 2000.</a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-16319675093263704352009-10-05T20:46:00.001-07:002009-10-06T17:55:27.372-07:00ROGUES, SAILORS & ANCIENT MARINERS | A HISTORICAL VIEW OF NAUTICAL TATTOOS<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsvmR_e6u7I/AAAAAAAAAWY/L-feEgpSCeM/s1600-h/c-8.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 620px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsvmR_e6u7I/AAAAAAAAAWY/L-feEgpSCeM/s800/c-8.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389654575852207026" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the early 19th century, as more and more sailors returned from distant lands, tattooing had become highly popular in the British Navy. It spread even to the British admiralty, which has for a long time included certain royals who obtained rank. Field Marshal Earl Roberts is rumored to have expressed the opinion that “every officer in the British army should be tattooed with his regimental crest.” It not only boosted morale among the ranks, but it proved useful when identifying casualties. The Prince of Wales was tattooed with a Jerusalem Cross after visiting the Holy Land in 1862. Then, his sons, the Duke of Clarence and the Duke of York (later King George V) were tattooed by the Japanese master tattooist, Hori Chiyo.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></div></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssq-CzmrarI/AAAAAAAAAWI/xBBYymobU3M/s1600-h/c-35.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssq-CzmrarI/AAAAAAAAAWI/xBBYymobU3M/s800/c-35.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389328859523672754" /></a><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Although much of maritime tattooing took place on board ship, sailor to sailor– the craze spawned an industry of <a href="http://theselvedgeyard.wordpress.com/2009/07/21/forefathers-of-american-tattooing/">tattoo parlors</a> in port cities in Britain and the United States, and indeed, around the world. Many of the proprietors of early tattoo shops were sailors who had come ashore. Famed British tattoo artist George Burchett learned his craft with an early stint in the service. By the end of the 19th century, it was estimated that ninety percent of British and American sailors had tattoos, according to some sources.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssq93Qc4mOI/AAAAAAAAAV4/hdbNXdHZSyE/s1600-h/c-34.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 558px; height: 800px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssq93Qc4mOI/AAAAAAAAAV4/hdbNXdHZSyE/s800/c-34.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389328661108791522" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The anchor remains the favorite tattoo of sailors, and is still one of the most popular designs worldwide– usually placed on the upper arm, just like Popeye. Tattoos of a sailor’s ship were like a badge of honor that proudly displayed his feelings of patriotism and comradery. Roosters tattooed on the foot were a common motif in the early days– they acted as charms to protect against drowning. And of course, Images of naked women were a major hit too– that is until the brass issued their ‘obscene’ warning. After that, naval applicants could have their hopes dashed by showing up with too much ’skin’ on their skin. Tattoo artists did a booming business covering the scantily-clad hula girls with grass skirts.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssq9wYnPUqI/AAAAAAAAAVw/MZYbpl3BF4g/s1600-h/c-10.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 584px; height: 800px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssq9wYnPUqI/AAAAAAAAAVw/MZYbpl3BF4g/s800/c-10.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389328543040623266" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-69258272802692809712009-10-04T12:47:00.000-07:002009-10-18T15:14:07.198-07:00THE SNAKE & THE STALLION | HOW TEXAN CARROLL SHELBY KICKED FERRARI'S...<div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When <a href="http://theselvedgeyard.wordpress.com/2009/05/11/the-snake-the-stallion-the-carroll-shelby-ford-cobra-that-kicked-ferraris-ass/">Carroll Shelby</a> decided to leave auto racing in 1960 due to a hereditary and life-threatening heart condition– he never looked back. Shelby dominated the racing circuit in the 50s, and wasn’t done yet. Knowing that racing was longer an option, he fixed his squinty gaze at becoming a legend under the hood, as well as behind the wheel. Shelby was going to build his own cars, and made it his personal mission to knock Enzo Ferrari off his high horse– who’s imperious, dictator style flat-out rubbed the tough Texan the wrong way. Ford knew they would also benefit greatly from an alliance with Shelby, as they were regularly getting their clock cleaned on the racetrack, and had no answer for Chevrolet’s Corvette in the showroom wars either. Ford soon became part of the rivalry with Enzo, as two unsuccessful buyout attempts of Ferrari during the 60s dealt a humiliating blow to Henry Ford II, and the only place left to settle it was on the racetrack.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Carroll Shelby is shown below with the three Cobra roadsters that would win the 1963 USRRC Manufacturer’s Championship. Venice, California, 1963.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDCXqW_77I/AAAAAAAAAbY/XXCTwUeBGAc/s1600-h/carroll_shelby_2_cobras.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 440px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDCXqW_77I/AAAAAAAAAbY/XXCTwUeBGAc/s800/carroll_shelby_2_cobras.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391022465726017458" /></a><i>Carroll Shelby poses with his new 1964 production Cobra and his new Cobra race car-- Venice, California. "It's a massive motor in a tiny, lightweight car." --Shelby explaining in a nutshell, the secret to the Cobra's performance.</i><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><img style="text-decoration: underline;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 600px; height: 441px; " src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDCR1XQieI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/vqda3ZepqPA/s800/carroll_shelby_3_cobras.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391022365600680418" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The AC Cobra started out as a Ford small block 260 cubic inch V-8 (later 289) wrapped in a tight & light handbuilt British sportscar. It quickly morphed into a beast with a 7.0L 427 aluminum block under the hood, creating an incredible power-to-weight ratio that was just plain sick. Some silly fans actually prefer the earlier, more dainty Cobras-- feeling that the flared bodies, fat tires and aggressive stance of the later 427's comes across visually as too brutish and crass. Well sorry folks, I'm all about the 427 Cobra. An AC Cobra coupe's top speed was clocked at 185 mph on the M1 raceway back in 1964-- an impressive feat for sure, and years before the super-exotics.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDCHcJcX6I/AAAAAAAAAbI/X8W_eZEA3Zw/s1600-h/shelby-mcqueen.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 480px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDCHcJcX6I/AAAAAAAAAbI/X8W_eZEA3Zw/s800/shelby-mcqueen.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391022187033157538" /></a><i>Carroll Shelby (left) with Steve McQueen (right) standing behind the AC Cobra Shelby lent to the car nut and racing enthusiast McQueen.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">The original Shelby Cobra was far from perfect– lets just say there were issues with stuffing an engine that massive in a chassis so small. So four Santa Monica hot-rodders tore the cars apart and rebuilt them to withstand the strain and demands from the ground up– all under the watchful eye of Shelby in his own workshop. Ford, Shelby and his team of craftsmen succeeded in creating a car that became all at once– the most loved, feared and copied sportscar in all of American auto history.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDB7o-YxTI/AAAAAAAAAbA/49h4-BG4yRo/s1600-h/3327738475_47fd7f361e_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 748px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDB7o-YxTI/AAAAAAAAAbA/49h4-BG4yRo/s800/3327738475_47fd7f361e_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391021984318014770" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Steve McQueen behind the wheel of Shelby's AC Cobra.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDAvMiWFlI/AAAAAAAAAa4/EaMzYJZ5bU0/s1600-h/vintage10-1024.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 512px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDAvMiWFlI/AAAAAAAAAa4/EaMzYJZ5bU0/s800/vintage10-1024.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391020671014147666" /></a><i>Shelby looks on as his crack squad of hot-rodders obsess over every detail as one of the first Cobras is prepped at the first Dean Moon Shop-- Santa Fe Springs, California in February of 1962.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDAjt3Fn2I/AAAAAAAAAaw/LRgX1ph1pNg/s1600-h/vintage22-1024.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 494px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDAjt3Fn2I/AAAAAAAAAaw/LRgX1ph1pNg/s800/vintage22-1024.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391020473801088866" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>First Shelby Cobra being built at Dean Moon's shop in Santa Fe Springs, California.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDAdO4pSKI/AAAAAAAAAao/Xq3U7ld3nls/s1600-h/vintage23-1024.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 431px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDAdO4pSKI/AAAAAAAAAao/Xq3U7ld3nls/s800/vintage23-1024.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391020362406906018" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>A fleet of Shelby Cobra coupes being assembled and prepped for racing duty.</i></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDAPwRfZxI/AAAAAAAAAag/raIAkqcSGmQ/s1600-h/2808425205_aa673363c5_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 428px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDAPwRfZxI/AAAAAAAAAag/raIAkqcSGmQ/s800/2808425205_aa673363c5_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391020130851317522" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"I'm not going to take this defeatist attitude and listen to all this crap any more from all these people who have nothing except doomsday to predict." --Carroll Shelby</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDAJxztgVI/AAAAAAAAAaY/yfTz02lvzaA/s1600-h/3467494210_e0545341f1_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/StDAJxztgVI/AAAAAAAAAaY/yfTz02lvzaA/s800/3467494210_e0545341f1_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391020028184068434" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Next year, Ferrari's ass is mine!" --Carroll Shelby after losing to Ferrari in '64, and in '65 it would be just as Shelby predicted. Don't mess with Texas, baby.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssj_IeQ9eWI/AAAAAAAAAVo/hdtIO6XbVRM/s1600-h/carroll-shelby-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 375px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssj_IeQ9eWI/AAAAAAAAAVo/hdtIO6XbVRM/s800/carroll-shelby-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388837475177036130" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Carroll Shelby at the wheel of a new Cobra production car-- Venice, California, 1963. He loved to stick $100 bills to the inside of the windscreen and challenge the potential customer, sitting in the passenger seat, to grab the bill before the Cobra hit 100 mph.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-61171227723276185782009-10-04T11:37:00.000-07:002009-10-06T06:13:38.756-07:00EASYRIDERS' LEGENDARY ARTIST EXTRAORDINAIRE DAVE MANN | THE NORMAN ROCKWELL OF BIKER ART<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjwIHPaKNI/AAAAAAAAAVg/IvKUN30z5zs/s1600-h/davebike69.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 483px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjwIHPaKNI/AAAAAAAAAVg/IvKUN30z5zs/s800/davebike69.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388820976322095314" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My stepdad was a biker– rode a ‘79 Lowrider, with a 44 magnum strapped to his leg for all the honest world to feel (as Townes Van Zandt would say). Sounds cool, but like a lot of things, you tend to idealize it when you’re on the outside looking in. We didn’t exactly fit into the norm, nor did we to care to. Let’s just say it wasn’t a typical childhood. I was not invited to a lot of sleepovers. Easyrider’s magazines were a part of growing up, and exposed me to a lot of… art. Yeah, there’s other stuff in there too that a kid shouldn’t see, but I was fascinated with the <a href="http://www.davidmannart.com/About-David-Mann.html">illustrations by Dave Mann</a>– and still am. They’re incredible. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjwEAhAboI/AAAAAAAAAVY/O-Qa2T4sK7c/s1600-h/mann701.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 562px; height: 800px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjwEAhAboI/AAAAAAAAAVY/O-Qa2T4sK7c/s800/mann701.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388820905797381762" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dave Mann’s dad was a lifelong illustrator and active member of the Society of Scribes in London. The younger Mann was born in Kansas City, Missouri. In 1957 he first drew pencil sketches of hot rods while feigning attention in high school. His crude sketches opened the door for Dave’s first job, pinstriping cars for Doug Thompson and Ray Hetrick’s custom car shop in Kansas City.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The allure of the West Coast drew Dave and buddy Al Burnett to Santa Monica, California. While cruising the seaside community he stumbled across Bay Area Muffler, an area custom car house, and there discovered completely insane chopped Harleys. The bikes drove him wild. They projected freedom, power and mobility with every chromed curve. Dave was immediately hooked. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He returned home to Kansas City and bought his first new bike, a ‘48 Panhead, for $350. At the same time he created his first painting, “Hollywood Run.” It represented the wild, unleashed, Hollywood outlaw lifestyle. Riding his customized Harley with his painting tucked under his arm, Dave Mann entered the 1963 Kansas City Custom Car Show. That car show launched Dave’s artistic & biker career. He had the only custom-bike entry in the show, so for his creative efforts the judges initiated a new class and trophy specifically for Dave.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dave Mann painted several posters for <a href="http://theselvedgeyard.wordpress.com/2009/08/12/ed-big-daddy-roth-rat-fink-king-of-south-cali-kustom-kar-kulture/">Ed "Big Daddy" Roth</a>, the California custom car creator and publisher of the first chopper magazine. In 1965, he went to work in the mailroom at Scheffer Studios in Kansas city, where he met an architectural renderer, Dave Poole, who taught him technical drawing. By 1967, Dave developed into an architectural renderer, having studied at the Kansas City Art Institute. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then in 1971, Dave discovered a new magazine— Easyriders. It was the first full-fledged, lifestyle-related bike rag. Since the third issue, Dave has followed, and in some aspects le the industry by capturing the essence of a changing lifestyle on the center-spreads of Easyriders. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dave was forced to retire in 2003 due to his failing health– the years of paint fumes had deteriorated his lungs to the point where surgeons had to remove them both and put him on a breathing machine. Sadly, Dave died about a day after his 64th birthday, Sept. 11 2004. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">R.I.P. Dave Mann, and thanks for your lasting legacy of incredible artwork.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvwbVMMHI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/jsJVZ13xkvM/s1600-h/144.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 363px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvwbVMMHI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/jsJVZ13xkvM/s800/144.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388820569398194290" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvleV7VII/AAAAAAAAAVI/8GPK8xyW8lM/s1600-h/1143.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 363px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvleV7VII/AAAAAAAAAVI/8GPK8xyW8lM/s800/1143.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388820381228029058" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssjve8hsMmI/AAAAAAAAAVA/SY_J9hxTUbc/s1600-h/saturdaynightsundaymorning-5001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 368px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssjve8hsMmI/AAAAAAAAAVA/SY_J9hxTUbc/s800/saturdaynightsundaymorning-5001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388820269071348322" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvYmnI4tI/AAAAAAAAAU4/rSARyNhcPys/s1600-h/50.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 416px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvYmnI4tI/AAAAAAAAAU4/rSARyNhcPys/s800/50.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388820160109404882" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvTDO6KEI/AAAAAAAAAUw/f1fxgy0SMsU/s1600-h/121.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 398px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvTDO6KEI/AAAAAAAAAUw/f1fxgy0SMsU/s800/121.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388820064713189442" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvNTe_dSI/AAAAAAAAAUo/5s1VF7dEiZk/s1600-h/6639742_f72f5865c1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 479px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvNTe_dSI/AAAAAAAAAUo/5s1VF7dEiZk/s800/6639742_f72f5865c1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388819965996397858" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvHTfO3ZI/AAAAAAAAAUg/wYz0z_VUxNQ/s1600-h/1541.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 392px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvHTfO3ZI/AAAAAAAAAUg/wYz0z_VUxNQ/s800/1541.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388819862918192530" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvBB_mF_I/AAAAAAAAAUY/vn1jf0s1nu8/s1600-h/168.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 392px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsjvBB_mF_I/AAAAAAAAAUY/vn1jf0s1nu8/s800/168.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388819755142879218" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssju8R3iypI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/umWRp1Fz_Zc/s1600-h/193.jpg"></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssju8R3iypI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/umWRp1Fz_Zc/s1600-h/193.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 600px; height: 410px; " src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssju8R3iypI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/umWRp1Fz_Zc/s800/193.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388819673504729746" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-48559683295436879502009-10-04T06:26:00.000-07:002009-11-10T17:49:22.360-08:00NORMAN COLLINS | LEGENDARY TATTOOIST & CLASS-A PIRATE AKA SAILOR JERRY<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsimXM0xq4I/AAAAAAAAAUI/KkNV8irrci4/s1600-h/SailorJerry.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 405px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsimXM0xq4I/AAAAAAAAAUI/KkNV8irrci4/s800/SailorJerry.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388739871658584962" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">If you don't know who Sailor Jerry is- you don't know tattoos. Norman "Sailor Jerry" Collins (1911-1973) is considered the foremost American tattoo artist of his time, and defined the craft in two eras-- BSJ and ASJ (before and after Sailor Jerry). Arguably, he did more for the ancient art of tattooing than most any other single person, and is largely responsible for the tattoo becoming part of living American folk art.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sailor_Jerry">Norman Keith Collins</a> was born in Reno, Nevada. As a child he'd hop freight trains across the country and learned tattooing from a man named Tatts Thomas of the Chicago tattoo scene, and one of the greats in the business.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At age 19, Norman Collins enlisted in the US Navy. It was during his travels at sea that he was exposed to the art and imagery of Southeast Asia. Artistically, his influence stems from his union of the roguish attitude of the American sailor with the mysticism and technical prowess of the Far East. Sailor Jerry maintained a close correspondence with Japanese tattoo masters during his career, and is largely credited with bringing the Asian influence to American tattooing.</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsimI6MdrvI/AAAAAAAAAT4/ssAXlFVGlzU/s1600-h/sailor-jerry1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 609px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsimI6MdrvI/AAAAAAAAAT4/ssAXlFVGlzU/s800/sailor-jerry1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388739626139496178" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sailor Jerry regarded tattoos as "the ultimate rebellion against the Squares". His legendary sense of humor is oft reflected in his work-- but he was never one to compromise his professionalism or take his craft and responsibilities lightly. Originally there were few colors available to tattoo artists-- Sailor Jerry expanded the array by developing his own safe pigments. He also created needle formations that embedded pigment with much less trauma to the skin, and was one of the first to utilize single-use needles and hospital-quality sterilization.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssil4SR_riI/AAAAAAAAATw/xjuG4Lsgzhk/s1600-h/sj_letter_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssil4SR_riI/AAAAAAAAATw/xjuG4Lsgzhk/s800/sj_letter_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388739340547370530" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Norman "Sailor Jerry" Collins remained a sailor his entire life. Even during his career as a tattoo artist, he worked as the licensed skipper of a large three-masted schooner, on which he conducted tours of the Hawaiian islands. Sailing and tattooing were Jerry's only two professional endeavors. On the side, he played saxophone in his own dance band for years. Another outlet was hosting his own ultra conservative, and frequently controversial nighttime talk show on KTRG radio, where he was known as "Old Ironsides". He often lectured against the impending (as he saw it) downfall of the American political system by infiltration of liberals. Jerry was also a prolific writer and carried on in-depth communications with many pen-pals around the world.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsiluyaH6FI/AAAAAAAAATo/uhvP_mBN0JQ/s1600-h/2211089827_5e36aa1877_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 548px; height: 800px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsiluyaH6FI/AAAAAAAAATo/uhvP_mBN0JQ/s800/2211089827_5e36aa1877_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388739177372706898" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sailor Jerry went out of his way to mentor those tattoo artists whose talents and attitude he respected, among them tattoo legends Don Ed Hardy and Mike Malone, to whom he entrusted his legacy of flash designs. He also railed against flashy tattoo artists such as Lyle Tuttle, and what he called "hippie tattoo" culture. From his 20s to his late 50s, he stopped tattooing entirely as a part of a disagreement with the IRS. Believe it or not, Sailor Jerry only tattooed for approximately 12 years altogether. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sailor Jerry’s first studio was in Honolulu's Chinatown, then the only place on the island where tattoo studios were located. His work was so widely copied, he had to print "The Original Sailor Jerry" on his business cards. There's a guy up in Canada that goes by the same name, but don't be fooled-- although he's good in his own right, he ain't the original Sailor Jerry. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;">When Norman "Sailor Jerry" Collins passed away in 1973, he had left specific instructions with his wife about the fate of his tattoo shop- and in turn, his legacy. According to Mike Malone, Jerry said it was to be offered to each of his three protégés: Mike Malone, Don Ed Hardy, or Zeke Owen. If those men didn't heed the call, then the shop and all the master's artwork was to be burnt to ashes- no questions asked.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fortunately, Mike Malone answered the call. After reaching agreement with Jerry's wife, money changed hands, and Mike purchased Jerry's artwork, flash collection and Smith Street shop, keeping the legacy of Sailor Jerry alive for a whole new generation of roughnecks and adventurers who roamed the wild streets of Honolulu's Chinatown.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Enjoy the sampling of Sailor Jerry's iconic tattoo flash below-</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsilnYviXSI/AAAAAAAAATg/Vvef5RDkx-A/s1600-h/2214235906_4dac64f0f1_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 461px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsilnYviXSI/AAAAAAAAATg/Vvef5RDkx-A/s800/2214235906_4dac64f0f1_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388739050224114978" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssilg3mfuVI/AAAAAAAAATY/VSzN6k1UROU/s1600-h/2215445965_f003199f67_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 555px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssilg3mfuVI/AAAAAAAAATY/VSzN6k1UROU/s800/2215445965_f003199f67_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388738938248608082" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsilaRjRtcI/AAAAAAAAATQ/ftxncpFvJ2w/s1600-h/2566872296_d4ec4fa9bc_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 386px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsilaRjRtcI/AAAAAAAAATQ/ftxncpFvJ2w/s800/2566872296_d4ec4fa9bc_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388738824955344322" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsilRZM5ouI/AAAAAAAAATI/KMnkDgLDzkg/s1600-h/2211906920_cc66895b59_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 787px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsilRZM5ouI/AAAAAAAAATI/KMnkDgLDzkg/s800/2211906920_cc66895b59_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388738672390152930" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsilKEDw0KI/AAAAAAAAATA/tEgNaky-sV0/s1600-h/2295813808_5e89c0bfed_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 745px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsilKEDw0KI/AAAAAAAAATA/tEgNaky-sV0/s800/2295813808_5e89c0bfed_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388738546455597218" /></a><br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-33871151146241205062009-10-03T17:57:00.000-07:002009-10-09T12:23:34.909-07:00THE ICONIC SLIM AARONS | CELEBRATED PHOTOGRAPHER OF HOLLYWOOD'S ELITE & THE AFFLUENT AT EASE<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsgADxXAaEI/AAAAAAAAAS4/y23SM0Exc6c/s1600-h/SlimAarons.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsgADxXAaEI/AAAAAAAAAS4/y23SM0Exc6c/s800/SlimAarons.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388557018938239042" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9C0CE1DE1631F932A35755C0A9609C8B63">George Allen Aarons</a> was born in Manhattan on Oct. 29, 1916. He was reared in New York and New Hampshire and was an Army photographer in World War II. His twin brother, Peter, was killed in the war. Afterward, he and his Army buddy Bill Mauldin, the cartoonist, headed for Hollywood.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Slim Aarons, who won a Purple Heart, said combat had taught him that the only beach worth landing on was ”decorated with beautiful, seminude girls tanning in a tranquil sun.” He opened a bureau for LIFE magazine in Rome, where he vowed to make a career out of photographing beautiful people, doing it his own way with natural surroundings, little makeup and no artificial light. In 1951 Slim Aarons married a young LIFE employee, Lorita Dewart.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The photojournalist who traveled the world to capture the essence of the rich and famous and made a career out of what he called “photographing attractive people doing attractive things in attractive places,” died at the age of 89, 2006.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The family for many years lived in Katonah, N.Y., spending winters in Gstaad or Palm Beach, and summers on the French or Italian Rivieras. In New York Mr. Aarons photographed all of Leland Hayward’s stage productions. In 1974 he published ”A Wonderful Time: An Intimate Portrait of the Good Life.” A sequel, ”Once Upon a Time,” in part a reprise of the first book, was published in 2003. In 2005 a third book, ”A Place in the Sun,” came out.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf_1x2vsOI/AAAAAAAAASw/lYsIXFF59iA/s1600-h/s640x480.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 416px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf_1x2vsOI/AAAAAAAAASw/lYsIXFF59iA/s800/s640x480.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388556778553192674" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Slim Aaron’s most celebrated image was shot on New Year’s Eve of 1957 in the Crown Room at Romanoff’s restaurant in Hollywood. Called ”The Kings of Hollywood,” it showed Clark Gable, Van Heflin, Gary Cooper and Jimmy Stewart — what Smithsonian magazine called ”a Mount Rushmore of stardom” and the novelist Louis Auchincloss ”the very image of American he-men.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The men are enjoy a laugh together in the picture. Mr. Aarons sometimes said he did not know why. In all truth, those chortling stars in ”The Kings of Hollywood,” Mr. Aarons <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7D0609efu4&feature=player_embedded">admitted later</a>, were really laughing at him. His good friend, Mr. Clark Gable, loved to jokingly recall (at Aarons' expense) just how bad he thought Slim's acting was in a small movie part he helped him land. Truth is, Slim Aarons butchered his two small scenes take after take. Clearly he had a great rapport with the stars-- When Jimmy Stewart was approached by strangers, he joked, "No, I am Slim Aarons." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Slim Aarons also shared a story on working with Hitcock <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7D0609efu4&feature=player_embedded">here--</a> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"You ever see the movie <b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Rear Window</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">? That's my apartment. Because the protagonist was supposed to be a writer-- <i>very few people know this</i>. The protagonist was a LIFE writer who'd been hurt somewhere, either in the war or an accident-- because it was written by a LIFE writer." </span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Slim Aarons was hired by Hitchcock (<i>"Hitch"</i> as he called him) to photograph the detailed back-shots of NYC apartment buildings that eventually became the set built for them film. Hitch loved the shots, and in a strange twist of fate, the protagonist character was changed from a writer to a photographer.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf_N27NAxI/AAAAAAAAASo/kLkszUP8oug/s1600-h/oscar_delarenta_3165309.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 411px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf_N27NAxI/AAAAAAAAASo/kLkszUP8oug/s800/oscar_delarenta_3165309.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388556092719301394" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Slim Aarons' shot of Oscar De La Renta above from February 1985. The famous designer relaxes in the living room of his apartment the Casa de Madera in the resort of Casa de Campo in the Dominican Republic. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf-7nhoalI/AAAAAAAAASg/3iTGny4Y0CM/s1600-h/mies_chicago_3165675.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 600px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf-7nhoalI/AAAAAAAAASg/3iTGny4Y0CM/s800/mies_chicago_3165675.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388555779347868242" /></a><br /><div>Slim Aarons' shot of Mies, circa 1960: German born American architect Mies Van Der Rohe (1886 - 1969) on the rooftop of a skyscraper in Chicago. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf-LeA6CgI/AAAAAAAAASY/xLXvfQdXo6Q/s1600-h/bacall_and_bogart_2716597.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 606px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf-LeA6CgI/AAAAAAAAASY/xLXvfQdXo6Q/s800/bacall_and_bogart_2716597.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388554952160971266" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">During a career that spanned more than five decades, Aarons photographed many of the most famous faces of the late 20th century, including Humphrey Bogart, Louis Armstrong, Lauren Bacall, Marilyn Monroe, Princess Diana and the Kennedys. He captured, better than anyone, the affluent at ease. And to hear Slim tell the story behind his most famous works is well, priceless.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>"I knew everyone."</i> he said in an interview with The Independent in 2002. "<i>They would invite me to one of their parties because they knew I wouldn’t hurt them. I was one of them."</i> <b>–Slim Aarons</b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf96Kr-2qI/AAAAAAAAASQ/1wFTLbMxr-M/s1600-h/3136654047_f211f4a629_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 603px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf96Kr-2qI/AAAAAAAAASQ/1wFTLbMxr-M/s800/3136654047_f211f4a629_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388554654915156642" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>Above is Slim Aarons' famous shot of Marilyn Monroe-- he talks about the shoot <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKEtJVrxN7k&feature=player_embedded">here</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"There was a time when in the movies, you couldn't show her without being covered from head to foot. And so what I did was, I got the dress out of wardrobe from the studios, and then I went down... and (got) the black net lace and I covered her in head to foot in black net lace so we could get rid of the censors in Hollywood. Marilyn would do anything for photographers in those days. And Marilyn was an amazing person. She wasn't what they'd call a '<i>pure girl'</i>, you know what I mean? She wasn't brought up that way-- she just learned to <i>survive</i>. But she knew one thing-- whenever she went with a guy, <i>she knew the guy wanted her</i>. She had that innate thing-- but she had that same quality of being just a little girl. She'd just made a movie called <i>Asphalt Jungle, </i>and so I said-- <i>did she have any fan mail?</i> I had to think quickly... she's got <i>barrels</i> of fan mail. <i> </i>She says to me<i>-- what do you want me to do Slim? </i>I said-- I want you to think of the nicest possible thing that can happen to you-- <i>but with your eyes</i>." </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf5phRpCcI/AAAAAAAAASI/izZUtN4U5to/s1600-h/6-13-08slim3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 643px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf5phRpCcI/AAAAAAAAASI/izZUtN4U5to/s800/6-13-08slim3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388549970874403266" /></a><br /><div><div style="text-align: justify;">Noel Coward and Truman Capote used words to record this rarefied universe, but Mr. Aarons’ photographs in magazines like Harper’s Bazaar, Town & Country and LIFE showed it. "Attractive people doing attractive things in attractive places" was his mantra.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf4jemjsvI/AAAAAAAAARw/tcVIHGyya-Y/s1600-h/golfing_pals_3163526.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 596px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf4jemjsvI/AAAAAAAAARw/tcVIHGyya-Y/s800/golfing_pals_3163526.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388548767565984498" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Thomas Taylor and Bing Crosby hamming it up on Pebble Beach golf course 1977, photographed by Slim Aarons.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf4LG-qrGI/AAAAAAAAARo/KY-JZPVbEmc/s1600-h/2899231708_2fd1428286.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 590px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf4LG-qrGI/AAAAAAAAARo/KY-JZPVbEmc/s800/2899231708_2fd1428286.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388548348907793506" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Slim Aarons gained entree to villas, yachts and chalets by becoming one of the crowd. He told of sailing with Katharine Hepburn and seeing a drowning man. After being rescued, the man pulled out a camera and started shooting Miss Hepburn. She threatened to break it on his head. Mr. Aarons stood by, welcomed as a valued guest, who happened to be a photographer.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf1rSOdklI/AAAAAAAAARY/w-90N8HcNAo/s1600-h/image_8468048.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 496px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssf1rSOdklI/AAAAAAAAARY/w-90N8HcNAo/s800/image_8468048.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388545603147764306" /></a><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">The legendary photographer and personality-- Slim Aarons, on the right. Love the monogram below the pocket on the chest~ very chic.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-3424984326663144302009-10-03T13:07:00.000-07:002009-10-06T18:14:52.125-07:00KENNY HOWARD | THE PINSTRIPER AND CUSTOM FABRICATOR AKA VON DUTCH<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssew5n7mIZI/AAAAAAAAARI/pJO1Spxw1v4/s1600-h/vd_ekins.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 548px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssew5n7mIZI/AAAAAAAAARI/pJO1Spxw1v4/s800/vd_ekins.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388469983190065554" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A young Kenny Howard (Von Dutch) perfecting his pinstriping craft at Bud Ekins' shop, 1965.</span></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Before the cheesy namesake clothing and accessories line that threatens to destroy his cred forever, there was the self-invented and slightly mad genius Kenny Howard– better known as <a href="http://www.letterville.com/articles/bob_burns/vondutch/index.html">Von Dutch</a>. He was a real Renaissance man– legendary custom painter, artist, motorcycle mechanic, and a skilled metal worker who hand-crafted his own knives and guns. He had a strong aversion to money and felt it was detrimental to his art– which makes the clothing line even more of an ironic abomination.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I make a point of staying right at the edge of poverty. I don’t have a pair of pants without a hole in them, and the only pair of boots I have are on my feet. I don’t mess around with unnecessary stuff, so I don’t need much money. I believe it’s meant to be that way. There’s a ‘struggle’ you have to go through, and if you make a lot of money it doesn’t make the ‘struggle’ go away. It just makes it more complicated. If you keep poor, the struggle is simple.“ –Von Dutch</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsewZ500tnI/AAAAAAAAARA/wwILxeu58RA/s1600-h/vd_xavw.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 411px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsewZ500tnI/AAAAAAAAARA/wwILxeu58RA/s800/vd_xavw.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388469438237685362" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">An incredible example of vintage Von Dutch handiwork-- his XAVW, 1965.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">From <a href="http://www.aiga.org/content.cfm/the-ad-nauseum-marketing-of-von-dutch">The Ad Nauseum of marketing Von Dutch–</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Born in 1929 as Kenneth Howard, Von Dutch was the man who brought pin-striping as a high art from motorcycles to automobile bodies. He took his nickname from his stubbornness. “Stubborn as a Dutchman” is a by now quaint ethnic slur. But beyond stubborn, Von Dutch became insufferable. He was the quintessential cliché romantic artist, selfish inside his own vision, alienating family, friends and customers alike. Part romantic, part beatnik, part general pain in the ass, he was a racist and prima donna, he managed to irritate almost everyone who admired him—and in the best esthetic mode, somehow made them admire him more in the process.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He died in 1992, leaving two daughters. At the end, he was drinking heavily, holed up in an old Long Beach city bus. For years he lived at the museum called Movie World, Cars of the Stars and Planes of Fame in Buena Park, California. He had become paranoid and he spent time elaborately engraving and painting knives and guns as well as cars.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">No wonder the daughters, Lisa and Lorna were happy to sell the rights to reproduce their father’s imagery in 1996 to Michael Cassel, a maker of surf clothing, who established a company called Von Dutch Originals in 1999 and opened the store on Melrose Avenue a year later. He brought in a man named Tonny Sorensen who in turn hired designer Christian Audigier. Audigier worked for Diesel and Fiorucci. Casel’s notion was to tap the hot rod set; but Sorensen and Audigier aimed at wider, fashion audience.</div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsewQj-mWgI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/hX18yn3M8A8/s1600-h/vondutch3nn7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 351px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsewQj-mWgI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/hX18yn3M8A8/s800/vondutch3nn7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388469277754284546" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny Howard, AKA Von Dutch in a great vintage shot.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">The art world found its way to car culture through artists like Robert Williams, who worked with <a href="http://theselvedgeyard.wordpress.com/2009/08/12/ed-big-daddy-roth-rat-fink-king-of-south-cali-kustom-kar-kulture/">Ed “Big Daddy” Roth</a> before turning his talents to oil and canvas. In 1993 a show called “Kustom Kulture” at the Laguna Museum of Art helped start off the process of Von Dutch’s discovery by the wider public. Still, it took insight, luck or both to see that Von Dutch could be, well, exploitable. Celebrities such as Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake and Ashton Kutcher showed up wearing the logo caps. The whole appeal of course was explaining who Von Dutch was.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Von Dutch’s posthumous fame has amazed veterans of the car culture. “I knew Von Dutch,” one hot rod buff said not long ago, shaking his head. “I saw him drunk every day.”</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div>Incredible photos courtesy of <a href="http://irishrichhomage.blogspot.com/2008/12/kenny-howard.html">Irishrichhomage</a></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-80134268187748322812009-10-03T12:44:00.001-07:002009-10-06T18:18:17.229-07:00FAST WOMEN IN HISTORY PT. II | AUTO RACING'S TOUGH FEMALE PIONEERS<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SseqbNlaX7I/AAAAAAAAAQw/Knpxn5yJLnA/s1600-h/vsimage2mh4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 757px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SseqbNlaX7I/AAAAAAAAAQw/Knpxn5yJLnA/s800/vsimage2mh4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388462863651856306" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The Canadian-born, <a href="http://www.sportscars.tv/Newfiles/PetreKay.html">Kay Petre</a> was an early motor racing star at the legendary Brooklands track. The exploits of this 4′10″ speedqueen made big news back in her day. Born Kathleen Coad Defries in 1903, she moved to England in 1930, following her marriage to Englishman Henry Petre. Henry was a keen flier who regularly took off from the Brooklands Airfield– it was here that Kay first became interested in motor racing. She had always been a skilled and competitive sportswoman back at home, especially in ice-skating. Henry bought Kay her first car for her birthday, a Wolseley Hornet Daytona Special. Soon after her racing career began, with a third and a second in her first two races. In 1933, Kay purchased her first “proper” racing car, a 2-litre Bugatti. She used it to good effect in the regular handicap races at Brooklands, quickly adjusting to the handling and the increased speed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">One of the most famous images of Kay is her seated in the big 1924 Delage, a 10.5 litre V12-engined ex-John Cobb Land Speed Record car she had been racing. In order to reach the car’s pedals, she had them rigged with large wooden blocks. Petre threw down the gauntlet to her French rival on 26th October 1934, clocking 129.58 mph on a flying lap. The record stood until the August of 1935, when Gwenda challenged again, setting a new benchmark marginally faster. Not to be outdone, Kay jumped straight in the Delage and beat the record the same day, lapping at an average of 134.75 mph. This was the first time that a female driver had earned the Brooklands badge for a lap at 130 mph or over. Gwenda, driving her Derby-Miller special, joined that exclusive club three days later, hitting 135.95 mph. Kay admitted defeat graciously and went back to her own racing.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SseqO6X2BfI/AAAAAAAAAQo/-NJb0ngMT6o/s1600-h/HU056953.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 471px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SseqO6X2BfI/AAAAAAAAAQo/-NJb0ngMT6o/s800/HU056953.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388462652336244210" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sadly, in 1937 Kay’s circuit racing career came to a dramatic end. During practice for the Brooklands 500 Miles, she was involved in a horrible accident which she was lucky to survive. Reg Parnell stalled above her on the banking, slid down and hit her Austin Seven, rolling it down the banking and crushing Kay underneath it. She suffered severe head injuries and was lucky to survive. After being in a coma for a few days and undergoing surgery to her head and face, she eventually made a good recovery, the only permanent damage being some paralysis of one side of her face.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After her recovery, Kay made one final appearance at Brooklands in 1938, driving the White Riley. Whether it was an actual race, public practice or merely some parade laps is unclear. She was cheered enthusiastically by the crowds but had lost her nerve and did not race there again. At this time, she was campaigning for Reg Parnell to have his racing licence returned. The authorities blamed him for the accident and revoked it, although Kay herself never held him responsible and eventually he was allowed back behind the wheel. Her views were “If you race fast cars, one of the risks you take is that one day you might cop it!”</div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SseqDgruOyI/AAAAAAAAAQg/d85_eBwTHgg/s1600-h/HU056952.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 483px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SseqDgruOyI/AAAAAAAAAQg/d85_eBwTHgg/s800/HU056952.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388462456461736738" /></a><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After retiring from circuit racing, she could not get the motorsport bug out of her system and took up rallying, first as a navigator for the Singer team but later driving for Austin again, sometimes in a Grasshopper. She competed at home and in Europe, with the Alpine Rally being her favorite. One of her co-drivers was the French race Anne-Cecile Rose-Itier, who partnered her for the Monte Carlo Rally. It was at this time she began her second career as a motoring journalist, which she continued after the war. Much later, she was employed by Austin as part of its design team, selecting colours for the interior of the Mini, amongst other models.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5339953639729946206.post-16439213566955028052009-10-03T05:50:00.000-07:002009-10-06T18:19:56.302-07:00FAST WOMEN IN HISTORY | AUTO RACING'S TOUGH FEMALE PIONEERS<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssenyae24vI/AAAAAAAAAQY/uTdwZp2tNcM/s1600-h/Scan10005.JPG.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/Ssenyae24vI/AAAAAAAAAQY/uTdwZp2tNcM/s800/Scan10005.JPG.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388459963716133618" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/26/books/review/26SCHLLIN.html?_r=2">Hellé Nice</a>, Born Mariette Helene Delangle, moved to Paris in her teens; there, she cast aside her name, her past and her clothes, posing for naughty postcards and dancing in risqué yet distingué revues at the Casino de Paris and other music halls in the era of Maurice Chevalier, Josephine Baker and Mistinguett.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In 1929, after suffering a dance-dooming knee injury while skiing away from an avalanche, Hellé Nice switched metiers, trading dance slippers for driving gloves. She soon won the Grand Prix Féminin and exulted to the press about the thrill of having a ”great roaring race car in your hands that wants only to go faster.” That early victory secured her a sleek Bugatti and the nickname ”The Queen of Speed.”</div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsdLrxCUtoI/AAAAAAAAAQI/2BDvSiNxNe4/s1600-h/violette-morris-bnc.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 476px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsdLrxCUtoI/AAAAAAAAAQI/2BDvSiNxNe4/s800/violette-morris-bnc.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388358694441629314" /></a><br /><div><div style="text-align: justify; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify; ">You have to take your hat off for these incredible women of motor racing history. It flat-out took a lot of balls for these ladies to step onto the track and match their skills, wits & strength against the male drivers of their day– who were macho as all h*ll, and would have rather left them for roadkill than share the racetrack with the females. I am truly in awe of them– and they definitely have my utmost respect. Especially when you consider the level of personal sacrifice, and the competitive extremes some of them went to-</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsdJ-X5s3wI/AAAAAAAAAQA/d9AM4x6G_uk/s1600-h/veloce-jun09e.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 555px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mp3svOsc_w0/SsdJ-X5s3wI/AAAAAAAAAQA/d9AM4x6G_uk/s800/veloce-jun09e.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388356815088836354" /></a><br /><div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Violette_Morris">Violette Morris</a> has a story that you couldn’t make up if you tried. Simply stated, it’s just unbelievable. She was a dominating force on the racing scene who took to dressing like a man, smoked 3 packs of cigarettes a day and regularly cursed a blue streak.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Born the niece of French General Gouraud, Violette Morris was a naturally gifted and strong athlete who excelled at sports. She was an accomplished boxer who regularly competed against and beat men. Morris also went on to become a cycling champion, later graduating to riding motorcyles and racing cars. She was so committed to auto racing that she actually had an elective double mastectomy (yes, she had her breasts removed!) so she’d be more comfortable behind the wheeled of the tight-fitting cyclecars she raced back in the 1920s. Wow.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">During WWII when France was occupied by the Nazis in the 40s, Morris joined the Parisian Gestapo and worked with the notoriously brutal “rue Lauriston” interrogation squad. In 1944, while she was traveling with military colleagues by car from Normandy back to Paris, the French Resistance bombed Morris’ vehicle, killing her along with everyone else. Yup, she definitely lived life to the full and died with her boots on.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1