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ALFRED HITCHCOCK AND THE MAKING OF PSYCHO | TSY REQUIRED READING

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Hitchcock. Are you kidding me? Oh, hells yes. I will see this. Based on Stephen Rebello’s 1990 classic Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho – a literary deep-dive into Hitch’s low-budget (intentionally budgeted and shot for under $1M because he wanted to one-up the B-movie movement of that time…), black & white (because Hitch knew the film would simply be too damn gory for viewers and censors alike if shot in color…) menacing masterpiece. Scheduled for release on the big screen sometime in 2013 — and starring Sir Anthony Hopkins. You’ve got time, so I recommend that you bone-up now and check out the book beforehand. It’s a great read for Hitchcock (and classic cinema) fans.

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Alfred Hitchcock’s classic thriller “Psycho” was covertly referred to as “Production 9401″ or “Wimpy” — the name Wimpy coming from cameraman, Rex Wimpy, who appeared on clapboards, production sheets, and studio stills. Cast and crew (Hitch borrowed his same crew from his TV series, “Alfred Hitchcock Presents”) were forced to raise their right hand and sworn not to utter a word about the film. Hitchcock even guardedly withheld the climactic ending from the cast all the way up until it was actually shot. via

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Alfred Hitchcock had a vacant cast chair marked “Mrs. Bates” placed eerily on the set of his 1960 “Psycho” throughout shooting, and even falsely reported to the press that he was auditioning for the role of Mrs. Bates to further add to the mystery around the film. – Image by © Sunset Boulevard/Corbis

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Actress Janet Leigh and Director Alfred Hitchcock on the set of his chilling 1960 masterpiece, “Psycho”. The much-talked-about Janet Leigh bra scenes had a definite method to their mammory madness. In the film, prior to swiping 40K for her lover, the bra is white– symbolzing innocence. After the dirty deed, the bra is black– symboling her crossing over to the dark side. Same with her purse…

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A young Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates, the role that dogged him for the rest of his acting career. When asked decades later if he would have turned down the role in retrospect, he noted that he’d absolutely do it all over again. “Pyscho” had many bird references– for example, Norman Bates was into stuffing birds (taxidermy, people…), Janet Leigh’s character was named Marion Crane, etc. “The Birds” would be Hitchcock’s next film.

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Scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho,” based on the novel by Robert Bloch, shows Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) by the Bates’ family home. — Image by © Underwood & Underwood/Corbis

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The Bates’ house in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1960 film “Psycho” was modeled after Edward Hopper’s 1925 oil painting “House by the Railroad” — shown above in black & white, and hung at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.   

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A very young, and handsome Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates in a Paramount Studios still– looking right through the camera with an extremely “Psycho”, cold, and vacant stare.

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Director Alfred Hitchcock and actor Anthony Perkins on the set of the 1960′s chiller, “Psycho”.

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Actress Janet Leigh on the set of “Psycho” directed by Alfred Hitchcock and released in 1960.

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Alfred Hitchcock on the set of his 1960 masterpiece, “Psycho” during the unforgettable shower scene.

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The actor, Sir Anthony Hopkins, in makeup as “Psycho” Director extraordinaire– Alfred Hitchcock.

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“Ina et Hitchcock Harper’s Bazaar, Hollywood” by Jeanloup Sieff — shot in 1962 with model Ina Balke

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“Ina et Hitchcock Harper’s Bazaar, Hollywood” by Jeanloup Sieff — shot in 1962 with model Ina Balke

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“Ina et Hitchcock Harper’s Bazaar, Hollywood” by Jeanloup Sieff — shot in 1962 with model Ina Balke

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The official “Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho” movie facebook page 

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MILES DAVIS |“IT’S NOT ABOUT STANDING STILL AND BECOMING SAFE…”

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The epic tales of Miles Davis and his need for speed have been on heavy rotation again lately, as they are just too damn good to die. I mean, who splits their Lambo Miura on the West Side Highway, and screams at a good samaritan responder for dumping two bags of blow for him before the cops show up? Both ankles were crushed and all Miles wants to do is jump out to see how busted-up his ride is. Cocaine is a helluva drug. The love of cars can be a vice all its own, and Miles had it bad from early on.

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Miles Davis, Red Ferrari, New York City, 1969 – Image by © Baron Wolman

Miles Davis And His Mercedes 190SL:

“…In 1955 Miles Davis dragged his quintet into the Prestige Records studio and recorded five albums in a row for the purpose of satisfying his obligations to the label. Although Davis himself had turned away from the worst of his heroin addiction, his crew was all hooked on something — from John Coltrane, who had conspicuous tracks up both his arms, to ‘Philly’ Joe Jones, who showed up to the session with just one drum and a hi-hat because he’d pawned the rest to get high — and nobody could have predicted that the group would settle down and turn out some of the greatest music in recorded history.

Miles hated Prestige. They famously paid $300 a record and didn’t seem to be familiar with the concept of residuals. The moment he had a chance to jump the fence to Columbia, he did so, and celebrated by buying a Mercedes 190SL with pretty much all the money he had at the time.

A new 190SL cost about four grand — easily four times what Davis had just cleared on the Prestige session — and it was not exactly a rapid automobile. Most of them wheezed perhaps 85 horsepower back to the swing-axled rear wheels to push the 2600lb mass. The real hot ride was the 300SL, famous today as the ‘Gullwing’ but far more popular as a convertible back in the day, but Miles would have had a hard time buying one and a harder time keeping it maintained.

Miles eventually fell in with the fast crowd, which included the Baroness Pannonica ‘Nica’ de Koenigswarter-Rothschild. She rolled in a Bentley, and she was well known among the community. PIanist Hampton Hawes recalls:

Thelonius Monk and his wife and Nica and I driving down Seventh Avenue in the Bentley at three or four in the morning… and Miles pulling alongside in the Mercedes, calling through the window in his little hoarse voice… ‘Want to race?’ Nica nodding, then turning to tell us in her prim British tones, ‘This time I believe I’m going to beat the Mother F#cker.’”

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Miles Davis, Red Ferrari, New York City, 1969 – Image by © Baron Wolman

“That photo of Miles Davis and his red Ferrari (275 GTB) was taken on New York’s West Side Highway in 1969. We had just shot some portraits in his apartment near Central Park. He said he wanted to go to Gleason’s Gym to work out. He was am amateur boxer, as you probably know. Anyhow, we’re driving along and I said, ‘Miles, pull over. Let’s do some shots of you and this totally cool car.’ He said ‘yes’, we did, and then proceeded to the gym where he threatened to knock me out.” –Baron Wolman

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Miles Davis, Red Ferrari, New York City, 1969 – Image by © Baron Wolman

“Davis had an affinity for flashy cars and trouble seemed to follow him whenever he was in one. While it’s been rumored that he cruised around in his Lamborghini Miura with a .357 magnum under the seat and enjoyed outrunning the fuzz with people sitting shotgun (he once scared Jimi Hendrix half to death), Davis was arrested in 1970 on weapons charges when he was sitting in his red Ferrari and an officer noticed he had accented his ensemble of a turban, white sheepskin coat and snakeskin pants with a pair brass knuckles. One might have thought brass knuckles might not be enough protection, considering he had been shot in the hip while sitting in another Ferrari less than a year earlier in an alleged extortion plot. In 1972 he crashed his Lamborghini Miura and broke both of his ankles. He promptly ordered another.” Via

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Miles Davis, Lamborghini Muira – Image by © Joe Sackey

Director James Glickenhaus Tells Jalopnik: “How I Saved A Coked Up Miles Davis After He Crashed His Lamborghini.”

“Someone posted in Ferrari Chat that Miles Davis had fallen asleep at the wheel and stuffed his Lambo. I was there and responded.

There was a bit more to it than that. He didn’t fall asleep at the wheel. He tried to make a right angle turn at 60 mph from the left lane of the West side Highway to the 125 ST exit across three lanes of traffic. He didn’t make it. He hit the WPA Stone exit ramp and the Lime Green Miura came apart like Brazilian plywood in the rain. I pulled over and ran back to his car. He was wearing leather pants and the bones of both of his legs were sticking through the pants. He was bleeding badly.

He looked at me and said, ‘Is my car f#cked up?’ I told him the car was gone. He said, ‘I got to take a look.’ I told him both legs were broken and he wasn’t going anywhere. I ripped up a shirt I found on the floor and told him to hold the cloth over the bleeding with pressure as it was getting bad but not arterial. There were two large plastic bags filled with white powder on the floor and one had broken open. The interior was dusted. I grabbed the bags and ran to the sewer and chucked them. He screamed, ‘What The F#ck You Doing!!??’ I used rain water to wipe down the car as best as I could. The cops arrived. One of them asked me who I was. I told them just one of the guys he cut off. He looked at Miles and at me and told me to split.

Years later I was directing ‘Shakedown’ with Peter Weller. Weller liked Miles’s music and I told him that story. One night he went to hear Miles. He went back stage where Miles recognized him. ‘Hey Robo’ Peter told him the story and asked if it was true. Miles got real quiet and said, ‘I always wondered who that White Mother F#cker was. You thank him for me, and tell him to come by anytime.’

Miles was in the hospital for a long time and didn’t play for almost a year…” –Director James Glickenhaus

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STEVE MCQUEEN REMEMBERED | FORMER LOVER, FELLOW RACER

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1960 Lime Rock Nationals– Denise McCluggage sits on the grid  while SCCA gets things straight.

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Back in 1955 or so, a young Denise McCluggage had a chance encounter with a then unknown Steve McQueen which led to a brief affair and a long-lasting friendship. They would be separated by their own career ambitions, and the many demands and erratic schedules that come with the territory. That said, McCluggage managed to stay in touch over the years. She herself would go on to become a legend in the world of auto racing– a renowned driver, writer, and photographer for over 50 yrs. McCluggage has won trophies around the world and raced for Porsche, Jaguar, Lotus, Mini Cooper, Alfa, Elva, OSCA, Volvo, among others. In 1961 she won the grand touring category at Sebring in a Ferrari 250 GT, and in 1964 McCluggage scored a class win in the Rallye de Monte Carlo for Ford. She shared her remembrances of McQueen and their relationship years after his passing, published in AutoWeek magazine back in 1981. She recalls a young, lean McQueen who was already obsessed with cars and racing, who swept her off her feet with his searing looks, charm and well… incongruity, as she puts it.

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1955, Steve McQueen as he looked back in the day, running around the Village w/ Denise McCluggage – Image by © Roy Schatt

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Shortly after our reunion he had sidled up next to me and whispered in my ear: “I’m falling in love all over again,” and given me the full brunt of the smile. My response had been an instantaneous hoot of laughter. –Denise McCluggage

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Steve McQueen: Car Buff Extraordinaire, for Auto Week magazine– 

I first saw Steve McQueen in front of Joe’s luncheonette on West 4th St. in Greenwich Village. He wasn’t *STEVE McQUEEN* then, just Steve McQueen, Village hang-about. He was leaning against his cream-colored MG-TC holding a new leather-covered racing helmet and telling someone how some friends of his in England had sent it to him. And, man, that was too much!

I was on my way into Joe’s for a toasted bran muffin. Joe’s is long-gone, but at one time tout le village passed through there. That was before the Village was quite so boutique-y or self-consciously freaky. It was just a place to live.

Being a TC owner myself (my second — this one red) and interested in racing, I stopped to listen and stayed to talk.

Steve it seems, was an actor. Well, I knew something about actors having been married to one rather recently, albeit briefly. And I had studied the craft myself at night classes at the Neighborhood Playhouse (the one continuity of my life has been taking classes– in anything). So Steve and I had a wide range of commonality.

And I was touched by his almost waif-like quality– his delight and genuine surprise that someone would go to all the trouble to send him a present, particularly one he really dug. There was this incongruity in Steve’s vulnerability, his cock-of-the-walk posturing, his jive talk. And if there’s anything I’m a sucker for, it’s incongruity.

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1955, Steve McQueen as he looked back in the day, running around the Village w/ Denise McCluggage – Image by © Roy Schatt

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So the conversations continued. Then and later. At Joe’s over toasted bran muffins and at my five-flight walk-up around the corner. Indeed, we became something of a Village “item,” which surprised me. But then MG-TCs — or any sportscars — were comparatively rare, and two of them parked nose-to-tail on Cornelian Street didn’t go unnoticed. One regular at Joe’s, (as pleased as a successful matchmaker) said, “I’ve been watching those two cars around here for months and I knew it was inevitable that you’d finally get together.”

But it wasn’t like that at all! Well, it was a little like that, but not such a big deal.

I’ve been trying to remember what exactly was the Big Deal in my life at that time. The year must have been 1955 or 1956– that means it was after I had become sports writer for the New York Herald Tribune and before I got my Jaguar and raced my first SCCA National at Montgomery, NY.

Steve was at a nowhere place in his career– all possibilities and promise. But every actor I knew, including my ex-husband, had possibilities and promise. And little else.

But possibilities turned into actualities for Steve shortly thereafter, and he was off for the Coast, eventually to become Josh Randall on TV. I left the Tribune, kept racing, published Competition Press. Stuff like that.

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A brilliant photo of racing legends Juan Manuel Fangio, Stirling Moss, Denise McCluggage, Pedro Rodriguez, Innes Ireland, and  Ronnie Bucknum. via

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The next time I saw Steve McQueen must have been at Sebring in 1962. He was driving an MGA for BMC (British motor corporation). I was driving an OSCA (Officine Specializzate Costruzioni Automobili) with Allen Eager, a jazz musician with whom I had won the GT category with the year before. Allen had known Steve in the Village even before I had, and long before I knew Allen.

“Hey, man,” Steve said to Allen in a conspirator’s whisper. “I bet we’re the only two guys in this race who ever…” And he made toke-taking gestures with his thumb and forefinger. Allen’s answer was to start a hand for his pocket. “It just so happens…”

“Hey, man, what are you doing!?” Steve glanced around in a minor panic, his hands pushing disclaimers. I thought that was unfair to Allen. Allen had thought that Steve had gone Hollywood hypocrite. To me it meant Steve had Made It and wanted to Keep It. (This was 1962, remember.)

He had made it. People in restaurant booths pointed at him and called him “Josh” and grinned those give-me-a-prize-for-recognizing-you grins. Steve rather stiffly reminded them: “My name is Steve McQueen. The role I play is Josh.” That broke up Allen, who had had some share of fame for his tenor sax. Gradually Steve loosened up and laughed too, and and we talked Old Times talk. As we talked the quick McQueen smile became less mannered, less shtick-y and more like the Village days.

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Denise McCluggage (with a camera strapped around her neck) at Le Mans in 1958, published her first article for Autoweek in the magazine’s first issue back in 1958. via

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Another incident had loosened him up a bit too. Shortly after our reunion he had sidled up next to me and whispered in my ear: “I’m falling in love all over again,” and given me the full brunt of the smile. My response had been an instantaneous hoot of laughter. Steve looked hurt at first– that old vulnerability– and then th too laughed. It was a good line, and he had delivered it well, and I had loved it, but we both knew it was a stranger to any truth– either at the moment or long before.

And Steve’s truth was what I liked best about him. He had it in his acting. His full use of himself in the character of the moment. I liked his work.

I saw Steve several years later in California. I had a script idea about racing and he liked it a lot, but I wanted a friend of mine to direct it and Steve said (this was before The Great Escape) that he wasn’t big enough yet to risk an unknown director.

He was in a good place then. Enough success for a sense of satisfaction and a strong belief that plenty more was to come. Swell, it was. He led me in his British Racing Green Jaguar D-Type up the winding roads into the hills to see his house and meet his family. Chad was just about two yrs old I think. And Steve proudly showed me  job he had just finished– putting cork on the walls of a den.

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Denise McCluggage with Stirling Moss at Sebring, 1961. McLuggage was driving a Ferrari 250 GT SWB with Allen Eager, who was better known for his tenor sax. via

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Some years later when in London I picked up a newspaper and there was Steve McQueen along with an interview. He was on his way to France to start filming Le Mans. I called the reporter who had done the interview to find out what hotel Steve was in, and I phoned. I had no ide how thick the barrier would be to reaching him. I wouldn’t have tried very hard, but it was only one man deep. I told him I was an old friend of Steve’s and told him who I was. After a while a voice came back: “Denise McLuggage. Now that’s a name from the past.” 

We talked a long time– about his racing successes, his motorcycles, what he had done in Bullitt, what he wanted to do in Le Mans, and how he might revive my long-put-aside racing film ideas.

That was the last time I talked to Steve directly. He used to see Phil and Alma Hill in Los Angeles, and we sent “hellos” back and forth through them and said how we must get together again sometimes when I’m in L.A.

I knew what was happening, as much as you can know what is happening through the simultaneous successes and neglect of the press.

I thought that Steve was going to beat his illness. I really did. Hope gives a lot of color to how I think about such things.

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Steve McQueen, Monaco, 1969

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Steve’s name came up in a group conversation shortly after he had gone to Mexico and a young reporter among us said: “Boy, that’s the way to make a lot of money right now. If you can get to Steve McQueen you can make a fortune. An exclusive interview.”

I said nothing, but my mouth opened slightly as I tried to think of a word that described my feelings. “Appalled” probably came closest. And I thought too that I probably wasn’t much of a journalist.

Appropriately, it was a car radio that delivered the news to me Steve McQueen was dead. He was 50 years old, the announcer said. Fifty. That had no meaning. It was far too young. It was far too old.

I saw then that 1950s day in New York, and a young man with short-cropped hair wearing chino pants and a stark white T-shirt lounging against a cream-colored MG-TC with a machine-turned dashboard. He squints into the stark white sun and smiles a quick, not-yet-famous smile suddenly there, just as suddenly gone. He turns a new white helmet over and over in his hands.

I think too of those E.E. Cummings lines:

“And what I want to know is– How do you like your blue-eyed boy, Mr. Death?”

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RELTED TSY POSTS:

STEVE MCQUEEN, RICHARD AVEDON & RUTH ANSEL | HARPER’S BAZAAR, 1965

STEVE McQUEEN DOIN’ IT IN THE DIRT | TRIUMPH DESERT BIKE BY BUD EKINS

STEVE McQUEEN’s 1971 HUSKY 400 CROSS UP FOR AUCTION | BUY IT NOW!

STEVE McQUEEN’s 1971 HUSKY 400 CROSS UP FOR AUCTION | BUY IT NOW!

STEVE McQUEEN REVIEWS THE HOTTEST NEW GT’s | 1966 SPORTS ILLUSTRATED

STEVE McQUEEN ’66 POPULAR SCIENCE | WHAT I LIKE IN A BIKE –AND WHY

STEVE McQUEEN | LE MANS & BEYOND GRATUITOUS 1970s RACING GOODNESS

STEVE McQUEEN | HOLLYWOOD’S ANTI-HERO & TRUE SON OF LIBERTY

REQUIRED VIEWING “BULLITT” | THE GRANDDADDY OF CAR CHASE SCENES

THE TSY FRIDAY FADE | STEVE MCQUEEN’S DUNE BUGGY DAYS

HUSQVARNA | THE SCREAMIN’ SWEDE THAT STARTED A RACING REVOLUTION

1970 12 HOURS OF SEBRING RACE | STEVE McQUEEN’S BRUSH WITH VICTORY

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THE PHOTOGRAPHY OF KIRK WEST | ICONIC IMAGES OF MUSIC LEGENDS — THE BLUES

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Kirk West is probably best known as the long-time tour manager, archivist, and photographer for the Allman Brothers Band– but before that he spent many years shooting many other musical legends while living in Chicago. Many of those images laid dormant for decades, and now with time on his hands since his 2010 retirement from ABB, the amazing images have now come to light– and many of them are stunning in their honest, fly-on-the-wall, honest energy. Being a lover of the Blues, I was instantly strike by many of his images of legends in a bygone time that I’d love to step back into.

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1978 — Blues guitar great, Johnny Winter at Chicago’s Park West theatre –Image by © Kirk West There’s a famous story about a time in 1962 when Johnny and his brother went to see B.B. King at a Beaumont club called the Raven. The only whites in the crowd, they no doubt stood out. But Johnny already had his chops down and wanted to play with the revered B.B.”I was about 17,” Johnny remembers, “and B.B. didn’t want to let me on stage at first. He asked me for a union card, and I had one. Also, I kept sending people over to ask him to let me play. Finally, he decided that there enough people who wanted to hear me that, no matter if I was good or not, it would be worth it to let me on stage. He gave me his guitar and let me play. I got a standing ovation, and he took his guitar back!” via

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1985 — Late guitar great, Stevie Ray Vaughan at the Chicago Blues Fest –Image by © Kirk West     From Guitar World Magazine ’85 — “Vaughan remembered something that came from Johnny Winter, the first white Texas blues guitar hero, who’d preceded him down the long path. ‘He said something to me when the first record was doing so well,’ Stevie Ray recalled. ‘It made me feel a lot of respect for what we did, for the music. He said that he wanted me to know that people like Muddy Waters and the cats who started it all really had respect for what we’re doing, because it made people respect them. We’re not taking credit for the music. We’re trying to give it back.’” I dig that attitude– doing what you love, and doing it well– to give back to those who cam before you– and the music as a whole. You don’t hear  enough talk like that these days. That’s real heart and soul right there.

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1978– Johnny Winter, Bob Margolin, & Muddy Waters at Harry Hope’s, Cary IL where they recorded Muddy “Mississippi” Waters – Live  –Image by © Kirk West. During early live performances, Johnny Winter would often recount about how, as a child, it was dream of his to one day play with the great blues guitarist Muddy Waters. In 1977 Winter’s his manager creating Blue Sky Records to be distributed through Columbia,  Winter now had the opportunity to bring Waters into the studio for Hard Again. The album became a best-seller, with Winter producing and playing back-up guitar on the set that included Waters, and  the legendary James Cotton on harmonica. Winter produced two more studio albums for Muddy Waters – I’m Ready (this time featuring Walter Horton on harmonica) and King Bee. The partnership produced Grammy Awards, a best-selling live album (Muddy “Mississippi” Waters Live), and Winter’s own Nothin’ But the Blues, on which he was backed by members of Muddy Waters’ band.

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1978– Blues great Muddy Waters at Harry Hope’s, Cary, IL where Muddy “Mississippi” Waters – Live was recorded –Image by © Kirk West. Muddy Waters — Born McKinley Morganfield in Rolling Fork, Mississippi back in 1915. His Mama died when he was just 3 yrs old, and so he was raised by Grandmother in Clarksdale. Muddy started playing the harmonica at the age of 13, and a few years later picked-up the guitar. Muddy was very big on legendary Delta bottle-neck guitar masters — Son House and Robert Johnson. Soon, Muddy was a master himself — being one of the best guitarists and vocalists in the region  – and now recognized as one of the best ever. In 1941, Alan Lomax and a team of Library of Congress field collectors visited and recorded Muddy Waters for the Library’s folksong archives (they were originally looking for Robert Johnson at the time, but had no idea that he had died three years earlier). Muddy finely-honed his blues chops in the tough, back country juke joints until 1943 —  when he left for Chicago. Waters worked hard to make a name for himself, and by the 1950s, he had a string of recordings that solidified his reputation as one of the best. Numerous members of his bands through the years have gone on to become legends themselves– guitarists Jimmy Rogers, Sammy Lawhorn and Luther Johnson, harmonica players Little Walter, Junior Wells and James Cotton, pianists Otis Spann and Pinetop Perkins — adding to Muddy Waters’ enormous Blues legacy.

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1980– Bluesman John Hammond at ChicagoFest –Image by © Kirk West. John P. Hammond, Jr. is an American Blues & Roots music legend with crazy vocal, guitar and harmonica skills. John Paul Hammond hasn’t had huge commercial success, but that hasn’t stopped him from becoming one of the most respected musicians among his peers. Legend has it that Hammond had both Eric Clapton and Jimi Hendrix side-by-side in his band for five days in the 1960s when Hammond played The Gaslight Cafe in New York City. He’s the son of famed record producer John H. Hammond, and interestingly enough– great-grandson of William Henry Vanderbilt. You would never know he’s a Vanderbilt by listening to him. In fact, you’d swear he was raised on the Mississippi Delta. Hands-down on of my favorite artists of an genre or era. I missed-out seeing him at the New Hope, PA Winery a few months back– and have still not gotten over it.

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1979– A young George Thorogood tunes his resonator guitar backstage before a show at Harry Hope’s in Cary, IL –Image by © Kirk West. In the 1970s, Thorogood played semi-professional baseball in the Roberto Clemente League. A skilled second baseman, he was even awarded rookie of the year. His baseball dreams would take a backseat to music after seeing a young John Hammond onstage. From then on, George knew he was meant to play the Blues. “The people who helped me out were all the guys in Muddy Waters’ band, all the guys in Howlin’ Wolf’s band. They were wonderful to me, and they wanted to help me. They saw what I was trying to do. It (Blues) was a lifestyle as well as an art form, as far as music goes. They were singing about what their life was like on a daily basis. Sonny Boy Williamson and Wolf and Muddy Waters – they didn’t think they were the baddest cats in the world, they knew they were the baddest cats in the world. They had to be, or they wouldn’t have survived. There’s nothing glamorous in it – that’s just the facts. They had to fight their way through on a daily basis just to keep their heads above water. That’s very clear in a lot of their songs.” –George Thorogood. Back in the day, Thorogood and John Hammond (not to mention Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown) would take the stage at John & Peter’s in New Hope, PA — a legendary, original music venue still going strong after 40 yrs. What it lacks in size, it definitely makes up for in spirit! 

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Clarence ‘Gatemouth” Brown, Biddy Milligan’s –Image by © Kirk West. A Bluesman, he was. But this Texan legend is hard to put in a neat little box– spread his love across multiple musical genres– Country, Bluegrass, Calypso, Jazz… you name it, Gate played it. The “Gatemouth” nickname came from a high school teacher who said he had  a “voice like a gate,” and it stuck. His big break came in 1947 concert when he filled-in for T-Bone Walker onstage at Don Robey’s Bronze Peacock Houston nightclub. Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown took up his guitar and played “Gatemouth Boogie” and his career was off and runnin’. In the 1960s, Gate called Nashville home and became a fixture there– appearing on a syndicated Country music TV show, and laying down some Country tracks. Roy Clark had become a good buddy– the two recored an album together, and Gate even show-up on the (very white) TV show ‘Hee Haw’. In the late ’60s, Gate tired of the music scene and headed to the desert of New Mexico and turned in his guitar for a badge– becoming a Deputy Sheriff. Gate’s fans soon came calling like never before. In the ’70s American Roots music swept Europe–  Gates was in demand, and he toured Europe extensively. His guitar style is legendary, and cited for influencing the likes of Albert Collins, Guitar Slim, J. J. Cale, Johnny “Guitar” Watson, and Frank Zappa– who declared Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown s his all-time favorite guitarist. via

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1981– Lefty Dizz, Chicago Blues legend, at the Checkerboard Lounge –Image by © Kirk West. Lefty was a fiery guitarist, and balls-out showman who still doesn’t get nearly enough press for his legend, his skill, and his bravado. A self-taught “lefty” he was 19 yrs old when he picked up a guitar for the first time. Like many lefties back then, he played on a right-handed guitar–  and  did not reverse the strings, as some do. Legend has it that another ‘lefty’ guitar great, a young and then unknown Jimi Hendrix, caught-up with Lefty Dizz at a Seattle gig– and that Lefty’s aggressive playing had an influence on Hendrix. And Jimi wasn’t his only Rock ‘n’ Roll fan– The Rolling Stones, Foghat, and others would often catch Lefty’s Chicago gigs.       

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5/3/1983– “To Muddy”, Blues greats James Cotton and Buddy Guy at the Checkerboard Lounge for Muddy Waters’ funeral wake –Image by © Kirk West. Muddy was the man, and upon his passing in 1983, anyone who was anyone in Blues came to pay tribute to one of the most important musical icons of the last century. Period. End of story.

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THE ROLLING STONES ROCK WARHOL’S EAST HAMPTON PAD | MONTAUK, 1975

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Andy Warhol cultural icon, and Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones – Image by © Ken Regan

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It was spring of 1975, and The Rolling Stones were gearing up for their epic Tour Of The Americas (TOTA)– which they would later kick off  in NYC by performing “Brown Sugar” on the back of a flatbed truck driving down 5th Ave. Looking for a place to rest up, rehearse for the tour, and work on songs for their upcoming album, Black and Blue, the boys rented their pal Andy Warhol’s pad (for 5k a month), and got busy being themselves. Let’s just say their presence did not go unnoticed by their buttoned-up neighbors:

“Throughout April sensationally loud music welled through the windows, into the ruts and hollows over the tangled crab-grass of an estate in Montauk, Long Island. Residents of the Ditch Plains trailer park were woken in the night – yapping dogs, even wolves, the loud grief of coyotes. From East Hampton to New York the word spread with the ferocity of a brush fire: The Rolling Stones were rehearsing!”

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June, 1975 — The Rolling Stones, with guest percussionist Ollie E. Brown, outside their rehearsal room at Andy Warhol’s Montauk Church Estate – Image by © Ken Regan. Although the Stones tried to keep a low profile, their fans found their hide away. Andy Warhol remembered, “Mick Jagger really put Montauk on the map. All the motels were overflowing with groupies. Two girls with no hair and black cats on leashes followed them all the way to Montauk. Mr. Winters, the caretaker of the estate, found them hiding in the bushes!”

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June, 1975 — The Rolling Stones, with guest percussionist Ollie E. Brown, outside their rehearsal room at Andy Warhol’s Montauk Church Estate – Image by © Ken Regan. Following Mick Taylor’s leaving the band, Ronnie Wood stepped in to (try and) fill his shoes. Wood was still a member of the Faces while he toured with the Stones on TOTA, and recorded with them on Black and Blue. The Faces wouldn’t officially announce they’re breakup until Dec. 1975, and the Stones announced Wood as an official member of the band in Feb. 1976. “I remember learning 150 of their repertoire (laughs). I gave up trying to remember which key each one was in or the chord sequence to a lot of them. I did a lot of it by feel in the end, you know. Had to, it’s impossible to log all of those songs. It was intense– to get hit with all of those Mick Taylor lines, to echo what Brian had done, then to add my own bluesy input to it all.” –Ron Wood

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Here’s a great little read from Montauk Life that recounts the days of Andy Warhol’s move to East Hampton, The Rolling Stones’ legendary visit to the Church Estate that Warhol owned, and other interesting tidbits of that time:

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If there was one thing Andy loved more than fame, it was money. That’s what first brought the intensely urban Warhol to wide open Montauk. A long time visitor to the Hamptons proper, he and Paul Morrissey, director of many of Andy’s early avant garde films, decided a home here would be a great investment. Ironically, they turned to East Hampton realtor Tina Fredericks, who had been one of Andy’s early champions when art director of Vogue in the mid-1950′s.

One rainy weekend in early 1972, Andy and Paul piled into Tina’s Eldorado for a tour of the East End. She started showing them houses in the primest of areas of the East End – Southampton’s tony Gin Lane, East Hampton’s posh Further Lane and Ocean Avenue, but nothing moved Andy. It wasn’t until they drove into Montauk that eccentric Andy began to perk up.

According to Tina, it was the unlikely sight of the absurd architecture of the Memory Motel and Ronjo Motels that caught Andy’s eye. It seems the mix of Polynesian, Tudor, and “Motel Six” design amused Andy. Driving east of town along the ocean Tina brought them to a dramatic compound, overlooking the Atlantic on the wind swept cliffs of Montauk.

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1972 — Mr. Winters on his tractor at the Church Estate, Montauk. — Image by Peter Beard  via

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The Church Estate was a collection of 5 classic, clapboard houses built in the 1920s. Set on 20 acres high above the Atlantic, they had been designed by noted architect Stanford White. The main house, with 7 bedrooms, 5 baths, 4 stone fireplaces and large living areas would be perfect for entertaining. The 4 smaller cottages would be guest accommodations. They agreed to the price and Andy and Paul split the $225,000 cost. As it turned out, this good investment was the best buy of Andy’s life. Currently on the market for a cool $50,000,000, it’s the most expensive home for sale on the East End, and one of the most expensive in all of America. (Currently owned by J.Crew’s Mickey Drexler.)

Although Andy was happy with his new house, his primary concern that first year was finding a tenant to help with the bills. That started a long parade of celebrity renters for the Montauk home. That first year Andy rented the main house to Lee Radziwill, Jackie Onassis’s famed sister. In her recent bio, Happy Times, Lee remembered that Summer fondly. “The main house had a floor of huge old flagstones and two enormous fireplaces opposite each other. It smelled of cedar and the sea.”

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1971 — Andy Warhol’s beach home– the Church Estate, Montauk, Long Island, New York.  via

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Andy she saw in a different light – “He was almost allergic to fresh air, but once in a while felt obliged to leave the city and check in on the happenings at his place in Montauk. Here a somewhat different person was on display. He loved children and was inventive with them, creating activities in which they became totally abandoned such as when he sat them down at a large round table in the living room to show them how to edit a film in a simple way. He was something of a pied piper, always keeping their attention, always admiring and encouraging them at whatever they did.”

“We spent long lazy afternoons on the beach, talking and burying each other in the sand. At times like this, Andy wasn’t as strange as he initially seemed, but revealed himself as a keen, subtle observer of everything around him.”

“He had a simple supper every night at six before going out, seven nights a week to observe. He didn’t eat the rich food at the dinners and parties that he constantly attended. He was too fragile after the attempt on his life and his serious operation.”

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1973, New York — Andy Warhol and Lee Radziwill  – Image by © Condeˆ Nast Archive/Corbis. Jackie Kennedy Onassis’s sister, Lee Radziwell rented the largest of the five houses on Andy Warhol’s property in Montauk during the first summer he bought it. Lee was there to supervise the “rescue” of Grey Gardens where her eccentric East Hampton cousins, the Beales, lived. Jackie visited Lee several times that summer. It was Lee Radziwell’s idea for the Maysles Brothers (who had filmed The Rolling Stones’ Altamont concert for the documentary “Gimme Shelter”) to film her cousins which became the famous documentary, Grey Gardens.  via

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That Summer, Jackie came for a number of visits with young Caroline and John John. Andy remembered, “They used to run around throwing balloons filled with water at everybody. They were always having egg fights. John John was the ring leader. He was about 12 then. He told the funniest stories and the best jokes. John John and Caroline loved to go down to the candy store to look for pictures of themselves in the movie mags.”

Andy was so proud of his association with the first family of America, that Bob Colacello Interview editor and one of Andy’s closest companions, remembers – “Andy joked about putting up gold plaques that said ‘Lee slept here’ and ‘Jackie slept here.’” The shy boy from the wrong side of the tracks had come a long way.

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1976 — Peter Beard (photographer, writer, painter, playboy, you-name-it-he-is-it) and friends. – Image by © Larry Fink

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It seems one of the reasons Lee spent 1972 in Montauk had to do with Andy’s charismatic next door neighbor, Peter Beard. Andy described him as – “one of the most fascinating men in the world … he’s like a modern Tarzan. He jumps in and out of the snake pit he keeps at his home. He cuts himself and paints with the blood. He wears sandals and no socks in the middle of Winter. He lived in a parked car on 13th Street for six months. He moved when he woke up and found a transvestite sleeping on the roof.” He also thought Peter was one of the best looking men he’d ever seen. So did Lee.

Peter was both Andy’s neighbor and artist in arms. Unlike some who built his reputation around Andy, Peter had established himself as one of the great nature and fashion photographers long before meeting Andy. Grandson of a well to do western family, Manhattan/England/Yale educated, he began his career while still in college, signed to a $12,000 a year contract by Vogue in 1955. That was also the year he first traveled to Africa, a trip that would forever change his life and work. His landmark work, The End of the Game (1963), a collection of essays and photographs on the rapid decline of Africa and it’s wildlife, is a testament to early ecological and sociological sensibilities.

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Montauk, 1975 — Mick Jagger, Catherine Deneuve, and Andy Warhol – Image by © Peter Beard

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Peter first came to know Andy through his uncle, Jerome Hill, one of the early partners in Andy’s Interview magazine. Beard in turn came to know Lee when he was assigned a photo shoot of The Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street tour in 1972. Long remembered as one of the most decadent rock and roll campaigns of the overly indulgent ’70s, the frenzy to report this momentous event was such that the most prominent papers of the day battled to cover this bacchanalian tour. Rolling Stone magazine topped them all by assigning Truman Capote to follow the tour, and Peter Beard to photograph.

While on tour Peter became good friends with Mick Jagger. They partied they way across the country in the “Lapping Tongue” – the Stones speciality outfitted DC-7. As has been well documented they flew considerably higher than the clouds that surrounded them. Half way through the tour, Truman Capote met the group in Kansas City. In tow was his new best friend, Lee Radziwill. The mix of rock royalty and Fortunate Four Hundred did not work well. Jagger hated Capote’s mincing manners, and Capote called Mick – “…a scared little boy… about as sexy as a pissing toad.” Stones guitarist Keith Richards welcomed the cultured Radziwill by banging on her hotel door that night, screaming “Princess Radish… C’mon you old tart, there’s a party going’ downstairs!”

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Biance Jagger, Mick Jagger –Images by © Peter beard

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The final date of the tour was scheduled for Mick’s birthday – July 26, at Madison Square Garden. Afterwards a lavish party was given for the 29 year old Stone by Ashmet Ertgun, president of Atlantic Records, at his palatial roof top suite atop the St. Regis Hotel. Overlooking Manhattan, the creme de la creme of arts and society came to honor the pouting prince– including Andy, Peter, Truman, and Lee. Andy provided the high light of the party. A naked girl popped out of a towering birthday cake, and twirled her silicon tits as a dozen black tap dancers provided a chorus line. The New York Post reported, “In the perfumed twilight of the Roman Empire unspeakable things went on. Are we entering that same twilight?”

The next day Peter invited the exhausted Mick and bride Bianca, to visit his house In Montauk for a quick R&R. They flew into Montauk airport and spent the next few days relaxing at the shore, water skiing on Lake Montauk, and walking the beach. It was an introduction to Montauk that would lead to a much longer stay.

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1975 — The Rolling Stones, with Ollie E. Brown, at Warhol’s Montauk home – Image by © Ken Regan

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By the Spring of 1975, the Stones were in the midst of planning their next American tour. What better place to cool out and prepare, than quiet Montauk? Andy rented Mick and the boys the compound for a princely sum of $5,000 a month, and the Stones began rehearsals for what would become Black and Blue. As was then reported: “Throughout April sensationally loud music welled through the windows, into the ruts and hollows over the tangled crab-grass of an estate in Montauk. Long Island. Residents of the Ditch Plains trailer park were woken in the night – yapping dogs, even wolves, the loud grief of coyotes. From East Hampton to New York the word spread with the ferocity of a brush fire– The Rolling Stones were rehearsing!”

Andy and Jagger first met in 1963, when The Rolling Stones were invited to play a birthday party for then Warhol starlet, Baby Jane Holzer, at the New York Academy of Music. Over the years the artistically inclined Jagger kept tabs on the musically inclined Warhol. Mick was such an admirer, that in 1972 when the Stones formed their own record company, they tapped Andy to design their logo. With characteristic flair Andy came up with the stylized Jagger mouth and tongue that would grace all their albums. Andy also designed the infamous cover for that year’s release, Sticky Fingers-- a cover shot of Jagger from the hips down, in skin tight jeans, with a fully working zippered crotch!

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Mick Jagger taking a walk in Montauk where The Rolling Stones were rehearsing for 1975 Tour of the Americas. – Image by © Ken Regan

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Andy Warhol visited the boys often that Summer. Although the Stones tried to keep a low profile, their fans found their hide away. Andy remembers, “Mick Jagger really put Montauk on the map. All the motels were overflowing with groupies. Two girls with no hair and black cats on leashes followed them all the way to Montauk. Mr. Winters – the caretaker of the estate – found them hiding in the bushes!”

At times the attention went beyond mere fan worship. Andy remembers playing with Mick and Bianca’s then 4 year old daughter, Jade. As he often did with small children he delighted in showing her how to draw and paint. At one point Andy was searching for some material, opened a drawer and much to his surprise found a loaded gun. Jade said,“That’s my daddy’s!” Turned out, Jagger was being hounded by a pair of Rolling Stones obsessed fans that summer, and felt the need for a little extra protection.

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Keith Richards cooking in the kitchen of Andy Warhol’s Montauk home where The Rolling Stones were rehearsing for their 1975 Tour of the Americas. – Image by © Ken Regan

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Little Jade was Andy’s favorite Jagger– “I love Mick and Bianca, but Jade’s more my speed. I taught her how to color and she showed me how to play Monopoly. She was four and I was forty-four. Mick got jealous. He said I was a bad influence because I gave her champagne.”

One of Mick’s favorite hang outs that summer was the Shagwong on Main Street. A little rougher around the edges in those days, it’s main attractions were a pool table and a juke box full of rock and roll. Only problem was, the only Stones tune on it was the by then golden oldie “Get Off My Cloud.” They’d play it every time Mick came in for a drink. One night Mick had enough. After 10 Pina Coladas, and the same number of “Get Off My Cloud”, Mick got off his bar stool, put a quarter in the box, punched up the classic disco tune – “Stand, Stand, Stand” – and started singing along. The whole place got quiet at first, and then exploded.

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Keith Richards on phone in the kitchen of Andy Warhol’s Montauk home where the Rolling Stones were rehearsing for their 1975 Tour of the Americas.  – Image by © Ken Regan

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Now as then, Jimmy Hewitt owned the Shagwong. He remembers Mick and Bianca would come in once or twice a week. “They were great for business. We had girls camped out three deep up and down the sidewalk waiting for them!” Mick would take up a stool at the end of the bar, where he’d sit with his private bottle of Grand Marnier. Bianca would waltz into the kitchen to pick out dinner, and kibitz with the crew. She’d roll up the sleeves of her Yves Saint Laurent dresses and open clams. Many nights after closing, Mick would invite Jimmy back to the hose to hear the Stones rehearse. The only problem was the nocturnal Stones wouldn’t even start 2 or 3 in the morning. By then it was time for Jimmy to go home.

Of course one of the indelible remains of the Stones stay in Montauk, is the song “Memory Motel.” Named for the bar and motel of same name, this lament for a lost girl has become one of the Stones signature tunes.

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“Hannah honey was a peachy kind of girl
Her eyes were hazel
And her nose were slightly curved
We spent a lonely night at the Memory Motel
It’s on the ocean, I guess you know it well
It took a starry to steal my breath away
Down on the water front
Her hair all drenched in spray”
(Jagger/Richards – C- Rolling Stones/Virgin Records 1975 )

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As atmospheric a tune as it was, the truth is, the Memory Motel was not the center of the Stones stay in Montauk. Peter Beard remembers taking Mick there one afternoon, with disastrous results. It seems the owners, an older couple, didn’t much care for the Stones. The bartender as much as told Jagger that to his face. So far as Peter can remember, that was the only time they set foot in the place! As for the “honey of a girl” mentioned in the song, it wasn’t some lovely Montauk lass Mick was pining after, but the Stones traveling photographer, Annie Liebowitz.

One girl who many in Montauk pined for, was a certain Barbara Allen. The pretty young wife of Joe Allen, one of Andy’s Interview backers, Barbara attracted attention where ever she went. Years before she and Peter had a fling. That summer married Mick seemed to find her company very enjoyable. According to Bob Colacello, he was inadvertently present at a night time rendezvous while staying at Peter Beard’s house. One hot summer’s night he was dropping off to a peaceful night’s sleep, when through the open window comes none other than Mick! Seemed he’d mistaken Bob’s room, for Barbara Allen’s. Poor Bob, it was the closest he’d get to having a Rock ‘n’ Roll star in his bed that summer.

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Ken Regan with The Rolling Stones at Camera 5 Studios  – Image by © Ken Regan

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STEVE McQUEEN AKA HARVEY MUSHMAN RIDES AGAIN | VINTAGE SI

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A great article from 1971 unearthed from the Sports Illustrated archives– Steve McQueen discussing desert bike riding with Bud Ekins & Malcolm Smith, Racing in the 12 Hours of Sebring with Pete Revson, The Great Escape, his son Chad, and much more.

McQueen even recalls exactly when he was bitten by the off-road bug– “Well, I was riding along Sepulveda with Dennis Hopper when we saw these guys bopping and bumping through the weeds near there, off the road. It was Keenan Wynn and another guy on these strange machines, dirt bikes they called them. We asked Keenan if he could climb that cliff. ‘Watch this,’ he says. Varoom! Right up to the top. Dennis and I were standing there with our eyes out to here. The very next day I went out and bought me a 500-cc Triumph dirt bike.”

Read on friends, read on.

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Steve McQueen riding his Husqvarna 400 motorcycle. Below is an article from SI magazine, 1971.

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HARVEY ON THE LAM

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By Robert F. Jones

By any name, Steve McQueen gets all revved up over dirt bikes.

Slamming one across the California Desert is now his Great Escape.

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The opening scene: California’s Mojave Desert at high noon. Dead silence. Through the shimmering heat waves, Mount San Jacinto seems to writhe on the horizon like a dying brontosaurus. The spines of the cactus at foreground right are in sharp focus, the gleaming spearpoints of a vegetable army. In the shadow of a boulder, sudden movement. A Gila monster raises its beadwork head and flicks its tongue, alert to the distant sound that is just beginning to insinuate itself into the desert’s quiet. A sudden, ululating whine, the invading noise rapidly gains strength as four distorted dots on the horizon weave closer. The dots take on color and shape s they approach: a quartet of red and chrome motorcycles, stunting and racketing through the puckerbushes, their riders vaulting the ridges and slaloming through the cactus at 70 mph. Their ominous, mechanical verve sends the Gila monster– descendant of the dinosaurs– scuttling for shelter. The camers zooms in on the lead rider’s face, sun-blackened and jut-jawed under his helmet. Up music and credits: hold onto your popcorn, folks–

Harvey Mushman rides again!

That scenario, or one like it, takes place nearly every weekend in the desert surrounding Palm Springs. Harvey Mushman is the ocassional pseudonym of Steve McQueen, movie actor and motor sportsman, when he goes a-racing. His companions on those fast, racking transits of the wasteland often include the best of the desert-riding breed: Bud Ekins or Roger Riddell, Mert Lawwill or Malcolm Smith. Now and then a smaller figure on a smaller bike trails behind, slower but only a touch less skillful in his handling of the desert’s harsh nuance– Chad McQueen, the actor’s 10-year-old son.

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June 13th, 1971 – Steve McQueen riding his Husqvarna 400 motorcycle in the Mojave Desert — Photo by Heinz Kluetmeier/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images

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To the serious student (or critic) of motor sports, a movie actor might appear to be an odd choice to illustrate the game of desert riding. Actors. after all, are notorious in their appetite for publicity, and even those who appear in racing fils usually have stuntmen do most of their driving. But Steve McQueen’s racing credentials are quite in order. Last year he proved competence as a sports car endurance racer by placing second in the 12 Hours of Sebring. Aided by the considerable talents of Pete Revson as his co-driver, McQueen drove his half of the race impressively, mixing it up nicely in the corners and clocking lap times within seven seconds of Revson. What’s more, McQueen was driving with his clutch foot in a cast– he had broken his left leg just one week earlier in  bike race at Elsinore, Calif. The cast itself cracked during the first 20 minutes of the race “It hurt,” Steve recalls, “and that took a lot of strength away, but mainly it complicated the problems of downshifting through the corners.” Add to that the fact that the McQueen-Revson car was an obsolete Porsche 908, much slower in the straightaways than the top-line Porsche 917s and Ferrari 512s. and McQueen’s finish was even more remarkable. Mario Andretti, who won the race in a five-liter Ferrari, had to shift cars to do so. (His own machine broke down shortly before the end and he commanded another team car that was lying third at the time. At that, Mario only won by 23.8 seconds.) “The motor sports Establishment was scared foofless that I was going to win,” McQueen says now with a grin. “I’m told that Chris Economaki was tearing his hair out and moaning, ‘My Gog, not a movie actor, not a movie actor!’”

But why not? An actor with a rather limited repertoire, McQueen has done a lot to popularize the motor sports he regards as his avocation. In his film Le Mans the romantic cliches of most racing movies are largely avoided, and the kinetic truths of high-speed sports car competition come across with a commanding fidelity. The driving sequences, particularly the crashes of a Ferrari and McQueen’s Porsche 917 (actually a Lola with a Porsche body on the frame), are clearly the best and most realistic ever shot. When they viewed a rough cut of the film at Daytona earlier this year, drivers Jackie Oliver and Vic Elford could find no fault with the footage. “Seeing those shunts in slow motion makes you want to hit the brakes,” allowed Oliver—quite a recommendation from a driver who rarely hits his own.        

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The 65ft jump that Steve McQueen’s stuntman (and riding buddy) Bud Ekins performed on a 1962 Triumph TR6 650cc motorcycle in ‘The Great Escape’ almost defied the laws of gravity. It was a heavy bike– a special ramp was built for Ekins to accomplish the jump over the barbed-wire fence. via

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McQueen’s climactic motorcycle scene in The Great Escape, a 1962 film about Allied POWs in a World War II stalag, was in reality a paean to dirt racing. His slides, jumps, wheelies and even the ultimate “endo” (end-over-end spill) showed a vast audience just what the weekend bike freak sees—and does—at a motocross event. It was a revelation to the uninitiated.

“Most bike flicks in the past concentrated on the outlaw crap,” McQueen says, with some heat. “Hell’s Angels and all of that stuff, which is about as far away from the real world of motorcycle racing as I am from Lionel Barrymore. Brando’s movie The Wild One in the early 1950s set motorcycle racing back about 200 years.”

The real grind of the American Motorcycle Association’s championship circuit is well expressed in Bruce Brown’s superlative bike flick On Any Sunday, which McQueen financed to the tune of $313,000, and the film goes a long way toward rectifying that earlier setback. It shows McQueen’s sometime riding buddy Mert Lawwill trucking his Harley-Davidson from track to track—San Francisco to Columbus to Daytona and back to the Coast, to Sacramento—in defense of his No. 1 plate (which he loses to Gene Romero ultimately). Mainly, though, the Brown-McQueen effort conveys the agility and exuberance of bike riding, particularly off the road, so emphatically that the already swollen market of motorcycle buyers will probably explode as a result.

Insurance hangups have forced McQueen out of sports car racing, but no one can keep him off the motorcycles. “I can’t really say I’m sorry that I don’t race sports cars anymore,” he mused recently at his Palm Springs home. Two tidy Porsche 911s were parked in the driveway, along with six motorcycles. He studied them for a moment. “There’s something awfully final about automobile racing. I learned that when we were shooting Le Mans, if I hadn’t learned it earlier driving. If you foul up in a car often enough, it’s Adios City. Bikes can hurt you sure enough, kill you too, but there’s not as high a fatality rate in bike racing as in cars. I guess it’s the slower speeds and the absence of fire. If you lose it on a bike, you’re clear of the machine when and if it burns. Minus some hide, of course, and dinged up pretty good around the arms and legs and head and shoulders. But basically you’re intact. If you decelerate a car from 200 miles an hour to zero in like 10 yards, which is what happens if you hit a tree on a road course or the wall at Indy, you come out kind of compressed. And if you get knocked out in even a minor shunt and the car starts to burn…well, like I said, it’s kind of final.”

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McQueen himself is kind of final about his role as a motor sportsman. “Look, I’m an actor, not a racer. I love bikes for the fun they give me, not the money they might have given me. You can’t earn more than $80,000 a year racing bikes, and you work your tail off doing even that, races every weekend for seven months of the year and from coast to coast. I think that if I’d started young enough in motorcycle racing, I could have been ranked,” says the actor, now 41. “I’ve won my share of races, and I’ve lost them, too. I was in heavy competition with Scooter Patrick for the course lap record at Phoenix, and finally I did it—I set the record. But it’ll be broken. That’s how it goes and how it should go. Sport is not like art. There is no ‘best’ in sports, only ‘getting betters.’”

McQueen’s interest in motorcycles dates back to 1950, when he bought his first bike, “a mean old 1946 Indian Chief. I remember how proud I was of it—I right away went over to see this girl I was dating to show it to her. When she saw it, she said, ‘You don’t expect me to ride around with you on that?’ Well, I sure enough did. The girl went but the bike stayed.”

Those were hungry days for McQueen the entertainer. A tough kid growing up in wartime L.A., he had done time in the Chino, Calif. reformatory (“It was the competitive urge, I think, and I converted it into stealing cars”). The Marine Corps and a stretch in the Merchant Marine straightened him out and showed him much more of the world– Actors Studio, followed by many stage roles, large and small, confirmed him in the direction of drama.

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That’s a young Chad McQueen going for a ride with dad during the filming of the movie Le Mans in 1970. Chad even went for a ride with Steve in the #20 Porsche 917 that his dad drove in the film. Chad was even allowed to sit in Steve’s lap and hold onto the steering wheel for a short trip down the track. –Nigel Smuckatelli

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But fast cars and motorcycles remained an alternate mode of expression. During the late 1950s he took off on a bike trip through Cuba. “We were quite a group,” he recalls. “An actor, a poet and a guy who was just plain nuts, or maybe we all were. Hurricane Audrey was sloshing around on the East Coast while we zipped down to Florida. Then we ran from Havana to Santiago, about 967 or so kilometers, as I recall. Batista and Castro were shooting it out down there in the Sierra Maestra, and there were uniforms everywhere. I was still a little wild in those days, particularly when I was on the juice. So what happens? I get thrown in the calabozo. I sent a telegram to Neile Adams, my girl, to send money so’s I could get out. Well, she later married me, but that time she said no. It wasn’t so bad. The guard was a friendly dude, and he’d let me out of the cell so we could have lunch together—cheese and onions and wine—and that hot sun with the smell of the manzanita and the sewers. I suppose that’s the great romantic lure of the motorcycle– it’s a key to adventure.”

Thus far McQueen’s machines had all been “street iron,” outsized, over-chromed jobs that were a terror on the highways but stick-in-the-muds off the road. He learned about dirt riding quite dramatically. “You know that cliff that leads down from Mulholland to Sepulveda?” he asks. “Well, I was riding along Sepulveda with Dennis Hopper when we saw these guys bopping and bumping through the weeds near there, off the road. It was Keenan Wynn and another guy on these strange machines, dirt bikes they called them. We asked Keenan if he could climb that cliff. ‘Watch this,’ he says. Varoom! Right up to the top. Dennis and I were standing there with our eyes out to here. The very next day I went out and bought me a 500-cc Triumph dirt bike.”

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June 13th, 1971 – Steve McQueen riding his Husqvarna 400 motorcycle in the Mojave Desert — Photo by Heinz Kluetmeier/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images

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Competition quickly followed—club races, hare-and-hound chases across the Southern California wastelands, point-to-points and snow racing in the High Sierra. “It’s rugged riding,” McQueen allows. “I remember one snow race up in the Sierra where I lost it just as I was coming up on this ragged old pine tree. One of the broken-off branches slammed right into my mouth. I was standing there spitting out bark and blood when a course official came up. ‘Are my teeth still in there?’ I asked him. I didn’t want to waste any time taking off my gloves, so he felt around and said that they were loose but still there. I was just dumb enough to jump back on the bike and finish the race. Wow!” He shakes his head, grinning.

McQueen has also ridden in the real enduros, races like Las Vegas’ Mint 400 and the Baja 1,000 from Ensenada to La Paz. In last year’s Elsinore Grand Prix, a race through that small mountain-slope town and its surrounding gulches northeast of San Diego, McQueen was one of 1,500 entrants. As Harvey Mushman, he started well back in the pack but managed finally to snake, bump and vault his way to 10th place overall, while his friend Malcolm Smith was lapping the field for an easy victory. “In my book Malcolm’s the best all-round racer in the world right now,” says Steve. “He’s a gold medal winner in the Internationals, but he still runs all of it— hare-and-hound, trials, long distance. He’s a fine mechanic, and he gets the most out of a bike. He’s got a bad right leg, though he’s not going to tell you about it. I want him to put a brace on it. If he breaks it again, it’s going to be Adios City.”

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Steve McQueen, Mert Lawwill, and Malcolm Smith in Bruce Brown’s–  ’On Any Sunday’

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Intense as his own competitive instincts are, McQueen has found them changing under the influence of the desert– he respects that sternest of geographical gurus, though he is well aware of its quirky vulnerability. Cleat marks left by George Patton’s tanks, training in the desert nearly 30 years ago, are still visible, but rain may follow the new tracks of a dune buggy or a dirt bike and turn imprints into washes. Too many desert freaks, whether cyclists or truck drivers, leave their junk lying around where they dropped it, beer cans, aluminum foil, bottles, the whole undegradable lot, where even a simple tire track ruins the esthetics of this austere, previously wild desert world. “You end up pushing farther and farther into the boonies,” McQueen observes, “trying to escape from other people and their noise and their crap, but then they see your tracks and they follow you. It’s the problem that confronts all of us in a jam-packed world. Who are we running away from? Answer: us. It’s crazy, but what’s the solution?” Dirt riders are discouraged from much of the desert area of California by new laws enacted as a result of the current wave of ecological awareness, but a number of motorcycle parks have been established, mainly around Los Angeles, to give bike people an outlet. This is only a stopgap solution, but McQueen approves of it, for the moment.

As for the desert, “I first began to understand it as a living thing back in my wilder days,” he says. “I was interested in the Indians, and they had given me some peyote. This was way back before the drug culture got started, and people were still serious about the philosophical aspect of the hallucinogens rather than just kicks. Anyway, the peyote really hit me. I took off into the desert on my bike, bound and determined to whip it. I ran flat out, straight into the desert—I was all ego, challenging every bump and every gulch. I don’t know how many endos I turned, plenty of them. The cactus ripped me up, the rocks chewed on my hide, I had sand in my nose and kangaroo rats in my ears. I rode until the bike ran out of gas, and after that I just lay there. It was dead quiet, night falling and my bike making these little crackling noises as the metal cooled and settled. I knew then that not only could I never whip the desert, but that the whole thought of trying to whip it was the most ridiculous idea in the world.”

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Steve McQueen, Mert Lawwill, and Malcolm Smith in Bruce Brown’s–  ’On Any Sunday’

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On this day there was no thought of whipping anything except city-style boredom. McQueen had driven up to Palm Springs from his L.A. offices (he runs a plastics company in addition to his celluloid affairs) to spend a weekend with Chad and a couple of riding pals before embarking on his next film. The movie, Junior Bonner, about a down-and-out rodeo rider— splendid McQueen casting— is directed by Sam Peckinpah, a man with a good eye for such currently unpopular human qualities as toughness, loyalty and contempt for death. McQueen’s desert hideaway, standing on a sun-scorched ridge overlooking the wealth and desiccation of Palm Springs, is some decorator’s dream come surrealistically true. There are kongoni skulls and zebra skin pillows, the mounted head of a Boone and Crockett-class bighorn sheep, a gold-plated Winchester .30-30 “presentation model” hanging on one wall (“much better than that silly little sawed-off Winchester I used in Wanted—Dead or Alive” Steve muses, spin cocking the rifle absently). The refrigerator is full of Cold Duck, Almaden burgundy, Coors beer and Gatorade—this is a dry climate. In the house, at least, it is also a somewhat sad one. McQueen is separated from his wife. “We’ve got our problems,” he admits freely, “and we’re trying to work them out.”

Looking down into the desert from the poolside, McQueen points to the north. “I used to have a little shack out there in the flats—cost me only $102 a month, and I was perfectly happy with it. It was on a wash, and you could just jump on the bike and disappear into the giggle weeds. Oh, well.” Chad is riding around the swimming pool on a bicycle, doing 50-yard wheelies and other stunts, clearly nudging his father to hurry up and get with it for the afternoon motorcycle ride. In everything but his cycle skills Chad is a striking contrast to his father– dark and open rather than blond and curt. He wears braces over his uninhibited smile and has none of that exasperating cocksurety so common to actors’ children.

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“Actor Steve McQueen and his Triumph desert bike in their native habitat.”  –Cycle World Magazine, June 1964  via

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“I’ve tried to raise him as a real kid,” Steve explains. “He likes to ride in the desert and he bought his own bike, a Yamaha 60-cc Mini Enduro, out of his own pocket money. But his schoolwork has to be good if he’s going to ride. I grounded him for eight weeks earlier this year when his grades got sloppy. He’s shaped up nice since then. Christ, riding has got to be good for a kid. I was stealing cars at his age.”

It is egg-frying hot around the pool. Even the water temperature is an incredible 92 degrees thanks to the searing sun, and no one but Chad wants to ride until the shadow of Mount San Jacinto gets a bit taller. McQueen’s other guests are content to lie lizard-like in the sun until then. Roger Riddell is a lean, longhaired dirt rider from L.A. who has taken time off from the two-wheel wars to beat the promotional drums for Bruce Brown’s motorcycle movie. Morris Langbord is dark and hawk-beaked, an “environmental lighting specialist” when he is not racing through the desert. One can only suppose that “environmental lighting” is a euphemism for comedy– Langbord certainly brightens his surroundings with a ready, quippy wit. Just now, in response to a jocular put-down by Riddell, he has dumped a glass of ice cubes on Roger’s chest with an admonishment to “cool it.” Dirt-rider tough, Riddell scarcely flinches. The thirsty sun evaporates the ice in two minutes flat.

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Steve McQueen, Bud Ekins and the legendary Chevy-powered Hurst Baja Boot, only 2 were ever made.

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The talk touches, desultorily, upon the topics important to motorcycle men: famous spills and fractures; the relative worth of various shock absorbers, gearboxes and tread-shaping techniques. “Hey, Morris,” says McQueen. “The next time you go by Bud Ekins’ shop I want you to do something for me. You know that 1924 Indian Chief I restored—the one with the side hack? Well, Bud clipped the wheels off of it from me—the original wheels. Every time I come over, he hides them and I can’t steal them back. Maybe if you….”

“No way,” says Morris. “Do your own salvage jobs. My picture’s up in too many post offices already.” Yakety-yak, but their eyes keep watching the sun as it slopes toward the mountain. Finally the angle is just about right. “O.K.,” says McQueen, hitching up his Levi’s like an old gunfighter. “Time for a ride. Let’s get it on.”

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Bud Ekins owned and operated a successful Triumph dealership in Sherman Oaks, CA. He had become something of a hero to Hollywood’s young movie actors, who would often hang out at his shop. One of those actors was Steve McQueen. When McQueen bought an off-road motorcycle, Ekins, then the absolute master of Southern California off-road motorcycle racing, coached him in bike control on the desert washes and fir trails of the area. McQueen, in turn, got Ekins stuntman jobs in the film industry. They quickly became very close friends and their attention turned to racing and collecting cars and bikes. via

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The closing scene: four bikes in the desert. The interplay of the riders as they weave and leap their machines, like stampeding impala. It is a series of interlocking races, or fragments of races, with each rider picking up, without an exchange of words, on the challenge of the next patch of ground. Roger spots a tricky wash with an approach route made even trickier by a staggered stand of manzanita, and as he swerves his bike toward it, Steve and Morris take up the chase. There is only one route over the lip of the wash, and each man tries to reach it first, with Chad in vain but straining pursuit. Collision seems imminent, but Roger gets there just a wheel on top, and the others slip grudgingly into line for the jump. On the next extemporaneous heat McQueen wins the sprint into a sandy corner, and Roger, having come in too deep and now unable to pass, lays his bike on its side and slides clear of the corner in a swirl of spokes and dirt. As he gets to his feet, the alert concern of his companions gives way abruptly to raucous, chivying laughter. “Hey, man, you blew it, man, you road-hog, that’ll learn ya!” Roger flips them the bird, restarts the bike and the chase is on once more. At one point Chad loses a plug over his gearbox and is sprayed with oil. “Yuccchh!” he screams, shuddering as he tries to wipe the oil off. “I can’t stand it!” It is a strange moment, embarrassing to the men. Chad is, after all, still a little boy, with a kid’s sudden incomprehensible hang-ups. Steve reassures him that oil doesn’t hurt and tells him that if he’s going to own a bike, he’s got to make sure that everything on it is buttoned up tight before he rides it. They stuff a chunk of cloth into the hole and roar off once again.

The desert is covered with animal signs. Jackrabbits and ground squirrels have been this way, and there are the tracks of a long-loping coyote. As the day cools, the hawks come out, broad-winged buteos with undersides as pale as the desert sky, swinging in search of dinner. Coveys of Gambel’s quail call from the cool spots. “There used to be antelope around here,” says Riddell during one of the breaks, “but the railroad finished them in one year. They were afraid to cross the tracks, so the herd split up and finally died out. It sounds ominously like a metaphor—but meaning what?” McQueen looks serious during the exchange, perhaps recalling that long-ago run he had made in hopes of conquering the desert, but then he flashes the happy, movie-star grin. “What’ll we do for dinner tonight? How’s about Mexican food? Margaritas, frijoles refritos, enchiladas, peppers…” “Yeah,” says Morris, “and after that a 50-gallon drum of Maalox.”

The long shot that follows puts it all together: four bikes in silhouette, running toward the scattered golden lights of Palm Springs. No music, just the fading, up-and-down cacophony of the engines. Harvey Mushman rides again. And again and again.

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RELATED TSY POSTS:

STEVE MCQUEEN, RICHARD AVEDON & RUTH ANSEL | HARPER’S BAZAAR, 1965

STEVE McQUEEN DOIN’ IT IN THE DIRT | TRIUMPH DESERT BIKE BY BUD EKINS

STEVE McQUEEN’s 1971 HUSKY 400 CROSS UP FOR AUCTION | BUY IT NOW!

STEVE McQUEEN’s 1971 HUSKY 400 CROSS UP FOR AUCTION | BUY IT NOW!

STEVE McQUEEN REVIEWS THE HOTTEST NEW GT’s | 1966 SPORTS ILLUSTRATED

STEVE McQUEEN ’66 POPULAR SCIENCE | WHAT I LIKE IN A BIKE –AND WHY

STEVE McQUEEN | LE MANS & BEYOND GRATUITOUS 1970s RACING GOODNESS

STEVE McQUEEN | HOLLYWOOD’S ANTI-HERO & TRUE SON OF LIBERTY

REQUIRED VIEWING “BULLITT” | THE GRANDDADDY OF CAR CHASE SCENES

THE TSY FRIDAY FADE | STEVE MCQUEEN’S DUNE BUGGY DAYS

HUSQVARNA | THE SCREAMIN’ SWEDE THAT STARTED A RACING REVOLUTION

1970 12 HOURS OF SEBRING RACE | STEVE McQUEEN’S BRUSH WITH VICTORY

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The Sports Illustrated Archives– Harvey On The Lam

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VINTAGE MENSWEAR | A COLLECTION FROM THE VINTAGE SHOWROOM’S BOOK

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I was pretty stoked when Doug Gunn sent me a copy of — Vintage Menswear — A Collection from the Vintage Showroom – as I’ve long been an admirer. Being in the menswear trade myself, London has always been a favorite stop for inspiration, and there’s no better place to be inspired than The Vintage Showroom. The collection is insane and beautifully presented, covering everything from academia, sporting, hunting, motoring, military wear, workwear, denim– it’s no surprise that they are one of the most complete and prestigious vintage dealers in the world. Of special interest to me are all things related to motoring as you see below including vintage leathers, Barbour, Belstaff, etc., and all the great snippets of the history, construction, and function behind the pieces.

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CHAMPION CAR CLUB JACKET, 1950s– “This is a simple, zip-up cotton jacket with fish-eye buttons at the cuffs and a short collar. What it signifies, however, is so much more. The hand-embroidered, chain-stitched imagery on its back places it squarely in the 1950s, at the height of the hot-rodding craze in the US. Hot-rodding was said to have been driven by young men returning from service abroad after World War II who had technical knowledge, time on their hands, and the habit of spending long days in male, if not macho, company. Rebuilding and boosting cars for feats of both spectacle and speed — often 1930s Ford Model Ts, As and Bs, stripped of extraneous parts, engines tuned or replaced, tires beefed up for better traction, and a show-stopping paint job as the final touch — became an issue of social status among hot-rodding’s participants. This status was expressed through clothing too. There were the ‘hot-rodders’ of the 1930s, when car modification for racing across dry lakes in California was more an innovative sport than a subculture, complete with the Southern California Timing Association of 1937 providing ‘official’ sanction. But by the 1950s, hot-rodding was a style too.  decade later it was, as many niche tastes are, commercialized and mainstream, with car design showing hot-rod traits.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims

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BOLENIUM RACING COVERALLS, 1950s– “These cotton coveralls were made in Britain during the 1950s with factory work in mind. Their practicality and, when made in white, dash soon came to be adopted by motor-racing drivers of the period– among them Stirling Moss, Graham Hill, and Juan Manuel Fangio. Each of these helped to make the British racing tracks of the period, the likes of Brooklands and Silverstone, world-famous. The utility and style of coveralls had already been spotted by Britain’s wartime Prime Minister, Winston Churchill– his ‘siren suit’ was essentially a zip-front version of the coveralls, donned in a hurry over clothing or nightwear before entering an air-raid shelter. Although Churchill and members of his family had worn such suits since the 1930s (they called them ‘rompers’), the coveralls became a wartime sartorial signature for the PM. The dapper Churchill had several siren suits made in other fabrics, among them red velvet.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims

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ALBERT GILL LTD DESPATCH RIDER’S COAT, 1943– “Despatch riders provided an invaluable, if not crucial form of communication during both world wars. With telegraph and radio lines often broken by enemy activity, or the messages relayed on them uncertain of inception, the despatch rider provided an almost assured means of delivery — the likelihood of  a single rider being physically arrested by the enemy was slight. He would be able to use his motorcycle to circumvent blocked roads and bomb damage, to move at speed and to deliver in person. He had to operate at all times and in all weathers– hence the need for considerable protection. This despatch rider’s coat, made by Albert Gill Ltd in 1944 and marked, in quartermaster fashion, (coat, rubber-proofed, motor cyclist’s) is made from bonded, rubberized cotton canvas fabric by Macintosh. Even after softening and with its perspiration eyelets under the armpits, it would have been an uncomfortably hot and heavy garment to wear. But it afforded almost complete water- and wind-proofing. The bottom of the coat even snapped together to cover the tops of the legs of the rider., with the front front rear edgepress-stud-fastened (using brass Newey studs typical of the 1930s and 1940s UK) onto the rear hem, creating a kind of military-grade romper suit. Straps on the interior secured the coat to the rider’s legs, preventing it from flapping about. A double-breasted front provided an additional layer of protection to the chest, with a storm flap designed to keep water away from the body. The most distinctive feature of the coat, however, remains the slanted chest ‘map’ pocket that carried the message– a design detail copied for latter cotton civilian biker jackets.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims  

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BARBOUR INTERNATIONAL MOTORCYCLE JACKET, 1950s– “few specialist clothing designs can be said to have been adapted for use by the military and then to have found life with civilians again. Perhaps one of the most successful examples is Barbour’s International trials jacket. The Barbour company was founded by John Barbour in South Shields , north-east England in 1894. He built a drapery business specializing in boiler suits, painetrs’ jackets and oilskins for shipbuilders, sailors and fishermen of the local coastal towns, and later the farming community too. It was a hobby of John Barbour’s son Malcolm that saw the company build a motorcycling range during the 1930s– more or less exclusively kitting out the British International motor-racing team from 1936 onwards. One such design was adapted to make the Ursula suit for submariners during World War II, initially as a private order, and later as an official piece of wartime kit. Adapted slightly further, the jacket part of the suit found a third life with motorcyclists again from 1947. The jacket’s profile rose through the 1950s and 1960s thanks to its use by most of the riders at the UK’s Six Days Trial international motocross competition, as well as by keen cross-country biker and Hollywood actor Steve McQueen. The 1st Pattern civilian jacket, as with this example– still referred to as the ‘Barbour suit’ in its labeling and only later coming to be known as the International– used small-gauge, lightning zip of the Ursula and the moleskin-lined ‘eagle’ collar. Later models replaced the zipper with a larger lightning pull, the collar lining with corduroy, and the plain interior lining with what would become Barbour’s signature tartan.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims  

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BELSTAFF TRIALMASTER MOTORCYCLE MOTORCYCLE JACKET, 1960s- “The Barbour International’s arch-rival in motorcycling circles has long been the Belstaff Trialmaster. Today the jacket has four patch pockets, but initially it shared the same ‘drunk’ left breast pocket, and was distinguishable only by being slightly longer in the body and by a few minor details. More distinctive perhaps was Belstaff’s readiness to use color– this jacket, although now broken down with time and use to a shade of maroon-black, was once a bold red. Like Barbour, Belstaff grew out of a business built around the development of early technical fabrics. Established in 1924 in Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire, England by Eli Belovitch and his son Harry Grosberg, the company specialized in outdoorsy friction, wind, and  water-proof garments (although its logo, a Phoenix rising, did so from a fire rather than a muddy field). Later such garments resulted from experiments with rubber coatings. This led to Belstaff’s successful Black Prince clothing line, including the company’s first motorcycle jacket, and the waxing of cottons, the use of natural oils giving the fabric greater water-resistance while retaining its breathability. Like Barbour’s International jacket, the Trialmaster too won a stamp of approval from many professional motorcyclists, chiefly of the 1950s and 1960s. The champion trials rider Sammy Miller wore the jacket for many of his record 1,250 victories. adding to its later appeal for some was the fact that the revolutionary Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara wore this jacket for his legendary motorcycle ride across South America.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims

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UNKNOWN BRAND, DOUBLE-BREASTED MOTORCYCLE JACKET, 1920s– “This English, custom-made leather jacket dates from the 1920s when hobby motorcycling was in fancy. It sets a benchmark for subsequent biker jackets, though this one buttons up, lacking the signature asymmetric zip of later models. The hobby of motorcycling soon became a craze and manufacturers rushed to cater for it, vying to create the definitive article and many basing their designs on hunting jackets of the period– a fact seen in the pocket positioning of this example. It stretches the idea to say that these makers liked to romantically compare the motorbike to the trusty steed, but early bikers did tend to wear jodphurs too– if only because they were easy to wear tall boots with. This jacket, with its fleeced cotton lining, flapped pockets, hand-sewn buttonholes and horn buttons may lack any of the double-layered leather or safety features of later jackets, but its cropped style (allowing a crouched riding position), waist belt adjuster and elegant proportions make it much classier.”   –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims 

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LEWIS LEATHERS PHANTOM RACING JACKET, 1970s– “The biker jacket had long been a fashion staple by the time this Lewis Leathers Phantom model was created in the 1970s. The famed Perfecto model had been developed by Schott for a Harley-Davidson dealer during the 1930s– it reached iconic status and sealed its rebellious image thanks to Marlon Brando’s misfit wearing one in the 1953 film ‘The Wild One’. Although specialist pieces had been designed for riding before, this would become the benchmark for biker jackets, especially in the US. In the UK, however, Lewis Leathers was devising a more European feel– more fitted, longer and more blouson in style. D. Lewis Ltd. had been in business since 1892 as a pioneering maker of clothing for early motorists and aviators– for this latter market it even introduced its own Aviakit brand. By the 1950s, it had entered the biker clothing market with styles that defined the ‘ton up’ boys of the era– also the British ‘Rockers’ so stylistically and culturally opposed to the scooter-riding parka-wearing Mods. Two decades on, the company was reinventing the biker jacket in the most obvious way– by producing it not in the standard black or brown, but in bold new hues. In 1972, one catalog proclaimed ‘the colorful world of Lewis Leathers’. This heralded a brash new look for motorcyclists, although it proved to be just an interlude in fashion terms before punk rock made black the biker jacket color of choice once more.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims       

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The Vintage Showroom blog

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EVEL KNIEVEL | TRIUMPH OVER THE FOUNTAINS AT CAESARS PALACE

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Evel Knievel rode several brands of bikes during his career. He started-off on a 350cc Honda, switched to a 750cc Norton in 1966, then Triumph from 1966-1968, Laverda 750cc American Eagle from December 1969 to April 1970, and in December 1970 Harley-Davidson became Knievel’s sponsor and he began riding an XR-750– the bike he is most commonly associated with. Knievel has often said that his Triumph was by far the best bike he ever jumped with– “The Harley’s got a little too much torque when it comes to jumping,” according to him.

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San Francisco, 1967–  Evel Knievel’s ’67  Triumph Bonneville 650 T120 TT Special jump bike– love the ”Color Me Lucky” paint job.

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“Anybody can jump a motorcycle. The trouble begins when you try to land it.” 

~Evel Knievel

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1967, San Francisco — Evel Knievel jumps his 1967 Triumph motorcycle between two ramps, 100 feet apart, to open a Sports Cycle Exhibition. –The Associated Press/File photo

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“You can fall many times in life, but you’re never a failure as long as you try to get up.”

~Evel Knievel

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Evel Knievel (on his Triumph motorcycle) prior to jumping over the Caesars Palace fountains in Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve, 1967. This was the stunt that put Evel Knievel on the map. He had been in Vegas in November of ’67  to see a boxing title fight, when he saw the fountains and crafted his plan. He quickly created Evel Knievel Enterprises (totally fictitious) and Knievel and his buddies repeatedly called the casino’s CEO Jay Sarno claiming to be Evel Knievel’s lawyers, as well as representatives from ABC-TV, and Sports Illustrated inquiring about this incredible upcoming jump. It worked, and the date was set for Knievel to jump the fountains at Caesars Palace on December 31, 1967. ABC-TV declined to air the event live on Wide World of Sports as Knievel had hoped, so he hired actor/director John Derek to film the Caesars’ jump. It was truly a low-budget production– Derek even employed his then-wife Linda Evans as a cameraman and she shot Knievel’s now famous landing. (She would later become a household name on the TV show, Dynasty. BTW, John Derek’s other wives included Ursula Andress and Bo Derek– he shot all three for Playboy).  – Image by © Bettmann/Corbis.

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“In the old days they, the promoters, wanted more and more from me. They wanted me to jump or spill my blood and break my bones. Every time they wanted me to jump further, and further, and further. Hell, they thought my bike had wings.”

~ Evel Knievel

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Legend has it that on the morning of the epic jump, Knievel popped into the Caesars Palace casino and lost his last 100 dollars at the blackjack table, had a shot of Wild Turkey at the bar, then headed outside to the jump site where he was joined by two showgirls. He went through the motions for the pre-jump show, and took a few routine warm-up approaches. According to Knievel, on the actual approach the motorcycle unexpectedly decelerated when he hit the takeoff ramp. The sudden loss of speed caused Knievel to come up short of the projected 141 feet, and he landed on the safety ramp supported by a van. The bad news was– the resulting crash left Knievel in a coma for a month, a crushed pelvis and femur, as well as fractures to his hip, wrist and both ankles. The doctors flatly told him he may never even walk on his own again. The good news was– Evel Knievel was now famous beyond his wildest dreams. ABC-TV had purchased the rights to the jump footage (paying far more than if they had just televised the original jump live) and the world was in awe of this dashing daredevil. — Image by © Bettmann/Corbis

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Evel Knievel (on his Triumph motorcycle) prior to jumping over the Caesars Palace fountains in Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve, 1967.

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Evel Knievel stunt-riding on his Triumph Bonneville motorcycle in the late ’60s. 

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“If a guy hasn’t got any gamble in him– he isn’t worth a crap.”

~Evel Knievel

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Evel Knievel pulling a wheelie on his Triumph Bonneville motorcycle — Image Mahony Photo Archives

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Evel Knievel performing a standing wheelie on his Triumph motorcycle in the late ’60s.

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Evel Knievel’s nitro-powered Triumph Bonneville (with make-shift wings and twin jet-engines) that he planned to use to jump the Grand Canyon. The National Park Service rightly expressed concern over the stunt harming the canyon, and Triumph notified Knievel that they would void the warranty on his Bonneville due to the addition of twin jet-engines. Thank God this knucklehead stunt was never realized, as it very likely would have meant Knievel’s early demise. (via Motorcyclist)
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Evel Knievel’s experimental nitro-powered Triumph Bonneville motorcycle rigged with wings and twin jet-engines that he hoped to jump the Gand Canyon with in the late ’60s.  (via Motorcyclist)

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Evel Knievel poses with sons Kelly (right) and Robbie at the rim of the Grand Canyon, c. 1968. via On May 20, 1999, Robbie followed in his Daddy’s footsteps and jumped a part of the Canyon (with a depth of 2,500 feet) on his Honda motorcycle for a personal best distance record of 228 feet. He crashed on landing and broke his leg.

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Evel Knievel featured above in Motorcycle Sport Book, 1968, detailing his plans to rig a nitro-powered Triumph Bonneville with wings and twin jet engines to jump the Grand Canyon. Jeezuz, that would’ve been a colossal disaster. (via Megadeluxe)

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“It will reach 250 miles an hour soaring over the Canyon with its twin jet engines and nitro burning Bonneville engine. It will accelerate to 158 miles an hour in 3.7 seconds.”

~Evel Knievel, on his plans to jump the Grand Canyon

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A rare shot of Evel Knievel’s Laverda 750cc American Eagle motorcycle that he rode from December 1969 to April 1970.

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A rare shot of Evel Knievel on his Laverda 750cc American Eagle motorcycle that he rode from December 1969 to April 1970.

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HOUSE OF EVEL: Evel Knievel on tumblr.

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THE UNLOCKING OF AMERICA’S CEMENT PLAYGROUND | DOGTOWN & Z-BOYS

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Picture 6zephyr team dogtown west los angeles skateboard

ca. 1975, the original Zephyr (Z-Boys) skateboard team at the Del Mar Nationals, the first US national skateboarding competition — Shogo Kubo, Bob Biniak, Nathan Pratt, Stacy Peralta, Jim Muir, Allen Sarlo, Chris Cahill, Tony Alva, Paul Constantineau, Jay Adams, Peggy Oki, Wentzle Ruml – Image by Craig Stecyk.  While the Z-Boys non-conformist style and brash behavior did not sweep the winners podium, every major skateboard company took notice and came after their stars with lucrative offers and endorsement deals. Jeff Ho and Skip could not compete with the big brand’s deep pockets– within 6 months, the Zephyr team we be no more.

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z-boys quote

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Born out of the gritty Venice Beach surf slumtown called Dogtown– where you had better have eyes in the back of your head– the infamous Z-Boys were the motley badass boys of skateboarding assembled by the co-founders of Jeff Ho Surfboards and Zephyr Productions–Craig Stecyk, Jeff Ho, and Skip Engblom. This scrappy group of street kids, who gave skateboarding  teeth, were loyal disciples of their radical father figures who put Dogtown style on the map. These kids would carry the torch and create a skateboarding cultural revolution that started as an extension of their surfing, and grew into a distinctive Z-Boys style that forever changed the skating world.

Heavily influenced by Dogtown’s mean streets, Jeff Ho’s surfboard design and attitude was a direct reflection of the neighborhood’s tough low rider and graffiti lifestyle. Ho and crew thumbed their noses (or more accurately “flipped the bird”) at the mainstream squeaky-clean surf culture, and the Zephyr surf team fiercely guarded their turf against any invading non-locals who wanted to ride their waves. And if the locals didn’t get you by hurling chunks of concrete and glass as you surfed, the insanely dangerous conditions of the decaying Pacific Ocean Park would. The mangled and jutting pier pylons were there waiting for a screw-up so they could impale you, or snap your precious board to pieces.

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Dogtown’s legendary Zephyr surf team with c0-founder and designer Jeff Ho far right.

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The Zephyr surf team was the mafia of the waves, and that same toughness and independent spirit was manifested in their talent and angst on the pavement. Jeff and Skip nurtured and forged this young gaggle of waifs and strays, many from broken homes or no place to go, into the world’s best skaters. The kids all found their role at Jeff Ho’s shop– whether it was sweeping the floors or rolling joints for Jeff– everyone found a unique way, on their boards and in the shop, to contribute, complement, and propel the Z-boys forward and keep the team as a whole at the top of their game. It was a wild environment for a kid to grow-up in– legend has it there was plenty of pretty crazy shit going on back then behind closed doors that no one on the outside needed to  know about.

This young crew of Dogtown skaters were driven ruthlessly to aggressive, competitive perfection by Jeff Ho and Skip Engblom. They reached the peak of fame, completely up-ending and innovating the the sport along the way– first with their unique surf-style skating, and then setting the world on fire with the epic pool sessions and radical vertical skating. Ironically through the deeply engrained drive of Jeff and Skip, and their own natural human desire for personal fame and riches, their star skaters would end up unraveling the group and ending the Zephyr organization as they knew it. Legends and brands rose like a phoenix from the former Zephyr team’s ashes– Stacy Peralta, Tony Alva, and the one whose talent and aggression most strongly epitomized the heart and soul of the entire Zephyr crew– Jay Boy Adams.

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1978 — Jay Adams, Marina Del Rey Skate Park – Image by David Scott

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“In contests, Jay was simply the most exciting skater to watch. He never skated the same run the same way twice. His routines were wickedly random yet exceedingly tight and beautiful to watch: he even invented tricks during his runs. I’ve never seen any skater destroy convention and expectation better. Watching him skate was something new every second– he was “skate and destroy” personified.”  

–Stacy Peralta

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“For me, skateboarding started in 1965, so by the time the Dogtown era came around I’d already been skatin’ for 10 years. When I started it was clay wheels and mostly home made decks. We were just trying to copy surfing. Everything about skateboarding had to do with surfing. It was all about fun and a way to surf when the waves were shitty.”

–Jay Adams

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Jay Adams at the Dogbowl – Image by Glen E. Friedman. The mid 1970s in California were the scene of unprecedented drought conditions where residents were restricted from watering their lawns, and it wasn’t  long until hundreds of swimming pools across L.A fell prey and were drained to conserve precious water. The Z-Boys revolutionized skating by repurposing empty pools for vertical skating and in the act invented innovative moves like the frontside air (Tony Alva). The “Dogbowl” is the most legendary, named for the owner’s dogs that were seemingly always at the pools edge checking out the Z-Boys in action. It was the Z-Boy’s friend Dino’s home, and he was terminally ill. His parents allowed the pool to be drained so that his friends could come and hang out, skate and party. Glen Friedman took a ton of shots that are iconic to any skateboarding fan out there. Read more here…

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“I went to the party at Dino’s house and saw the pool before we drained it the next day. It was kinda like a dream skatepark because there weren’t any rules. Only the boys got to ride.”

–Jay Adams

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Jay Adams at the Dogbowl – Image by Glen E. Friedman

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“I was a P.O.P. local from birth. The ORIGINAL MASCOT. My dad rented surfboards under the Northside of the pier. All the guards at the park used to let me in for free. FUCK Disneyland, I had P.O.P., surf and all. I surfed the cove with Mickey Dora before leashes were invented.”

–Jay Adams

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“Jay Adams was not the greatest pool skater, nor was he the greatest bank skater, or the greatest slalom skater or the greatest freestyler. The fact is, Jay Adams’ contribution to skateboarding defies description or category. Jay Adams is probably not the greatest skater of all time, but I can say without fear of being wrong that he is clearly the archetype of modern-day skateboarding. Archetype defined means an original pattern or model, a prototype. Prototype defined means the first thing or being of its kind. He’s the real thing, an original seed, the original virus that infected all of us. He was beyond comparison. To this day I haven’t witnessed any skater more vital, more dynamic, more fun to watch, more unpredictable, and more spontaneous in his approach than Jay. There are not enough superlatives to describe him.”

–Stacy Peralta

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L.A.’s vastly paved architectural valleys, canyons, and reservoirs fenced-off and separated the varying neighborhoods, and would became a massive cement playground of unlimited potential seen through the eyes of young skaters years before skate parks were around or readily accessible. 

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“He (Jay Adams) didn’t give a shit about money, and I don’t think that’s why he did it to begin with. He never was interested in any of the material rewards that came from skateboarding. I think that he just basically had a total Fuck You approach to the whole commercialism of skateboarding.”

–Tony Alva

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Jay Adams — Image by Glen E. Friedman

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“Once pool riding came in– that was like ALL we wanted to do.”

–Jay Adams

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1976, Jay Adams — Image by Glen E. Friedman

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“People just wanted to have what he (Jay Adams) had, you know? They just wanted a piece of him. “

–Jeff Ho

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This low-slung, surf-influenced, fluid style was the hallmark of early Dogtwon Z-Boys skating– which was all about style. If you didn’t have great style, and looked good while you skated– you weren’t anything– you were stinking the place up. “(Surfer) Larry Bertelman was the fundamental impact on the Z-Boys thing– the Z-Boys thing was Larry Bertelman on concrete. That’s what we were all trying to do, because Larry Bertelman just blew the doors off everybody.” –Nathan Pratt. And then the Z-Boys set the bar again with vertical skating, and the world has never looked back…

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“Jay Adams may not have been the world’s best skater, but he was the man, the real deal, the original, the first. He is the archetype of our shared heritage.”

–Stacy Peralta

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1976, Jay Adams — Image by Glen E. Friedman

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“I missed a lot of good times, doing things that I shouldn’t have been doing. There are certain mistakes I’d like to change, but I’m not going to trip on it to hard.”

–Jay Adams 

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Jay Adams, King of the “Bert-slide” – Image by Craig Stecyk. The Dogtown Z-Boys skating style was heavily influenced early-on by Hawaiian surfing badass Larry Bertelman. “I remember being in the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium and watching Hal Jepsen’s surf film ‘Super Session’ and a young Hawaiian surfer named Larry Bertelman came on the screen…” –Stacy Peralta. “He, like, put his hands on the wave– he was one of the first guys that I remember doing that. So we started copying that on the ground.” –Jay Adams. 

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“I believe this photo of Jay (above) is the most stunning and strikingly clear representation, of any photo ever taken, of modern skateboarding. It contains all the elements that make up what modern-day skateboarding has become: awesome aggression and style, power and fury, wild abandon, destruction of all fear, untamed individualism, and a free-spirited determination to tear, shred, and rip relentlessly. Jay should’ve had it all, and it makes me so sad that he didn’t.” 

–Stacy Peralta 

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1978 — Jay Adams at Marina Del Rey Skatepark — Image by David Scott

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“Some kids are born and raised on like, graham crackers and milk– Jay was born and raised on surfing and skateboarding, you know.”

–Tony Alva

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Z-Flex skate team, back to front, left to right– Marty Grimes, Jimmy Davies, Eric Andersen (Froggy), Solo Scott, Jimmy Plummer, George Wilson, Shogo Kubo, and Dennis Agnew (Polar Bear). — Image via Venicepix

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‘YOSEMITE’ SAM RADOFF | KUSTOM KING FLAMECOLOGIST, STRIPER & SCULPTOR

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‘Yosemite’ Sam Radoff started customizing cars at the tender age of 12 yrs old– way before he was even old enough to drive! That was back in the mid ’50s, and he went by handle ‘Little Sam’ then. Some 45 years later Radoff is one of the most respected flamers (I love his ol’ crab claw flame jobs), pinstripers, and metal sculptors the kustom kulture scene has ever known. Dr. ‘Yosemite’ Sam, PhD (Phlame Doctor) has also produced custom motorcycle and pinstriping shows across the country.

Despite his vast exposure, he is not widely a household name like Ed ‘Big Daddy’ Roth, Kenny Howard AKA Von Dutch, Dean Jeffries, George Barris, Arlen Ness– but those in the know recognize and respect Sam Radoff as being just as important. His legendary work and countless awards over the years speak for themselves.

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yosemite sam radoff motorcycle 124

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ROBERT REDFORD ON TWO WHEELS FINDS HIS PROMISED SUNDANCE LAND

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 A very cool little insight below about how Robert Redford first stumbled upon his higher calling in life while riding his bike. Further proof that Four wheels move the body– but two wheels move the soul! More on Sundance later…

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ca. 1972 — Robert Redford, looking very Jeremiah Johnson here, on his Yamaha dirt bike — Image by Orlando Globey

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Robert Redford stumbled upon what would become Sundance while riding his motorcycle from his home in California to school at the University of Colorado in the 1950s and saw the totemic 12,000 foot Mount Timpanogos. “It reminded me of the Jungfrau in Switzerland,” he says. “It stuck in my head.”

He later met and married a Mormon girl from Provo, came back, and bought two acres of land for $500 in 1961 from the Stewarts, a sheep-herding family who ran the mom-and-pop Timphaven operation. Redford built a cabin and lived the mountain man life here with his young family when he wasn’t on set making his early films.

By the late 1960s, developers were beginning to change the face of Utah. Redford scrambled– using some movie earnings and rounding up investor friends to purchase another 3,000 acres, heading off a development of A-frames that would have been marched up the canyon on quarter-acre lots.

“I was determined to preserve this, but it was not bought with big money. That kind of development was the reason I left Los Angeles. So I bought the land and started the Sundance Institute before there was anything here. I was advised that I was out of my mind. But I wanted the perfect marriage of art and nature.”  

–By Everett Potter for SKI magazine, 2008

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ca. 1972 — Robert Redford, looking very Jeremiah Johnson here, on his Yamaha dirt bike — Image by Orlando Globey

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ROBERT REDFORD LAUREN HUTTON MOTORCYCLE PHOTO

Robert Redford and Lauren Hutton on the set of 1970′s Little Fauss and Big Halsy (a film that Redford would rather forget…) – Image by Stephen Schapiro

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Lauren Hutton And Robert Redford In 'Little Fauss And Big Halsy'

Robert Redford and Lauren Hutton on the set of 1970′s Little Fauss and Big Halsy (a film that Redford would rather forget…) — Image by Stephen Schapiro

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Robert Redford in 1970′s Little Fauss and Big Halsy — Image by Stephen Schapiro

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ca. 1972 — Robert Redford on his Yamaha dirt bike — Image by Orlando Globey

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Robert Redford in a cool Webco sweatshirt on the set of 1970′s Little Fauss and Big Halsy — Image by Stephen Schapiro

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Robert Redford in a cool Webco sweatshirt on the set of 1970′s Little Fauss and Big Halsy — Image by Stephen Schapiro

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THE ONE MOTORCYCLE SHOW ROUNDUP | PORTLAND IS MY KIND OF TOWN

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The One Motorcycle Show has officially blown-up. Hat tip to Thor Drake & crew at See See Motorcycles for putting on an unforgettable event, and forging a community of passionate and fun-loving riders, builders & fans that now call The 1 Moto home. It was definitely an eclectic mix of personalities and styles that made for an epic display of jaw-dropping machines. Big name custom-build powerhouses cozied-up next to local bikes and newcomers. Young and old stood shoulder to shoulder without a dissenting word towards old farts or hipsters alike. In fact, there were more smiling faces and open hearts than you could shake a chain at, as everyone pulled together without nary a grumble and gave the crowd a show they won’t soon forget– I know I won’t. The talented Scott Toepfer was official bike photographer, and Ray Gordon’s THROTTLED II exhibit raised the rafters off Sandbox Studio.

I dare say– How the HELL are you gonna top this one, Thor!?

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Todd Blubaugh proudly posing on his Harley-Davidson Shovelhead, so good to meet you. 

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Buddy and badass photographer Scott Toepfer snaps this Harley-Davidson Shovelhead chopper.

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Pre-show snapshot of THROTTLED II goodness by the irrepressible Ray Gordon – love that guy.

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The Moto Lady taking advantage of the pre-show calm at The One Motorcycle Show.

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Old school Triumph Springer at The One Motorcycle Show in Portland, Oregon.

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Sick patch denim helmet by  Jud (@GH0STS) at The One Motorcycle Show in Portland, Oregon.

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A gallery of badass bikes being placed in front of the THROTTLED II photography by Ray Gordon

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Harley-Davidson Knucklehead at The One Motorcycle Show in Portland, Oregon.

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See See Motorcycles 

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Moto Guzzi V7 Racer at The One Motorcycle Show in Portland, Oregon.

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The One Motorcycle Show put on by Thor Drake & crew at See See Motorcycles in Portland, Oregon.

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Sweet lil’ Yamaha bike by See See Motorcycles at The One Motorcycle Show in Portland, Oregon.

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Amazing helmet artwork by Brent Wick at The One Motorcycle Show in Portland, Oregon.

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Hammarhead Industries V7 Wayward Motto Guzzi, The One Motorcycle Show — Portland, OR.

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The crowd of motor-heads and photography fans at The One Motorcycle Show in Portland, Oregon.

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LEMON DROP THE ONE MOTORCYCLE SHOW

1970 Triumph T100C 500cc “Lemon Drop” — winner of the “lots and lots of polishing” award.

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the one motorcycle show portland

Motorcycle fans from all walks of life — taking it in at The One Motorcycle Show in Portland, OR

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Visit to Icon Motorsports headquarters with new buddies Loaded Gun Customs & CafeRacer.XXX

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Visit to Icon Motorsports headquarters with new buddies Loaded Gun Customs & CafeRacer.XXX

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GLADYS INGLE AND THE 13 BLACK CATS | HOLLYWOOD’S HI-FLYING HELLRAISERS

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Hi JP,
Your latest post about the Air Fast images really hit a cord with me. Coming from a predominately Air Force military family, almost every male relative has flown a plane at some point or another, and having been schooled in aviation history and legend my entire life I find endless stoke in those images. I thought I would share a few stories with you that might tickle your flying wings.

Firstly this chick [Gladys Ingle] has more balls that all your subscribers combined, including me!

All the best,

Eric Lindeman

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Well Eric wasn’t just whistlin’ Dixie! Gladys Ingle definitely had balls to spare– Maybe she had 13 pairs! She was the only female member of Hollywood’s 13 Black Cats aerial daredevil stunt troop. They flew “Jennys”– Curtiss JN-4 biplanes with an abundance of struts and wires to grip, making it ideal for stunt-riders and wing-walkers. Gladys earned her fearless reputation by changing planes in mid-air without a parachute or safety gear. Legend has it she performed her wing-walking stunts hundreds of times. She’s a young and spry woman of 25 or 26 years old in the below pics– amazing. One popular stunt had Gladys performing archery atop a Jenny biplane in midair. She went on to live a long and healthy life, passing away in 1981, at 82 years of age. I’d love to know more about the incredible Gladys Ingle, so please reach out if you’re in the know!

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Gladys Ingle transferring from Bob McDougall's airplane to Art Goebel's

Wing-walker Gladys Ingle transferring from Bon McDougall’s airplane to Art Goebel’s airplane with no parachute or safety gear. In 1927, after several aerial stunt and wing-walking deaths, parachutes were finally required by law.  –courtesy  San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives. Keep reading and you’ll see an amazing video of her in action…

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Gladys Ingle 13 Black Cats biplane stunt

Wing-walker Gladys Ingle transferring from Bon McDougall’s airplane to Art Goebel’s airplane with no parachute or safety gear –courtesy  San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives

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Wing-walker Gladys Ingle transferring from Bon McDougall’s airplane to Art Goebel’s airplane with no parachute or safety gear –courtesy  San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives

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Gladys Ingle 13 Black Cats plane stunt

Stuntwoman Gladys Ingle transferring from Bon McDougall’s airplane to Art Goebel’s airplane with no parachute or safety gear –courtesy  San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives

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Art Goebel Gladys Ingle 13 black cats

January 27th, 1926 – The 13 Black Cats perform a stunt between 2 planes with no visible safety gear. ”To our flying pal Bon McDougall– The Army hasn’t anything on us when it comes to formation, flying, and we never fail in plane changes. Aviatingly Yours, Art Goebel & Gladys Ingle –courtesy San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives

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13 black cats biplane jenny stunt

Three members of the 13 Black Cats of Hollywood standing on the wings of a biplane in midair.  –courtesy San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives. The 13 Black Cats were founded in 1924 and performed together for 5 years. The official member list is: Ronald “Bon” MacDougall, Ken “Fronty” Nichols, William “Spider” Matlock, Jerry Tabnac, Heard “Herd” McClellan, Paul Richter Jr, Lieut. Jack Frye, Al Johnson, Ivan “Bugs” Unger, Sanford “Sam” Greenwald, Colonel Art Goebel, William “Bill” Stapp, Gladys Ingle. Casualties were commonplace in this dangerous field, where your life was literally on the line with each death-defying performance, and the history books are fuzzing on if any official or unofficial members of the 13 Black Cats ever died performing.

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Gladys Ingle 13 Black Cats

The famous 13 Black Cats high-flying wing-walking biplane aerial stunt troop from Hollywood, CA. Ronald “Bon” MacDougall was part-owner of the Burdette Airport and School of Aviation in LA that resided at Western & 104th St. His first stint as a stunt pilot came when he was faced with a huge crowd that came up for an advertised airshow, but no fliers showed up. He coaxed a couple friends, Ken “Fronty” Nichols & William “Spider” Matlock, into trying wing-walking while he flew the plane. The trio stuck together, eventually adding 10 more “Cats” and an honorary member: movie actor, and former WWI fighter pilot, Reginald Denny. The 13 Black Cats were born!  

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Bob McDougall Al Johnson Ken Fronty Nichols plane stuntmen

circa 1925– While pilot and 13 Black Cats founder Bon McDougall flies the airplane, stunt men Al Johnson and Ken “Fronty” Nichols sit on the wing at a table. The man pointing is Jack Frye. –courtesy San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives.  

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13 Black Cats founder, Ronald “Bon” MacDougall,  qualified ninth in the 1926 Indy 500, but only ran 19 laps before being brought down by a water leak –Image via

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THE THIRTEEN BLACK CATS 

by Ed Betts for TWA Spirit, Feb 1986
 

TWA has another anniversary this week besides the 40th of international service. Although April 17th will be officially recognized as TWA’s 60th anniversary (along with Western Airlines) the predecessor Aero Corporation was founded on February 3, 1926. Part and Parcel of this milestone is the story of the 13 Black Cats, a movie acrobatic team. Included with this group of Hollywood stuntmen was one of TWA’s founders and later an executive vice president, Paul E. Richter, Jr.

The group was first organized in 1924 with 13 members, headed by Bon MacDougall. Their home base was the Burdett Airport located at Western Avenue and 102nd Street, now the site of a huge department store complex. Their uniform was a black sweater with the cat and number 13 patch on the front, and their names on the back. Originally the group was made up of pilots, motion-picture stuntmen and automobile racers who wanted to “corner the market” on all movie stunt work that involved airplanes, automobiles, and motorcycles. They advertised that they defied all superstition and the odds, and their services were also available for air shows or meets and any other audience that would pay their fee.

Except for trains, they would supply the equipment needed and their fleet consisted of war-surplus Curtiss “Jennies” and “Cannucks”. Until 1927, when it became a law, they used no parachutes.

Supposedly each member’s name would add up to a total of 13 letters; if it didn’t he was given a nickname that would (no explanation was given for Richter and Goebel not meeting this requirement). At one time actor-aviator Reginald Denny was a member of the group, and one account says that Jack Frye, later president of TWA, did some work for them.

Founders of TWA

These were the years of barnstorming, which most of the pilots did between jobs with the studios, trying to make a living or at least pay for their gas and oil. 1924 is the year that Jack Frye learned to fly, became an instructor and used his “fortune” to become a partner with Burdett Fuller (1/2 interest in a “Jenny”). One of Frye’s first students was Paul Richter who had left the family ranch in Colorado to learn to fly. Whether or not that is true, it makes a great story– on Paul’s first solo (solo, with a passenger?) flight he had Bon MacDougall aboard the “Jenny”.

Once in the air, and much to the amazement of the fledgling pilot, Bon climbed out of the cockpit and spent his time “wing walking” from tip to tip. After a safe landing, Paul was offered a job and membership in the 13 Black Cats. Such work is far from steady. Paul’s main source of income was as a flight instructor with the Burdett Flying School. Another “graduate” of the school was Walt Hamilton.

In February 1926, Frye, Richter, and hamilton were among the founders of the Aero Corporation of California and the following year, they formed Standard Airlines. Another of their students with the same seniority was Lee Flanagin.

In October of 1926 the 13 Black Cats made the headlines in the LA press when they performed one of their daring acts before the horrified eyes of 79,000 spectators. This was during the half-time of the USC-Stanford football game held at the coliseum. The plan was: with MacDougall the pilot of the “Jenny” and “Fronty” Nichols perched atop the left (upper) wing and “Spider” Matlock atop the right wing they would swoop right over the stadium and “buzz” the playing field. Nichols and Matlock each had a football, painted in in the school colors, that they were to toss towards the crowd. Unfortunately, just as they approached the stadium, the radiator broke and spewed the scalding water over the windshield and goggles of MacDougall. He rised his fist, the signal of distress, and the two wing-walkers were making a hasty retreat to the cockpit just as they fly over the crowd with the stricken plane and made an emergency landing on a vacant lot several blocks away. In early 1929 the 13 Black Cats disbanded– there was too much competition. The price for a simple parachute jump had come down from $80 to a mere $10 by some free-lance daredevils who were willing to risk their lives for a fast buck. The future seemed to be more stable or safe in the airline business carrying mail and passengers.

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1966 BARRED OUTLAW MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE | BRUTAL! FRANK! VIOLENT!

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From the archives of Nostalgia on Wheels comes this lil’ peek at Barred Outlaw Motorcycle magazine– a biker exploitation rag written not for riders, but for voyeurs looking for what makes those bad boys tick. Think of it as a primer for squares on bikers. There’s just enough laughable, inaccurate and hyperbolic writing that when they do actually mention the true 1%’er  MC’s it kinda lacks any sting. Hell, they can’t even get the year right for when The Wild One (the Godfather of all biker exploitation flicks) was filmed… ca. 1960??? What I do love about the magazine is the use of images, the layouts, fonts, etc. It is pure gold for the design-minded among us. It’s kinda refreshing compared to all the stripped-down aesthetic out there right now.

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barred outlaw motorcycle magazine

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BARRED OUTLAW MOTORCYCLE SPECIAL– ANGELS FROM HELL! Today’s rebels on wheels, living a legend of violence and excitement. Their love is hate…for everything and everyone– but each other!

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 4

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The outlaw clubs usually have names such as– the Galloping Gooses, Satan’s Slaves, Road Rats, Cavaliers, Outlaws, El Diablos, Chosen Few (a Negro group), Gypsy Jokers, Rod Regents, Tiki’s, East Bay Dragons (a Negro group), Vikings, Sportsmen, K-Lifts, Devil’s Henchmen, Monks, Coffin Cheaters, Iron Horsemen, and several others scattered throughout the state.

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 5

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Hanging out at some taco joint or roaring down the highway hell bent for mischief… They command attention and this is exactly what that want and get. Oddball attire, blunt-scissor haircuts, beards and goofy headgear. Add it all up and you’ve got a bunch of Barbarian bastards…or some claim, the mod generation gladiators. Read, look, and decide for yourself after all (as they say) isn’t this a dimocrazzy!

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 6

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HANGOUTS! Taco joints, drive-ins, low budget coffee shacks– these are “outlaw” hangouts. They love joking and re-living recent episodes in their bizarre lives…stolen bikes, latest spots to obtin a fix, who’s locked up this month…it’s all trashed-over…over a weed!

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 7

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…on purpose a fellow in a large truck ran into the back of a kid who was riding a little Honda. When the kid got up off the ground, the truck driver walked over and punched him. Unnoticed by the truck driver several outlaw motorcyclists were standing there and saw the whole thing. What happened to the driver and truck in the next few minutes shouldn’t happen to anyone. They literally tore the truck and driver to pieces. A bully is one thing the outlaws don’t like. Anyhow, it gave them a chance to do their good deed for the day…

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 8

 

(Irish Rich spotted that the chopper rider above is a young Clifford “Sonny” Vaughs)

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“Outlaws” are not of this world…dope, orgies, you name it…they’ll do it!! Outlaws want to smash through the square world that hems them in. They leave no past, expect nothing in the future, they live for the moment, the instant thrill!!

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 9

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PARTY TIME!! Party to an “outlaw” means six-packs chug-a-lug with any bottle handy…Bay Rum to Jim Beam! Cocktails are for citizens! Petting…that’s for children!

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 10

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A stamp of individualism are the many Nazi souvenirs which are worn on the “outlaw’s” jackets. Members are not followers of any anti-government movement, but they collect these souvenirs much like a stamp collector. Many times they are seen swapping them with fellow outlaws from different parts of the state.

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 11

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…In the meantime, while they are stealing the dying outlaw, one of the caucasian roughnecks rapes a young, beautiful Negro nurse– but is in such a hurry that he doesn’t really have time to get her pregnant. This pointed out the fact that the gang is not prejudice. They get the nearly dead cyclist back to the pad to give him first aid through a marijuana cigarette. To their surprise he dies. Well, that’s OK, because it’s a blast to have a funeral…  –Name this biker flick!

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 12

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Most outlaw motorcyclists range in age from a minimum of 21 all the way to about 50. The majority are in their middle twenties. The average outlaw lasts about 6 years– he either has too many problems with the law, or he may want to hang it up for a different type life. To be an outlaw motorcyclist means that you must expect to get hassled by the police many times.

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 13

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Few employers ever want to hire a person who is branded as an outlaw motorcyclist. You have to learn to live away from a conventional society and be looked upon s a non-conformist, beatnick on wheels, or just plain individualist. You’ll have learned to abide by club rules. If a citizen provokes trouble with any of the outlaws, they will always get the blame because of their past reputation.

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 14

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 15

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What is necessary to become a president? Presidents are spokesmen for the club. They don’t necessarily need to be the toughest member– but should be able to hold their own in a good physical brawl. They re usually more articulate and have a fair ability to express themselves. Being an excellent cyclist and having an outstanding motorcycle is very important. On most runs they are road captains and will set the pace. He has to make sure his members make their bail bond payment on time.

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 16

(A young Sonny Barger of the Hell’s Angels spotted in the pic above)

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When a new member joins a club he is issued his colors which are usually a sleeveless Levi jacket with the club’s name and insignia on the back. They re laid out on the ground to be “initiated.” All members will stand around it urinating, pouring beer, mustard, oil, grease. One member might “flash” (a term for vomiting), and anything else that might add to the filth will be thrown on the colors. They will then jump up and down on the jacket, making sure the dirt and filth is penetrating into the jacket. After the colors are official, the member is never able to wash it, for this is his party cloth and riding outfit.

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 17

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Brawls are quite common among the Barbarian breed of cyclist. What else might there be to do when the party gets boring? They have never been known to fight fair, or according to the rule book. In some cases after the fight is broken up, they will even shake hands. Then the madder of the two, while his opponent is walking away, will sneak up behind him and rap him over the head with a chain or whatever else might be handy at the time. Then the contest of who can fight the dirtiest will start all over again. To be considered a handsome outlaw, one should have at least several battle or accidental scars. It also makes an excellent conversational piece to reminisce about.

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 18

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You can never underrate an outlaw motorcyclist. Many of them are well educated and they’re a tough bunch of guys living the rugged life they live. A noted sociologist once said, “there is a touch of this in all of us, so that is why society tends to aggrandize the barbarian outlaws of the modern day.”

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BARRED MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE 1960S PAGE 19

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NOSTALGIA ON WHEELS LINK

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NORM GRABOWSKI’S CUSTOM CORVAIR | SICK-AS-HELL SIX-PACK ON 2 WHEELS

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“Norm Grabowski”s monster– the Corvair-powered “Six Pack”. Neil East (another rodding icon), owned AutoBooks in Burbank, CA, and Colorado Carbooks here in Denver told me that Norm used to come to L.A. Roadster club meetings on the Six Pack, and he said Norm had no problem kick starting this bike, when it was time to leave. It had no electric starter!” –Irish Rich 

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norm grabowski corvair motorcycle

Norm Grabowski’s epic “Six Pack” — an air-cooled, flat-six Corvair engine mounted on the frame of a ’41 Indian shaft drive with no transmission, just a clutch. Another future Kustom Kulture legend pin-striped the bike– Dean Jeffries. Irish Rich (whose website is the authority on old school builders, and is due a ton of respect for his own incredible work) saw this impressive bike himself back in ’65, and has chronicled it well. Norm actually built 2 Corvair-powered “SIx Packs” — the other mated with H-D tranny called “PP ‘n’ Vinegar.”

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ARTICLE FROM BARRED OUTLAW MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE, 1966–

Norm Grabowski lives in a beautiful ranch type home in the Sun Valley Hills with his mother and father. He stands 5′ 9″, 210 lbs, blues eyes, strawberry blond hair but cannot grow a beard. Almost every morning Norm takes his racing bicycle for a twenty mile ride. Works out every day and also takes a dip in his swimming pool. He doesn’t smoke and only drinks beer on weekends with his outlaw motorcycle buddies. He is in perfect physical condition. His only hang-up is his mother won’t let him drive his famous “Six Pack” Corvair-powered motorcycle out at night– but he does sneak it out occasionally.

Norm’s only comment about his “Six Pack” is that once you ride it, you won’t want to ride anything else. His only other gig other than motorcycles and acting is a nightclub act which he has done extremely well at. He sings like a girl or something unusual like that.

Two years in succession he has been on crutches for a period of several weeks. The first time a motorcyclist ran through a red light wiping Norman out. His buddies which were following in a truck picked him up thinking he was dead– but Norman survived. Just recently he shot himself in the leg practicing a fast draw with “Cold 45″– the kid has a 1966 4-door Lincoln Continental and a pretty sister to chauffeur him around. The lucky cat has three films to be released in which he plays important supporting roles” Out-of-Site” for Universal-International, “Happiest Millionaire” and “Gnomobile” both for Walt Disney Productions.

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norm grabowski motorcycle

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ARTICLE FROM BARRED OUTLAW MOTORCYCLE MAGAZINE, 1966 CONTINUED–

Norm says, “Well, I loved doing the role on “Run For Your Life”…I thought it was good for a TV show considering what we could get away with. I think Barrymore did a great job of acting with his role, but he didn’t like the ending and walked off the set once– but like in most cases the studios have it their way and you’re working for them. Barrymore just didn’t think the character should die like a coward. And I sort of agree with him– but you can’t win them all. I don’t think the show did the outlaw world justice. I can’t regret playing the role because if I didn’t play it someone else would have– anyhow the paycheck was helpful.

I just hope one of these days I’ll get cast as “Joe Good Guy” instead of the bad guy all the time in these Hollywood motorcycle pictures.

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NORM GRABOWSKI CORVAIR MOTORCYCLE

When Norm Grabowski added the sidecar the Corvair-powered ‘Six Pack’ it then became known as– the ‘Six Pack plus Sidehack’. “Norm Grabowski took a German-made Steib sidehack frame, and added a narrowed and sectioned fiberglass T-bucket body from CT Automotive to it. He did this around ’67-’68. Tony Nancy did the upholstery, and Jeffries matched in his striping.” –Irish Rich 

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NORM GRABOWSKI CORVAIR MOTORCYCLE SIDECAR

Norm Grabowski’s only comment about his Corvair-powered “Six Pack” is that once you ride it, you won’t want to ride anything else!

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Norm Grabowski flexing with his epic Corvaired-powered “Six Pack”  - turned – “Sidehack” motorcycle.

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NORM GRABOWSKI CUSTOM CORVAIR MOTORCYCLE

Norm is packing heat in this pic (see the revolver strapped to his leg…), which is kind canceled out by those hippy-trippy sandals he’s sportin’.Norm Grabowski and his “Six Pack” on the back cover of the Defrance & Defrance (D&D Cycles) catalog, circa 1969.” –Irish Rich

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norm grabowski six pack easyriders

“Norm Grabowski on his Six Pack. The photo showed up in an Easyriders magazine, in their ‘In The Wind’ section. I don’t remember the exact issue, or the exact year, but it was in the early ‘80s, that I know. Notice Norm has grey hair, and definitely looks to be about the age when the photo was taken. You’ll notice it was revamped a little. It has a different paintjob (don’t know the color), different gas tank/gas cap, and it has the Indian script painted on the tank. He also has what looks like a Barnes rotor on the front now, with dual Hurst-Airheart calipers. The bars are different, along with the handlebar risers. It has a bigger automotive-style rectangular headlight, which would date it approximately late ‘70s to early ‘80s, that was the style of headlamp that was popular from the Big 3 at the time. But, you can see the ‘Six Pack’ lettering on the valve covers, so it definitely isn’t PP & Vinegar. Don’t know if Norm still owned it when the photo was snapped, or if he was just posing on it. My guess is it was still in his possession at the time, from the photo pose.”  –Irish Rich

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NORM GRABOWSKI CORVAIR MOTORCYCLE PP 'N' VINEGAR

Norm Grabowski’s epic “PP & Vinegar” — an air-cooled, flat-six Corvair-powered motorcycle.

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Norm Grabowski six pack corvair

Norm Grabowski’s epic “Six Pack” — an air-cooled, flat-six Corvair-powered motorcycle with a very over-the-top 1970s looking airbrush paint job.

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norm grabowski pp vinegar motorcycle corvair

Norm Grabowski’s epic “PP & Vinegar” — an air-cooled, flat-six Corvair-powered motorcycle.

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norm grabowski corvair harley PP vinegar

Norm Grabowski’s epic “PP & Vinegar” — an air-cooled, flat-six Corvair-powered motorcycle now on display at Rocky’s Great Outdoors and Cycle in Burton, Michigan.

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R.I.P. Norm Grabowski (February 5, 1933 – October 12, 2012)

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ZIGGY STARDUST | YOU’RE JUST A GIRL… WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT MAKEUP?

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david bowie aladdin sane ziggy stardust

Brian Duffy photograph of David Bowie for the Aladdin Sane album cover, 1973. “Bowie’s sixth studio album marked the birth of the ‘schizophrenic’ character Aladdin Sane who was a development of the space-age Japanese-influenced Ziggy Stardust. To create the compelling album cover image, Bowie collaborated with photographer Brian Duffy and make-up artist Pierre Laroche. The result was one of the most recognizable images in popular culture– a ‘lightning flash’ design which has been reproduced in multiple forms world-wide.” via

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Unless you’re living under a rock (which may be the case if you depend on TSY for current affairs), there’s no way you could not feel the intense media blitz that’s happening around all things David Bowie. The release of the new single and album “The Next Day”…the 40th anniversary of Ziggy Stardust…the “David Bowie is” exhibit at London’s V&A…even the whole androgyny thing that’s sweeping the fashion scene bears his mark. Bowie is everywhere you turn, for chrissakes.

Look, there are those that revere Bowie as an ahead-of-his-time visionary who revolutionized Rock ‘n’ Roll. And there are those who see him very black & white, as a plodding opportunist who coldly studied what was happening around him (heavily borrowing from  true innovators at the time like Marc Bolan), and then expertly went about merchandising himself for mass commercial consumption. Both are fucking true. Bowie is an epic genius who learned through years of toil, trial, and error how to create a magical out-of-this-world persona and artistically sell it to us on a silver platter. No one has done it better in recent memory, and it’s unlikely that anyone in our lifetime will top him. Period. End of story.

There’s an incredible account by Glenn O’Brien in the recent issue of Out Magazine. Gay or straight, get over it, go buy it, and devour the entire spread on David Bowie. It is brilliant. You can read a chunk of it here after the jump. Now go– oh, you pretty things.

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 who revolutionized Rock ‘n-

david bowie aladdin sane kansai yamamoto  masayoshi sukita 1973

“David Bowie (AKA Ziggy Stardust) wearing a sensational creation by Kansai Yamamoto. Born in Yokohama in 1944, the Japanese fashion designer was only 27 when he held his first international fashion show in London in 1971. The Japanese division of RCA records made MainMan aware of Yamamoto’s work and Bowie purchased the “woodlands animal costume” from Kansai’s London boutique– which he wore at the Rainbow Concert in August 1972 and which was later remade by Natasha Korniloff. Bowie subsequently viewed a video of a rock/fashion show that Kansai had staged in Japan the previous year and reportedly loved the costumes which were a combination of modern sci-fi and classical Kabuki theatre. Kansai and Bowie met in New York where he gifted Bowie two costumes during the 2nd US Tour. Kansai was then commissioned to create nine more costumes based on traditional Japanese Noh dramas for Bowie to pick up in Tokyo in April 1973. These were the flamboyant androgynous Ziggy Stardust costumes Bowie wore on the 3rd UK tour in 1973.” via The Ziggy Stardust Companion –photo by Masayoshi Sukita, the David Bowie archive

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David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust –photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust –photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust for the Pin Ups album and promo material, 1973. –Photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie ziggy stardust guitar

David Bowie (as Ziggy Stardust wearing an eye patch) performs “Rebel Rebel” on the TV show TopPop in Hilversum, Netherlands, 1974. This was Bowie at the end of his Ziggy era. (Photo by Gijsbert Hanekroot/Redferns/Getty Images) via

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David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust –Photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust –Photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust rocking the famous platform boots from his Aladdin Sane tour.

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David Bowie and Mick Ronson on stage during the Ziggy Stardust tour, December 1972 / January 1973. Bowie is wearing a pair of platform shoes decorated with palm trees by Pelican Footwear, New York. –Photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust –Photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie on stage in Scotland during the Aladdin Sane tour, 1973. –Photo by Mick Rock via

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DAVID BOWIE ZIGGY STARDUST ALADDIN SANE

David Bowie on stage in Scotland during the Aladdin Sane tour, 1973. –Photo by Mick Rock via

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Lou Reed, Mick Jagger and David Bowie, Café Royale, 4th of July. 1973. “After the very last Ziggy gig at Hammersmith Odeon on 4 July 1973, came the Ziggy Farewell Party in Piccadilly. All kinds of characters showed up, including Ringo Starr, Jeff Beck, Bianca Jagger and Lulu, but David spent much of his time chatting and laughing with Lou Reed and Mick Jagger. From all the photos I took, you can see how focused they were on each other. Later Mick and Lou even danced together (I have the photo). The most famous photos are the ones with all three of them in a kind of cuddle and the shot of Lou and David about to kiss. This shot has only been published once previously.” –Photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie with Cyrinda Foxe, 1972. “Cyrinda travelled with us for part of the first Ziggy Stardust US tour. She’s the blonde in the now classic Jean Genie video that I directed. She was spawned by Warhol’s Factory and was a light-hearted fun person to be around. This shot is from a series of photos I took in some old bar in the Hollywood Hills. David liked it because it looked like something from an Edward Hopper painting. One of the shots was copied as an illustration for the original US Jean Genie single release ad. Recently it has been used on the picture disc limited edition re-release of the single, but in a colourised version.” –Photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie prays at the window, 1973. “Backstage, Scotland, May 1973. I’m not sure that he’s necessarily praying, but he’s certainly in deep contemplation, thinking no doubt about the continued vertical trajectory of his career! It’s one of my favourite shots of Bowie, although it took some 30 years for it to be published in my book collaboration with David, Moonage Daydream in 2002. It’s taken before the show, and from the light streaming through the window you can see that it’s still daylight. Quite often on that tour the gigs were in the early evening starting around 6pm.” –Photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie in make-up, 1973. “David was very adept at applying his make-up and did it himself mostly in those days. Lindsay Kemp had taught him the rudiments in the days when David had studied the art of mime with him in the late 60s. On his trip to Japan earlier in 1973 he had had met with Tamasaburo, the Japanese Kabuki star, who had given him a lot of tips on how to apply Kabuki-style makeup. David brought back with him a whole array of exotic make-up. In Moonage Daydream he writes, ‘I used to enjoy doing the make-up. It felt relaxing and put me in a kind of serene state before the show.’ The slew of photos I have of him applying make-up bear witness to his focused demeanour.”  –Photo by Mick Rock via

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David Bowie lunch on the train, 1973. “Taken on the train up to Aberdeen for the first gig of David’s final Ziggy tour, 15th of May, 1973. Another image that got lost in the archive until it finally surfaced in Moonage Daydream. I have a slew of photos on the train and in the stations of David in that amazing jacket. But the favourite one for fans is this one. Of all my limited edition fine art prints, this may be the one that has sold the most. Maybe it’s got something to do with the ridiculously ‘glam’ look of the magic duo and the obviously mundane nature of their British Rail lunch – lamb chops, boiled potatoes, peas with the bread rolls and pats of butter. But also perhaps something to do with the warm conspiratorial way they are looking at each other. They had the rock scene by the horns and they were savouring it!”  –Photo by Mick Rock via

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Who wouldn’t want to be there when Bowie met Warhol for the first time?

For OUT magazine by Glenn O’Brien

In 1971, David Bowie was having his Greta Garbo moment. On the cover of Hunky Dory, he looked a bit like her and sang a song called “Oh! You Pretty Things.” That was his vibe when he came to visit Andy Warhol at the Factory, on September 14, 1971. He was with his manager, Tony DeFries. They were in town to sign with a new record company, RCA, and Bowie wanted to pay homage to Warhol. Andy had been a hit in London in ’71 with his play, Pork, and Bowie had recorded a single, “Andy Warhol,” and he wanted to sing the song to Andy in person.

I don’t know if they had an appointment, but I remember someone saying, “There’s somebody here named David Bowie to see Andy.” I had been reading about Bowie and had heard The Man Who Sold the World. It had Bowie with long curly locks reclining odalisque-style in a vintage dress on the cover, and it only reached 105 on the Billboard charts. The Factory was the world’s HQ for drag queens at the time, and I thought that Bowie was jumping on the bandwagon. But something was in the air; hippies were wearing feather boas, and, unbeknownst to us, the New York Dolls were rehearsing somewhere. I said that Bowie was pretty famous and that we should, of course, let him in.

David had long hair and was wearing huge Oxford bags-style trousers, a floppy hat, and Mary Janes with one red sock and one blue — he was clearly aiming for a sort of eccentric androgynous look. I was immediately struck by his eyes, with their electric pupils. I was also struck by David’s wife, Angie, who looked more boyish than David and had quite a presence, and by the contrast of Tony DeFries, who looked like a Sicilian Elvis impersonator. Not very glam.

Bowie had studied with the famed mime Lindsay Kemp and had toured with Kemp’s company, so he certainly had the best mime credentials, but none of us knew quite what to make of the mime he performed for Andy. Then he sang “Andy Warhol.” I don’t think Andy could tell whether it was an homage or a send-up, with its rather ambiguous lyrics, but everyone was very nice and polite. I’ve recently seen the silent black-and-white video [of the visit]. The Factory’s video technique was even worse than its film technique, and I’m curious about the conversation I can be seen having with Bowie, my hair almost as long as his. I recall David asking me where he could get a copy of the Index Book and I recall that I had no idea what that was.

I don’t know what Andy thought of that day — probably not much, but he had that sense of judging a person’s self-esteem, and I think Bowie passed on that count. The next time I saw him was in London. RCA Records had gotten behind him big time, and, in 1972, they shipped a bunch of editors and writers over to see his new incarnation, Ziggy Stardust. It was a total transformation, with Bowie gone futurist with radical red hair, makeup, and Japanese designer clothes. It was fantastic. He was a new dandy prototype, a Beau Brummell for the publicity millennium. I saw the band play a great concert in a medium-sized hall in Aylesbury, and I hung out with David and his very friendly wife, Angie. We went dancing at Yours and Mine, a hip disco under a Mexican restaurant and, yeah, I danced with David Bowie. Fabulous!

Read the complete story here…

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“David Bowie is” — Victoria and Albert Museum

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TALES OF SALVADOR DALI’S DEMON BRIDE | FOR LUST OF MONEY AND MEN

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Funny how often we automatically assume that long-standing, famous couples must be deeply devoted, madly in love, and happier than a couple of pigs in slop. Sometimes, like in the case of Salavador Dali and his wife Gala– what looked like love may have been a case of shared sins and “the devil you know”… I found this juicy tell-all on the couple written for VF some 15 years ago that made my own mustache curl on end… I even had to omit a few bits that were just too much. Let’s just say, it seems that they deserved each other– neither of them seem exactly easy, let alone pleasurable, to be with.

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salvador dali gala

ca. 1930– Salvador Dali and Gala in Port Lligat, a fishing village near Cadaques, before they married. When they met in 1929 Gala was still married to the poet Paul Eluard, and she quickly began an affair with Dali, who was around ten years her junior. After marrying Dali, she and Eluard continued their intimate relationship. “Letters to Gala”  is the published collection of Eluard’s raw, twisted, and emotional letters to Gala that expose the powerful grip she held on him.

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DALI’S DEMON BRIDE

When Surrealist master Salvador Dali met Gala Devulina in 1929, the 25-year-old artist found a poisonous muse who defined decadence and outdid him in sexual perversity.

By John Richardson, Vanity Fair, 1998

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That Salvador Dali fell victim to his Russian wife Gala’s lust for domination is no longer a matter of conjecture. Ian Gibson, in an eye-opening biography of the artist that Norton will publish here this month, comes up with some terrifying new facts, which reveal in more detail and depth than ever before how and why this quintessential Surrealist—the master of the soft watches—allowed himself to be destroyed by one of the nastiest wives a major modern artist ever saddled himself with.

I can testify to the accuracy of Gibson’s account. In the early 1970s I was a vice president of M. Knoedler & Co., Dali’s dealers. One of my responsibilities was keeping the artist to the terms of his contract at a time when his eye was so bleary and his hand so shaky that assistants had taken over his more arduous work. I could not help feeling sorry for the seedy old conjurer, with his rhinoceros-horn wand, leopardskin overcoat, and designer whiskers, not to mention his surreal breath. The Wizard of Was, as someone called him, was all patter and very little sleight of hand. His virago of a wife and the creepy, conniving courtiers in charge of his business had reduced Dali to a mere logo, a signature as flamboyant as his mustache.

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gala salvador dali

ca. 1930– Salvador Dali and Gala in Port Lligat, a fishing village near Cadaques, before they married. Dali was reportedly a virgin when they met, who feared female private parts, and in a very close relationship with the poet Federico Garcia Lorca. There are differing opinions on whether it was a gay love affair– some say it was, while others claim Dali rebuffed Lorca’s sexual advances. Reports are also that what Dali really got off on was candaulism.

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Gala’s business methods were very Russian: she did not haggle so much as berate and bully. In a jet-black wig held in place by a Minnie Mouse bow, this ancient harridan would drive home her wheedling demands for money with jabs of ancient elbows and blows of mottled knuckles. After one gruesome dinner at Maxim’s in Paris which left me black and blue, I refused to deal with her ever again.

“Dali need more money.” Jab!

“Then Dali had better start painting again.”

“Dali paint every day. You give more money, he give more paintings.”

“All our money got us last year were bits of paper smeared with ink from an incontinent octopus. Ouch! Gala, that was my kidney!”

To put one of Dali’s biennial shows together, I was obliged to beg, borrow, and improvise: cover nude girls in paint and roll them on sheets of paper; jazz up dud old masters with Dalian trademarks—a swarm of ants or a rotting sardine—thereby transforming them into artifacts that were no less dud but far more valuable. Amazingly, the stuff sold.

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Salvador and Gala Dali, 1936 beaton

1936– Salvador Dali (holding a fencing foil) and Gala –photograph by Cecil Beaton. 

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Gala is sometimes said to have hailed from one of those Shangri-las where everybody eats only yogurt and lives to be more than a hundred. In fact, she was born Helena Diakanoff Devulina in Kazan in 1894. Her father was a civil servant, her mother a member of the Moscow intelligentsia who wrote children’s stories. According to Dali, Gala was part Jewish; according to her daughter, she was not. As a child, Gala was delicate and had to be packed off periodically to sanatoriums. At one of these, this manic girl excessively pure, yet at the same time the victim of “whorish” (her word) fancies—fell in love with the young French poet Pau Eluard, who would win fame as one of the founders of Surrealism. The outbreak of war separated them, but in 1916, Gala made her way from Moscow to Paris to rejoin her poet lover.

Gala and Eluard were married a year later. Soon, according to Gibson, “her appetite for sex…was so overwhelming that it verged on the nymphomaniac.” She did not allow the birth of a daughter, Cecile, in 1918, to cramp her style. Apart from an unsuccessful attempt in old age to disinherit Cecile, Gala paid her little or no heed. Eluard prided himself on his sexual prowess, but he failed to satisfy Gala, so she took lovers on the side. They had to be exceedingly young, handsome, and horny. Since Gala was blessed with striking, Slavic looks, an appetizing little body, and the libido of an electric eel, she had no difficulty finding them. One of her first lovers was the charismatic German Dadaist Max Ernst, who had recently moved from Cologne to Paris. At Gala’s insistence, Eluard let this hot young genius share their bed. Two men proved much better than one… Few of the other Surrealists could stand Gala. Much as they revered the works of the Marquis de Sade, they felt threatened when an authentically Sadean monster manifested herself in their midst. Amused, she would give a derisive smile; angered, she would roar like a Siberian tiger.

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salvador dali gala

1932– Salvador Dali and Gala –photograph by BRASSAÏ Gyula Halash

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In August 1929, the Eluards and a group of friends went to stay in Cadaques, Dali’s hometown. The artist, who had yet to make a name for himself outside Spain, had already heard about Gala’s strange proclivities, but his first sight of her in a bathing suit, on the sacrosanct beach of his childhood, left him bewitched. Gala was the demonic dominatrix of his dreams. For her part, she was in the market for another celebrity husband. And in the 25-year-old Dali she found the man of her dreams, someone who shared her passion for money, power, and notoriety, but also someone whose latest paintings, with their references to Freud and Sade and their meticulous, Vermeer-like finish, were destined to have an instant succes de scandale.

One small problem. Dali had been in love only once before, and that had been with a man: Federico Garcia Lorca. Lorca had exerted a formative influence on Dali’s earliest work and was on the way to becoming Spain’s greatest poet. Hearing that his former lover was involved with a woman, Lorca was incredulous….However, Gala turned out to be unfazed by Dali’s homosexual propensities….

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federico garcia lorca salvador dali

1927– The poet Federico Garcia Lorca and a young Salvador Dali (storied to be gay lovers) near Dali’s family summer residence in Cadaques, Spain –photograph by Dali’s sister.

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Dali’s stuffy but dotty Catalan family was appalled by his involvement with this scarlet woman from sinful Paris. Wrongly assuming Gala to be a drug addict who had turned Salvador into a dope peddler, his father disinherited him, and his devoted sister, Anna Maria, embarked on a feud with Gala which would last until death. The following spring, Gala and Dali spent five weeks at Torremolinos—in those days an unspoiled fishing village—and scandalized the local women, who still wore black and kept themselves covered, by wandering around the streets tanned mahogany from sunbathing nude on the beach, caressing each other exhibitionistically. She would be bare-breasted and miniskirted, her ratlike eyes ablaze; he, bone-thin and no less manic-looking, his bare chest set off by a necklace of bits of broken green glass. In nearby Malaga, a friend in the tourist office tried to explain this bizarre couple away as Egyptians, which only made things worse, leaving them at the mercy of beggars crying for baksheesh.

Dali was a latecomer to Surrealism. An earlier generation of Surrealist painters—Max Ernst, Joan Miro, Andre Masson, Yves Tanguy—had paved the way for him, as had the Surrealist poets, above all Andre Breton, a control freak of genius who headed the movement. Surrealism turned out to be made for Dali, as he was made for it: “the painter of dreams about whom [the Surrealists] had long dreamt,” as the photographer Brassai said. The twisted imagery churned up by Dali’s dysfunctional psyche corresponded to the sort of iconography that Breton had envisaged for his movement. Thanks to Breton, the artist’s first one-man show in Paris, in November 1929, would be a sensation. This plus Un Chien Andalou and L’Age d’Or, the two subversive films Dali made with the friend of his youth, Luis Bufiuel, confirmed him as the last great star of Surrealism. No doubt about it, by coming into his life just as his career was taking off, Gala likewise helped to make Dali, just as in less than a decade she would play an active role in unmaking him.

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Salvador Dali and Gala Eluard in Dali's Studio

1934, France — Salvador Dali and Gala in Dali’s Paris studio in 1934, the year they were married in a civil ceremony. She was previously married to poet Paul Eluard. In 1958, Salvador and Gala remarried in a Catholic ceremony in Montrejic after being granted a special dispensation by the Pope. — Image by © Bettmann/Corbis

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After their marriage in 1934, Dali set about propagating the legend of Gala as his muse and collaborator. She also served as his business manager and publicist, and in no time succeeded in turning him into as much of a monster of hype and megalomania as she was. Inevitably she came up against Andre Breton, who loathed her as much as she loathed him. Inevitably she found herself fighting Breton for possession of her husband’s soul, and inevitably she won. Her victory condemned Dali to a career of repetitious hackwork-society portraits, Fifth Avenue window displays, hosiery promotions—which was instrumental in bringing not just him but the Surrealist movement into artistic and intellectual disrepute. With her White Russian terror of Communism, Gala also managed to subvert the liberal ideology that Dali had shared with the fellow geniuses of his student days, Lorca and Bufiuel. Disdaining the Marxism of the other Surrealists, the former atheist and anarchist went over to totalitarianism and its by-product anti- Semitism. Far from showing any sympathy for the proletariat, Dali reportedly announced, apropos of his surreal penchant for the macabre, that he preferred train accidents in which the third-class passengers suffered most. He hailed the swastika as “the fusion of Left and Right, the resolution of antagonistic movements.” On another occasion he described Hitler, childishly, as a nurse, and also talked with relish of biting “into the doting and triumphal sweetness of the plump, atavistic, tender, militarist and territorial back of [this] nurse.”

When Franco prevailed in the Spanish Civil War, Dali set about currying favor with the Caudillo by publicly recanting his former contempt for family values and the church. Breton, the most powerful force in French letters, anathematized the artist as a counterrevolutionary and expelled him from the Surrealist group. He also came up with a brilliant anagram for him, “Avida Dollars.” Dali’s period of greatness had lasted little more than 10 years. His “last scandal,” he promised, would be a return to classicism, but he no longer had the skill, the time, or the patience for it. Dali’s “classicism” turned out to be academic kitsch. Thanks to Gala, the rest of his life would be an ever accelerating degringolade.

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Salvador and Gala Dali at Restaurant

Feb 1937, Los Angeles, CA — a young 22-year-old Salvador Dali and Gala at Hollywood’s Brown Derby restaurant. — Image by © Bettmann/Corbis

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The Dalis spent World War II in New York. Although Gala hated the city, she made a fortune out of her husband’s sales-oriented shock tactics and his flashy commissioned portraits of the hard-faced doyennes of cafe society in ball dresses, posed against desert-island backdrops. These daubs effectively scuttled his reputation as an avant-garde artist. Away from his Catalan roots, Dali’s imagination atrophied and his work became slick and cheap. Only his paintings of Gala have any intensity. In 1948, back in his Surreal folly at Port Lligat, a fishing village not far from the parental house in Cadaques, Dali gave bombastic interviews contrived to ingratiate himself with the church. And to the same end he embarked on the first of a series of utterly unconvincing devotional paintings: a sanctimonious image of Gala, entitled The Madonna of Port Lligat. The fishermen of Port Lligat, who loved Dali but loathed Gala—she was always propositioning them—found the notion of her as the Madonna an absurdist joke. Nevertheless, the painting proved a useful prop when the Dalis had an audience with the Pope in November 1949. His Holiness admired it. On the other hand, friends of the artist’s youth, who remembered the fanatical intensity of his attacks on religion, were nauseated by his hypocrisy.

For them the seal of papal approval was tantamount to the mark of the beast. By the early 1960s, Dali had to work even harder on ever more degrading projects to support Gala’s addiction to gambling and boy toys. One hustler arranged for friends of his to steal her car while he was dating her. Less of a menace was a handsome, 22-year-old junkie named William Rotlein, whom Gala had picked up on a New York street. She bought him new clothes, weaned him off drugs, and took him to Spain, then Italy, where she made him swear eternal love to her on the tomb of Romeo and Juliet. Except for Eluard, Rotlein was the best sex she had ever had, Gala boasted. He even returned her love, which is probably why the affair lasted four years. It ended when Rotlein failed a screen test for a walk-on part in a Fellini movie. Gala despised failure and gave him a one-way ticket back to New York. Shortly afterward, he died of an overdose.

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the madonna of port lligat

Salvador Dali and Gala pose with the ironic and controversial “The Madonna of Port Lligat” which portray the anything but pure and holy Gala in a religious-themed devotional painting which Dali used as a tool to please the Pope, who was said to have admired it.

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To entertain her lovers, Gala obliged Dali to give her a castle, part hideaway, part love nest. Called Pubol, it was 50 miles from Port Lligat. The artist was not allowed to set foot there unless he had a written invitation from the chatelaine. Thanks to Jean-Claude Du Barry—a young man who ran a Barcelona modeling agency, and whom Dali described as “my purveyor of a**”—the artist and his wife had a constant supply of fresh boys… Woe betide them if they went after Dali’s girls, chicks with… When Gala was almost 80, she fell for a young student from Aix-en-Provence, who gave her the illusion of eternal youth. After a year or two, he was displaced by Jeff Fenholt, the long-haired star of Jesus Christ Superstar. Fenholt was given a recording studio at Pubol. There he spent night after night rocking away, to the intense irritation of Gala, who wanted him in her bed, as well as of the other guests, who wanted to sleep. Fenholt proved a very expensive item. He persuaded Gala to give him a sizable house on Long Island and send him large sums of money (“Must have $38,000 or will die,” read one telegram). According to Gibson, Fenholt showed Gala little or no gratitude. His impersonation of Jesus had not engendered any redeeming qualities; however, the role came in useful later on, when he switched to being a TV evangelist in California. Dali was said to be outraged at the expenditure and at the degree of Gala’s infatuation, which would last almost until she died. In 1981 the worm finally turned. Dali beat up his 87- year-old wife so badly that she had to be taken to the hospital with two broken ribs.

Gala had become more and more piratical. She preferred payments to be made in cash; that way she could smuggle large sums in or out of Spain, Switzerland, and France. So full of banknotes were the Dalis’ safe-deposit boxes at their Paris hotel that the manager begged them to move the contents to a bank. To the couple’s dismay, much of the currency had become obsolete. The artist then turned the management of his affairs over to a succession of secretaries. He was too stingy to pay them, so they had to make do with commissions, which resulted in their becoming multimillionaires at his expense.

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Salvador Dali Sleeping with Perfumed Pillow

1942, New York– Original caption: And it’s off to work goes Salvador Dali. His method of going to work is not that of the ordinary mortal. He lies on a perfumed couch in his studio with a handful of pencils. Perfume is then dropped on his eyelids to influence the character of his dreams, for dreams are the stuff of which surrealism is made. –Image by © Bettmann/Corbis

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The first of the secretaries was a genial Irishman, Captain Peter Moore, who relieved Dali’s, or rather Gala’s, constant need for ready money by suggesting that they charge $10 each for Dali’s signature on blank sheets of paper onto which publishers or dealers could print whatever image they liked from the artist’s repertory. Since Dali could do a thousand signatures an hour, he relished this task. It was like printing his own money. After French customs stopped a shipment of 40,000 of these signed sheets to a so-called art publisher, respectable dealers shied away from Dali’s late graphic work. Once again he had done himself in.

Gala made no bones about the people who trafficked in these sheets of paper. “They are all crooks,” she said. “Who cares? They pay us cash, so what difference does it make? Dali painted the work. He can sell the rights to anyone he wishes and as many times as he wants.” It was not even as if Dali needed money: in 1974 he was worth $32 million. What little was left of his integrity as an artist was sacrificed to Gala’s nymphomania and greed for tacky aggrandizement.

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Salvador Dali Sketching

1942, New York– Gala gets Dali in the mood for work. Using long wands, she presses perfumed cotton swabs on his eyes to irritate the retinas. This hypnological practice ws supposed to stimulate his imagination and induce visions. The treatment is beginning to work, apparently, for Senor Dali has now begun to sketch while the perfumed pads continue the compression of his eyeballs. –Image by © Bettmann/Corbis

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After the friendly, businesslike Peter Moore was squeezed out in 1974, things got much worse. Gala insisted on replacing him with a former Catalan soccer player named Enric Sabater, a jerk-of-all-trades with a flair for public relations and monkey business. When he went to work for Dali, Sabater applied for a private detective’s license and took to carrying a gun. He set up a number of offshore companies and proceeded to build up a business empire for himself, which eclipsed the artist’s. According to Gibson, to keep the Dalis isolated from other advisers, Sabater tapped their telephones and ordered armed guards to stop anyone from entering their house unless authorized by him. By charging around with a revolver in his belt, eavesdropping and spying, Sabater reduced Dali to a “trembling mass of jelly.” Reynolds Morse, a collector of the artist’s work and a friend, claims Sabater had worked “the greatest con game ever on the greatest con man in art.” Besides a yacht and two luxurious residences on the Costa Brava, one with a lobster pond, Sabater amassed in five years a fortune of more than a billion pesetas (about $14 million). Meanwhile, Gala’s passion for Fenholt had left Dali in a state of abject depression. Was she going to leave him for Jesus Christ? To alleviate his panic, Gala gave him excessive doses of Valium and other sedatives, which made him lethargic. She would then dose him with “unknown quantities of one or more types of amphetamine,” thereby causing him “irreversible neural damage.” “Might it be possible,” Gibson asks the reader, “that Gala, in plying Dali with a mixture of pills from her private medicine chest, was…attempting to poison him? It is a possibility that cannot be entirely ruled out.” It was clear, in any case, that Gala’s treatment had reduced the artist to a bag of quivering bones. When the King and Queen of Spain visited him in 1981, he looked very battered: Gala was rumored to have made a dent in his skull with her shoe.

Ironically, it was Gala who died first, on June 10, 1982, aged 87. The fact that this occurred in a Barcelona hospital made for problems. She had wanted to die and be buried at Pubol. To avoid legal complications, Dali’s entourage decided that her body should be propped up, with a nurse beside it as if she were still alive, in the back of her huge old Cadillac and driven to Pubol. Doctors were brought from Barcelona to embalm her. She was then buried, wearing a favorite red Dior dress, in a tomb in the castle’s crypt. There, a few nights later, Dali was found on his knees, convulsed with terror. Although he had come to despise Gala, he could barely function without her. AccordingIy, he stayed on at Pubol. One of his nurses described him sobbing constantly and spending, in Gibson’s words, “hours making animal noises. He had hallucinations and thought he was a snail.”

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Salvador Dali Painting on Site with Observers

1959, Rome, Italy– Original caption: A crowd of onlookers watch Salvador Dali finishing his rhinoceros-inspired painting.  A bottle of Indian ink poured by Dali over the animal’s footprints on the paper produced the “work” he is here shown displaying.  Screen actress Isabelle Corey is helping Dali in his show. –Image by © Bettmann/Corbis

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After Gala’s death, Dali’s affairs went from bad to terrible. The new secretary, a seemingly harmless French photographer and self-proclaimed Dali expert named Robert Descharnes, turned out, according to Gibson, to be every bit as untrustworthy as his predecessor. Since Dali could not bear to return to the Port Lligat house, Descharnes temporarily moved his family into it, and nosy neighbors reported that he proceeded to ship the more valuable contents—archives, drawings, objects—to Paris. Descharnes’s credentials as an expert did not survive the publication of a book in which he claimed that Dali, despite the uncontrollable trembling of his right hand (so bad that he took to signing things with a thumbprint), had managed to execute a hundred paintings, unlike any he had done before, in 1982 and 1983. Gibson’s thorough research has revealed that a great many of these works are by someone named Isidor Bea.

For the last five years of Dali’s life, he was an invalid—an invalid from hell. He screamed and spat at his nurses and lunged at their faces with his nails. To annoy them he would soil his bed. He would take a pill only if an attendant would promise to share it or take one too. His incessant use of an antiquated bell push attached to his pajamas very nearly caused his death when it triggered a short circuit, which set fire to the bed. A nurse found him semi-conscious on the floor and summoned help. Despite Dali’s calling her “Bitch! Criminal! Assassin!,” the nurse managed to give him mouth-to-mouth respiration, which helped save him. While Dali was in the bum clinic, his sister, Anna Maria, once closer to him than anybody else, insisted on visiting him. “Go away, you old *****,” he supposedly shouted, and tried to hit her. A few weeks later he confirmed his intention to disinherit her. He was evidently on the mend.

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Spanish Artist and Painter Salvador Dali

1980– The eccentric Spanish artist and painter Salvador Dali with his longtime wife Gala in Monaco. –Image by © René Maestri/Sygma/Corbis

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Not wanting to return to Pubol, Dali decided to move into an extension of the Theater-Museum which he had founded in the nearby town of Figueres. And there, except for spells in the hospital, he remained, “swathed in secrecy,” until his death. Because he refused to eat, doctors had “equipped him with a grotesque nasal-gastric tube leading directly to his stomach. The piece of apparatus made his speech even more incoherent and his throat painfully dry.”

In November 1988, Dali was readmitted to the hospital. Hearing that the King of Spain was in Barcelona, he requested and received a visit, which involved dusting off the famous mustache. Death came two months later, on January 23, 1989. To the surprise of most of his entourage, the artist was not buried beside Gala at Pubol, but in his Theater-Museum. He had once assured me that he was going to have his body refrigerated in the hope of resurrection. However, he ended up, like Gala, embalmed, pacemaker and all. He had also insisted that his face be covered in death, but at the funeral he was laid out in an open coffin for all to see, his grubby nails showing through his shroud.

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“In Voluptas Mors” by Salvador Dali & Philippe Halsman, which you may recognize from the movie poster for “The Silence of the Lambs”– used to symbolize the seven victims in Jonathan Demme’s classic film…

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salvador dali women skull

1951– Nude women posed by Dali forming a skull entitled “In Voluptas Mors” –photograph by Philippe Halsman (in collaboration with Salvador Dali) 

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In Voluptas Mors Dali

1951– Salvador Dali posing naked female models to form a human skull entitled “In Voluptas Mors” –photograph by Philippe Halsman (in collaboration with Dali)

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women skull dali

1951– Salvador Dali posing naked female models to form a human skull entitled “In Voluptas Mors” –photograph by Philippe Halsman (in collaboration with Dali)

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women naked skull dali

1951– Salvador Dali posing naked female models to form a human skull entitled “In Voluptas Mors” –photograph by Philippe Halsman (in collaboration with Dali)

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women naked skull salvador dali

1951– Salvador Dali posing naked female models to form a human skull entitled “In Voluptas Mors” –photograph by Philippe Halsman (in collaboration with Dali)

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women naked dali skull

1951– Salvador Dali posing naked female models to form a human skull entitled “In Voluptas Mors” –photograph by Philippe Halsman (in collaboration with Dali)

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women forming skull dali

1951– Salvador Dali posing naked female models to form a human skull entitled “In Voluptas Mors” –photograph by Philippe Halsman (in collaboration with Dali)

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naked women skull dli

1951– naked female models posed by artist Salvador Dali to form the likeness of a human skull. –photograph by Philippe Halsman (in collaboration with Dali)

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photographer Philippe Halsman, who collaborated with Salvador Dali on “In Voluptas Mors” in 1951

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NORM GRABOWSKI’S HARLEY-DAVIDSON PANHEAD | THE TRICYCLE FOR BIG BOYS

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You can never have enough Norm Grabowski! From the grainy pages of Modern Cycle magazine, ca. 1965 (a follow-up piece  published after covering Norm’s epic Corvair-powered “Six Pack” motorcycle), by way of Nostalgia on Wheels. Below is Norm on the Harley before the sidecar, and following along after you’ll see it fitted with the Steib sidecar as it appeared in Modern Cycle.

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norm grabowski harley panhead

Norm Grabowski on his custom Harley– it’s a ’54 Panhead with special high-torque cams on a ’38 H-D rigid frame. This was later equipped with a Steib sidecar frame adapted by Mike Parti.

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Norm on his red metalflaked Pan chopper with the jugs and heads painted white, at the drags. Check out the sissy bar – it’s a combination beer can holder / “church key” beer can opener….too fucking much!  

–Irish Rich  

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norm grabowski harley sidecar

Norm Grabowski is the kind of guy who goes nuts over things mechanical. If you read the Modern Cycle issue of May 1965, you’ll remember the story we did on his Six Pack, the ultra-smooth power monster consisting mainly of an Indian motorcycle frame housing a Chevrolet Corvair engine. Norm’s latest creation is certainly as far out as the last one, but at least this time he stuck mostly to motorcycle parts in creating it. Completed last Fall, the three wheeler was seen several times on television on the short lived series, My Mother The Car, in which the actor was a regular. Grabowski drove the melodramatic villain, Captain Mancini, around in the strange looking chair.  –Modern Cycle magazine, ca. 1965    

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norm grabowski harley panhead sidecar

A startling, if somewhat unfunctional package, Norm’s new three-wheelet really gets the stares. Norm started with a 1938 Harley-Davidson rigid frame and dropped in a 1954 74 cu. in. H-D engine, which he left stock except for special high torque cams. The sidecar is a Steib, with special adaption done by Mike Parti of Sun Valley, CA. This was a major undertaking as it involved relocating the ball joints close to the outrigger rather than near the frame of the bike. Paint on bike and sidecar is the same candy pearl orange used on the Six Pack. In all, a wild package.  –Modern Cycle magazine, ca. 1965    

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Norm Grabowski panhead harley motorcycle

Intricate exhaust tours from engine across front of, underneath, and up back of the “T” bucket. Built by Huth Muffler of Burbank it includes an aluminum-sprayed Austin-Healy duplex muffler. Upholstery in black Naugahyde was done by Lee Wells. Paint and striping are by Dean Jeffries of Hollywood, CA.  –Modern Cycle magazine, ca. 1965    

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GRABOWSKI HARLEY H-D PANHEAD MOTORCYCLE

Barrels and heads on Norm Grabowski’s Harley-Davidson Pan have been metal sprayed with aluminum and case polished. Foot shift conversion was done by Boyd DeFrance of D & D Cycle in Burbank, who also dod a goodly portion of the other mechanical work.  –Modern Cycle magazine, ca. 1965     

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norm grabowski harley panhead sidecar

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BO DIDDLEY & THE CLASH, 1979 US TOUR | EVERY GENERATION HAS THEIR OWN LITTLE BAG OF TRICKS

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The Clash Bo Diddley 1979

1979, Cleveland — Bo Diddley opened for The Clash on their US tour – Image by © Bob Gruen. In 1979, Joe Strummer and Paul Simonon of the Clash asked that Diddley open for them on the band’s first American tour. “I can’t look at him without my mouth falling open,” Strummer, starstruck, told a journalist during the tour. For his part, Diddley had no misgivings about facing a skeptical audience. “You cannot say what people are gonna like or not gonna like,” he explained later to the biographer George White. “You have to stick it out there and find out! If they taste it, and they like the way it tastes, you can bet they’ll eat some of it!” via

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The Clash where huge fans of Bo Diddley, as many of the formative British bands (and American too) of the ’60s and ’70s were– The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Beatles, The Yardbirds, and many more. Bo Diddley joined The Clash as their opening act on their 1979 US Tour– opening up a radical, young, new crowd to the sound of the man many consider to be one of the most important pioneers of American Rock & Roll music. Bo Diddley himself made no bones about stating that HE was THE beginning of Rock & Roll. Bo Diddley not only influenced sound– he also influenced the attitude, energy, and look of Rock & Roll for decades to come. Look at the pics here, I see the bold plaids that Diddley and other Rockers of the ’50s wore (Plaid was for hipsters, not squares, in the ’50s..), that emerged again strongly in the ’70s through the Sex Pistols (great credit due to Vivienne Westwood), The Clash and others. You can also see and hear where Jack Black got the lion’s share of his game from– no doubt Bo Diddley. The man is a legend and has never gotten his due, and the due that came, came too late. He had a well-earned chip on his shoulder, and even insisted The Clash pay him upfront, as he’d been screwed over so many times before.

“I was the cat that went and opened the door, and everyone else ran through it. And I said– what the heck, you know? …I was left holding the doorknob” –Bo Diddley

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Bo Diddley

ca. 1950s — Norma Jean “The Duchess” Wofford in white blouse, Jerome Green squatting in front with maracas, and Bo Diddley with his signature rectangular Gretsch guitar. Bo and his crew were the badasses of their generation, just as The Clash were in theirs. – Image by © Michael Ochs

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“If you can play– all you need is one amp, your axe, and you. “ –Bo Diddley explaining his feelings about The Clash’s monstrous wall of sound during their 1979 US tour.

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the clash bo diddley tour photo

1979, Cleveland — Bo Diddley opened for The Clash on their 1979 US tour. I love seeing Mick Jones in his red tartan plaid shirt, and then looking down at the photo of Bo Diddley and crew rocking them back in the ’50s, and looking extremely badass. – Image by © Bob Gruen  

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Bo Diddley and His Band

ca. 1950s, New York — Bo Diddley, Jerome Green on left playing maracas. – Image by © Michael Ochs. Back in the 1950s, plaids like this may have been accepted among the Hipsters, but it was a different story in Middle America where it was still thought of it as the fabric of a counter culture movement– outlaw fashion. via

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“This group the Sex Pistols pukes onstage? I don’t necessarily like that. That’s not showmanship… They gotta get themselves an act.”  –Bo Diddley

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Bo Diddley The Clash tour photograph

Bo Diddley opened for The Clash in 1979 on their US tour, here on their bus. – Image by © Bob Gruen 

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So how did Bo reflect back upon his 1979 US tour with The Clash? I think he summed it up pretty well when he stated that, “Every generation has its own little bag of tricks…” Watch the video below–

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No mention of Bo Diddley would be complete with a nod to The Duchess

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bo diddley band the duchess

Born Norma-Jean Wofford in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, she began her career in 1962. After the departure of his first female guitarist, Peggy “Lady Bo” Jones, wherever Bo Diddley played, he would hear discontented whispers in the audience– “Where’s the girl? Where’s the girl? That’s when I got The Duchess,” he told his biographer. “I taught her how to play guitar, and then I taught her how to play my thing, you know. Then, after I hired her in the group, I named her The Duchess, and I says, ‘I’m gonna tell everybody we’re sister and brother.’ Part of the reason I decided to go with that little lie was that it put me in a better position to protect her when we were on the road.” via

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bo diddley the duchess

Lending her inimitable style to the grooves (and sleeves) of 1962′s “Bo Diddley & Company” and 1963′s “Bo Diddley’s Beach Party” albums, she accompanied him on his first tour of England that same year, where her guitar prowess created a stir equalled only by that of her skin-tight gold lamé cat suit. Asked by one dauntless investigator how she managed to get into it, Norma-Jean responded by pulling out an over-sized shoehorn. Eric Burdon later immortalised her in the Animals’ “Story Of Bo Diddley”. via

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HELL ON TWO KRAZY WHEELS | VINTAGE EVEL KNIEVEL IN HIS HARLEY HEYDAY

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Evel Knievel shared a long and colorful history with Harley-Davidson– professing that his very first motorcycle was a Harley that he stole when he was just 13 yrs old. Legend has it in 1960, Evel Knievel strapped his day-old son Kelly to his back for the boy’s first motorcycle ride. The 22-year-old Robert (not yet the larger-than-life Evel) Knievel fishtailed the brand new Harley on their maiden ride home from the maternity ward to the family trailer in Butte, Montana. He was so shaken by almost wrecking with his newborn baby in-tow that he promptly sold the bike.

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A great shot of Evel Knievel showcasing the beauty of his white leathers with navy and red trim. Knievel was buried in a leather jacket like the one you see here when he passed away in 2007. Pal Matthew McConaughey offered this eulogy– “He’s forever in flight now. He doesn’t have to come back down. He doesn’t have to land.” And yes, McConaughey was probably stoned. A bit of an odd pairing if ever there was one, but I ask you– Who doesn’t love Evel Knievel? 

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Evel Knievel

The iconic daredevil Evel Knievel poised on his Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Knievel’s surviving 1972 Harley-Davidson XR-750 is now on display at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History. Knievel also donated a leather jumpsuit, cape, and boots that he wore during jumps. –Photo by Ralph Crane

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Evel Knievel pulling a wheelie on his epic Harley-Davidson XR-750 stunt motorcycle of steel, alloy, and fiberglass that weighed-in at about 300 lbs. The Harley had enough power that it could be geared to allow Evel to take-off from a dead stop in 4th so that he could approach the ramp and build speed without shifting, eliminating the risk of missing a gear. It’s also been suggested that Evel’s throttle was setup by his mechanics to turn clockwise instead of counter-clockwise. That way when he landed the throttle would roll off to idle, instead of wide open– because the impact of landing made his wrists and hands roll in the counter-clockwise direction of the grip. 

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“I guess I thought I was Elvis Presley. But I’ll tell ya something–

all Elvis did was stand on a stage and play a guitar.

He never fell off on that pavement at no 80 mph.”

– Evel Knievel

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1975 — Evel Knievel on his Harley-Davidson XR-750 gearing-up for the Wembley stadium bus jump.

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evel knievel harley xr-750

Evel Knievel outside the Harley-Davidson factory with a trio of bikes.  via

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evel knievel autograph

Evel Knievel signing an autograph for a young fan – Hell, who wasn’t a fan of Evel’s back then?!

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1975 — Evel Knievel promo shot on his Harley-Davidson XR-750  for the Wembley stadium bus jump.

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evel knievel roger reiman harley-davidson

1973 — Evel Knievel and AMA Hall of Famer Roger Reiman,who in later years became Evel’s head mechanic in-charge of his stable of Harley-Davidson XR-750 stunt bikes.

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1970s shot of badass daredevil stuntman Evel Knievel on his Harley-Davidson XR-750 motorcycle.

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evel knievel color harley-davidson

Great shot of Evel Knievel in white leathers on his Harley-Davidson XR-750 motorcycle.

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1975 — Evel Knievel on his Harley-Davidson XR-750 gearing-up for the Wembley stadium bus jump.

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1975 — Evel Knieve’famous  motorcycle jump of 13 Greyhound buses at Wembley stadium, UK.

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1975 — Evel Knievel, on his Harley-Davidson XR-750, jumping 140 feet at 90 mph over 13 buses at Wembley stadium. He barely cleared the last bus, and crashed on landing. Knievel suffered a broken hand, pelvis, and compressed vertebrae.  –Photo by David Ashdown / Keystone / Getty Images

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1975 — Stuntman Evel Knievel crashing his Harley-Davidson XR-750 motorcycle on landing following a successful 90 mph jump over 13 buses at Wembley Stadium.

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1975 — Evel Knievel crashed on landing following a successful 90 mph jump over 13 buses at Wembley Stadium. Knievel promptly announced to the crowd that he was done– there would be no more jumps. Still shaken, he stated to the crowd that they were “the last people in the world who will ever see me jump. I will never, ever, ever, ever jump again. I am through”. Injuries and all, Evel Knievel stood and insisted to be taken off his stretcher and walk out of the stadium. Once out of the stadium he was placed back onto a stretcher, loaded into an ambulance, and then rushed to the hospital. – Image by © Bettmann/Corbis

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Evel Knievel worcester 1976

1976 — So much for no more jumps! Here’s Evel Knievel successfully jumping 10 vans at Worcester, Massachusetts on his H-D XR-750. 

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1977 — Evel Knievel loading his .38 Smith & Wesson handgun in a New York City hotel room. After receiving kidnapping threats against his children Evel began sleeping with the loaded gun every night.

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WHAT I’VE LEARNED: EVEL KNIEVEL | For Esquire magazine, 2007

You can fall many times in life, but you’re never a failure as long as you try to get up.

Loving someone doesn’t mean that you can love her for six days and then beat the crap out of her on the seventh.

Women are the root of all evil. I ought to know. I’m Evel.

This country has become a nation of the government, by the government, and for the government. Our politicians are destroying us. We need a revolt!

When you’re mad at someone, it’s probably best not to break his arm with a baseball bat.

Heaven is a place you can go and drink a lot of draft beer and it don’t make you fat. You can cheat on your wife and she don’t get mad. You get a beautiful female chauffeur with nice, hard tits — real ones. There are motorcycle jumps you never miss. You don’t need a tee time.

Anybody can jump a motorcycle. The trouble begins when you try to land it.

The Internal Revenue Service is more ruthless than the Gestapo. Abolish the IRS! Stamp out organized crime!

I don’t believe in hell. I don’t believe in gods or Jesus Christ or sacred cows. I don’t believe in that big, fat-assed Buddha. Show me one piece of Noah’s ark. Show me one piece of the tablets that Moses was supposed to have brought down from the mountain. People need a crutch. They need to make up stories. I don’t want to do that.

You can be famous for a lot of things. You can be a Nobel-prize winner. You can be the fattest guy in the world. You can be the guy with the smallest penis. Whatever it is, enjoy it. It don’t last forever.

One day you’re a hero, the next day you’re gone.

People say they take responsibility for their own actions all the time, but that don’t mean they really do.

I think that all of these so-called born-again Christians should ask their preachers why they don’t hand out organ-donor cards. If you donated a kidney or a heart or an eye or whatever to your fellow man to keep him alive, you couldn’t be closer to God than that.

You can’t forbid children to do things that are available to them at every turn. God told Eve, “Don’t give the apple to Adam,” and look what happened. It’s in our nature to want the things we see.

If God ever gives this world an enema, he’ll stick the tube in the Lincoln Tunnel and he’ll flush everybody in New York City clear across the Atlantic. And that would just be a start.

We must tax the churches. Freedom of religion is bullshit when it’s tax-free.

You are the master of your own ship, pal. There are lots of people who fall into troubled waters and don’t have the guts or the knowledge or the ability to make it to shore. They have nobody to blame but themselves.

I’ve done everything in the world I’ve ever wanted to do except kill somebody. There are a couple of guys I know who need shooting. They represent the rectums of humanity.

If you don’t know about pain and trouble, you’re in sad shape. They make you appreciate life.

Everything in moderation is okay, except Wild Turkey.

If a guy hasn’t got any gamble in him, he isn’t worth a crap.

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RELATED TSY POSTS:

EVEL KNIEVEL | TRIUMPH OVER THE FOUNTAINS AT CAESARS PALACE

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HARLEY-DAVIDSON | AMERICAN IRON, INGENUITY & PERSEVERANCE, PT. II

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