Category Archives: 1950s

Watching a new musical on Broadway 50-plus years ago

Posted on August 5, 2024 | 4 comments

   

In April 1973, my husband (I’ll call him Marv) and I left our home in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and headed for New York City.  Marv was a terrific math professor at the University of Michigan, and he’d already earned tenure there.  Thanks to recognition by other mathematicians, he was invited to speak at a math conference to be held at NYC’s famed Biltmore Hotel, and I decided to tag along.

A bunch of my law-school classmates were living in NYC just then, and I contacted a few of them about getting together while Marv and I were in town.  One of my favorite classmates was my close friend Arlene, and she immediately made plans to see both of us one evening during our stay.

I was thrilled when Arlene surprised me with a terrific plan.  She was purchasing tickets for all three of us to see a hit musical playing on Broadway.  I’ve always been a huge fan of Broadway musicals, beginning when I was a kid, and I was excited at the prospect of seeing this one.  I may have heard something about it even before we got to NYC, but I didn’t know any details.  In the pre-internet era, it was hard to get details like that.

After a scrumptious dinner somewhere in Manhattan, the three of us set out for Broadway and the musical Arlene had chosen.  We excitedly took our seats in the balcony as the lights dimmed and a hush fell over the audience

As the curtain rose, I gasped. The musical was “Grease,” and it began at a 1950s class reunion at a Chicago public high school.  The graduation year, prominently displayed on the stage, was the same year that Marv and I had graduated from our own public high schools!  As we watched, our mouths agape, we soon figured out that the story focused on the “greasers” at the high school one of its writers attended.

The parallel with our own lives was undeniable.  No, we hadn’t attended schools where “greasers” dominated, but I clearly recalled the students my friends and I jokingly called “hoods”—short for “hoodlums.”  These kids were not terribly different from the working-class teenagers in “Grease.”  My school was dominated by middle-class kids, not the “hoods,” but we were all keenly aware of each other.

It turned out that the musical was first produced in Chicago in 1971, when Marv and I were living in California and totally unaware of local theater in Chicago.  It finally landed in NYC in 1972, about a year before we saw it, and it became the enduring hit we all know. Even better known: The 1978 film version that became a worldwide sensation.  “Grease” went on to earn both Broadway and movie fandom.

The music in the Broadway show we saw that night was astounding:  It borrowed the sounds of early rock-and-roll hits that Marv and I knew and loved.  It’s not surprising that many of the songs in “Grease” remain popular today. 

When the curtain finally came down, the three of us looked at each other.  We had all shared that era in the ‘50s just portrayed on the stage.  I was in a state of shock, trying to recover from the profound experience of reliving a slice of life from our high school days. 

You know what?  I don’t think I’ve ever completely recovered.

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Posted in 1950s, 1970s, American culture, Ann Arbor, Michigan, California, Chicago, class reunions, friends, friends, lifelong friends, New York City, rock and roll music, theater

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“A Raisin in the Sun”

Posted on April 24, 2024 | 1 comment

The enduring acclaim for the play “A Raisin in the Sun,” as well as its film version, has inspired me to relate what happened when I saw the play for the very first time. 

During 1959, this stunning new play about a Black family in Chicago, written by the exciting young playwright Lorraine Hansberry, premiered at an upscale downtown Chicago theater, the Blackstone Theatre.  Although histories of the play often state that it had its premiere on Broadway in New York City, it actually appeared earlier in Chicago.

The sometimes-caustic theater critic for the Chicago Tribune, Claudia Cassidy, wrote an enthusiastic review of it on February 11, 1959, noting that it was “a remarkable new play” that was “still in tryout.”

“Raisin” represented an enormous theatrical leap because of its plot– a realistic portrayal of a Black family in Chicago confronted with a crucial decision–and because of the brilliant performances by its actors, including Sidney Poitier and Ruby Dee.

I was lucky to see “Raisin” during its pre-Broadway stay in Chicago.  As a Chicago public high-school student with limited funds, I saw it as an usher.

Ushering was a fairly casual affair in those days.  Often accompanied by a friend or two, I would simply show up at a theater about an hour before the curtain went up and ask the usher-captain whether she could use another usher.  The answer was invariably “yes,” and I would be assigned to a designated area in the theater where I would check tickets and seat ticket-holders. Ushering enabled me to see a great many plays and musicals at no cost whatsoever, and I ushered as often as my school’s schedule allowed.

I’ve never forgotten the startling incident that occurred during the matinee performance of “Raisin” I viewed as an usher.  In the midst of the performance, for no apparent reason, the actors suddenly stopped speaking.  The reason became clear when the theater manager strode onto the stage.  Bottling his rage, he explained that the actors had been struck by items thrown at the stage by patrons in the theater. 

I was shocked to learn of this extremely disrespectful behavior.  I’d never witnessed a problem of any kind created by audience members.

I concluded (fairly, in my opinion) that the audience must have included a number of boorish high-school students sitting in the balcony that afternoon thanks to “comp” tickets.  Some of them were undoubtedly displaying the bigoted attitude toward Black people that prevailed in their homes.

The Chicago area’s population at that time included large numbers of white people who were biased against Blacks.  Some of these whites felt threatened by any possibility of change in their communities.  Some later openly demonstrated to protest Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s visit to Chicago. 

Here, in an upscale downtown theater, was the ugly and ignorant result of this bias.

Has anything changed since 1959?  For a long time, I thought it had.  During my years as a public interest lawyer and, later, as a law school professor and writer, I worked toward and believed in meaningful progress in the area of civil rights.  I had hoped that this feeling by some white people that they were threatened by Blacks–and eventually by Browns as well—had decreased.

Sadly, our recent history has revealed that this feeling still exists. It’s even been encouraged by certain “leaders’ in the political arena.  Some predict that violence could be the ultimate outcome.

I worry that we’re edging toward a return to the ethos of 1959 and the hostility displayed during the performance of “A Raisin in the Sun” I saw back then.  I fervently hope that this will not, indeed cannot, happen and that most Americans vehemently reject the prospect that it will.

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Posted in 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, American culture, American history, Chicago, family, films, high school, legal assistance to the poor, respect, theater, Uncategorized

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SusanLindaBarbaraCarolJudyNancy

Posted on March 25, 2024 | 1 comment

When I was growing up, about 80 percent of the girls I knew shared one of these six names:

Susan

Linda

Barbara

Carol(e)

Judy

Nancy

I was one of the perhaps hundreds of thousands of women in my generation named Susan.  In 1945, it ranked as the #10 girls’ name in the U.S.  By 1957, it was even more popular, ranking #2.

Why did so many of us share the same names?

I trace their popularity to something that seemed to permeate the consciousness of our parents:  The bright lights of Hollywood.

When we were born, many of our parents were still emerging from the shadows cast by World War II and the financial setbacks of the Great Depression.  Our parents may have already become financially successful or they may have been continuing their attempt to achieve financial success.  Either way, they hoped for a bright future for their darling daughters.  Hollywood seemed like a glittering site where they could find names to bestow on them.

In my own case (and that of the throngs of other Susans), I blame Susan Hayward.  By 1940, Susan Hayward had begun to earn a place for herself in Hollywood.  She went on to star in a series of box-office hits during the 1940s and ‘50s.  In most of her roles, she was a notable standout among the film actresses of her day—courageous, smart, and fiercely independent, frequently paired with some of Hollywood’s top male stars.  Her flaming red hair and other appealing features helped bolster her status as a Hollywood star.

What about the other names?  The reliance on Hollywood’s women stars is equally clear when we consider at least four of the other names.

Linda:  Hollywood was fascinated with Linda Darnell, and she was featured in a wide range of films during the 1940s and ‘50s.  The Mark of Zorro (1940) was her first opportunity to star with leading man Tyrone Power, with whom she was paired in a number of films.  Coincidentally, Tyrone Power later married Linda Christian, another Hollywood star during the ‘40s and ‘50s.

Barbara:  One of Hollywood’s megastars, Barbara Stanwyck, starred in 85 films, including many during the 1940s and ‘50s.  She was admired for her roles as a strong leading woman in films like Double Indemnity (1944).   Incidentally, Ruth Handler created the Barbie doll in 1959, probably influenced by the popularity of the name Barbara during the ‘40s and ‘50s.

Carol(e):  Carole Lombard, a huge star in the 1930s, was originally named Carol but was once mistakenly credited as Carole, and she adopted that spelling because she decided she liked it.  Her popularity zoomed until a plane crash in 1942 ended her life as well as her radiant career.  Her husband, Hollywood leading man Clark Gable, remarried twice but reportedly never got over Carole’s death.

Judy:  The name Judy was undoubtedly inspired by Hollywood legend Judy Garland.  Need I say more?

Nancy:  It’s harder to track any film stars named Nancy.  Nancy Davis, who married Ronald Reagan, didn’t begin making movies until the late ‘40s and she never became a big star.  Other Nancys in Hollywood films during the ‘40s and ‘50s were fairly unknown actresses who never achieved box-office success.  Maybe they were among the countless women who rejected the Hollywood casting couch and fell into oblivion as a result.  Parents may have chosen the name Nancy simply because they liked the good vibe the name Nancy offered, in part due to the popularity of the Nancy Drew books.  As a teenage sleuth, Nancy Drew gave off a great vibe.  A total of 175 books featuring her began publishing in 1930 and continued for decades.

Among my cohorts, many other girls’ names had their moment in the sun:  Karen, Julie, Natalie, Ann/Anne, Janice, Marcia/Marsha, Elizabeth (in one form or another), and Katherine (ditto).  But they couldn’t compete with the six favorites.

Boys’ names pretty much stuck to more traditional favorites. Most popular from the 1940s through the 1960s were James, Robert, John, William, and Richard, with Michael and David gaining strength in the ‘60s.

Both boys’ and girls’ names had changed radically by 2000.  Boys were most often named Jacob, Joshua, and Matthew.  Girls’ favored names were Emily, Hannah, and Madison.

Some parents began using names derived from pop culture, especially TV series (supplanting Hollywood films)–names like Phoebe in “Friends.”

As for Susan, it’s plunged in popularity since its heyday, when it ranked #2.  By 2023, it had fallen to #1708.  

Nobody seems to name a daughter Susan anymore. 

But with the recent revival of venerable names like Amelia, Evelyn, Charlotte, and Olivia, who knows?  Maybe Susan will live again! 

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Posted in 1940s, 1950s, Hollywood, movie stars, movies

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Easy to Love

Posted on October 21, 2023 | 3 comments

 For a total departure from the horrific TV news that continues to unfold, I escaped by watching a 1953 Hollywood film, Easy to Love.

This film, starring three 1950s Hollywood favorites, offered just the kind of escape I needed.  The stars were three of my own favorites when I was growing up:  Esther Williams, Van Johnson, and Tony Martin.

Set in the lush backdrop of Cypress Gardens, Florida (as it existed in the mid-fifties), the story transports us to a Technicolorful world where people faced the kind of simple problems we all wished we had right now.

Esther provides the dominant star power, charmingly swimming, diving, and singing her way through the silly plot.  As an astonishing athletic female star during that era (for which she deserves far more attention and praise), she headlined a number of MGM films.  Some of them frequently appear on Turner Classic Movies (TCM), and when I recently watched Easy to Love, the TCM host noted that Hollywood legend Busby Berkeley had choreographed Esther’s escapades in this film. The film opens, in fact, with a stunning example of just what Esther and Busby could do together. Berkeley later revealed that he loved being free of “the confines of the pool” in this film, here able to marshal 100 “troops” of water-skiers and swimmers, along with Esther, to perform astounding spectacles on water.  What’s remarkable is that, before making this film, swimmer Esther had never water-skied and had to learn how.

Esther’s MGM films included Neptune’s Daughter (1949), in which she and Ricardo Montalban sing the Frank Loesser Oscar-winning song that decades later has been viewed by some as offensive:  “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”  You probably know that the male singer tries to persuade the woman to stay with him despite her desire to leave.  Truthfully, the sexual innuendo it splashes on the screen was pretty typical of many Hollywood films in that era.

Montalban, by the way, later became famous for his roles in StarTrek and Planet of the Apes films, as well as his role on TV’s Fantasy Island.

Esther’s co-star, Van Johnson, who usually played the quintessential good-guy, has a different role here.  He ruthlessly runs the resort at Cypress Gardens, where he’s a tyrannical boss, ordering his employee Esther to work long hours while he ignores her romantic interest in him.  He’s constantly surrounded in his domain by a bevy of countless other “girls” (no one’s a woman in this film).  Esther frequently rages against his awful treatment, which he keeps on doing…. Until the very end.

Midway, along comes Tony Martin, the handsome singer I focused on in a post last year [https://susanjustwrites.com/2022/10/26/marlon-tony-and-cyd/].  He meets Esther during her brief stay in NYC, and romance ensues.  As the film moves along, successful cabaret-headliner Tony sings a number of mostly forgettable numbers, with the notable exception of Cole Porter’s “Easy to Love.”  Tony charmingly serenades Esther with that American-songbook standard at a pivotal point in the story.

[As I noted in my earlier post, my father wangled tickets for our family to watch Tony Martin perform at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas one year after the film Easy to Love appeared.  In addition to singing “Luck Be a Lady” from the Broadway musical Guys and Dolls (the song that forever left a powerful memory for me), he must have sung a wide range of other songs that I don’t remember.  But I’ll bet that “Easy to Love” was one of them.]

Back to the film:  What’s most escapist in this film today is its colorful portrayal of flower-filled Cypress Gardens, Florida, and the astounding swimming and water-skiing that it highlights.  This made me wonder:  Whatever became of Cypress Gardens?

I did a bit of research into the fascinating history of Cypress Gardens.  During the 1930s, a couple named Pope created this new resort, opening in 1936 with 8,000 varieties of flowers and the first electric boats “gliding through” the canals they’d constructed. It became Central Florida’s major tourist attraction, especially the water ski show that evolved.  Numerous movies were filmed there, including Easy to Love.  Over the years, it’s been bought and sold many times. Today it’s the site of the theme park LEGOLAND Florida Resort.

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Posted in 1950s, American culture, Broadway musicals, films, Hollywood, memories, movie stars, movies, New York City

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On “thin ice”?

Posted on June 29, 2023 | 2 comments

                    

When the events in our world become too unpleasant, I retreat to a comforting place:  old movies.

I’ve been a movie buff my entire life, and I’ve previously written about some of my favorite films.  

An invaluable source of old movies has been the TV channel TCM, Turner Classic Movies.  A recent threat to the status of TCM arose when a new CEO assumed a degree of power over it.  Maureen Dowd described the situation perfectly in her column in The New York Times on June 24, “Save Turner Classic Movies.”  In her column, Dowd proclaimed that TCM is “a public good, like libraries,” adding that “It enshrines our cinematic past.” She relates that she has spoken with David Zaslav, the new CEO in charge, and he promised to preserve it.  Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese have just announced that they will work for free to help TCM survive.

Watching old films is illuminating:  They almost never feature extreme violence and the supernatural, two features prominent in current films.  Although I’m frequently disturbed by the depiction of women as either frivolous or annoying (also apparent when I rewatched on DVD the first season of TV’s Twilight Zone), there’s almost no graphic depictions of the worst kinds of aggressive sexual violence toward women.  Women didn’t have the role in society that we (for the most part) play today, and that’s reflected in the films from earlier eras.  Still, women frequently played strong characters in many of the classic films I’ve watched.  As Dowd noted, film noir femmes fatales “taught me that women could be tough and play the game better than any man.”

I fervently hope that the threat to TCM does in fact vanish because I rely on TCM to find films featuring absorbing plots, excellent dialogue, and highly regarded film stars of the past.  Male stars like Paul Newman, Montgomery Clift, John Garfield, and Humphrey Bogart. I’ll add Tyrone Power, William Holden, Cary Grant, Kirk Douglas, Marlon Brando, Spencer Tracy, Sidney Poitier, Jack Lemmon, James Stewart, Fred McMurray, Stewart Granger, Orson Welles, Ray Milland, Gregory Peck, Burt Lancaster, Henry Fonda, Clark Gable, James Mason, Joseph Cotten, Charleton Heston, and Edward G. Robinson. And if Robert Redford has truly left making feature films, I’d add him also.

Unfortunately, many women stars haven’t survived nearly as well.  Some may have been cast aside because they wouldn’t comply with the bedroom demands of certain Hollywood moguls.  But women like Ingrid Bergman, Katharine Hepburn, Ida Lupino, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Judy Holliday, Susan Hayward, Vivien Leigh, Barbara Stanwyck, Olivia de Havilland, Anne Baxter, Deborah Kerr, Audrey Hepburn, Geraldine Page, Lauren Bacall, Elizabeth Taylor, Lee Remick, Eve Arden, Myrna Loy, Claire Trevor, even Marilyn Monroe survived and played strong female characters in a variety of classic films.  (I’m probably forgetting a few of your favorite stars of the past, both male and female.  Sorry.)

I’m currently obsessed with Tyrone Power, a great actor who starred in 48 feature films during his short lifetime. His handsome face and endearing persona simply beam from my TV screen.  Although I was already aware of some of Tyrone Power’s (hereinafter “TP”) best films, TCM has helped me discover a great number of movies I’d never encountered.

In my quest to find more of TP’s films, I’ve found many on Netflix DVDs (sadly ending in September).  I also learned that the San Francisco Public Library houses some of them on DVD, and I can request that these show up at my local branch. The result is that, thanks to TCM and the two other sources, I’ve recently been immersed in TP’s films.  Some of the DVDs also include wonderful special features, while TCM hosts like Ben Mankiewicz sometimes add “inside Hollywood” stories.

I’ll list just a few of TP’s films that you’re probably never heard of.  (I didn’t.)  I recommend that you seek them out if you can.  In chronological order, they are:

In Old Chicago (1938): A fictionalized story of brothers who become political leaders in Chicago, ending with an amazing depiction of the Chicago Fire of 1871

Rose of Washington Square (1939): A music-filled film that centers on the same life-story of Fanny Brice as that told in “Funny Girl,” with Alice Faye as Rose (Fanny) and TP in the Nick Arnstein role.  By the way, when Fanny Brice sued Fox for $750,000, the studio settled out of court for an undisclosed amount

The Rains Came (1939): TP plays a handsome MD in India, and a haughty Myrna Loy falls hard for him; it features astounding special effects of flooding rains and an earthquake that earned the very first special-effects Oscar

The Mark of Zorro (1940): An exciting updated version of the story that starred Douglas Fairbanks as Zorro in the 1920 silent version; Basil Rathbone, who sparred with TP in a fierce sword-duel, said that “Power was the most agile man with a sword I’ve ever faced…. He could have fenced Errol Flynn into a cocked hat.”

Blood and Sand (1941): TP is a wholly believable matador in glorious Technicolor

And now for a unique film I was surprised to come across:  Thin Ice (1937).  Here TP is paired with Olympics gold-medal-winning Norwegian ice skater, Sonja Henie.  Henie set records as a three-time Olympic champion in women’s singles, and Hollywood welcomed her as a star from 1936 to 1943. Thin Ice is set at a resort in the Alps, where Sonja arrives to teach ice skating.  While skiing, she encounters TP, a prince from somewhere in Europe.  Clothed in casual skiing garb, he introduces himself as Rudy, and he charmingly proceeds to keep his real identity as Prince Rudolph a secret.  

During the film, Henie performs as the star of several ice shows at the resort, skating to music by Borodin (before “Stranger in Paradise” used the same melody in the Broadway musical “Kismet”) and other classical composers. TP sits in the audience disguised in absurd Groucho Marx-type outfits, but of course the two finally meet up as prince and skating star and fall in love.

I find this film of special interest because Sonja Henie played a small but memorable part in my life. When I was very young, my parents took me to see one of the skating extravaganzas she starred in when her life as a movie star was over.  My father remarkably saved the souvenir program from the extravaganza, the “Hollywood Ice Revue,” and I found it years later in a scrapbook he kept for our family.  I’ve preserved this program, perfectly intact, ever since.  And although I’ve forgotten almost the entire show, I retain a vivid memory of one thin slice of it when Henie came out onto the ice.  She was perched at the top of an enormous ice-cream soda glass, sitting on the whipped cream at the very top, before somehow getting to the ice in order to skate. 

Tyrone Power left Hollywood to serve in the Marines during World War II.  His distinguished service record led to a bunch of medals.  In 1946, he returned to Hollywood and resumed a successful career in films.  But he also left on occasion to work as an actor in several notable stage productions.

Memorable films during this period include these:

Nightmare Alley (1947): TP’s favorite role, and one he had to fight to make. Darryl Zanuck, who ran Fox, viewed TP as his “darling boy” and tried to confine his roles to the lightweight ones in his early films.  But TP was determined to play more challenging roles, and he finally succeeded in making Nightmare Alley.  The studio didn’t promote it and, as a result, it wasn’t a box office hit, but it has gained acclaim and is now recognized as a film noir classic. The recent remake, starring Bradley Cooper, lacks the exciting flavor of the original.

Rawhide (1951): A wonderful pairing of TP and Susan Hayward (another of my favorites) in an unconventional Western setting; they’re hostages held by a murderous gang seeking to steal a shipment of gold (BTW, it has no connection to the TV series sharing its title)

TP’s last completed film, Witness for the Prosecution (1957), is an exciting drama ending with a riveting courtroom scene. In the story, based on a play by Agatha Christie, TP is the lead, playing a criminal defendant accused of murder.  Although Charles Laughton and Marlene Dietrich, in starring roles, have probably garnered more attention for this film than TP, he plays his part brilliantly, directed by the esteemed Billy Wilder.

Tyrone Power tragically died at the age of 44 while making a film in Spain in 1958.  I’ll skip the harrowing details of his death; you can read about them online.

I’ll simply state that watching him in one or more of his movies will probably lead you to admire him as a brilliant and accomplished actor who illuminated every film he was in. 

And if you want to fall in love with Tyrone Power, as I have, please watch one more film:  The Eddy Duchin Story (1956).  In this film, TP assumes the role of the real-life pianist who achieved fame as a bandleader and musician in NYC in the 1930s.  Co-starring with Kim Novak as his wife, TP is bound to win you over.

In my view, Tyrone Power’s reputation is secure.

On “thin ice”?  Not the way I see it.   

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Posted in "Funny Face" film, "Rosebud", "Some Like It Hot", 1940s, 1950s, American culture, Audrey Hepburn, Battle of the Sexes film, Billy Wilder, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Daddy, films, Hollywood, Jack Lemmon, Orson Welles, The New York Times, theater

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A Christmas Carol (my story–not Dickens’s)

Posted on December 12, 2022 | 2 comments

With the arrival of the December holidays, we’re surrounded by the sounds of holiday music.  Much of this music celebrates religious holidays, but some of it has become beloved secular songs.

I’ve always loved holiday music, ranging from traditional Christmas carols to more elevated music composed by serious composers.  I especially relished singing Christmas music with my high-school and college choral groups.

My high-school experience was memorable.  Our school chorus was invited to sing carols in the plaza of the Chicago Sun-Times building. We joyously sang at this site on Michigan Avenue adjacent to the Wrigley Building, just north of the Michigan Avenue Bridge. What a fabulous time we had, singing a number of well-known carols in the freezing cold while bundled-up passers-by watched and listened. (Sadly, the Sun-Times building was demolished around 2004, and its plaza is now occupied by an enormous blot on the riverscape along the Chicago River: the 92-story T…. International Hotel and Tower, built by our twice-impeached former president.) 

As a college student at Washington University, I joined two choral groups that sang holiday music with the St. Louis Symphony.  First, as a member of the university’s Women’s Chorus, I sang with the symphony in “L’Enfance du Christ” (“The Childhood of Christ”) by Berlioz.  By my senior year, I was part of the wonderful university Choir. We did a lot of singing, including a holiday-timed presentation of Handel’s “Messiah.”  Singing these two pieces, as well as Brahms’s “A German Requiem,” with the St. Louis Symphony created some of my favorite WashU memories.

The holiday season and its music also revive a memory from my much younger childhood.  When I was about eight, my parents shopped for a piano so I could learn how to play.  I remember viewing a handsome model at the Lyon & Healy store on Wabash Avenue in downtown Chicago, where the salesman had a great sales pitch.  He told us this piano was worth a great deal more money than L & H was asking because it was designed for a wealthy pooh-bah who’d returned it to the store only because he wasn’t happy with some feature or another.  True story or not, my parents scooped up this gorgeous piano, and it became a highlight of our otherwise ordinary living room.

Mom immediately set about arranging piano lessons for me.  Somehow she came up with Rachel G., a woman whom I remember as a rigid unsmiling taskmaster (taskmistress?), lacking in patience, whose lessons became a dreaded part of my existence.

At first Rachel G had a fairly kind approach.  She introduced me to classical music in very simplified form, and I did glean a basic knowledge of composers like Mozart, Haydn, and Bach in child-designed sheet music.  Truthfully, I didn’t retain much of their biographical information, but I painfully made my way through the simple arrangements of some of their most famous melodies.  I later progressed to slightly more advanced arrangements of major classical pieces, like the Soldiers’ Chorus from Gounod’s “Faust” and the theme from Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto in B-flat Minor.  Remarkably, I’ve saved almost all of my sheet music, shuttling it around the country during numerous cross-country moves, and I still have them, decorating the piano that now sits in my apartment.

One day fairly early in our relationship, Rachel G brought a new and very simple piece of music for me to learn.  It was a well-known Christmas carol:  “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”  The front cover of the sheet music, with a cover price of 30 cents (a 25-cent price is crossed out), portrays a Dickens-era group of four carolers, led by a man in a top hat and bright plaid coat.  In big letters, the cover notes that it includes one of six different “Carols you love to sing and play.”  Inside, we read that this carol was the creation of Phillips Brooks and Louis H. Redner and that Walter Lane arranged the very simple collection of notes and lyrics.

Phillips Brooks was the Episcopal rector of a Philadelphia church (later rector of Trinity Church in Boston) who was inspired to write the words of the carol by his visit to the city of Bethlehem in 1865.  Three years later, he finally wrote the words, and just before Christmas, he asked Redner, the church organist, to add the music.  Redner later recalled that the simple music was “written in great haste and under great pressure….Neither Mr. Brooks nor I ever thought the carol or the music…would live beyond that Christmas of 1868.” 

My parents weren’t members of any church, Christian or otherwise.  They—especially my father–were pretty casual about religious observance of any stripe, including their own.  My grandparents, who’d emigrated from Eastern Europe, were probably unfamiliar with American Christmas carols, but my American-born parents never objected to my singing them. 

Still, my mother, usually reticent, seemed disturbed by Rachel G’s selection.  I think she viewed the carol as a religious piece of music, and she disliked the idea of my playing religious music in our home.  Before my lesson began, she uncharacteristically spoke up.  I don’t recall the exact words spoken by either my mother or Rachel G, but I could grasp the tense tone of the conversation. 

Looking back, I suspect that Rachel G was most likely Jewish, so her choice was somewhat curious.  But I’ve concluded that her choice was based on the music, not the words.  Its super-simple musical arrangement was clearly suitable for the level of my ability.  So, as a conscientious music teacher, she stood her ground. 

In the end, Rachel G must have soothed my mother’s concerns because I went on to learn, haltingly, the music of “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”  I still have the fragile paper copy of the sheet music.  And I still love to play its beautiful melody in my still halting fashion.

When my family moved from Chicago to LA when I was 12, my parents sold our gorgeous piano, and our fortunes never led to the purchase of another one. That ended any possibility that my piano skills would ever improve.  I grew up to deeply envy skilled pianists who undoubtedly had more benevolent instruction and a piano literally at their fingertips.

The carol I learned to play, thanks to Rachel G, has endured.  When I viewed “Christmas in Connecticut,” a fan-favorite Christmas movie that appeared on TV last week, I watched star Barbara Stanwyck romanced by star Dennis Morgan.  In one delightful scene, he charmingly plays “O Little Town of Bethlehem” on her piano while she’s trimming her Christmas tree. 

“O Little Town” lives!

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Posted in 1950s, American culture, Boston, Christmas, Christmas music, Christmas carols, Christmas muxic, Washington University in St. Louis

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Marlon, Tony, and Cyd

Posted on October 26, 2022 | 5 comments

Thanks to the cable TV channel Turner Classic Movies (TCM), I frequently watch a wide range of movies produced from the late ‘30s to those in the 21st century.

Some of my favorites are movies from the 1950s.  One highlight is the 1955 film Summertime, featuring Katharine Hepburn as a single woman who finds love while touring Venice on her own. Shot on location in Venice, it’s not your typical romantic movie, surpassing that genre with Hepburn’s brilliant performance and its glorious setting.

Among many other films from the ‘50s, I recently came across the 1955 Hollywood version of the 1950 Broadway blockbuster musical Guys and Dolls.  I’d seen it before but not for decades, and the TCM introduction by host Ben Mankiewicz was intriguing.  He noted that the film’s director, Joe Mankiewicz (Ben’s uncle), induced Marlon Brando to take the role of the leading man (Sky Masterson) despite Brando’s reluctance to assume a role in a musical. 

Joe reportedly told Marlon that he’d never directed a musical before, but, hey, they’d worked well together one year earlier when Joe directed the film version of Julius Caesar, and neither of them had ever done Shakespeare in a film before. As we know, Julius Caesar was a success, and Joe convinced Marlon that they’d also succeed together in a musical.

Although I enthusiastically agree that they both performed at the top of their game in Julius Caesar, their later collaboration in a musical was less than totally successful.

Filled with catchy tunes composed by the great Frank Loesser, the movie is exuberant, probably as far as a movie musical can go.  But one enormous weakness is Marlon’s lack of vocal ability.  His part requires that he sing a host of major songs, but his voice just isn’t up to them.

(By the way, Frank Sinatra was reportedly angling for this role and not happy about being given the secondary part of Nathan Detroit.)

One of the most obvious examples of Marlon’s poor vocal ability is his rendition of “Luck Be a Lady,” a show-stopping musical number on Broadway. 

When I watched Marlon’s pitiful attempt to master it, I was flooded with memories of first hearing this song performed—live—by singer Tony Martin at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas.

I was a kid when my family and I arrived in Las Vegas en route from Chicago to Los Angeles.  We’d left our life in Chicago behind, hoping to find a new life for all of us in LA.  Our move was prompted by my father’s serious illness, which we optimistically believed was cured, and his hope to establish a new life for our family in sunny LA.

I was delighted by our departure.  I knew I’d miss my friends in Chicago, who memorably gave me a surprise farewell party featuring a cake emblazoned with “California, Here Comes Sue” (my preferred nickname at the time).  But I was excited about forging a new life on the West Coast, where I fervently hoped that Daddy would be healthy and able to forge a new career.  Sadly, that wasn’t to be.  (I plan to write about that period in my life another time.)

Many of you may be wondering, “Who was Tony Martin?”

Although Tony Martin has faded into our cultural background today, he was a prominent American singer and film actor during most of the 20th century.  Born in San Francisco and raised in Oakland, Tony began his musical career with a local orchestra until he left for Hollywood in the mid-‘30s.  He appeared on radio programs like Burns & Allen, then moved on to films, where he starred in a number of musicals and received equal billing with the Marx Brothers in their final film, The Big Store.  After serving during WWII, he came back to the U.S., recorded memorable songs for Mercury and RCA records (including some million-sellers), and returned to Hollywood to star in film musicals in the ‘40s and ‘50s.  He also began performing in Las Vegas and other venues and continued to perform live till he was over 90.  (The NY Times reported that he performed at Feinstein’s on Park Avenue in NYC at the age of 95.)

Before dying at 98 in 2012, Tony was truly a fixture in Hollywood films, recorded music, TV appearances, and as a headliner in live concert performances for seven decades.  In the public mind, he’s been eclipsed by another Tony—Tony Bennett–who became successful during the ‘50s recording hits like “Because of You” and “Rags to Riches.”  His rendition of 1962’s “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” became his signature song and made him a hero in San Francisco (although it was Tony Martin who was actually born in SF).  Tony Bennett, perpetuating his role as a celebrated singer of pop standards, jazz, and show tunes, has become something of a cultural touchstone.  Despite his recent battle with Alzheimer’s, his popularity endures.  I can’t deny that his prominent place in the American musical landscape has lasted far longer than Tony Martin’s.

Back to my story…. 

Our family was staying at an inexpensive motel on the Las Vegas Strip, but Daddy had grand plans for us.  He succeeded in getting us front-row tickets for Tony Martin’s memorable performance at the Flamingo, a luxury hotel on the Strip.

The Flamingo Hotel itself is noteworthy.  As the 1991 film “Bugsy” (starring Warren Beatty as Bugsy Siegel) and, more recently, the 2021 film “Lansky” (featuring Harvey Keitel as Meyer Lansky) make clear, Ben “Bugsy” Siegel and Meyer Lansky were major figures in organized crime who funded the construction of the Flamingo Hotel in the late forties.  It was finally completed in 1947 around the time Bugsy was shot to death by his fellow mobsters, who believed him guilty of skimming money. 

I knew nothing of this history until many years later.  When I was a kid, all I knew was that I got to see and hear Tony Martin live at the Flamingo.  I absolutely reveled in being part of the audience that night, watching Tony perform.

When Tony sang “Luck Be a Lady,” he lighted up the stage, and the audience responded enthusiastically. I recall being completely enthralled. 

Marlon’s performance in Guys and Dolls wasn’t in the same league.

At the same time that Tony was executing this song far better than Marlon ever could, Tony’s wife, dancer Cyd Charisse, was making her own mark in Hollywood.  Tony and Cyd married in 1948, and their six-decade marriage ended only with Cyd’s death in 2008. 

Cyd was an astounding dancer in a raft of Hollywood films, paired with both Gene Kelly (in Brigadoon, for one) and Fred Astaire.  Her dance number with Astaire in The Band Wagon (to the song “Dancing in the Dark”) has been immortalized in 1994’s That’s Entertainment III.  And if you watch 1957’s Silk Stockings (a musical version of Garbo’s Ninotchka), your eyes are riveted on her fantastic dancing, which outdoes Astaire’s in every way.  (By the way, Cyd’s comments in her autobiography on dancing with Kelly and Astaire are fascinating.)

Was Cyd in the audience that night, sharing her husband’s fabulous performance with the rest of us?  I’ll never know.  But it’s exciting to imagine that she was there, applauding with gusto, just as we did, to pay tribute to Tony’s outstanding rendition of “Luck Be a Lady.”

It goes without saying that Marlon Brando was a brilliant actor, one of the most remarkable actors of his generation.  His performances in films like On the Waterfront, A Streetcar Named Desire, The Godfather, and, for that matter, Julius Caesar, will remain in our cultural memory as long as films endure. 

But notably, after playing Sky Masterson in Guys and Dolls, Marlon never attempted another singing role.  

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Posted in 1950s, American culture, Broadway musicals, California, Chicago, Daddy, family, family road trips, fathers, films, friends, Hollywood, Los Angeles, LA, memories, movie stars, movies, music, New York City, San Francisco, The New York Times

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Happy Valentine’s Day? Maybe

Posted on February 14, 2022 | 4 comments

 Much of the world celebrates today, February 14th, as Valentine’s Day.

Are you celebrating Valentine’s Day this year?  I’m wondering just who among us is.

If you’re one of the lucky ones who have a loving spouse or an ardent beau, you’re probably celebrating this year.

I was a member of that fortunate group during my loving marriage to my darling husband.  Our blissful marriage came to a halt only because a terrible disease ended my husband’s life.  I like to think that we’d still be celebrating our love today if he’d survived.

Since he died, I’ve had one or two romantic liaisons with others, but at this moment I’m in a different place.  Today my kids and grandkids are my primary givers and recipients of valentine cards and gifts, red and pink hearts splashed all over them.

Of course, today is a bonanza for some commercial enterprises.  Americans spent about $21 billion on Valentine’s Day in 2021, and experts predict that nearly $24 billion will be spent this year, making today the fifth largest spending event of the year (after the winter holidays and Mother’s Day).  Will inflation and supply-chain issues affect these totals?  Valentine’s Day is probably inflation-proof, and delightful gifts can always be tracked down.

Benefiting the most are florists (about $2.3 billion), purveyors of chocolates ($2.2 billion), jewelers ($6.2 billion), and sellers of other heart-emblazoned cards and gifts. 

Which raises another question.  Aside from elementary-school kids, required to bring a valentine for every other kid in class to avoid any Charlie-Brown-style left-out feelings, is anyone still buying valentine cards this year? 

I hope so.  I’d hate to see an end to the decades-long practice of sending sweet wishes to loved ones and friends on February 14th

While we’re still stuck in the middle of a pandemic, confronting scary international events, and facing ongoing political divisiveness, I find it heartening to recall happier, simpler times.

Today I’m thinking about an old friend and the valentines he gave me many years ago.

My friend (I’ll call him Alan R.) grew up with me on the Far North Side of Chicago.  We were in a pack of friends who attended the nearby elementary school.  This was back when all of us walked to school, walked home for lunch, and walked back to school again for the afternoon.

In 5th grade, I acquired a handsome “boyfriend.”  (Although we thought of each other as “boyfriend” and “girlfriend,” those terms simply meant that we had some sort of pre-teen crush on each other.)  My best friend Helene had a major crush on my boyfriend, but I was the lucky girl for whom he made a misshapen plastic pin when he went away to camp that summer.

By the fall, Alan R. had replaced him.

Alan was never one of the best-looking boys in our class.  He was tall for his age and somewhat awkward, and he tended to be rather hefty.  But he had a pleasant face and a pleasant way about him, and he became my 6th grade “boyfriend.”

In October that year, he invited a whole bunch of us to a Halloween party at his house.  Helene and I decided to don similar outfits—black t-shirts and skinny black skirts.  For some reason, we were trying to look like French “apache dancers.”  I wasn’t really sure what that term even meant, but I suspect that Helene’s savvy mother inspired us to choose that costume.  However it came about, we knew we looked terrific in our very cool garb.  We may have even added a beret to top it off.

Alan played the gracious host, and when the party wound down, he led us outside, and all of us paraded through the neighborhood, knocking on doors and yelling “trick or treat.”  It was a truly memorable Halloween, probably the most memorable Halloween of my childhood.

I don’t have a clear recollection of the next few months.  The days must have been filled with other parties, school events, and happy family outings.  But I definitely have a vivid memory of Valentine’s Day the following February.

When my classmates and I exchanged valentines, I discovered that Alan had given me two.  Not one.  Two.  And they weren’t the ordinary valentines you gave your friends.  These were store-bought pricier versions.  One was sentimental, flowery, and very sweet.  The other one was funny and made me laugh.

What exactly inspired Alan to show his affection for me that way?  We were fond of each other, but I don’t remember giving him a special valentine.

Looking back, I wonder about his decision to give me those two valentines.  Did he choose them by himself?  Did he have enough money saved from his 6th-grade-level allowance to pay for them?

As a mother, I can’t help wondering about the role his mother may have played.  Did she accompany him to the card store on Devon Avenue, the one where we all bought our valentines?  (A long-gone kind of neighborhood store most of us patronized back then.)  Was his mother standing next to him when he bought his valentines, offering her advice?  If she was, what did she think of this extravagance on his part?

I like to think that Alan came up with the idea and executed it all by himself.  He saved his money and brought it to the store with the firm intention to buy a valentine for me.  Then, when he saw the colorful display of cards in front of him, he couldn’t decide whether to show his affection with a flowery card or to try to make me laugh with a funny one.

So he bought one of each, and, head held high, he gave both of them to me. 

I hope I exhibited a response that pleased him.  I can’t remember exactly what I did.  But I know that his delightful gesture has stayed with me ever since.

Sadly, those valentines disappeared when my mother scoured our home one day and tossed everything she considered inconsequential.  But they weren’t inconsequential to me.  I still remember the thrill of receiving not one but two valentines from my caring beau.

Everything changed in 7th grade.  A new school, new boyfriends, and new issues at home when my father’s health grew worrisome.  As always, life moved on.

Alan R. died a few years ago, and I wrote this story about him then.  He and I had drifted apart long before he died, but his fondness for me during 6th grade never faded from my memory.

Did Alan’s flattering attention give me the confidence to deal with some of the rocky times that lay ahead?  Teenage years can be tough.  Mine often were.  But his two-valentine tribute stayed with me forever.

Thanks, dear Alan, for being a warm and caring young person, even at the age of 12.  Although our lives went on to have their rough patches, the valentines you gave me back in 6th grade have never been forgotten.

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Posted in 1950s, American culture, apache dancers, caring, Chicago, fathers, friends, lifelong friends, Halloween, holidays, love, memories, mothers, teenage years, Valentine's Day, valentines

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Dancing With Abandon on Chicago TV

Posted on October 28, 2021 | 6 comments

He was a good-looking bespectacled teenager with a full head of shiny brown hair.  I’ll call him Lowell M.  He helped out after school at Atlas Drugs, the corner drugstore near the small apartment where I lived with my widowed mother and older sister during my high school years.

I grew to hate that cramped apartment and would often plead with my mother to move somewhere else, but she never would.  I eventually escaped when I went off to live on the campus of the great university 300 miles away that enabled me to make my escape by giving me what’s now called a “free ride.”

Back to Lowell M.:  When I exited from the crowded Peterson Avenue bus I took home from high school every day, Lowell was usually working at the front counter of Atlas Drugs, just across Washtenaw Avenue from the bus stop’s drop-off corner.  While the drugstore’s owner-pharmacist was busy dispensing meds in the back of the store, Lowell would dispense the kind of clever pleasantries expected of us, two of the best and brightest our high school had to offer.  He was in the class ahead of mine, and we happily chatted about school and a whole host of other topics while I would select a package of Wrigley chewing gum or some blonde bobby pins (which didn’t really match my bright red hair) or whatever else had brought me into Atlas Drugs that day.

Lowell must have taken a liking to me because one afternoon, out of the blue, he asked me to accompany him to Chicago TV’s “Bandstand.”  This was shockingly, astoundingly, incredibly fantastic, and I could barely believe it.  Somehow Lowell had secured two tickets to Chicago’s version of “American Bandstand,” an after-school TV show broadcast on WGN-TV.  I haven’t been able to track down anything about that show on the internet, so I don’t think it stayed on the air for very long.  But I’ve stored some vivid memories of it in my nearly overflowing memory-bank.

It was the late-’50s, and my mother had switched from reading the Chicago Tribune to the Chicago Sun-Times after my father died and we left our temporary home in LA to return to Chicago.  (I’ll save the story of that move for another day.)  But my father had been a faithful reader of the Tribune before he died, and I can still see the Tribune’s front page, proclaiming that it was the “World’s Greatest Newspaper.”  Its far-right-wing publisher, tycoon Col. Robert R. McCormick, came up with that phrase, and its initials—WGN—became the call letters of the Tribune’s radio station and later its TV channel.

During the semester I’d spent in LA, I watched its local TV’s version of “American Bandstand” when I’d get home from school.  Hosting high school kids from all over LA to dance on TV, it featured the exciting new pop music that was emerging all over the country. 

Now I was about to attend a TV program just like that one.

Why did Lowell ask me to join him?  I was never really sure.  Maybe, just seeing me at the drug store that day, he asked me on a whim.  But no matter.  I accepted Lowell’s invitation with alacrity and rushed home to tell my sister and mother about my upcoming appearance on local TV.  Dancing to the latest pop music, no less.

My sister kindly (and somewhat uncharacteristically) offered to lend me her smashing new top, a black-and-cream-colored number with tiny horizontal stripes (much more flattering than wide ones).  She was always more interested in fashion trends than I was, and for once I was grateful that she was.

Somehow Lowell and I met up at the appropriate time and made our way downtown to the Tribune buildings located on Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago.  We probably took the Peterson bus and transferred to the bus that ran along Michigan Avenue, but to be truthful, my memory’s a bit foggy on that score.  Eventually we entered the radio-TV broadcasting building, built ten years after the Tribune Tower itself, and we entered one of the 14 new studios added in 1950, probably one of the four designated for TV.

Ushered into the large studio, filled with other teenagers from all over “Chicagoland” (a term invented by the Tribune), we soon were dancing to the musical hits of the day.  My still-enduring favorites include “Earth Angel” by the Penguins, “Rock Around the Clock” by Bill Haley, “Mr. Sandman” by the Chordettes, and “Sh-boom” by the Crew Cuts.

TV cameras whirled around the studio, capturing Lowell and me in our own version of “Saturday Night Fever,” two decades before that film appeared.

I recall having a fabulous time, dancing with abandon to my musical favorites, and I thought that Lowell did, too.  But I was disappointed when Lowell never asked me to do anything else with him, like go to a movie (a favored pastime of my friends and me).  So it’s possible that he may not have had the truly memorable time I had. 

Did I continue to see Lowell behind the counter of Atlas Drugs?  Maybe.  At least for a while.  But my guess is that he eventually moved on to other after-school jobs that were more in keeping with his burgeoning interest in the business world.

As he approached graduation a year before I did, Lowell began dating a friend of mine who was in his graduating class, and the two of them later married.  Lowell went on to college, earned an MBA, and built a successful business career. 

I went in a different direction.  Fascinated by the world of politics, I pursued two degrees in political science and landed finally in law school, aiming for the kind of career I wanted to follow as a lawyer and a writer.

But the memories of my exhilarating afternoon at Chicago’s version of “American Bandstand” have stayed firmly lodged in my memory-bank.  I will be forever grateful to Lowell M, who—perhaps on a whim—opened the door to those dazzling memories so many years ago.

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Posted in 1950s, 1950s televsion, American culture, Chicago, clothes, clothing, Daddy, family, fashion, fathers, friends, high school, law school, Los Angeles, LA, memories, Mom, mothers, pharmacist, politics, rock and roll music, teenage years, television

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Declare Your Independence! Those High Heels Are Killers

Posted on July 4, 2020 | Leave a comment

Happy 4th of July!  In honor of the holiday, I’m reviving a blog post that I published three years ago.

Because I believe so strongly in communicating this message, I may turn this blog post into an annual tradition.

If you’ve read it before, thanks for re-reading it.  I’ve made a few changes to acknowledge some current trends.

I’ve long maintained that high heels are killers.  I never used that term literally, of course.  I merely viewed high-heeled shoes as distinctly uncomfortable and an outrageous concession to the dictates of fashion that can lead to both pain and permanent damage to a woman’s body.

A few years ago, however, high heels proved to be actual killers.  The Associated Press reported that two women, ages 18 and 23, were killed in Riverside, California, as they struggled in high heels to get away from a train.  With their car stuck on the tracks, the women attempted to flee as the train approached.  A police spokesman later said, “It appears they were in high heels and [had] a hard time getting away quickly.”

Like those young women, I was sucked into wearing high heels when I was a teenager.  It was de rigueur for girls at my high school to seek out the trendy shoe stores on State Street in downtown Chicago and purchase whichever high-heeled offerings our wallets could afford.  On my first visit, I was entranced by the three-inch-heeled numbers that pushed my toes into a too-narrow space and revealed them in what I thought was a highly provocative position.  If feet can have cleavage, those shoes gave me cleavage.

Never mind that my feet were encased in a vise-like grip.  Never mind that I walked unsteadily on the stilts beneath my soles.  And never mind that my whole body was pitched forward in an ungainly manner as I propelled myself around the store.  I liked the way my legs looked in those shoes, and I had just enough baby-sitting money to pay for them.  Now I could stride with pride to the next Sweet Sixteen luncheon on my calendar, wearing footwear like all the other girls’.

That luncheon revealed what an unwise purchase I’d made. When the event ended, I found myself stranded in a distant location with no ride home, and I started walking to the nearest bus stop. After a few steps, it was clear that my shoes were killers. I could barely put one foot in front of the other, and the pain became so great that I removed my shoes and walked in stocking feet the rest of the way.

After that painful lesson, I abandoned three-inch high-heeled shoes and resorted to wearing lower ones. Sure, I couldn’t flaunt my shapely legs quite as effectively, but I managed to secure male attention nevertheless.

Instead of conforming to the modern-day equivalent of Chinese foot-binding, I successfully and happily fended off the back pain, foot pain, bunions, and corns that my fashion-victim sisters suffer in spades.

The trend toward higher and higher heels has been disturbing.  I’m baffled by women, especially young women, who buy into the mindset that they must follow the dictates of fashion and the need to look “sexy” by wearing extremely high heels.

When I watch TV, I’ve seen too many women wearing stilettos that forced them into the ungainly walk I briefly sported so long ago. When late-night TV shows still featured guests walking to greet the host, I couldn’t help noticing the women who were otherwise smartly attired and often very smart (in the other sense of the word), yet wore ridiculously high heels that forced them to have that same ungainly walk. Some appeared on the verge of toppling over. And at the most recent Oscar awards telecast, many women tottered to the stage in ultra-high heels, often accompanied by escorts who kindly held onto them to prevent their embarrassing descent into the orchestra pit.

The women who, like me, have adopted lower-heeled shoes strike me as much smarter and much less likely to fall on their attractive (and sometimes surgically-enhanced) faces.

Here’s another example.  When I sat on the stage of Zellerbach Hall at the Berkeley commencement for math students a few years ago, I was astonished that many if not most of the women graduates hobbled across the stage to receive their diplomas in three- and four-inch-high sandals.  I was terrified that these super-smart math students would trip and fall before they could grasp the document their mighty brain-power had earned.  (Fortunately, none of them tripped, but I could nevertheless imagine the foot-pain that accompanied the joy of receiving their degrees.)

Foot-care professionals soundly support my view.   According to the American Podiatric Medical Association, a heel that’s more than 2 or 3 inches makes comfort just about impossible.  Why?  Because a 3-inch heel creates seven times more stress than a 1-inch heel.

The San Francisco Chronicle asked a local podiatrist and foot and ankle surgeon for his opinion.  He explained that after 1.5 inches, the pressure increases on the ball of the foot and can lead to “ball-of-the-foot numbness.”  (Yikes!)  He did not endorse 3-inch heels and pointed out that celebrities wear them for only a short time (for example, on the red carpet), not all day.  To ensure a truly comfortable shoe, he added, don’t go above a 1.5 inch heel.  If you insist on wearing higher heels, limit how much time you spend in them.

Some encouraging changes are clearly afoot.  Catalogs from Nordstrom, one of America’s major shoe-sellers, have already featured lower-heeled styles along with higher-heeled numbers.  Because Nordstrom is a bellwether in the fashion world, its choices can influence shoe-seekers.  Or is Nordstrom reflecting what its shoppers have already told the stores’ buyers?  The almighty power of the purse—how shoppers are choosing to spend their money–-has probably played a big role here.

Now, the pandemic is unquestionably playing an even bigger role.

The Washington Post covered the changing trends in June.  It noted, “Sales of high heels, loafers and other dress shoes have been tumbling for years, and analysts say the pandemic has turbocharged their demise.”  Sales of men’s and women’s dress shoes plunged 70 percent in March and April.

“High heels are way down,” said Beth Goldstein, a footwear analyst. “The question now is whether they’ll ever rebound. Of course, some women out there are dying to put their heels back on. But I think most of them are saying, ‘I’m never going to wear those shoes again.’ ”

Lately, she said, it’s all about comfort.  Shoe manufacturers are busy creating designs with wider and thicker heels, padded insoles and other athletic touches to add stability and comfort.  Sales of stiletto-shaped heels, she added, dropped 11 percent last year.

“Retailers are recognizing that they’re going to have to rethink what they know,” Goldstein said. “There is going to be a long-term shift.”

Beyond the issue of comfort, let’s remember that high heels present a far more urgent problem.  As the deaths in Riverside demonstrate, women who wear high heels can be putting their lives at risk.  When women need to flee a dangerous situation, it’s pretty obvious that high heels can handicap their ability to escape.

How many other needless deaths have resulted from hobbled feet?

As we celebrate the Fourth of July, I urge the women of America to declare their independence from high-heeled shoes.

If you’re currently wearing painful footwear, bravely throw those shoes away, or at the very least, toss them into the back of your closet.  Shod yourself instead in shoes that allow you to walk—and if need be, run—in comfort.

Your wretched appendages, yearning to be free, will be forever grateful.

[Earlier versions of this commentary appeared on Susan Just Writes and the San Francisco Chronicle.]

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Posted in 1950s, American culture, Chicago, fashion, feet, foot pain, Fourth of July, freedom, high-heeled shoes, high heels, Nordstrom, Oscar awards, safety, shoes, teenage years, The Washington Post, TV late-night, walking, women

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