Tag Archives: 1950s’ movies

SusanLindaBarbaraCarolJudyNancy

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! 

The Demise of the Granada

When they tore down the Granada movie theater, a large chunk of me crumbled with it.

As the wreckers began dismantling the magnificent old movie palace on Chicago’s Far North Side, other moviegoers must have felt the same sense of loss.  For those of us who came of age in the ’50s and ’60s, it was a wrenching reminder of the idyllic world we inhabited back then.

I grew up at the Nortown Theater, two or three miles west of the Granada.  It was the theater we could walk to, and nearly every Saturday afternoon we made our way to the Nortown to sit beneath its dark-sky ceiling filled with scores of glittering stars, our eyes glued to the larger-than-life stars who glittered on the screen.

Saturday afternoons at the Nortown expanded my otherwise limited horizons.  I learned about the Wild West from John Wayne, criminal pursuits from Bogart and Mitchum, romance from Taylor, Monroe, and Bacall, song and dance from Garland, Kelly, and Astaire.  But when our parents finally consented to our taking the Devon Avenue bus alone, a whole new world opened up:  the world of the Granada Theater.

Life became more complicated on the screen of the Granada.  At one remarkable double-feature in 1956, I encountered both the happiness and the sorrow of a woman’s search for love.  Katharine Hepburn’s spunky heroine, in love with a very-married Rossano Brazzi in “Summertime,” and Jennifer Jones’s strong woman doctor, in love with war journalist William Holden in “Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing,” bravely returned to their careers when their doomed love affairs ended.  An early portent of women’s liberation?  Judging from the masses of wet Kleenex we produced, I doubt it.

“The Man Who Knew Too Much” introduced me to the heart-pounding suspense stirred up by Hitchcock.  I watched “Anastasia” aware of the firestorm Ingrid Bergman’s scandalous love affair had ignited in Hollywood.   And a powerful statement about the criminal justice system, “12 Angry Men,” forced me to think about the possibility of injustice in America and whether I might someday do something about it.

As I grew older, the Granada became a place to go on dates.  Teenaged boys in that era liked taking dates to movies, where their eager sweaty hands would reach out in the dark in hopes of touching something soft, warm, and female.  They had limited success, at least with me.  My date and I once watched a shockingly bad movie with Tab Hunter and Natalie Wood, “The Burning Hills.”  It was so awful that we laughed too hard to do anything else.

In the ’60s, I rarely patronized the Granada.  I left Chicago for college and grad school, and when I returned, I lived in another part of the city.  On my last visit, just before leaving Chicago once again in 1970, the theater seemed rundown and much dirtier than I remembered.  Was the Granada on the skids?

Five years later, I returned to Chicago with a husband and a baby.  Living in a suburb north of the Granada, we passed it now and then, but my busy new life left no time to seek out old haunts.  Then one day it suddenly closed.  No warning, no notice announced in the newspapers, allowed its former patrons one last chance to see it.  The doors were locked, and entry barred.

Repeated efforts to save the Granada failed, and the wrecking ball finally arrived.  As I drove by the theater on my way to teach a law-school class, I saw the wall behind the screen fall to pieces and the two-story terra cotta columns crash to the floor.  The balcony seats were exposed to view, then destroyed.  At the end, a sodden ugly mass of tangled beams and columns, entwined with an array of aging construction materials, became a hideous pile awaiting disposal.

An era had ended.  TV, VCRs, and the proliferation of movie theaters in the suburbs all played their part.  Most of the opulent movie palaces that once thrived in American cities had become dinosaurs.  And so, in 1990, the Granada died.

But like the best of the movies that appeared on its screen for more than 50 wonderful years, the memories it created have never died.

An earlier version of this piece appeared in the Chicago Sun-Times.