Hah hah, I'm free! Drinks for everyone! My ex-husband's paying!
Why is this woman laughing? Because she's just been granted a divorce. She's actress Francesca de Scaffa and she was married to actor Bruce Cabot until today in 1951, when the photo memorialized her cheerful unfettering. Why is the man laughing? He's Hollywood super lawyer Jerry Giesler, and he's probably thinking about the fees he collected. Strangely, Wikipedia lists de Scaffa and Cabot as divorcing in 1957, but we found wire photos stating unambiguously that they split in 1951. However, we also found references to the 1957 divorce. We can only guess that two remarried at some point, a supposition that makes sense considering we also found a photo of the two dining in December 1951 captioned in part, “Last night, guess who took [de Scaffa] night-clubbing? Right! Bruce Cabot.” The point of the caption being that divorced couples are not often seen out having a night on the town together. It lends credence to the idea that they married twice, but don't quote us on it. We will find out, though, because we'll probably revisit de Scaffa a bit later—she's true pulp material. Among her many exploits were acting as an informant for Confidential magazine, a liaison with the Shah of Iran, marrying a Spanish bullfighter, running afoul of Mexican officials who tried to deport her, two suicide attempts, and more. As far as her marriage(s) with Cabot go(es), we'll put it(them) in the mystery file for now.
Fact challenged tabloid may have predicted presidential assassination plot.
Midnight claims in this issue published today in 1968 that a conspiracy was afoot to assassinate Richard Nixon during his presidential campaign, but with mid-century tabloids the question is always: Is this true? We found no mention of the plot anywhere, though Midnight is pretty authoritative in its assertions, claiming three men were involved, two of whom were in FBI custody, with the third having been picked up by Mexican police in Tijuana. But authoritative or not, the paper got this one wrong.
Weirdly, though, there may have been a plot to kill Nixon in 1968, but a week after the above Midnight hit newsstands. Though the episode is little remembered today, a man of Yemeni origin named Ahmed Rageh Namer was arrested along with his two sons Hussein and Abdo on November 12—a full eight days after Midnight made its arrest claims— and charged with conspiracy to assassinate Nixon, who had won the presidential election the previous Tuesday. You can see Namer under arrest in the photo just below.
The evidence against him and his sons was scant—an informant claimed the father possessed two rifles, had asked him join him in the killing, and had offered him money to do so. This was back before the word of a shady informant could get a person thrown in a black pit in Guantanamo for ten years, so the Namers actually got a trial and their defense lawyer of course shredded the case. All three men were acquitted in July of 1969.
But how weird is it that Midnight would fabricate an assassination story a week before the FBI uncovered what they thought was an actual assassination plot? Maybe Namer read Midnight and got the idea. Nah... he was probably just innocent in the first place. But still, how odd. Sometimes history is stranger than fiction. Elsewhere in the issue you get a bit of Hollywood gossip and a pretty cool photo of Maureen Arthur and another of Carmen Dene, below. See more Midnight at our tabloid index.
, Richard Nixon
, Ahmed Rageh Namer
, Hussein Namer
, Abdo Namer
, Maureen Arthur
, Carmen Dene
You can't hide from the FBI.
Talk about a shitty day. The artful above photo shows Eleanor Kindig, who was arrested for giving false information to the FBI. The Compton, California native disappeared, and after being found in New Mexico, spun a fanciful tale about being abducted. She had run away to avoid legal troubles back in California. Thanks to her fib, her troubles were just starting. That was today in 1952, and the photo is from the Los Angeles Examiner collection held at the University of Southern California.
What are the odds of a Mayan comet showing up at exactly the worst moment? Pretty good in cheeseball sci-fi.
Caltiki—The Immortal Monster was an Italian production originally titled Caltiki il mostro immortale, but made in English starring Canadian actor John Merivale in a tale revolving around Guatemala's Tikal ruins. We used to live in Guatemala and visited the Mayan ruins at Tikal, so we simply had to watch this movie. But the actual ruins shown are an amalgam of pyramids and what look like buttes and rock spires from the southwest U.S. There's a volcano thrown in there too, though Tikal is flat rain forest and low lying swamps. Creative license, we suppose. It all looks kind of otherworldly, which we guess was the goal, so nice work by the efx department.
The basics of this story are that there's a legendary Mayan monster or goddess in a lake, and when a group of scientists is attacked, one of them returns to Mexico City with a piece attached to his arm. Doctors manage to carve off a sample and learn that radiation makes it grow. They of course keep the piece safely stowed away, but unfortunately a highly radioactive comet spoken of in Mayan lore choses that week to pass close to Earth. It only comes once every 1,352 years, so this is really unfortunate timing on the comet's part, but that's just Maya luck. Celestial bodies are nothing if not implacable and aloof. The lake specimen is irradiated, grows to monstrous size, and oozes terrifyingly across the city.
But the solution to this problem isn't so difficult. Fire kills Caltiki, so it's really just a matter of directing some flames onto the beast. Cue flamethrowers, army guys, and soundtrack tympani. Caltiki turns into a Caltiki torch then goes down like an undercooked soufflé. This is b-sci-fi at its goofiest, but we'll admit the blob effects are actually pretty cool, aided as they are by the fact that all of them take place at night. Mario Bava, who is uncredited but actually did most of directing here, does a decent job and the acting is passable. Recommended? We wouldn't go that far. Caltiki—The Immortal Monster premiered in Italy in 1959 and reached the U.S. today in 1960.
, Mexico City
, Caltiki il mostro immortale
, Caltiki—The Immortal Monster
, John Merivale
, Didi Sullivan
, Mario Bava
, movie review
Men's magazine explores the wide world of warm female bodies.
True Adventures may be one of the least adventurous mens magazines we've ever come across. While there is some action presented, mostly the focus in this August 1963 issue is on skin. From France's nudist mecca Île du Levant to the world's wildest bar in Tahiti to the "Belles of Baja" and stops in Greece and Peru the magazine endeavors to combine globe-trotting with just plain globes. It even offers up a feature on Alaskan eskimos—their term not ours—that features that old favorite of b-rate fiction: the girl who strips naked in order to share her body heat with a freezing man. All the tales in this magazine are entertaining and there's also very nice art by Basil Gogos and others. You'll find about thirty scans below. While you're enjoying those we're going to try to convince the Pulp Intl. girlfriends we're freezing.
, Île du Levant
, True Adventures
, Basil Gogos
, Walter Richards
, magazine art
Secrets are meant to come out.
The poster sucked us into this one. The posters always do that. Una mujer sin amor isn't a thriller or noir. It's straight drama about a woman who cheats on her husband, plans to leave him, but due to various circumstances changes her mind and spends the next twenty some years with him. When her old lover dies and leaves his fortune to her younger child it triggers suspicions on the part of the older sibling that his brother is the product of infidelity. This matters because both brothers are in love with the same woman and the older one has no qualms about using this information to his advantage. Sound like your cup of tea? The good news is that you'll now be able to say you've seen a movie by Luis Buñuel, something every film buff ought to be able to say they've done. The bad news? Buñuel himself said this was his worst movie. Love that poster though. Una mujer sin amor premiered in Mexico today in 1952.
Seeing him so peaceful almost makes me forget how much I'm going to enjoy humiliating and torturing him.
Above, a July 1966 cover of the Mexico City-based true crime magazine Mundo Policiaco, with a random male about to have his blissful slumber interrupted by a gun toting femme fatale. The text says, “He called for help for seven hours.” The art is by the as yet unidentified A.Z., whose signature you can see cleverly placed on the carpet border. We find this failure to credit the painter annoying, especially since others got their names on the masthead, from director Alberto Ramirez de Aguilar on down. Oh well. Moving on, the insides of these have no illustrations, just unattributed black and white photos and a lot of text, though the rear covers are sometimes painted. Magazines of this type were generally called nota roja. Want one of your own? We've seen them online for about $300.
Ericsson robot bridges the communication gap.
This interesting photo of a giant robot holding a telephone was shot in Mexico City and documents an advertising effort from the Swedish communications company Allmänna Telefonaktiebolaget LM Ericsson, known in Mexico as simply Teléfonos Ericsson. The robot was one of many temporarily suspended above the streets of Mexico City's historic center around 1930. Want to see another 1930s promotional robot? Check out Elektro.
Something in the hair.
This photo of Wanda Seux looks very retro, but she's actually one of the most contemporary femmes fatales we ever featured. Possibly the insane hair gives that away, as it's definitely not ’50s or ’60s style. Seux is a Paraguayan dancer and actress who worked mainly in Argentina and Mexico beginning in 1977 and last appearing onscreen as recently as 2013. We don't have a date on this great image, but she was born in 1948 and she looks pretty young here, so we'll say it was shot in her debut year 1977. That's right in the historical sweet spot for her discofied hair-do.
The kids are definitely not alright.
Back to Mexico today with this cover of the Mexican true crime magazine Mundo Policiaco, which appeared on newsstands this week in 1964. The text, “Mis hijos se estan quemando,” means “My kids are burning.” Mundo Policiaco came at the tail end of an era of true crime magazines that launched during the 1930s and 1940s with Magazine de policia, Policia, and the amazing Detectives, which we've shown you here and here. You can see another Mundo Policiaco here.
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