Above is an On the Q.T. from July 1962 with cover stars Elizabeth Taylor, Juliet Prowse and Frank Sinatra. Sinatra was about to marry Prowse, a South African dancer and actress who he had met while both were filming the musical Can-Can. There was just one snag, though—Sinatra didn’t want Prowse to work once they were wed. Asked about the subject, Prowse, pictured below, said that if Sinatra asked her to quit dancing she “would probably yield.” But she didn’t, and the marriage never happened. But what interests us more about this cover is the shot of Liz Taylor and her tracheotomy scar. During the filming of Cleopatra in 1961 she picked up a case of double pneumonia and a surgeon saved her life by inserting a breathing tube through an incision into her windpipe. Taylor’s physical ailments were already the stuff of legend by that point, but her troubles hadn’t even reached their peak yet—to date she has had more than one hundred surgeries. 

On the Q.T., May 1962, with curious editors asking if Hollywood heartthrob Troy Donahue beat his wife Alma Sharp. As far as we know that question was never answered, but curiously, none of his four marriages lasted long, including a union with Suzanne Pleshette that endured a mere three months. Suffice it to say Donahue had trouble in relationships, probably due to his admitted booze and drug problems, yet there were always women willing to take the leap. He was engaged to be married for a fifth time in 2001, but died of a heart attack that September.  

Above we have a well-worn On the Q.T. from November 1963, with Christine Keeler on the cover. Keeler, at upper right and below, was a London showgirl who had a brief relationship with Britain’s married Secretary of State for War, a man named John Profumo. The two met at a party in Buckinghamshire, in a mansion owned by Lord Astor, and though Keeler wasn’t a full-time prostitute, she occasionally made herself available to wealthy and powerful men and they sometimes gave her cash gifts. She and Profumo were involved only a few weeks, but that was long enough for people to notice. When Profumo was paraded before the House of Commons and asked to answer to the rumors, he claimed there had been no impropriety between him and Keeler. It wasn’t just the lie that sank him—members of the government were alarmed because Keeler’s many acquaintances included Yevgeny Ivanov, a Russian attaché at the Soviet embassy in London. With the Cold War in full swing, officials feared Keeler was working Profumo for nuclear secrets on behalf of Ivanov and the Russkies.

The mess cost Profumo his job and reputation, and also may have brought down conservative Prime Minster Harold Macmillan, who resigned six months later for “health reasons.” It was the scandal of the century in Britain, and really, it still is. Never since have sex, politics, and state secrets been fused in such a way. There are many detailed retellings of the story, but for people interested in an inside account, Keeler published an autobiography in 2001 that sparked an outcry because she wrote that actress Maureen Swanson was one of the girls who attended privateorgies arranged by Dr. Stephen Ward (in sunglasses on the magazine cover). Ward was an osteopath who dabbled in pimping, and his orgies were infamous. Open only to the rich and powerful, they featured not only beautiful girls, but the occult, sadomasochism, interracial sex shows, and so forth. Maureen Swanson later became the Countess of Dudley through marriage to Lord Ednam, so Keeler’s naming of her as a participant caused quite a bit of embarrassment to British nobility. But interestingly, Lady Dudley never sued.

We could go on, but life is short and history’s intrigues are many. For cinematic types, the 1989 film Scandal, starring Joanne Whalley and Bridget Fonda, is an entertaining way to learn more about the event. We watched it, and, while Whalley is fine in the lead role and Fonda is good as always, only reading Keeler’s own words can convey the sense of ’60s liberation and breeziness that was such a large part of her personality, and which the British public reacted to with such revulsion. More than one writer of the period observed that when Britain crucified Keeler, they were really trying to destroy a part of themselves. Keeler said it herself: “I took on the sins of everybody, of a generation, really.”

We have another issue of On the Q.T. today. The cover subject, Beverly Aadland, was a teenaged actress who earned notoriety for being Errol Flynn’s last lover. Flynn always preferred young girls—oftentimes too young, depending on whom you believe. When he wrote his disappointingly bland (at least to us) autobiography My Wicked, Wicked Ways, the dedication read: To a small companion. We would have guessed Flynn meant his cock, since it got him into so much trouble during his life, but more informed sources than us say the companion he meant was Beverly Aadland. We stand corrected, and she stands explained for those who didn’t know who she was.

Moving on, On the Q.T. also mentions a person named Giesler. This would be Jerry Giesler, who is little known now, but was once Tinseltown’s lawyer-to-the-stars. To say he possessed secrets is an understatement considering he represented the likes of Charlie Chaplin, Edward G. Robinson, Marilyn Monroe, Shelley Winters, Lili St. Cyr, Busby Berkeley (from triple manslaughter charges), Zsa Zsa Gabor, Errol Flynn (again, with Flynn), and too many more to name. But of all his exploits, the most famous was his sensational defense of fourteen year-old Cheryl Crane from murder charges.

It’s one of the most lurid stories in Hollywood history. Crane was the daughter of megastar Lana Turner, and had endured many difficulties early in life, including alleged molestation and rape by Turner’s fourth husband, actor Lex Barker. Turner had an abusive situation of her own with mob enforcer Johnny Stompanato, a violent man who slapped her around but clung onto her for dear life no matter how hard she tried to dump him. On April 4, 1958, Cheryl Crane stabbed Stompanato to death. She claimed the mobster was beating her mother and she had no choice but to attack him. Not to be morbid, but oh to have been a fly on the wall as this fourteen year-old girl went Benihana on a feared mobster. What an astounding scene that must have been, especially to Stompanato, who you see in peaceful repose above. Anyway, Cheryl Crane said the stabbing was done in her mother's defense, and Jerry Giesler convinced a jury she was right.

Already famous enough to command what were at the time enormous retainers, Giesler's reputation was forever sealed after the Crane trial. He was simply the best, the go-to attorney for a celeb in a town that was always boiling with trouble. As a result of Giesler's exploits, Hollywood coined a catchphrase, a collection of magic words believed to possess the power to solve even the toughest problems. The phrase? "Get me Giesler."

Check out this issue of the tabloid On the Q.T. from May of 1963. As always, at least one of the stars referenced on the cover is no longer widely known. In this case it’s Sabrina. She was a British model and television actress whose real name was Norma Sykes, but who became a legitimate one-name celeb based upon the anomaly of her forty-two inch bust and eighteen inch waist. Sabrina had a thing for royalty, and allowed her hourglass measurements to be thoroughly explored by such personages as the Duke of Kent, the Marquis of Milford-Haven, Prince Christian of the House of Hanover, Knight of the British Empire Sean Connery, and King Dingaling of Las Vegas Frank Sinatra. Sabrina did indeed have a specific diet she credited with helping maintain her figure, and if you absolutely can’t go to your grave without that knowledge, it’s here.

Scanning the cover again, we see Shirley Bassey has made an appearance. Bassey is a Welsh performer who sang, among other hits, the title track to the Bond film Goldfinger. What may not be immediately apparent to those unfamiliar with her is that she is black. So the photo of her with a white man speaks implicitly of interracial scandal without trumpeting it to the heavens in a headline. Perhaps that sort of restraint is why On the Q.T. called itself the class magazine in its field. Of course, on the not-so-classy side of the ledger is the banner concerning lesbians, with quotation marks around the word “pass.” Either this is to emphasize the word as slang, or to suggest that a lesbian’s quest to blend in with straight folk is fruitless. In either case, there's no doubt it implies this is a burning desire for all lesbians. How times change. These days, lesbians are considered chic and quite a few straight folk have a burning desire to associate with them—preferably after getting a good charge on the dvdcam and making sure the lighting is sufficient. We’ll have more from On the Q.T. later.

We already talked about the infamous pulp tabloid Confidential and its lurid mix of sex, drugs, race and crime. Today we have a February cover from their competitor Hush Hush. We found no issues of this tabloid dated pre-1955, so we feel certain ’55 was the year Hush Hush appeared to further terrorize a Hollywood that was already cringing under Confidential's baleful glare. This particular issue probably hit the stands in ’58 or ’59, and by the early 60s Hush Hush and a swarm of tabloids that included Uncensored, On the Q.T. and Top Secret were making life difficult for Hollywood A-listers who assumed their private lives should remain private. We don't know much more about Hush Hush. There are few information sources out there—not even a Wikipedia page. But we'll dig deeper and revisit this subject later on.