Midnight cover star urges women to bust out.
None of Midnight magazine's quotes were real, we're pretty sure. On this cover from today in 1966 Janet Dane says ban the bra, joining feminists of her day who advocated ditching such restraints. But who's Janet Dane? Well, we had a heck of a time finding out, because there's a famous psychic of the same name, but it turns out she was a glamour model who appeared in Fling, Rogue, Tab and other such publications mostly in 1959 and 1960. This Midnight cover would postdate by years any other images of her we saw, but the editors had no qualms about using old material, so we suspect this shot, while published in ’66, is actually a handout dating from around 1960. Below we have a nice color image of her, a rarity we found years ago, and as you can see she's banned her bra. Thanks to these two shots, the hard-to-find Dane's internet presence has been greatly augmented. If you're out there, Janet, you're welcome. On the other hand, if you wanted your glamour days to be forgotten, we're terribly sorry.
Vickers tells Midnight readers what's what.
This cover of Midnight dated today in 1965 features Laura Vickers, who is touted as an actress, but who had no credited film roles. In fact, for a while we thought she was a made up person, but that wasn't Midnight's style. The magazine had enough cred to get legit celebrities for its covers. So we kept checking and it turns out Vickers was an obscure glamour model who appeared in super low rent magazines like Flirt 'n Skirt and Black Nylons. Midnight was probably the closest she ever came to mainstream recognition—which is to say, not very close. So what's the score? As usual with this tabloid it's about sex. A man who knows the score knows what women want. But we don't need Midnight to know what that is. The Pulp Intl. girlfriends keep us well informed what women want: it all.
Sophia Loren applies personal experience to her ideas about marriage.
Above is a cover of Midnight with a nice photo of Italian superstar Sophia Loren, and a header suggesting trial marriages for couples over twenty-one. Did she say it? Quite possibly. Her marriage to film producer Carlo Ponti was an international scandal thanks to popes and others sticking their noses into her private business. But back then they thought it was their right—actually, their holy duty—because divorce wasn't legal in Italy and Ponti was still married. He and his wife had split and had nothing to do with each other, but the Catholic church assured Loren she'd go to hell if she married Ponti. Well, she did it anyway by proxy in 1957 and officially in 1966. So in August 1970, when this issue of Midnight appeared, we think it quite likely that she had some well formed ideas about marriage. In any case, nice cover.
Rumors of her demise were greatly exaggerated.
We've featured the Canadian tabloid Midnight numerous times. This one appeared on newsstands today in 1968. On the cover readers get a headline referring to Robert F. Kennedy, who had been assassinated the previous month. His name is accompanied by a prediction that his killer, Jordanian nationalist Sirhan Sirhan, would in turn be assassinated. It wasn't an outrageous prediction—during the late 1960s newsworthy figures were being dropped like three foot putts. Sirhan was never murdered, though, and he's still around today, languishing at Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility in San Diego County, California.
Sirhan is an interesting character, but it's the story on Susan Denberg we're interested in today. Denberg, née Dietlinde Zechner, is a German born beauty who became a Playboy Playmate of the Year and screen actress, was a desired Hollywood party girl who had relationships with Hugh Hefner and Jim Brown, and was generally regarded as one of the major sex symbols of her time. But she also became a drug addict. After making the 1968 film Frankenstein Created Woman Denberg returned to Europe and shunned the movie business. In fact, she kept such a low profile that for years sources incorrectly reported that she had died.
Midnight journo John Wilson claims to have visited Denberg in a Vienna mental hospital near the beginning of her self-imposed exile, and his article is basically a recounting of his chat with her. He describes her depressing surroundings and portrays her as a sort of broken bird, quoting her as saying, “I was a real party girl, going out every night, dating one man after another, running around doing wild things like getting drunk and dancing nude at parties. And then someone got me started on LSD and it made everything seem so clear. It was wonderful. Only I couldn't keep away from it, and after a while that was all I was doing, staying in my room and dropping LSD.”
In 1971 Denberg had a child, and by 1972 was making her living on the nudie bar circuit, working as a topless server at the adult cinema Rondell in Vienna, and later dancing fully nude at another Vienna nightspot called Renz. She also worked elsewhere in Europe, including Geneva, where in 1974 she tried to commit suicide by swallowing a reported 200 sleeping pills, an amount that surely would have been fatal had she not been quickly found and sped to a hospital. In 1976 she became a mother again and retired from nude dancing. Today she lives quietly in Vienna.
Denberg's story is filled with twists and turns, and yet it isn't unique in a place like Hollywood. As she makes clear, once enough power brokers, modeling agents, and studio types tell a woman she's special she's probably going to believe them, but once she believes them it's hard for her to keep her head on straight. She sums up her journey to Midnight, “They told me I was beautiful enough to go all the way to the top. They told me about all the fun up there, the kicks. They never told me about the booze and the drugs, the long slide down.”
In other news child leave bill passes Congress with broad bi-partisan support.
The saying goes that if guys had to have children humans would go extinct, but what would really happen is we men would immediately confer upon ourselves every possible birth related advantage. We're talking sixteen weeks paternity leave, laws that hold our jobs for us while we're away, Planned Parenthood clinics everywhere like Taco Bells, completely unfettered access to birth control, Father's Day a three-day weekend holiday in the summer, the whole nine. And childbirth would become macho: “Dude, when I gave birth I was like, fuck the epidural. I wanna feel this shit. Seriously, what kind of girly-man uses anesthesia? I had a friend, he did it without painkillers, he said when the contractions got bad he bit down on a bullet. Me, I had my buddies there and they were all screaming, "Crown motherfucker! Crown motherfucker!” I was like, "Yo Doc, am I delivering a baby or a basketball?" But when it really started to hurt I just headlocked the neonatologist and choked him out.
This is a test of delinquency broadcast system. In the event of a real emergency you'd be royally screwed.
This poster was made to promote the Japanese pinku flick Kôkôsei banchô: Shin'ya hôsô, aka High School Boss 3: Midnight Broadcasting, starring Eiko Yanami and Keiko Matsuzaka. Third in a tetrology, the film is exactly as the title suggests—a tale of delinquency, prostitution, and revenge, with the extra twist of being centered around a radio station. Basically, one of the deejays on the program “All Night Music” reads a letter over the air from a young prostitute, who is later found to have committed suicide while three months pregnant. A search for the people responsible for the tragedy reveals that a prostitution racket is being run out of the local high school. Revenge follows. The tagline for this film is top notch: “When the town goes to bed, we get up!” Kôkôsei banchô: Shin'ya hôsô premiered in Japan today in 1970.
We'll put our six against their six anytime.
This cover of Midnight from today in 1968 gets us back into more tolerable tabloid territory after some hair-raising recent examples from National Spotlite dealing with rape and incest. Today we deal merely with scientists resurrecting the dead. Since they chose experimental subjects of no particular importance, it got us thinking about six people who could do some actual good if brought back. We restricted ourselves to figures from the pulp and post-pulp eras—no Cleopatra or Leonardo DaVinci. Here's our list:
George Orwell, because his wit and political insight are sorely needed in this day and age.
Babe Ruth, because we never saw him play, and we love the idea of someone who was great without taking what he did very seriously.
Marilyn Monroe, because nobody was better on a movie screen, and also because one of her most valuable qualities—usually overlooked—was how her ditzy characters always reduced supposedly smarter men to weak little boys.
Martin Luther King, Jr., so whenever some multi-millionaire cable pundit professes an understanding of him we can go straight to the source and hear: “I was against you and everyone like you.”
Albert Einstein, because perhaps only he could convince the growing ranks of proud know-nothings that intelligence, learning, and worldliness are good qualities.
Paul Rader, Rudy Nappi, George Gross, or any one of about a dozen other departed illustrators, because art.
So there you have it. We had a difficult time coming up with six, but after a few days playing around with about a dozen names we narrowed it down to a group we think would really enrich our existence. Honorable mentions: Amelia Earhart, Willie Mays, George Carlin, Richard Pryor, Elmore Leonard, et al. Maybe you would find choosing easier. Give it some thought and see what your list looks like.
St. Cyr tells all for the cheapie tabloid Midnight.
This Midnight published today in 1964 has the usual clickbait on the front cover—I Ripped My Baby To Pieces. Why? Because she hated her husband. Very interesting, but today we're drawn to the banner and Lili St. Cyr's “Torrid Life Story,” in which, for the most part, she talks about her sexual attitudes. The interior header screams that she seduced a 14-year-old boy, and that's again the equivalent of today's internet clickbait. St. Cyr was sixteen herself, which is an age difference we'd hardly call scandalous. The clickbait worked, though. It made us quite eager to read the story. It's written in first person and touted as a Midnight exclusive.
Ordinarily we'd be skeptical a cheapie tabloid could score an exclusive with a world famous celebrity, but in this case we think Midnight is telling the truth. We have a few reasons: Midnight was a Canadian rag, headquartered in Montreal; St. Cyr was from Minnesota, but spent her early years dancing in Montreal; and Midnight was too well known a publication to get away with lying about the source of the story. Thus we can be sure St. Cyr wrote the piece. She eventually authored an autobiography in French, which makes us suspect she wrote this article for the Canadian Midnight—which was called Minuit—and it was translated and printed in the U.S. later. Just a guess. It was apparently part of a series, by the way, but we don't have the other issues of Midnight. Now on to the juicy stuff.
On virginity: “When you have it you try like hell to keep it. You lose it with an unconscious sigh of relief, and once you've lost it you wonder why you tried so hard to keep it in the first place.”
On her first: “Right now, as I write these lines, [all I] can recall about him is that he was blonde and his first name began with an R. As a matter of fact, I don't remember any of my first intimate boyfriends.”
On her others: “I've been called a child snatcher dozens of times because that is the way I like my men. I can't help it.”
On Hollywood star Victor Mature: “One bad thing about Vic though. Liquor and sex just don't mix for him. If he makes love, he's got to be cold sober or he can't perform.”
On Las Vegas: “There is something dead and decadent about the town. It builds to nowhere. It accomplishes nothing. And the people in it are infected with this live-for-today attitude.”
Those are the highlights. Except that readers also get three photos with the article. We already shared a much better version of one of those way back in 2009. The other two are in this post—the shot of St. Cyr as a child, when she was still Willis Marie Van Schaack, and the one below of her in goddess mode. Midnight was printed on cheap-ass paper, but the scans still look pretty good. Willis Marie's tale is interesting too. She was ahead of her time. What she writes could have been written by a character on Girls. It's impossible for us to not respect her boldness and determination to have exactly the life she wanted, particularly during the age in which she lived. We have plenty on St. Cyr in the website. Just click her keywords below.
She liked little boys when she was little, and she loves little boys now.
This issue of Midnight published today in 1967 has a cover that's the opposite of the last one we shared, which was about the world's youngest mother. This one has the world's oldest mother, and goes for the double tabloid whammy by adding an underaged father to the mix. According to the sources we checked, the oldest pregnancy confirmed by birth records occurred at age 70, a feat shared by three women, all of them, weirdly, from India. So this cover is not only untrue, but because it's fiction it casts doubt upon the previous claim from Midnight about the world youngest mom. We already knew that, though. Still, we do hope to be getting it on at eighty-six. Chances are slim, but it's a worthy goal.
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