Few baseball franchises are as storied as the Dodgers—especially the incarnation that played at old Ebbets Field in Brooklyn until the club’s abrupt (and, for countless Brooklynites, unforgivable) move to L.A. in 1958.
Those Brooklyn teams from the 1940s and ’50s—with players such as Jackie Robinson, Pee Wee Reese, Roy Campanella and Duke Snider—hold a special place not only in the memories of millions of fans of a certain age, but also in the annals of the game itself. Dem Bums won eight pennants and a World Series during those years, and might have won a few more championships if they didn’t have to keep facing the powerhouse Yankees.
In these photos, most of the stars are notable by their absence. Instead the frame is occupied by the crowds of long-forgotten young hopefuls at spring training in 1948, the very first year the team trained at the “Dodgertown” complex in Vero Beach, Florida. (The Los Angeles Dodgers left Dodgertown in 2008, one of many to trade in Florida’s Grapefruit League for Arizona’s Cactus League for spring training.) But what the pictures lack in star power, they make up in charm. To be sure, the players and coaches pictured here are all very, very white. Jackie Robinson had only debuted the previous year, and at the start of 1948 there were only three (that’s not a typo) black players in the National and American leagues. But the jarring racial uniformity aside, the gallery also capsules the aura of spring training, as athletes shook off their winter rust and concentrated on practicing the game’s fundamentals. In several photos general manager Branch Rickey studies the action with his grandson, and the game’s generational appeal is palpable.
Here is a brief excerpt from. the April 5, 1948, cover story LIFE, followed by a few photos that appeared in the issues, and some other memorable diamonds as well:
Branch Rickey himself did not succeed as a major-league field manager (with the St. Louis Cardinals from 1919 to 1925), but that was because he had too many scientific theories about how baseball should be played and too few good players to make the theories work. Dodgertown proved to be the ideal place to test all of Rickey’s ideas. At the outset he laid down the law to his 35 instructors on how he wanted Dodgertown run i.e., with metronomic precision. Everybody had to bounce out of bed at 6:45 a.m. After breakfast there was a classroom session on the intricacies of “inside baseball,” followed by mass calisthenics. Rickey wandered all over the camp, shaking hands briskly with the kid pitchers, not just to be friendly but to test their grip as well.
Fresco Thompson, a former National League infielder, spoke to Dodger coaches and prospects at Dodgertown, Vero Beach, Fla., 1948.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Prospects at Dodgertown, Vero Beach, Fla., 1948.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Batting practice in the cage, Dodgertown, Fla., 1948.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Top row, left to right: Pitchers Carl Erskine, Carroll Beringer, Edward Yasinski; bottom row, infielder Russ Rose, outfielder Bill Wolfe, outfielder Bernie Zender.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Brooklyn Dodger rookies and prospects did calisthenics as part of their daily training routine at Dodgertown, Vero Beach, Fla., 1948.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
These prospects bought their own baseball mitts.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Dodgers players and coaches attended an instructional talk.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Dodgers rookies and prospects listened to a hitting instructor at Dodgertown, Vero Beach, Fla., 1948.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Dodgers general manager Branch Rickey and his grandson watched a pitcher go through his wind-up.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Players were timed for speed.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
General manager Branch Rickey and a catcher.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Players practiced base-running and pick-off attempts.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Brooklyn coaches posed for a group portrait.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Brooklyn Dodger rookies and prospects played a spring training scrimmage at Dodgertown, Vero Beach, Fla., 1948.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Branch Rickey watched practice with his grandson at Dodgertown, Vero Beach, Fla., 1948.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Brooklyn rookies and prospects practiced hook slides.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Strings marked the strike zone as this pitcher delivered at Dodgertown, Vero Beach, Fla., 1948.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Batting practice.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Two coaches (including Pepper Martin, right) held rope at a level designed to force players into proper slide technique.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Top row, left to right: Outfielder Vic Marasco, catcher Dick Ballestrini, outfielder (and future Hall of Fame manager) Dick Williams; bottom, first baseman Dee Fondy, infielder Jim Baxes, catcher Mervin Dornburg.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Players drank fresh orange juice at Dodgertown, Vero Beach, Fla., 1948.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Players relaxing during spring training.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Players competed in horseshoes during spring training at Dodgertown, Vero Beach, Fla., 1948.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Brooklyn Dodgers and young women relaxed on the beach during spring training.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Consider the snail. Humble, deliberate, primeval, the wee gastropod that comes to mind when we hear or see that one, simple word snail is seemingly the very last creature about which anyone would or could grow not merely protective, but passionate. After all, seen in a certain light (for that matter, seen in any light) the common snail is an irrelevancy or, if one is a gardener, a pest to be dispatched posthaste.
Then again, perhaps we’re not giving the snail its due. Perhaps there’s more to this mucus-y, slithering, boneless lazybones than meets the eye. Perhaps, if we engage in a subtle recalibration of our assumptions about our fellow creatures, we might find that the snail is not only worthy of our attention, but even of something like devotion. Perhaps the mild snail, dilly-dallying its way through life, can teach us something about the . . .
Oh, never mind! The fact is, most of us pass our days blissfully unconcerned with what snails — near and far, large and small — might be up to. Most of us, quite frankly, just don’t care.
But there was once a time, in a land called England, when dozens nay, scores! of snail fanciers did care, and struggled to rehabilitate the image of the oft-maligned critters. LIFE magazine photographer Hans Wild visited the intrepid souls of the British Snail-Watching Society in 1946. This gallery highlights some of the pictures he made. For the story of the society itself, however, it’s probably best to simply quote from the December 2, 1946, issue of LIFE, which really did manage to hit just the right tone when discussing this slippery issue:
The British Snail-Watching Society is an organization dedicated to the theory that man, harassed by the mounting tempo of modern life, has something to learn from contemplating the snail. The society’s whimsical propaganda has fascinated England and even resulted in editorials in the [London] Times. A recent meeting of the society, at which the pictures on these pages were taken, featured a snail race which, to snail lovers, is the equivalent of the Kentucky Derby.
The Snail-Watching Society was founded last year as an elaborate family joke by Peter Henniker Heaton, an ex-employee of the Admiralty, after he had extravagantly admired a roadside bank silvered by snails after a rain. The snail, Henniker Heaton declared, can teach man a thing or two because it has solved many of man’s own dilemmas: 1) it carries its house on its back, 2) it makes its own roads by glandular secretion, 3) it takes its time.
Already the society has 70 members, a book full of press clippings and correspondence from far parts of the world. Its members write indignant letters to the press protesting such barbaric customs as eating snails, of which there are 40,000 varieties. Best known are the small garden snails of the order stylommatophora, but in Australia there is a variety, megalatractus proboscidiferus Lamarck, whose shell measures two feet. Of the society’s favorite sport, Henniker Heaton says, “When you are used to snail-racing, horse races are over too quickly.”
Franklin Delano Roosevelt remains the only person elected four times to the nation’s highest office (although he would die within months of being sworn in to his final term), but his greatness can be measured, in one elemental sense, by the passions he still excites in both his supporters and detractors. To the former, he was a courageous and compassionate leader—a politician born into great privilege who nevertheless oversaw the creation of America’s government-run safety nets for the least powerful among us; a steady hand at the helm during the darkest, early days of World War II; and a man willing to spend most of his political capital pushing for policies and programs that were controversial and even revolutionary in their time, but today form the bedrock of America’s social contract.
To his naysayers, of course, Roosevelt’s New Deal was an egregious example of governmental overreach, while his political philosophy smacked of class betrayal and an un-American belief that the feds can solve every problem we’ll ever face.
His wife Eleanor, meanwhile, was even more progressive (and polarizing) than her husband. While her humanitarian work all over the globe in her later years would win her near-universal praise, as a First Lady she was something of a radical, giving her own press conferences (the first woman in her position ever to do so), arguing for expanded workers’ rights and sometimes publicly disagreeing with her husband on national issues.
One national issue on which the Roosevelts agreed to an extent was that of civil rights. Eleanor was the more vocal and adamant of the two, but it was FDR who signed Executive Order 8802 in June 1941. Geared toward defense workers, 8802 was the first federal action designed to prohibit employment discrimination in the United States. It was, arguably, the most significant action in the realm of civil rights by a 20th-century American president until LBJ signed the Civil Rights Act of 1964.
(Roosevelt’s record on civil rights as a whole is somewhat more checkered, especially in light of the internment of Japanese-Americans during the Second World War.)
Ed Clark’s photograph, meanwhile, of an openly weeping Chief Petty Officer (USN) Graham W. Jackson playing “Goin’ Home” on his accordion as FDR’s flag-draped casket passes by in April 1945 has, through the years, come to symbolize not merely a nation’s grief, but black America’s acknowledgement of Roosevelt’s efforts on behalf of civil rights.
It’s tricky, even dangerous to presume that one person’s emotions represent those of millions of others, merely because those people are of the same race. After all, Jackson had played music for FDR, and for countless other people at and around the so-called “Little White House” in Warm Springs, Ga., many times in the past. The two men had a history. The tears coursing down Jackson’s cheeks were, assuredly, the outward sign of an inward, personal grief.
That said, the anguish on Chief Petty Officer Jackson’s face was not his alone; in Ed Clark’s masterful, unforgettable portrait, we see, and feel, a nation’s loss.
Oil. A simple word that for much of the 20th century, and well into the 21st, has meant unimaginable wealth for a very few; plentiful and (for a time, at least) cheap energy for consumers and industries around the globe; deadly conflicts and tensions, as international powers jockeyed to ensure access to wells, fields and pipelines; and, of course, myriad and well-founded worries about the poisoning of land, sea and sky and still, the world craves more, always more, of the precious stuff
In an online article titled “There Will Be Oil and That’s the Problem,” a companion piece to his recent TIME cover story, writer Bryan Walsh argues that oil supplies aren’t going to vanish any time soon, but that fact shouldn’t leave us any less concerned about our dependence on petroleum:
“[Discoveries of new oil reserves] are occurring around the world,” Walsh points out, “from the deepwater finds off Brazil to the North Dakota tight oil that has led to a resurgence of American crude production. There are oil sands in Canada and new resources in the melting waters of the Arctic. There will be oil and that may be the problem. That’s because the new supplies are for the most part more expensive than traditional oil from places like the Middle East sometimes significantly so. They are often dirtier, with a greater risk of more devastating spills and accidents.”
Walsh goes on to discuss far more complex and enduring issues around the production and consumption of oil, but a central, unsettling question looms: in a world with an unslakable thirst for petroleum, will human beings pay a higher and higher price in blood, in treasure, in environmental degradation rather than rethink their addiction to oil?
With that question hanging in the air, LIFE.com looks back at one of the earliest and most comprehensive features any publication anywhere ever published on the fraught and lucrative Mideast petroleum industry: a massive photo essay in the June 11, 1945, issue of LIFE magazine titled, simply, “Middle East Oil,” that provided (in LIFE’s words) “the first complete look at this fabulous and troublesome part of the world.”
Photographer Dmitri Kessel spent eight weeks traveling and photographing in Iran, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia and Iraq. (“It was so hot,” LIFE informed its readers of the photographer’s time in the desert, “that for periods Kessel could not handle his camera without scorching his hands.”) The result is a remarkable chronicle of a world both familiar and impossibly remote, where preteen dynastic kings, transplanted Texas wildcatters and armies of anonymous workers play out their lives amid the forces shaping the region’s landscape and transforming ancient cultures: the towering oil wells and refineries so colossal they sometimes seem ready to dwarf the desert itself.
NOTE: A sharp reminder that the original “Middle East Oil” feature from 1945 was published in an era vastly different than our own can be found in the dated language and, even more so, in the blatant, invidious bias occasionally on display in the article. For example, one photo caption reads, in part: “Anglo-Iranian Oil Co. employs 40,000 Iranians, many trained in its own Institute of Petroleum Technology. It has built its own city beside the old town. Iranian workers are usually honest and as industrious as heat permits.”
It goes without saying that LIFE would not have made a similar assertion about, say, American workers at a refinery in Texas or Louisiana.
The photos here, made by LIFE’s Alfred Eisenstaedt in April 1943 at the height of the Second World War, capture farewell kisses that are particularly fraught. These young men, bidding their sweethearts farewell, faced the possibility that they might never return from the war.
In its February 14, 1944 issue (Valentine’s Day), in which many of these pictures appeared, here’s how LIFE magazine described the scenes:
They stand in front of the gates leading to the trains, deep in each other’s arms, not caring who sees or what they think.
Each goodbye is a drama complete in itself, which Eisenstaedt’s pictures movingly tell. Sometimes the girl stands with arms around the boys’ waist, hands tightly clasped behind. Another fits her head into the curve of his cheek while tears fall onto his coat. Now and then the boy will take her face between his hands and speak reassuringly. Or if the wait is long they may just stand quietly, not saying anything. The common denominator of all these goodbyes is sadness and tenderness, and complete oblivion for the moment to anything but their own individual heartaches.
Farewell kiss, Penn Station, 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Farewell to departing troops at New York’s Penn Station, April 1943.
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
In the early 1950s, right around the time she stole scenes as a pretty young thing driving Jack Lemmon nuts in the oddly titled 1954 comedy, Phffft!, Kim Novak caught the eye of LIFE magazine’s photographers, who were charmed by her talent, her haunting beauty and her determination to be not merely a star, but a genuine actress. Their fascination with the young Novak proved prescient: In the coming years, she would become one of the most accomplished and versatile movie stars of the decade, with credits including The Man With the Golden Arm, Pal Joey and, most notably, Hitchcock’s wholly unsettling masterpiece, Vertigo (1958).
In 1956, as her career was truly taking off, Leonard McCombe photographed Novak for a major cover story. Just 23 years old at the time, the actress was starring in the movie Picnic but was still uncertain of Hollywood and her place in it. Six decades after the peak of her career, LIFE.com reached out to the gracious Ms. Novak (born Marilyn Pauline Novak on Feb. 13, 1933, in Chicago) to find out what it was like to appear so prominently in LIFE at such a young age.
“I hoped to show the world my soul,” Novak told LIFE.com, flashing back to that confusing time. “I believed that fame had found me for a reason that I didn’t quite understand yet, and that LIFE magazine would help to give me a voice. Bottom line, I wanted the world to see that I was not just another Hollywood pretty face or sex symbol but the real McCoy!”
As lovely as McCombe’s March 1956 cover shoot turned out to be, and as flattering and insightful as the story was, Novak admitted feeling disappointed with its direction.
“Looking back,” she said, “I wish I had the opportunity to respond to more real situations. I’ve always been proud to be a reactor rather than an actor. For the cover shot I was handed a matching lavender umbrella, sweater and gloves then told to look into the camera and smile. I wanted a reason to smile, and was not yet a good enough actress to invent one.”
The McCombe photos inside the issue, however, were more accurate representations of what it was really like to be Kim Novak in 1956. For instance, of the photo in this gallery that shows her in a dressing room, breaking down in tears after being asked to model a dress and then merely cue a performance by a costar, Novak says: “I was distraught and even wrote a poem through my tears because I felt taken advantage of in my first major television appearance. I would have preferred it if LIFE used one of those more honest photos for the cover.”
McCombe followed Novak to appearances, fittings and even home to Chicago, but none of the pictures he made in all those weeks with her is more memorable and evocative of that time than the famous, first photograph in this gallery. On a New York-bound train, the stunning young star removes her jacket as several male passengers unabashedly gape. McCombe, Novak said, “captured a special moment in time. I’m pleased to have been the spark that started a fire in the train’s dining car that night.”
During that trip home, Kim known as “Mickey” to her family found that having McCombe capture not only her professional life but also her personal one was almost surreal. “The two worlds were so different,” she recalled, “and I didn’t know how to fit in either one.”
The third image in this gallery, meanwhile, subtly captures the actress’ ambivalence. “In a Beverly Hills restaurant,” read the caption to the photo, “Kim Novak sits with a faraway look as agents Al and Wilt Melnick hotly discuss her blossoming movie career.”
Novak admitted that her expression was not so much a dreamy “faraway look” as one of concern for her future. “I worried, because I was being treated like a commodity, and I didn’t know what to do about it,” she says. “I only knew I didn’t like it.”
While she might not have liked the sometimes brutally commercial aspect of moviemaking, stardom certainly had its perks for instance, as in the seventh photo, where she tried on $12,500 mink rented by studio designer Jean Louis.
“Yes, I loved glamour,” Novak told LIFE.com. “When I put on the gowns of Rita Hayworth, Greta Garbo and Joan Crawford, I felt transformed into someone else. It seemed like I could feel their energy running through my body.”
Of her favorite leading man, Jimmy Stewart, who starred with her in both Bell, Book and Candle and Vertigo, Novak remembered that “he could make me feel like I’d just slipped into my favorite warm fuzzy slippers by taking my hand when a gossip reporter walked on the set. He could make the whole world go away when things got to be too much for me to handle.”
Though she enjoyed much success in Tinseltown, Novak would eventually retire from acting and find fulfillment elsewhere. Married to veterinarian Robert Malloy for more than 40 years (Novak is a lifelong animal lover) and living in Oregon, where she enjoys painting. She has had some tough times—a serious, bone-breaking horse-riding accident in 2006; evidently successful treatment for cancer in 2010; depression and treatment for what she herself called, in a 2012 conversation with TCM’s Robert Osborne, bipolar disorder—but she has come through.
“After Harry Cohn died—he was the head of Columbia Pictures, where I was under contract—the choice of good scripts seemed to die with him,” Novak recalled, explaining her decision to leave the movies behind. “I grew tired of waiting for that good role to find me. I left Hollywood and the life of a movie star to make a path for my artistic desires without the handicap of false expectations. Today, when I’m not riding my horse in the mountains of Oregon, I’m painting the life around me, the life that I love. I am content.”
Liz Ronk edited this gallery for LIFE.com. Follow her on Twitter @lizabethronk.
Kim Novak captured the attention of the men in the dining car on a train bound for New York.
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock
Kim Novak, 1956
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock
In a Beverly Hills Restaurant Kim Novak sat with a faraway look as agents Al and Wilt Melnick hotly discussed her blossoming movie career.
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock
Kim listened to crystal gazer Zaza in Armando’s in New York.
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock
Novak fled in bitter frustration to her dressing room over her assigned role on The Ed Sullivan Show, where she angrily flung a vase of flowers to the floor and sobbed in abandon to a rose she destroyed: “I’m tearing this flower apart like I’m destroying my life.” As she often did, she later turned the episode into a little poem.
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock
Composed and given lines she wanted, Novak smoothed her dress as she prepared to go on The Ed Sullivan Show.
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock
Novak stopped in a for a family dinner in Chicago while on her way east. Seated (from left around table) beneath portraits of Kim were her mother, brother-in-law Bill Malmborg, childhood friend Barbara Mellon, her father, older sister Arlene and her Aunt Mildred.
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock
Novak tried on $12,500 mink rented by studio designer Jean Louis.
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock
A rare laugh from somber Kim Novak greeted a joke by Otto Preminger, who visited Kim while she was in New York. She had great fondness and respect for Preminger, who directed her in The Man With the Golden Arm and put her genuinely at ease.
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock
A long, glum goodbye to Mack Krim preceded the trip east. A theater owner, Krim was her constant escort in Hollywood. At the time of the story Kim put off the question of whether or not she is in love with him, saying she wanted to fulfill herself as an actress before getting married.
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock
Life Magazine cover, March 5, 1956
Leonard McCombe The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock