Anatomy of a Hitter: Gjon Mili Photographs Ted Williams

In 1941 Ted Williams, 22, was the center of attention in the baseball world as he pursued a .400 batting average, which was at the time a rare feat (instead of impossible, as it has seemingly become). The Red Sox outfielder famously pursued the goal that year in a manner which affirmed not only his skill at the plate but also his character.

With Boston set to play a double-header on the final day of the season, Williams’ batting average was .3996—which, under the rules of baseball, would have been rounded up to .400 to give him the mark. Boston’s manager, Joe Cronin, offered Williams the chance to sit out and protect his average, but Williams chose to play both games of the double-header. An entirely respectable day at the plate—say, 2-for-7—could have dropped his average by crucial thousandths of a percentage point, but Williams took the risk. He played both games and had six hits in eight at bats, elevating his season average to .406—no rounding needed.

His bold decision has gained significance over time because, all these decades later, Williams is the last batter to ever hit .400. No one has done it since.

Even before that historic season was over, though, LIFE had placed Williams among baseball’s elite. In its Sept. 1, 1941 issue the magazine ran a story titled “Williams of Red Sox is Best Hitter” that attempted to explain what made this young man so special.

Williams is a great hitter for three reasons: eyes, wrists and forearms. He has what ballplayers call “camera eyes” which allow him to focus in on a pitched ball as it zooms down its 60-foot path from the pitcher’s hand, accurately judge its intended path across the plate, and reach for it. He even claims he can see the ball and bat meet. The rest of his formula is to never stop swinging. On and off the field he consistently wields a bat to keep the spring in his powerful wrists. Even when he is in the outfield he sometimes keeps waving his arms in a batting arc. And, more than most other great batters, he keeps his body out of his swing, puts all his drive into his forearms.

LIFE illustrated its story with studio photographs by Gjon Mili, in something of a meeting of the masters. This LIFE collection of Mili’s studio work features his stop-motion images of drummer Gene Krupa, actor/dancer Martha Kelly and artist Pablo Picasso. The inclusion of Ted Williams of their company is a telling tribute to his mastery of the art of hitting. Williams posed shirtless, which underlined that Williams relied on technique rather than muscle. The 6’3″, 175-pound Williams was skinny enough that the press nicknamed him “Toothpick Ted” and “The Boston Stringbean.”

In addition to Mili’s portraits of Williams from the 1941 season, this collection includes a few other images that LIFE shot over the years of Williams in uniform. Pay special attention to the last image, taken by George Silk, which shows Williams in spring training in 1956, talking to a young player named Gordie Windhorn.

Williams was by that time a 12-time All-Star, while Windhorn was a young journeyman who was passing through Red Sox camp and would not make the roster. But Silk’s photo captures the serious and respectful way that Williams treated Windhorn, because they were talking about his favorite subject, which was hitting.

While Mili’s photos capture Williams technique and physique, that last shot hints at his obsession with his craft.

Ted Williams demonstrated his batting stroke in the studio of LIFE photographer Gjon Mili, 1947.

Gjon Mili/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Red Sox outfielder Ted Williams, 22, showed off his powerful baseball swing for photographer Gjon Mili, 1941.

Gjon Mili/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Red Sox outfielder Ted Williams, 22, showed off his powerful baseball swing for photographer Gjon Mili, 1941.

Gjon Mili/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Red Sox outfielder Ted Williams, 22, showed off his powerful baseball swing for photographer Gjon Mili, 1941.

Gjon Mili/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Red Sox outfielder Ted Williams, 22, showed off his powerful baseball swing for photographer Gjon Mili, 1941.

Gjon Mili/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Ted Williams demonstrated his batting stroke in the studio of LIFE photographer Gjon Mili, 1947.

Gjon Mili/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Red Sox outfielder Ted Williams, 22, showed off his powerful baseball swing for photographer Gjon Mili, 1941.

Gjon Mili/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Red Sox outfielder Ted Williams, 22, demonstrated his grip on the bat for photographer Gjon Mili, 1941.

Gjon Mili/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Ted Williams sat on the bench with his Red Sox teammates, 1946.

Sam Shere/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Red Sox great Ted Williams took the field, 1946.

Sam Shere/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Ted Williams took batting practice, 1948.

Frank Scherschel/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Ted Williams of the Boston Red Sox spoke with teammate Gordie Windhorn about the art of hitting during spring training in Sarasota, Fla., 1956.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Pushing the Right Buttons: Inside Charm School for Elevator Girls

In the 1940s the job of stewardess became increasingly glamorized as commercial airline travel became more and popular. That trend may have reached its peak—or nadir, depending on how you look at it—when the now-defunct National Airlines ran an ad featuring stewardesses and slogans like “I’m Cheryl. Fly Me.” Many women were not amused, and before too long the people who worked on airplanes were being referred to with the more professional and gender-neutral term “flight attendants.”

But it’s worth remembering that bygone mentality when considering a 1947 story that ran in LIFE magazine headlined “Store Pretties Up Its Elevator Girls.” The Chicago department store Marshall Field and Co. wanted to give its elevator operators the same kind of glamorous profile as the stewardesses of the time.

To achieve that goal, the store began to give its elevator operators special training, and it was about more than pressing buttons. Here’s how LIFE described it:

Twice a week a small group of operators leave their high-powered lifts and are sent to be kneaded, pummeled and painted in a flossy charm school in the Loop. During the eight-week course the girls not only learn where and how to take off unflattering bulges and how to blend a powder base into the hairline but also how to walk, sit and operate the elevator car decorously. They are also taught how to enunciate clearly merchandise items like “lingerie, bric-a-brac and budget millinery.”

LIFE photographer George Skadding was given a behind the scenes look at the training and the makeovers these operators received. His photo of women in their uniforms stationed outside elevator doors almost has the feel of a chorus line. The story noted that at least one former Marshall Field elevator operator had become a star of screen and stage—her name was Dorothy Lamour.

But for the vast majority who didn’t, their humble role attained, for a time, a touch of glamour. And the efforts did not go unnoticed.

In January 2025 on a Facebook page dedicated to Marshall Field & Co., one poster talked about her fond memories of being an operator. A fan responded “You were one of the most wonderful, talented, perfect women in the world. Oh, how, when I was 5, I wanted to grow up to be one of you . . . and I still wish it had been possible.”

In the 1960s the store replaced its elevators with more modern models and operators were phased out.

The elevator girls at the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Elevator girls at the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago went through a training program which included lessons in makeup and other beauty skills, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Elevator girls at the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago went through a training and beauty program; here operator Ann Vratarich received a new hairdo, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Elevator girls at the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago went through a training program; this photo demonstrated the wrong postures (too breezy, bent, leg in air) for an operator, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Elevator girls at the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago went through a training program, with this photo demonstrating the proper posture (straight and modest), 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The elevator girls at the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago worked on “reducing exercises” as part of their training program, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The elevator girls at the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago worked on “reducing exercises” as part of their training program, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The elevator girls at the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago worked on “reducing exercises” as part of their training program, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Elevator girls at the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

An elevator operator from the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Elevator girls at the Marshall Fields department store in Chicago went through a special training program, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Elevator girls from Marshall Fields department store in Chicago showed off their look after attending charm school, 1947.

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Elevator operators at the Marshall Fields department store, 1947

George Skadding/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A “Rough Country Boy” Fights the College Freshman Blues

In the fall of 1964 LIFE photographer Bill Eppridge spent a semester on campus at Yale, following a first-year student as he faced the considerable challenges of college life.

Freshman year can be tough, especially for those living away from home for the first time. The transition was particularly daunting for Eppridge’s subject, a young man named Timothy Thompson. He came to Yale from Ashland, Oregon, which back then had a population of 9,100. Yale’s admission file summed up Thompson as “A rough country boy with lots of tools and desire.”

Thompson had graduated No. 2 in his high school class of 176 and had been president of the honor society. But Yale was thick with honor students, many of whom had come from fancier backgrounds. While working to fit in socially, Thompson, who had been known as a “brain” in high school, also struggled academically for the first time in his life.

Here’s how LIFE described Thompson’ grade shock in its story titled “The Freshman Blues.”

Reality came crashing down on Tim when he sat in his counselor’s room and got his midterm grades. He almost failed chemistry and math, managed an overall average of 72, well below the class figure of 78. The pain deep on his face, he explained he did not know how to study for tests….”When I think about not making it at Yale,” Tim says, “I know I would be so ashamed. I guess that’s what makes me so scared.”

Fear of failure was not the only pressure Thompson faced. He also struggled to fit in to the Ivy League world. Thompson had been raised in a religious household and was on scholarship, so he needed to find his footing at a campus where many classmates came from a more moneyed background and had different kinds of social experiences.

Eppridge’s photographs document the highs and lows of Thompson’s first months at school, whether he is enjoying games of touch football, buying new clothes in an attempt to raise his sartorial game, or giving major side-eye to a guy chugging from a wineskin. LIFE observed that Thompson, despite all the pressures swirling, had something very important going for him: he seemed to be secure in his identity. “I want to be myself,” he said. “I don’t want to be classified as a sophisticate, a playboy, a screwball, or anything.”

Thompson did make it through Yale, graduating with his class in 1968. From there he spent three years with U.S. Army intelligence, including two years of service in Vietnam. In 1979 he earned an MBA from another Ivy League school, Penn, and built a career as an investment advisor, making his home in Scarsdale, N.Y., before dying of lung cancer at the age of 58.

Thompson’s Yale experiences stayed close to his heart. His obituary included a request that donations be made to either a cancer hospital or to the Yale Alumni Fund.

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson (second row, second from left) at welcoming ceremony for the freshmen, 1964. Back then Yale was all-male, and the school only began to admit women in 1969.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshmen, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson, a scholarship student from a small town, needed to wash and iron his own clothes; when he returned from a dime store with purchases that included a dust mop, a more well-off dorm mate asked, “What’s that?”

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson (right), and roommate Richard Loomis shook out a second-hand rug they bought for their dorm room; Thomspon, a scholarship student from a small town, sweated the rug’s $13 cost.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson studying, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson (background, right), who was raised by a Baptist family that did not drink, looked askance as a fellow student took a swig a wine skin at a football game, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson at a football game, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson arrived at school with a suit and two sports jackets but soon found that he needed to add to his wardrobe to keep up with his classmates, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson arrived at school with a suit and two sports jackets but soon found that he needed to add to his wardrobe to keep up with his classmates, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson, who had been a varsity athlete the small Oregon town where he grew up, only had time for pickup games at Yale, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson, who had been a varsity athlete the small Oregon town where he grew up, only had time for pickup games at Yale, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson, who had been a varsity athlete the small Oregon town where he grew up, only had time for pickup games at Yale, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Yale freshman Timothy Thompson graduated second in his class in his small-town Oregon high school but averaged only a 72 in his first semester in New Haven, 1964.

Bill Eppridge/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Lawrence Welk: America’s Unlikely “Most Popular Musician”

In a 1957 article LIFE identified Lawrence Welk as “the most popular musician in U.S. history.” It was a bold claim in the age of Elvis Presley and Frank Sinatra, but the magazine backed up its assertion with stats about Welk’s record sales, his weekly television viewership and the $100,000 a week guarantees that the bandleader earned from his concerts. The magazine said Welk grossed $3.5 and $4 million a year —which would be about $40 million to $45 million today.

Those were big bucks for a genteel fellow whose primary instrument was the accordion. LIFE talked about the unlikeliness of Welk’s success in a story headlined “Some Champagne for the Folks“:

Until he was 21 he was a farmhand on his immigrant father’s 400-acre place in Strasburg, N.D. He is neither glamorous nor especially charming. He speaks, haltingly, with a German accent. He has no swimming pool and few worries. He has never in his life smoked a cigaret, drunk a drop of liquor or used profanity. A devout Catholic, he has been married for 27 years to a former nurse. They have three nonproblem children.

And it wasn’t just Welk’s background that was humble. The music that he and his band made was anything but revolutionary. Even while praising Welk, LIFE suggested that many of his TV viewers used the show as background noise. And Welk himself was very open about being a middle-of-the-road crowd-pleaser. He told LIFE, “Sure I like better music than what I play, but if I played what I like we’d still be eating hamburger instead of steak.”

Welk’s manner was as easygoing as his music. The photos by LIFE’s Allan Grant capture Welk in all his geniality, whether he is handing out cookies to the band, making his signature cork-popping sound with a finger in his mouth, or pulling out the accordion to entertain the fans.

At the time LIFE wrote about Welk, he had been in the business 32 years, but he still had a long road in front of him. The Lawrence Welk Show began as a local program in Los Angeles in 1951, and it started airing nationally on ABC in 1955. The show would broadcast on that network for 16 years, until 1971, and after that the show continued on in syndication for another 11 seasons, until 1982.

Welk died ten years later, in 1992, at the age of 89.

Lawrence Welk talked to the audience at the Aragon Ballroom in Santa Monica, California, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Lawrence Welk made his signature cork-popping sound for the radio audience, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Bandleader Lawrence Welk played his accordion on his weekly TV show, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Lawrence Welk was joined by family members, including his wife, for a rare appearance on his show, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Bandleader Lawrence Welk at a recording of his weekly television show, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

At a show Lawrence Welk handed out cookies that had been brought by fans for members of his band, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Lawrence Welk posed with a collection of the items he gave away to audiences at his band’s performances, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Bandleader Lawrence Welk prepared for his weekly TV show, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Bandleader Lawrence Welk prepared for an appearance, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Lawrence Welk conducted a pre-show run-through with the Lemon Sisters in the ladies’ room, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Lawrence Welk conducted a pre-show run-through with the Lemon Sisters in the ladies’ room, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Lawrence Welk at a taping of his television show, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Lawrence Welk at a taping of his television show, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Lawrence Welk played his trademark accordion on the set of one of his weekly TV shows. 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

LIFE declared bandleader Lawrence Welk “the most popular musician in U.S. history” based on TV viewership, record sales and the fees he earned for appearances with his band, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Bandleader Lawrence Welk, 1957.

Allan Grant/Life Picture Collection/Shuttertstock

Marilyn Monroe: Intrigue at the Gala

In the 1950s the April in Paris Ball was one of the main events of the New York social season. The 1957 edition took place at the Waldorf Astoria hotel, and it attracted 1,300 guests who each paid $100—more than $1,100 in today’s dollars—to attend, with the money going to French and American charities. Women wore dresses specially designed for the event. The 1957 ball featured a reenactment of Marquis du Lafayette’s reception in New York in 1824—he was the last surviving general of the Revolutionary War—complete with two horses pulling a carriage through the hotel ballroom.

LIFE’s coverage focused on the spectacle, the charity and the famous guests, which included Marilyn Monroe and her husband of nearly a year at that point, playwright Arthur Miller (see photos of their wedding day here). John F. Kennedy, who was at that time a U.S. senator, also came to the gala, with wife Jackie. In hindsight Marilyn and JFK being in the same room is notable because the two reportedly had an affair when Kennedy was president.

But at the time of the ball Monroe’s presence stirred intrigue because the actress may have been an unwitting pawn in a high-society feud.

The organizer of the April in Paris Ball was Elsa Maxwell, who had a well-developed grudge with the Duchess of Windsor, another one of the attendees. As reported by the Times-Standard newspaper, Maxwell invited Monroe with the idea of upstaging the Duchess of Windsor, who was the honorary chair of the event and the supposed star of the evening. That star status apparently dimmed when Monroe showed up fashionably late and immediately became the center of attention. “More than 30 photographers abandoned the Duchess’ table in a body,” the newspaper reported. “They were followed at a pace only slightly more sedate by some of New York’s upper crust society dowagers, waving programs for autographs.”

Among those photographers with their lens on Monroe was LIFE’s Peter Stackpole, who captured the actress chatting and dancing with Miller and also talking to Winthop Aldrich, a banker who was coming off a four-year stint as ambassador the United Kingdom. Monroe looked both glamorous and delighted with her company.

While it is entirely unfair to read too much into a single still photo taken during an hours-long party, the one photo of Stackpole’s which included the Duchess of Windsor was not nearly as festive.

The April in Paris Ball continued as a major New York social event until its last edition in 1979. After that the American Friends of the Louvre picked up the mantle, staging its own April in Paris Ball and keeping the tradition alive.

During the 1957 April in Paris Ball held at the Waldorf Astoria, Lafayette’s visit to New York in 1824 was recreated with horse and buggy.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

About 1,300 people attended the April in Paris Ball, which celebrated French-American relations and raised money for charity, New York City, 1957.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Marilyn Monroe and her husband, playwright Arthur Miller, shared a laugh at the April in Paris Ball at the Waldorf Astoria in New York City, 1957.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Marilyn Monroe with Winthrop Aldrich, a banker who had just completed a four-year term as U.S. Ambassador to the United Kingdom, during the April in Paris ball at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, 1957. At the far right is playwright Arthur Miller, who was Monroe’s husband.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Marilyn Monroe spoke with Winthrop Aldrich, a banker who had just completed a four-year term as U.S. Ambassador to the United Kingdom, during the April in Paris ball at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, 1957.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The head table at the April in Paris Ball, held at the Waldorf Astoria, included (from left) American socialite Wallis Simpson, the Duchess of Windsor, French Ambassador to the United States Herve Alphand, Chairman of the Ball Rosemary Warburton Gaynor, Edward VIII, Duke of Windsor, and Mrs George Baker, 1957.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Marilyn Monroe and her husband, playwright Arthur Miller, were centers of attention at the April in Paris Ball at the Waldorf Astoria in New York City, 1957.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Marilyn Monroe and her husband, playwright Arthur Miller, were centers of attention at the April in Paris Ball at the Waldorf Astoria in New York City, 1957.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Marilyn Monroe danced with her husband, playwright Arthur Miller, at the April in Paris Ball held at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, New York City, 1957.

Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

When Tiger Cubs Come to Stay

When you think of animals that would work as house pets, tigers generally don’t top the list. And for good reason. The website The Spruce Pets advises that no tiger species should be kept as a pet, noting that the practice is banned in most U.S. states. Among the reasons why tigers don’t make good pets: as adults the tigers “eat dozens of pounds of meat per day and need acres of expensive high-security enclosures.”

Not to mention the obvious dangers.

But in 1944 LIFE wrote about a special instance in which a woman took in three tiger cubs into her New York city apartment, and it worked out quite well—for the most part.

She took in the tiger cubs because of a situation at the Bronx Zoo, where her husband worked as a lion keeper. The zoo had a Bengal tiger named Jenny who had given birth to three cubs. As sometimes happens with tigers in captivity, Jenny refused to nurse her young. So Helen Martini, the lion keeper’s wife, stepped forward to give these young cubs the care that they needed.

As LIFE described it, taking care of the cubs kept her quite busy:

Fed every three hours, the cubs announce their mealtime with loud squalls, which grow louder as they grow hungrier. They have not learned to lap from a saucer and each has to be fed from a bottle. When she is not feeding them, Mrs. Martini is cleaning them, or putting drops in their eyes, or playing with them. Though quite tame and playful, the cubs’s long claws require her to wear leather gloves when handling them.

The tigers’ stay at the Martini home was only set to last about a month. At that point the cubs would need to transition to be a meat diet and become too much to handle around a New York City apartment.

The images of Martini caring for the cubs, taken by LIFE staff photograper Alfred Eisenstaedt, show the obvious affection she developed for these adorable creatures. But having tigers in her house came with its problems. Not only did Mrs. Martini have to wear those protective leather gloves, she also had to take the drapes off her windows before the cubs completely shredded them.

This was happening when the cubs weighed around eight pounds. As adults Bengal tigers can weigh close to 600 pounds.

In short, don’t try this at home.

At five weeks old, this tiger cub weighed 6 1/2 pounds over its birth weight, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A tiger cub made its way from the kitchen to the living room while staying at the home of the Bronx Zoo’s lion keeper, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A tiger cub made its way around the home of the Bronx Zoo’s lion keeper; these cubs were given home care because their captive mother would not nurse them, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Helen Martini, wife of a Bronx Zoo lion keeper, cared for three tiger cubs after their captive mother would not nurse them, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Three tiger cubs were taken into the home of a Bronx Zoo lion keeper because their captive mother would not nurse them; they needed to be fed by bottle because they had not learned to lap from a bowl, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Rajpur, a tiger cub, investigated a kitchen cabinet full of Carnation evaporated milk; he was temporarily being cared for by Helen Martini, the wife of the Bronx Zoo lion keeper, because its captive mother would not nurse her cubs, 1944.

A tiger cub trying to climb onto a couch while staying at the home of the Bronx Zoo lion keeper; the keeper’s wife was caring for the tigers because their captive mother would not nurse them, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Tiger cubs stayed at the home of the Bronx Zoo lion keeper after their captive mother would not nurse them, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Helen Martini, wife of a Bronx Zoo lion keeper cared for three tiger cubs after their captive mother would not nurse them, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Helen Martini, wife of a Bronx Zoo lion keeper cared for three tiger cubs after their captive mother would not nurse them, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Helen Martini, wife of a Bronx Zoo lion keeper cared for three tiger cubs after their captive mother would not nurse them, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Helen Martini, wife of a Bronx Zoo lion keeper cared for three tiger cubs after their captive mother would not nurse them, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A tiger cub sucked on the finger of Helem Martini, who was the wife of the Bronx Zoo lion keeper and was looking after three tigers because their captive mother would not nurse them, 1944.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

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