Every February, in the very depths of winter, Sports Illustrated unveils its storied swimsuit issue. And when that issue comes out, the media print, online, TV, radio, semaphore, you name it, takes notice. There are, one can state with a certain degree of confidence, several reasons for the attention that the swimsuit issue garners:
First: It seems the women are quite attractive.
Second: The bathing suits, while barely there, evidently appeal to a number of people perhaps even to women.
Third: The swimsuit issue has a surprisingly long history especially in the magazine world where, with a few notable exceptions, franchises come and go with dismaying rapidity.
Finally: There are the women. Wait . . . perhaps we mentioned that already?
Here, in tribute to SI’s swimsuit issue, and in recognition that in its own way LIFE magazine also took pains to chronicle youthful frolics in sand and surf, LIFE.com presents a series of photos made by Co Rentmeester in California in 1970.
There’s a certain innocence about these pictures that signals, right away, that they were made long, long ago. Sure, it’s California in the post-Manson, post-Altamont years, when the California Dream was souring and the airy promises of the Sixties were fading. But even the onslaught of hard drugs and pseudo-revolutionary nihilism that subsumed much of the counterculture in the early “70s could not entirely wipe away what had always drawn people to the Golden State. Namely, an uncomplicated joy in the pleasures of sunshine, sensuality and the illusion of eternal youth.
And if the California Dream really is just that: a dream? Well, honestly who cares?
CALIFORNIA GIRLS
Co Rentmeester / LIFE Picture Collection via Shutterstock
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Co Rentmeester / LIFE Picture Collection via Shutterstock
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Co Rentmeester / LIFE Picture Collection via Shutterstock
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Co Rentmeester / LIFE Picture Collection via Shutterstock
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Co Rentmeester / LIFE Picture Collection via Shutterstock
California, 1970.
Co Rentmeester / LIFE Picture Collection via Shutterstock
California, 1970.
Co Rentmeester / LIFE Picture Collection via Shutterstock
California, 1970.
Co Rentmeester / LIFE Picture Collection via Shutterstock
California, 1970.
Co Rentmeester / LIFE Picture Collection via Shutterstock
California, 1970.
Co Rentmeester / LIFE Picture Collection via Shutterstock
It’s mid-spring, 1961. In the kitchen of a safe house in Montgomery, Ala., Martin Luther King Jr. is tense. In the house with the 32-year-old civil rights leader are 17 students—fresh-faced college kids who, moved by King’s message of racial equality, are putting their lives at risk. These are the groundbreaking practitioners of nonviolent civil disobedience known as the Freedom Riders, and over the past two harrowing weeks, as they’ve traveled across the state on integrated buses, their numbers have diminished at every stop in the face of arrests, mob beatings, and even fire-bombings.
Right there along with the riders, capturing the mood of the movement as it swung between exhilarated and exhausted, thrilled and terrified, was 26-year-old LIFE photographer Paul Schutzer. He had covered the landmark Prayer Pilgrimage for Freedom march and rally in Washington, D.C., four years earlier and had witnessed firsthand the courage and determination Dr. King inspired in his followers. Filed along with Schutzer’s Pilgrimage photos in LIFE’s archives are notes from the magazine’s Washington bureau chief, Henry Suydam Jr., citing the energy and excitement that swirled around King: “At the end of the ceremonies, a couple of hundred people pressed feverishly on Reverend King seeking pictures, autographs, handshakes, or just a close look. The jam got so heavy that he had to be escorted to safety by police.”
Here, decades after the Freedom Riders put their lives on the line for dignity and equal rights, LIFE.com presents photos from that heady era in U.S. history, most of which never ran in LIFE magazine. Here are pictures, from the rides and the safe houses, charting a pivotal moment in the journey of Dr. King himself and in the nation-changing movement he led, from the monuments of Washington to the highways, rural roads, churches and bus depots of the Jim Crow American South.
Julia Aaron and David Dennis, along with 25 other freedom riders and several members of the National Guard, travelled from Montgomery, Ala., to Jackson, Miss.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Just shy of the Mississippi-Alabama border, members of the Alabama National Guard surrounded a bus carrying freedom riders.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
A freedom rider and member of the National Guard on a bus in the Deep South.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
The view from a bus window on a freedom ride.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Freedom riders peered from bus windows during a stop.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
A congregation in Alabama prayed for the safety of freedom riders.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Freedom riders sang at the Rev. Ralph Abernathy’s First Baptist Church in Montgomery, Ala., as a white mob gathered outside.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
A weary Martin Luther King Jr. sat at the Rev. Ralph Abernathy’s First Baptist Church in Montgomery, Ala., as a white mob surrounded the building.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Freedom riders tried to rest at the Rev. Ralph Abernathy’s First Baptist Church in Montgomery, Ala., as a white mob gathered outside.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
After U.S. Attorney General Robert Kennedy intervened, forcing Alabama Governor John Patterson to declare martial law and send in the National Guard, the white mob outside First Baptist Church finally broke up. Before dawn on May 22, 1961, the Guard moved the congregation out.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Freedom riders rescued from First Baptist Church relaxed at a safe house in Montgomery, Ala.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Freedom riders rescued from First Baptist Church (including future U.S. Rep. John Lewis, with bandaged head) relaxed at a safe house in Montgomery, Ala.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Freedom riders, along with Martin Luther King Jr., relaxed at a safe house in Montgomery, Ala.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
At a safe house in Montgomery, Ala., freedom riders relaxed after being rescued from First Baptist Church.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
At a safe house in Montgomery, Ala., freedom riders prayed after being rescued from First Baptist Church.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Freedom riders waited to board a bus to Jackson, Miss.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Martin Luther King Jr. encouraged freedom riders as they boarded a bus for Jackson, Miss.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Freedom riders and members of the National Guard on a bus in the Deep South.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Freedom riders on a bus in the Deep South.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Freedom riders on a bus in the Deep South.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
White segregationists hurled stones at a bus carrying freedom riders in Mississippi.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
A young freedom rider on a bus in the Deep South.
Paul Schutzer The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
In 1939 LIFE noticed that youngsters around the country were, in increasing numbers, playing football under the aegis of organized leagues. But one Colorado league, in particular, caught the eye of LIFE photographer Alfred Eisenstaedt. As the magazine told its readers in its Oct. 9, 1939, issue:
In Denver this fall, the daydreams of some 550 youngsters, 8 to 18 years old, are coming true. These schoolboys are all members of a non-school organization called the Young America League, which is teaching them to play regular eleven-man football. It is much more fun than scrimmaging in a backyard. When they play for the League, they have their own brightly colored uniforms. Regular coaches teach them to block and tackle. Every Saturday they play regular games, and sometimes 4,000 people come to watch them. With such experience, they figure, they are sure to be great football heroes when they go to college.
The League was started in 1927 when a distracted Denverite named Frederic Adams was entertaining two young nephews. He created an athletic club and arranged for the kids to play football. An essential feature was that every boy, regardless of ability, would have a chance to play. The idea spread and branch clubs were formed. Today the League claims to have the world’s youngest organized football players.
The kids also love the initiation. A candidate swears to be a good student and not bully the girls. Then he must say: “I promise to remember that what matters most is courage; that it is no disgrace to be beaten; but that the great disgrace is to turn yellow.”
Courage is a good thing. Not bullying girls — or boys, or anyone — is a good thing. Being a good student is, generally speaking, a good thing. Sounds like the Young America League might have been on to something.
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Young America League Football, 1939
Alfred Eisenstaedt The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Marilyn Monroe and baseball legend Joe DiMaggio wed in 1954 (second marriages for both), and were divorced nine months later. That the union was doomed from the beginning was, perhaps, easy to foresee. But even if the marriage was not a happy one for either of the two famous partners, there seems to be little doubt that there really was genuine affection there at the start and at the end. In fact, after Monroe’s divorce from her third husband, the playwright Arthur Miller, was finalized in 1961, DiMaggio came back into her life and, by all accounts, desperately tried to bring some stability and calm to an existence that was veering dangerously out of control.
He tried to get her away from people who, to his mind, were nothing but trouble (including, it seems, the Kennedys), and even proposed to her, asking her to marry him again. It’s awful, now, to think that if Marilyn had been given a little more time, DiMaggio could have been just the person to pull her back from the brink of depression, drugs, disastrous affairs with married men. In other words, he might have saved her life.
But a year and a half after her marriage to Miller ended, Marilyn all of 36 years old was dead. DiMaggio, it seems, could not protect her from whatever demons drove her. He was only in his 40s when Marilyn died on August 5, 1962, but he never married again.
Here, LIFE.com presents pictures from October 6, 1954, when Marilyn stepped out of the house on North Palm Drive in Beverly Hills to announce she was seeking a divorce from DiMaggio on the grounds of “mental cruelty.” DiMaggio had initially been drawn (like a few hundred million other men) to Marilyn’s “sex goddess” persona but he was never comfortable with her flaunting it, and was something of a self-admitted control freak. Neither DiMaggio nor Monroe could possibly have been content or satisfied in a marriage in which two such divergent personalities held sway.
The photographs here are not pleasant. They’re not easy to look at. There’s real pain in Marilyn’s face, posture and demeanor.
Still, these pictures tell a small but integral part of the Marilyn Monroe story, and capture the star at a pivotal point in her fraught life. She would marry again. She would make more movies in the coming years, including several classics. But deeper and more enduring pain was also in her future.
Of the October 1954 divorce filing, meanwhile, LIFE told its readers:
Even for Hollywood, where unhappy endings for the real love stories come with almost unseemly haste, this ending seemed abrupt. It was only last January that the press was mobbing the San Francisco city hall, waiting for Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe to emerge as newlywed man and wife. Now the press was gathered again in front of the DiMaggio home in Beverly Hills, waiting for Joe and Marilyn to come out as newly-separated man and wife.
Nobody had been surprised when they got married—they had been going with each other for two years. Nobody doubted their love they had smiled happily through their married life. And almost nobody professed surprised when they broke up. The conflict in their two careers seemed inevitable.
Marilyn Monroe divorce announcement 1954
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Marilyn Monroe at the time she filed for divorce from Joe DiMaggio, Beverly Hills, October 1954.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Marilyn Monroe and her lawyer, Jerry Giesler, at the time she filed for divorce from Joe DiMaggio, Beverly Hills, October 1954.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Marilyn Monroe at the time she filed for divorce from Joe DiMaggio, Beverly Hills, October 1954.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Marilyn Monroe at the time she filed for divorce from Joe DiMaggio, Beverly Hills, October 1954.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Marilyn Monroe at the time she filed for divorce from Joe DiMaggio, Beverly Hills, October 1954.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
The contact sheet of George Silk’s photos from the press conference announcing Marilyn Monroe’s divorce from Joe DiMaggio.
George Silk The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
The phenomenon known as Dust Bowl was a horror of the middle part of the last century, and the result of a destructive mix of brutal weather and uninformed agricultural practices that left farmland vulnerable.
Here, LIFE.com looks back, through the lens of the great Margaret Bourke-White, at a period when as LIFE phrased it in a May 1954 issue there was a “Dusty Plague Upon the Land.”
The delicate, lethal powder spread in a brown mist across the prairie horizon. Across Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas and New Mexico, the darkening swirls of loosened topsoil chewed their way across the plains, destroying or damaging 16 million acres of land. Man fought back with such techniques as chiseling. . . . driving a plow six inches into the soil to turn up clots of dirt which might help hold the precious land from the vicious winds. Against the dusty tide these feeble efforts came too little and too late. Two decades after the nation’s worst drought year in history, 1934, the southern plains were again officially labeled by the U.S. government with two familiar words “Dust Bowl.”
The threatening storm rose above a farm near Hartman, Colo. Once range land, it was almost ruined by wheat farming.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
A protective pattern was spread across a farm near Walsh, Colo. by farmer using two tractors (upper right).
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
A Colorado farming family during the 1954 Dust Bowl.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
The antidust measure of furrowing land, taken by a conservation-minded farmer in Baca County, went for naught when a neighbor’s unfurrowed land blew across his farm, killing a crop of winter wheat.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
An irrigation ditch near Amity was cleared of dust, which filled it for 20 miles to depth of six feet.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado dust bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado Dust Bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado Dust Bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado Dust Bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado Dust Bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado Dust Bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Coloradans Art Blooding and his family inspected their newly bought farm in 50-mph wind.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado Dust Bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Wild ducks that had choked to death on the dust made a graveyard of what was at one time a watering stop on their spring migrations.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Felled broomcorn lay near Walsh, once ‘Broomcorn Capital of U.S.’
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado Dust Bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
A farm house was damaged by a dust storm, Colorado, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado Dust Bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado Dust Bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Colorado Dust Bowl, 1954.
Margaret Bourke-White/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
A Colorado farming family during the 1954 Dust Bowl.
Ask any American today under the age of, say, 40, “Who was Gypsy Rose Lee?” and chances are pretty good that the reaction will be utter bewilderment. “Gypsy Rose who?”
On the other hand, ask anyone who came of age in the 1940s or ’50s the same question, and the reaction will likely be something along the lines of, “Gypsy Rose Lee? I haven’t thought about her in decades! But let me tell you, back in the day. . . .”
Gypsy Rose Lee (born Rose Louise Hovick in Seattle in 1911) was and remains a force in American popular culture not because she acted in films (although she did act in films) or because she wrote successful mystery novels (although she did write successful mystery novels). The reason Lee’s influence endures can be attributed to two central elements of her remarkable, all-American life story: first, her 1957 memoir, Gypsy, which formed the basis for what more than a few critics laud as the greatest of all American musicals, the 1959 Styne-Sondheim-Laurents masterpiece, Gypsy; and second, her career in burlesque, when she became the most famous and perhaps the most singularly likable stripper in the world. (Modern “neo-burlesque” performers, like Dita Von Teese, Angie Pontani and others, cite Gypsy in near-reverent terms as a pioneer and inspiration.)
Here, LIFE.com celebrates Gypsy Rose Lee’s life and her career with a selection of pictures by George Skadding, a LIFE staffer far better known for photographing presidents (he was long an officer of the White House News Photographers Association) than burlesque stars. But, as the images in this gallery attest, Gypsy was hardly just another stripper; instead, as a performer, a wife and a mother of a young son, she had something about her an approachable, self-deprecating demeanor aligned with a quiet self-certainty that any politician would envy.
“I’m probably the highest paid outdoor entertainer since Cleopatra,” she’s quoted as saying in the June 6, 1949 issue of LIFE, in which many of these pictures first appeared. “And I don’t have to stand for some of the stuff she had to.”
“Confidently taking her place among history’s great ladies, Gypsy has for the first time in her life gone outdoors professionally,” LIFE wrote at the beginning of Gypsy’s six-month tour with what was called “the world’s largest carnival,” The Royal American Shows. The prospect of having to do her old strip-tease act 8 to 15 times a day “all across the country to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan,” meanwhile, although hardly thrilling to the 38-year-old mom, was also something Gypsy could, characteristically, put in perspective:
“For $10,000 a week,” she told LIFE, “I can afford to climb the slave block once in a while.”
She also, as LIFE put it, “had it soft, as carny performers’ lives go. She lives in her own trailer with her third husband, the noted Spanish painter, Julio de Diego. With them is her 4-year-old son, Erik [film director Otto Preminger’s child, as it turned out] and his nurse. Gypsy, who loves to fish, carries an elaborate angler’s kit, and whenever the show plays near a river, goes out and hooks fish as ably as she does customers.”
But it’s in the notes of writer Arthur Shay, who spent a week with the star in Memphis, Tennessee, in May 1949, that we meet the woman who emerges when the lights go down and the crowds depart and it’s clearly this Gypsy who truly connected to audiences wherever she went:
“Funny thing about show people or just plain fans,” she told Shay at one point, offering insights into the appeal of her nomadic life. “They think if you’re not in Hollywood or on Broadway making a couple of thousand a week taking guff from everybody and his cousin in the west, and sweating out poor crowds on Broadway you’re not doing well. [But] I’ve been touring the country playing nightclubs and making twice as much as I made in the movies, and having more fun! I get a lot more fishing done, for one thing, and I can live in my trailer and see the country.”
Gypsy Rose Lee died in April, 1970, of lung cancer. She was 59 years old.
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee with fellow performers in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee in front of a crowd in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee, 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
A sign announced the arrival of burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy dictated a letter to her secretary, Brandy Bryant, who doubled up by doing a strip bit in the show.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee (left) and her fellow performers in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee (right) dressed other performers in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee (center) dressed other performers in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee writes in her dressing room in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee (top) with another performer in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee (right) coached another performer in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee (center) and other performers in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
The audience at a Gypsy Rose Lee burlesque show in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
In a reverse strip-tease act, Gypsy introduced near-nudes like Florence Bailey and dressed them on the stage.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee’s burlesque show in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee autographed programs for fans after a show in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee and some of the dancers in her show posed for publicity pictures with the carnival performer K. O. Erickson.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee with her third husband, the painter Julio de Diego, 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee held her 4-year-old son (by movie director Otto Preminger), Erik, outside of her trailer, 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy’s friends in the carnival included a sword swallower, a fire-eater and this cheerful bearded lady, Percilla Bejano, whose husband was the Alligator Man.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee with fellow carnival performers in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding—Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy’s husband Julio painted the entrance while Gypsy and son watched. His attraction in the carnival was called Dream Show.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee, 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose rode the Little Dipper with her son, Erik, and her husband, Julio, in Memphis, Tenn., 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee gave her son, Erik, cotton candy while her husband Julio De Diego watched, 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee with her husband Julio and son Erik, 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Gypsy Rose Lee with her husband, Julio de Diego, 1949.
George Skadding/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Between shows Gypsy and family managed to sneak off for sundown fishing on the Wolf River, where Gypsy caught a catfish.
