In its March 10, 1952 issue LIFE magazine served its readers photos of the “sailing rocks” of the Racetrack Playa, a dry lake bed near Death Valley, California. The stones don’t do anything really wild like zip around in front of people, but they have moved at some point, and we know it by the tracks they have left behind at the Racetrack and also at a few similar locations around the globe. LIFE’s photos by Loomis Dean captured the phenomenon that keeps the Playa Racetrack a tourist destination all these years later.
On a dry lake bed high in the Panamint Mountains near Death Valley sit several dozen boulders whose peculiar behavior has long been a nightmare to geologists. The boulders, which weigh up to a quarter ton, stand at the ends of long, gouged-out paths which show that they periodically respond to unknown forces and skate about on the flat earthen floor.
LIFE painted the situation as a complete mystery, mentioning disproved theories from everyday folks that attributed the stones’ movement to the lake bed tilting back and forth, or perhaps to “Russians tampering with the magnetic pole.” (This was the early days of the Cold War, mind you). LIFE ended its writeup by saying “The mystery may never be completely solved. When humans observers are about, the stones refuse to budge an inch.”
But since 1952 scientists, when not busy exploring space and inventing cell phones and so forth, did come up with a leading hypothesis, which is that the stones’ skating is likely caused by the movement of thin sheets of ice that can form there in wintertime, with high winds perhaps helping to push stones along.
Though sometimes the stones have moved for reasons that are all too explicable—such as in 2013, when some stones were stolen. A park spokesman expressed both disappointment and confusion at the theft, saying “They don’t seem to understand that outside the Racetrack, these stones have no value.” Other visitors have damaged the site by taking the “Racetrack” name literally and driving their cars on it.
Sometimes human behavior is a mystery all its own.
The “sailing stones” of the Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, California, 1952.
Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
The “sailing stones” of the Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, California, 1952.
Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
LIFE’s 1952 story on the sailing stones of Racetrack Playa in Death Valley included this photo of stone-like objects described as “burro droppings” that had likely been moved by the same forces as the stones.
Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
The sailing stones of the Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, California, 1952.
Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
This three-quarter-ton stone left its mark after moving across a dry lake bed in Death Valley, 1952.
Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
“Sailing stones” left tracks as they drifted across Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, California, 1952.
Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
A small stone left these intricate tracks on the Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, California, 1952.
Loomis Dean/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
LIFE’s 1952 story on the Racetrack Playa described this photo as being from a “ghost experiment,” guessing that an amateur scientist had tied up the rock to keep it from moving, but over time the rope had eventually rotted away.
Who doesn’t want to finish the summer in style? If that was the goal of these Santa Monica lifeguards and their friends, then mission accomplished. The party captured by LIFE photographer Peter Stackpole certainly looks like grand old time, especially because these lifeguards pulled their lunch straight from the ocean.
The story that ran in the Nov. 18, 1940 issue was titled “LIFE Goes to a Lifeguard Party.” The lifeguards and their friends sailed a short ways north to Point Dume for the day, but the story drew on the glamor of their Santa Monica origins, talking about how these young men were responsible for protecting Cary Grant, Norma Shearer, Marion Davies and other movie stars who had beach homes in their territory. The lifeguards were at least connected enough to borrow a boat for their party from actor Arthur Lake, best known for playing Dagwood in the Blondie movies based on the popular comic strip. LIFE’s story described the female party guests as “Aquabelles from the San Francisco Fair,” which seems to reference to a show called Aquacade that had been popular around the country and had set up shop in San Francisco that summer.
A highlight of this lifeguard party was when they took Lake’s boat out, dropped anchor, and began to forage in the Pacific. Here’s how LIFE described the scene:
Diving for abalone, lobster and octopus in beds of entangling kelp is a hazardous sport, hence the Aquabelles stayed on the paddling boards, spotted game by peering into the depths through gas masks (used professionally by the guards when searching for drowning victims) and let their expert hosts do the underwater work….Boys dived for abalone and for spiny lobsters which they captured by grabbing their feelers, yanking them out of their holes. Soon they had enough for lunch.
After securing their catches, the lifeguards went to the shore to boil the seafood and then returned to their sloop to dine.
After eating, they took their boat home to Santa Monica and despite the fine day there was a wistful feeling about summer coming to an end. LIFE’s story closed on this note: “As they sailed home through the slashing sunlight, they realized with quick regret that the day had been brief, the hot golden summer finally fled. Soon winter’s fogs would billow over empty beaches from the sea.”
Santa Monica lifeguards partied at the end of their season, California, 1940.
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Scene from a season-ending party for Santa Monica lifeguards, 1940.
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Paddlers gathered over a bed of kelp where they hoped to find lobsters and abalone for the Santa Monica lifeguards’ season-ending party, 1940..
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
A member of a lifeguard’s party dove for abalone that would be part of their end-of-summer seafood feast, California, 1940.
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
The octopus was among the catches of the day for the season-ending party for Santa Monica lifeguards, 1940.
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
A member of the lifeguard party killed a recently-caught octopus by biting its head, Santa Monica, California, 1940.
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Part of the freshly caught lunch at a season-ending party for Santa Monica lifeguards, 1940.
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
The seafood that had been pulled from the water was cooked on land and then taken back aboard their boat during the Santa Monica lifeguards’ season-closing party, 1940.
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Santa Monica lifeguards relaxed after an on-boat lunch of freshly caught seafood during their season-ending party, 1940.
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Santa Monica lifeguards and their guests relaxed after lunch aboard a boat at their season-ending party, 1940.
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
The Santa Monica lifeguards sailed home from Point Dume at the close of their season-ending party, 1940.
Peter Stackpole/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
The show biz ladder had few rungs lower than Anthony Dominick Benedetto’s gig at Riccardo’s, the Italian restaurant in his hometown, Astoria, Queens, New York, where, at 16, he worked as a singing waiter. But the artist the world came to know as Tony Bennett worked the dining room the same way he would the Copa or Carnegie Hall—he gave it his all. “We’d get a request from a customer and then I’d run back into the kitchen to work out the arrangements,” he recalled in his 1998 memoir, The Good Life. “I really cut my teeth as a performer at that job.”
His dreams then did not extend beyond the beckoning lights of nearby Manhattan. “When you’d see this big city,” he told the New York Times decades later, “you’d say, ‘Boy, wouldn’t it be great to become famous in that great city there?’” Tony Bennett and his music would conquer territories far beyond the island of Manhattan. “If America is a song,” Anthony Hopkins said in the narration of a 2007 PBS American Masters, “Tony Bennett is its singer.”
By the time of his death on July 21, 2023, at age 96, Bennett was more than a national treasure. “I Left My Heart in San Francisco,” was his signature. But he put his heart into every song and the bel canto—the “beautiful music”—of his voice was heard around the world. “When it comes to heart,” critic (and Good Life coauthor) Will Friedwald wrote, “Bennett is a virtuoso.”
He leaves a legacy greater than his 50 million albums sold, his 90-plus singles, his 19 Grammy Awards amassed in a hit-making career that began in 1950 and found him still at it, releasing acclaimed albums, performing and even touring, well into his nineties. Long running acts of a younger generation like Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones will have to remain on the road another full decade and more to match Bennett’s longevity. Collaborations with music giants from Duke Ellington and Count Basie to 21st-century stars such as Amy Winehouse and Lady Gaga earned accolades in genres and music epochs that span the history of popular music from the post–World War II era to today.
The son of Italian immigrants—his father, Giovanni, emigrated at age 11; his mother, Anna, crossed the ocean in utero and was born in America—Bennett came from a long line of singers on his father’s side. “Singing,” he wrote, “is in my blood.” A mobbed-in-the-streets pop idol at 25, his star dimmed during the reigns of Elvis and the Beatles. But it was secured, thanks in part to “San Francisco,” the 1962 smash that kept his music in the air throughout a decade that saw the careers of contemporaries go into near permanent eclipse. At the same time, Bennett, a passionate and lifelong civil rights advocate, earned an honored place in the annals of the movement when he marched alongside Martin Luther King in 1964.
Beset in the 1970s by drug and money problems, he engineered a startling career resurgence in the following decades. “Tony Bennett has not just bridged the generation gap,” the New York Times wrote of his Grammy-winning 1994 MTV Unplugged performance, “he has demolished it.”
Indeed, his dimpled grin, like his gleaming green eyes, Roman nose and nobly tailored tuxedos, became as familiar to new generations of fans as his exultant performances, his devotion to the Great American Songbook classics and his unwavering optimism. “I’ve been singing for 60 years,” Bennett exclaimed at the 2005 Monterey Jazz Festival. “If I get lucky enough I’d like to sing for another 60 years. Beautiful!”
Through most of his later decades, Bennett enjoyed the good life indeed. After two otherwise failed marriages—the first produced two sons, D’Andrea (Danny) and Daegel (Dae, for short); the second, daughters Joanna and Antonia—he wed his long-time companion Susan Crow, a former New York City social studies teacher turned artist manager, in 2007. He devoted himself to another lifelong passion, painting, and to his and his wife’s arts education foundation. In a kind of monument to Bennett’s modesty, the New York City public school for performing and visual arts that he and his wife founded in his native Astoria is named not for Bennett but for his own musical hero, Frank Sinatra. In February 2021, his wife and sons revealed that Bennett had Alzheimer’s, the progressive, debilitating form of dementia that had first been diagnosed in 2016. While ravaging so much of life that he held dear, the disease had, almost miraculously it seemed, left his gift intact, allowing him to perform in concert right up until he gave his final public performance in August 2021. Thereafter he continued to perform at home, encouraged by his family and caregivers for singing’s therapeutic value. “There’s a lot about him that I miss,” Susan told AARP magazine in 2021. “Because he’s not the old Tony anymore.” After a pause to steady her voice, she added, “But when he sings, he’s the old Tony.”
Tony Bennett with his first wife, Patricia, in their Tenafly, N.J. home, 1957.
David McLane/NY Daily News Archive/Getty
Tony Bennett performed during Johnny Carson’s debut as host of The Tonight Show on Oct. 1, 1962.
NBCU Photo Bank/Getty
Tony Bennett was out with Frank Sinatra after a performance in Miami, 1965.
John Dominis/The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Tony Bennett and Duke Ellington performed together at the Grammy Awards, 1966.
NBCU Photo Bank/Getty
Tony Bennett, circa 1970.
Michael Ochs Archives/Getty
Tony Bennett’s output of recordings was already voluminous when he posed for this photo in 1970; over the course of his career he would release 90 albums.
Photo by Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images
Tony Bennett with second wife Sandra and daughter Joanna at the London Zoo, 1972.
Everett Collection Historical/Alamy
Tony Bennett played with his daughter Joanna, then six years old, at his apartment on Central Park South in New York City, 1977.
Richard Corkery/NY Daily News Archive/Getty
Diana Krall and Tony Bennett performed at the 2018 CMA Country Christmas on Sept. 27, 2018 in Nashville.
Jason Kempin/Getty
Tony Bennett performed with Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden In New York City on April 12, 2019.
Who knew, back in 1938? That was the year two young men from Cleveland, writer Jerry Siegel and illustrator Joe Shuster—the socially awkward sons of Eastern European Jews—sold the first Superman strip to a precursor of DC Comics. In the 85 years since then, the world has known few constants—but their Man of Steel endures, first and foremost among fictional superheroes. The character has generated a vast pop culture industry—comic books, radio and television series, and of course numerous films, including the 1978 classic Superman: The Movie, starring the late Christopher Reeve, which marks its 45th anniversary in 2023. But Superman isn’t merely a commercial juggernaut—he is something more, a transcendent figure, representing human hopes, fantasies, and ideals.
“Superman took on a symbolic, emblematic life surprisingly early in his career—and to a degree that even his most successful superhero peers, such as Batman and Wonder Woman, have never matched,” says Ben Saunders, founder of the University of Oregon Program in Comics Studies and author of Do the Gods Wear Capes?: Spirituality, Fantasy, and Superheroes. Following Pearl Harbor, three years after Superman’s debut, the Man of Steel truly came into his own. “It was a rare period of national unity—when the abiding inequalities and hypocrisies of American life were overshadowed by the looming Nazi threat,” Saunders says. “Superman went from the latest kids’ craze to an emblem of America itself, representing the ideas of ‘truth, justice, and the American way.’ I think that heightened symbolic resonance—or the lingering reverberations of that resonance—have clung to the character ever since.”
Superman’s emblematic power has changed along with the country over the past eight decades. “The truth is that he has always evolved to reflect the zeitgeist and America’s idealized self-image of the time,” says Roy Schwartz, author of Is Superman Circumcised? The Complete Jewish History of the World’s Greatest Hero. “When he debuted in 1938, he was known as ‘Champion of the Oppressed,’ a firebrand New Dealer promoting immigration reform and racial equality. When America entered World War II, Superman changed from rabble-rouser to role model and became a national icon. In the 1950s, he became a patriarchal authority figure and a ‘Big Blue Boy Scout,’ which is the version people remember from The Adventures of Superman TV show starring George Reeves. Then in the 1980s, he became a Yuppie ‘Super Republican,’ embracing the Reagan Revolution and the era’s esthetic. But, for all the changes, he’s still the same guy Siegel and Shuster created. A hero who preaches tolerance for all but the intolerant, and who personifies the indomitable human spirit.”
Whatever Superman represents on a macro scale, he also connects to audiences on a more personal, intimate level. Many, if not most of us, feel from time to time that we’re getting kicked around or bullied by malevolent forces large and small. We see evil people doing terrible things to the innocent—an isolated robbery, rape, or murder; one of America’s daily mass shootings; a genocidal war—and we’re seemingly unable to do anything about it. That helplessness can bubble over into rage or spiral into despair. And so, the idea of an all-powerful, virtually indestructible champion of righteousness can be appealing. Perhaps it’s aspirational—we fantasize that, like Clark Kent, we might duck into a utility closet, change into something a little more superheroic, then fly off to vanquish this or that villain.
“Superman resonates, very instinctively and very universally,” says Schwartz. “He’s the ultimate human fantasy; that our weakness, insecurity and awkwardness are just a facade. That, hidden not too deep, there’s a secret Super-me that’s invulnerable, omnipotent, and confident.”
Jerry Siegel sounded that note when he discussed the character’s genesis in a 1983 interview in the magazine Nemo: The Classic Comics Library. “Joe [Shuster] and I had certain inhibitions . . . which led to wish-fulfillment which we expressed through our interest in science fiction and our comic strip,” he said. “That’s where the dual-identity concept came from, and Clark Kent’s problems with Lois. I imagine there are a lot of people in this world who are similarly frustrated. Joe and I both felt that way in high school, and he was able to put the feeling into sketches.”
Siegel and Shuster both acknowledged that their youthful yearning for unattainable women played into the creation of this square-jawed hunk. As Saunders points out, there is certainly an undeniably erotic component to Superman’s lasting appeal. “One thing I think doesn’t get talked about enough is the sexual nature of the superhero fantasy,” he says. “Superman and other superheroes aren’t just powerful. They are gorgeous and glamorous, and they wear costumes that might as well be painted on. These fantasy figures of glamour and power are then spliced into stories that emphasize ethics, morality, decency, sacrifice. It’s a heady brew.”
An argument can be made—and has been made—that the Man of Steel is a bit bland in comparison with other more flawed and complicated superheroes. Yet Superman’s reign over his fantastic universe remains unchallenged. “In a genre teeming with heroes who are faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound,” says Schwartz, “the one thing Superman still does better than anyone else is inspire hope. That we can live up to our own potential, that we can make tomorrow better than today, that we’re innately good. He makes us look up in the sky and see ourselves.
In 1948 Kirk Alyn became the first actor to play Superman, appearing in a 15-part movie serial that year and another in 1950; he is shown here in Clark Kent mode with actress Noel Neill, who played Lois Lane..
Photo by Donaldson Collection/Getty Images
George Reeves starred as Superman and Jack Larson as Jimmy Olsen in the “Adventures of Superman” television series that ran from 1952 to ’58.
Photo by ABC Photo Archives/Disney General Entertainment Content via Getty Images)
George Reeves with a cameraman on the set of “Adventures of Superman,” the television series that ran from 1952 to ’58.
Photo by ABC Photo Archives/Disney General Entertainment Content via Getty Images
On the set of the Superman: The Movie, from left to right: Director Richard Donner and actors Marc McClure (playing Jimmy Olsen), Jackie Cooper (Daily Planet editor Perry White), Margot Kidder (Lois Lane) and Christopher Reeve (Clark Kent/Superman).
(Photo by Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images)
Margot Kidder and Christopher Reeve during the filming of the 1978’s Superman: The Movie.
Photo by Harry Hamburg/NY Daily News Archive via Getty Images
Superman creators Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.
Photo by Steve Schapiro/Corbis via Getty Images
Christopher Reeve in the 1978 movie Superman; its $55 million budget made it the most expensive movie ever at the time of its release.
Photo by Warner Bros/Dc Comics/Kobal/Shutterstock
Christopher Reeve soared above Metropolis in the first of four movies in which he would don the red cape.
An imp in a bloodred crushed-velvet schoolboy outfit held 50,000 rock and roll fanatics in the palm of his hand. Not literally, as he had his hands around a classic Gibson SG guitar. But he had the audience rapt. Diminutive and drool-flecked, Angus Young, then 60 years old, tore into a 12-minute guitar solo. Throughout the wailing, Young duckwalked across the mammoth stage at Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, Massachusetts. He jammed away while standing on a hydraulic lift that rose three stories above the thunderstruck crowd. He crashed to the ground and kicked like a toddler having an epic temper tantrum—and he never missed a note.
The year was 2015, during AC/DC’s last world tour. But if you had closed your eyes, it could have been 2002, or 1982, or 1975. Over 50 years, 18 albums, and a few thousand gigs, AC/DC with Young, all five-foot-two of him, has delivered the same high-voltage energy, thrilling multiple generations of fans.
It’s tempting to award Angus the lion’s share of the credit for the band’s electricity and endurance. Certainly his Energizer-bunny-with-devil-horns act makes him equal parts lead guitarist, front man, focal point, and band mascot. But AC/DC’s success derives more from its ethos than anything else. And Malcolm Young, Angus’s older brother, defined AC/DC’s ethos right from the start.
“I’ve never felt like a pop star; this is a nine-to-five sort of gig,” Malcolm told Rolling Stone in 2008. “It comes from working in the factories, that world. You don’t forget it.”
Malcolm, who died in 2017, ran the band like a factory foreman. Writing together, Malcolm and Angus stamped out impeccable riff after impeccable riff. They recruited a series of rhythm sections—bassist Cliff Williams and drummer Phil Rudd are the definitive pair—that served to reinforce the blue-collar churn that underpins the band’s catalog. The Young brothers also brought in two singers—first Bon Scott, then Brian Johnson—who echoed AC/DC’s keep-it-simple-stupid approach.
Scott gave the band its nasty, naughty, bawdy color. He also spent his days careening 100 miles per hour until his rock-or-bust lifestyle killed him. Amazingly, the Youngs found a fitting replacement in Johnson and then graduated from underground legends to mainstream rock gods with Back in Black.
Across its long and extraordinary career, AC/DC has proved it has nine lives, abusing every one of them and running wild, yet continuing to outlive new trends. Doing the same old thing, AC/DC thrived (often) and survived (at the very least) through the peaks and valleys of disco, synthesizers, rock operas, hair spray, glam metal, pop metal, thrash metal, grunge, unplugged sessions, and power ballads. “It was Malcolm who had the vision of what the band should be,” Angus told the Chicago Tribune in 2003. “He said, ‘We’re going to play the only music worth playing: rock and roll. And we’re going to play it hard.’ ”
That unwavering value system led AC/DC to sell more than 200 million albums. It put the band on tours that packed American football stadiums, British soccer stadiums, and festival grounds in Moscow. In short, it lifted the band to extraordinary heights.
The journey to get there, not surprisingly, is testament to AC/DC’s own adage: It’s a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll.
Sandy Koufax once said of Willie Mays, who died on June 18, 2024 at the age of 93, “He was probably the best all-around ballplayer when you take everything into consideration. It seemed like that Willie never made a mistake.”
That glowing assessment from the legendary Dodgers pitcher gives you a sense of what fans of the New York Giants lost when the team moved to San Francisco in 1958, taking their 27-year-old star with them. It also tells you why it might have been a big deal when, five seasons later, the Say Hey Kid returned to play in New York for the first time. And not only was he back in the city, but he would once again be patrolling centerfield in the Polo Grounds, which was the former home of the Giants. The Polo Grounds was being used by New York’s new team, the Mets, for two seasons while they waited for their own stadium to be built.
Mays had burnished his legend at the Polo Grounds, winning baseball’s MVP award in 1954 and making perhaps the most famous defensive play in baseball history there, with his seemingly no-look, over-the-shoulder catch in the 1954 World Series on a ball hit by Vic Wertz into the stadium’s unusually deep centerfield.
Here’s how LIFE reported on Mays’ return in its June 15, 1962 issue:
“It’s a good feeling,” said Willie Mays, the great centerfielder, coming back to play again in the Polo Grounds. He had been an institution there before the Giants moved from New York to San Francisco almost five years ago. Now the fans came out to cheer both for him and their new home team, the Mets. Doffing his cap, Willie went to work; 3 homers, 6 hits, 6 RBIs in four games, all won by the Giants.
That paragraph, and one photo of Mays acknowledging the fans, was the extent of LIFE’s coverage in the magazine. But the full set of images by Arthur Rickerby is a treasure trove, capturing the spirit of Mays’ return, and occasionally using panoramic photography to do so. This was a moment of appreciation for a beloved figure who was not just one of the game’s all-time greats but who would famously played stickball with the local kids in the streets of Harlem. And Mays was no oldies’ act in 1962. He was still in his prime—three years later, in 1965, he would win his second MVP award.
And while today the returns of sports stars to play their old arenas and stadiums can stir up mixed feelings—in this era of free agency and trade demands, the top players usually leave because they want to—there was none of that here. Willie Mays didn’t leave so much as he was carried away. Thus could fans come to the park with signs that read “Bring Willie Back” and “Mays for Governor” and show nothing but unabashed affection for a returning hero.
Willie Mays left the visitor’s clubhouse to take the field at the Polo Grounds as he returned to his former home stadium to take on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Fans welcomed Willie Mays in his return to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Fans welcomed Willie Mays in his return to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays of the San Francisco Giants returned to the Polo Grounds, his former home field, to face the Mets in 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
GIANTS RETURN TO POLO GROUNDS
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays of the San Francisco Giants returned to the Polo Grounds, his former home field, to face the Mets in 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays spoke with a New York Mets player during Mays’ return to the Polo Grounds as a member of the San Francisco Giants, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Mets manager Casey Stengel during the Giants-Mets series that brought Willie Mays back to the Polo Grounds for the first time, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays returned to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays returned to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays returned to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays returned to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays returned to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays returned to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays returned to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays returned to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Fans welcomed Willie Mays in his return to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Fans welcomed Willie Mays in his return to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays returned to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
Willie Mays returned to the Polo Grounds for the first time as the San Francisco Giants took on the New York Mets, 1962.
Arthur Rickerby/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
