When the corn is ripe, it’s time to get busy. They know that well in Nebraska, where people have been harvesting corn for centuries, long before the state ever had its name. Today Nebraska produces the third-most corn of any state in the country (behind Iowa and Illinois), and that is a significant status in a country that produces far more corn than any other on earth. In 1944 LIFE photographer Wallace Kirkland documented what it looked like when a small Nebraska town went to harvest, and he had his camera was trained on more than the fields. He showed a downtown closed during the peak of the harvest, and people hitching rides out to the fields to partake in a community event. This collection of photos, which never ran in the magazine, tell a story of how corn was not just an engine of the economy but also a cornerstone of a culture.
Frank L. Baum’s book, published in 1900, was a smash, generating scores of sequels and a traveling show. In 1910 the first movie version of the story appeared, and another in 1925. Stage adaptations have included The Wiz, a black-cast Broadway musical, filmed in 1978 with Diana Ross as Dorothy, and Wicked, a revisionist tribute to the Wicked Witch of the West that has been enthralling audiences for a decade.
Yet when most people hear The Wizard of Oz, their minds and hearts leap directly to the 1939 MGM film starring Judy Garland. Multiple generations, from toddler to centenarian, know the film’s dialogue by heart. “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore;” “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog too;” and “There’s no place like home” were all included on the American Film Institute’s list of Top 100 movie quotes. Harold Arlen and E.Y. (Yip) Harburg’s songs have permanently nestled in every fan’s internal juke box. We all sing “Over the Rainbow” to ourselves, but also: In England, when former prime minister Margaret Thatcher died in April 2013, her political detractors waged a campaign to propel “Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead” to No. 2 on the British music charts.
In its day The Wizard of Oz was nominated for six Academy Awards, winning two, for Original Score and Original Song (yes, “Over the Rainbow.”) But what film needs Oscars when its award shelf keeps filling decades after its original release. For instance: a People magazine poll of the century’s favorite movies rated The Wizard of Oz as No. 1, tied with The Godfather.
Dorothy may never escape Kansas, but moviegoers can always return to Oz. Of all the estimable movies from Hollywood’s Golden Age, it is the one that has never gone out of fashion. Modern viewers, whose main complaints about old movies are that they are too dark and too slow, needn’t adjust their eyes and clocks to The Wizard of Oz. Once Dorothy alights in Munchkinland, the film bursts into riotous color and zips along like a Pixar cartoon epic—but with the very best songs. Timeless then, it is timeless now. Ask yourself: Who isn’t eager, at any moment, to soar with Dorothy over the rainbow and into the merry land of Oz. —from an essay by Richard Corliss. in LIFE’s special edition on The Wizard of Oz
Cover image from MGM/Photofest
LIFE’s special issue on The Wizard of Oz takes a long walk down the yellow brick road, with inside stories about the making the casting and making of an iconic movie, the magical film year of 1939, and the many other adaptations of Frank L. Baum’s beloved book, including the not-so-beloved 1925 film shown below.
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One of the earlier screen adaptations of Frank L. Baum’s book was this 1925 silent version in which Larry Semon (above right) directed, wrote and played the role of the Scarecrow— and gave himself top billing over both Dorothy (left, played by Dorothy Dwan) and Oliver Hardy’s Tin Man. The film, with its silly slapstick and racial stereotyping, is unwatchable today, and it left plenty of room for someone else to make a better version.
Hulton/Shutterstock
The music is of course as invaluable to the appeal of the Wizard of Oz as any other element, with “Over the Rainbow” being an undisputed high point of American cinematic song. Here Bert Lahr ((far right), Ray Bolger (back row, right), Judy Garland (1922—1969) (sitting, right), composer Harold Arlen (1905—1986) (sitting left), and various MGM and music publishing executives sing songs from the film in the NBC radio studio.
MGM/Kobal/Shutterstock
While it is now impossible to imagine any other actors in the film’s iconic roles, the casting process had its twists and turns. For instance, the movie began shooting with Buddy Ebsen playing the Tin Man, but he had to be replaced after he was hospitalized for two weeks because a severe allergic reaction to the aluminum dust in the Tin Man’s makeup. While Ebsen recovered and earned enduring fame as Jed Clampett on TV’s The Beverly Hillbillies, Jack Haley took over as the Tin Man. The role of the Wicked Witch of the West was originally offered to Gale Sondergaard (above). But Sondergaard, who won an Oscar for her film debut performance in 1936’s Anthony Adverse, backed out after she saw herself in the makeup, fearing that the hideousness would derail her career. Sondergaard’s did earn another Oscar nomination for Anna and The King of Siam in 1946. Meanwhile, Margaret Hamilton donned the black pointed hat and green makeup, and she rode that broomstick to pop-culture immortality.
MGM/Kobal/Shutterstock
Other casting options included W.C. Fields, who was offered the role of The Wizard but asked for too much money, so MGM turned to contract player Frank Morgan. For Dorothy, some at MGM preferred Shirley Temple to Judy Garland. Ray Bolger was an original candidate for the Tin Man, but asked to be switched to the Scarecrow, stating, “I’m not a tin performer, I’m fluid.” Right he was. The Lion endured no uncertainty: that was Bert Lahr, then and forever.
MGM/Kobal/Shutterstock
MGM/Kobal/Shutterstock
MGM/Kobal/Shutterstock
The movie’s opening scenes took place in black-and-white, but before long Dorothy went over the rainbow into the technicolor dazzle—the yellow brick road, the ruby red slippers, the ghastly green face of the Wicked Witch of the West.
MGM/Kobal/Shutterstock
Once in Oz, it was time for Dorothy to get her team together. For Garland, Jack Haley was a familiar face, as they had both appeared in the 1936 movie Pigskin Parade. The Tin Man makeup that felled Ebsen did cause Haley an eye infection that sidelined him for part of the shoot. Years later, when it was suggested that playing the Tin Man must have been great fun, Haley responded “Like hell it was. It was hard work.”
Silver Screen Collection/Shutterstock
At the Emerald City, Dorothy and friends encounter the Gatekeeper, one of the many roles played by Frank Morgan. The MGM contract player was also the coachman in the carriage drawn by the horse of a different color and the guard at the entrance to the Wizard’s hall, and well as Professor Marvel in the Kansas scenes of course the Wizard himself.
The Grateful Dead burst onto the ’60s scene with a simple, blunt appeal suited to its time: trippy, danceable and intricately melodic music soaked in the peace and love ethos. That was plenty to get people on the bus. Yet it’s the details and idiosyncrasies, namely, what songs from its rich and alluring catalog did the Dead unfurl when, where and how (and in what order!) that has helped sustain the band’s extraordinary survival—for 30 years until the death of Jerry Garcia in 1995, and now for a brimming, quarter-century afterlife. The Dead’s primary offspring band, Dead & Company, had 19 dates on its Summer of 2019 tour and recordings of the Grateful Dead’s roughly 2,300 live performances are still listened to voraciously. The Dead have a dedicated station on satellite radio, a medium indulged largely by affluent suburbanites. If you saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac in the 1980s, you might see one on a Tesla today.
It wasn’t just that the Dead, and the Dead pretty much alone, let fans record their concerts. The fact that they let you plug straight into the soundboard, or point a microphone from the crowd, front row, last row, anywhere in between, meant that you could, within limitations, make your own mix: A little more Jerry here, a little less drums there. How much Weir? How much Phil? Even for the vast majority of Deadheads who weren’t taping, the message was clear: We are giving you this music, this experience, it’s yours.
That each night was unique, that you could attend 50 shows in a year or, more modestly, a few consecutive shows in the week the Dead swung through, and never see the same set, never hear the same song executed in the same way, was not a protracted stunt. It was the thing itself. Every night, the unexpected. At their peak the Grateful Dead played more than 125 gigs a year. Playing more than 80 in a year was common to the end. The band did 47 shows in their rickety final six months, the last performance exactly 30 days before Garcia, doomed by heroin addiction, died at 53—his life cut short, his legacy undimmed.
According to setlist.fm the Grateful Dead incorporated more than 520 songs, both originals and covers, into their live shows over the year. The cover song they played most often was Not Fade Away, a rendition of the 1950s Buddy Holly song. The Dead would close their second set with it sometimes and in the later stages of the band’s run that set-closer served as a cue: After the Dead walked off and the house lights dimmed, the audience would keep singing the song’s chorus, “You know our love will not fade away.” Then the five rhythmic claps, and then again “You know our love will not fade away.” The crowd would do this for minutes on end, over and over, however long it took until Jerry and Bob and Phil and the rest of the Grateful Dead came back out to play a few more.
These photos, from the special issue below, document the journey of a band that has meant so much to so many.
A new special edition from LIFE
Cover image by Herb Greene.
The Grateful Dead, in 1965, began performing under the name The Warlocks.
Photo by Paul Ryan/Michael Ochs Archives/Shutterstock.
Jerry Garcia and band manager Rock Scully (left), spoke to author Tom Wolfe (right) at the corner of Haight and Ashbury.
Image by Ted Streshinsky/Corbis.
Promoter Bill Graham stood in front of the marquee for the final shows at Winterland with the Grateful Dead and the Blues Brothers in San Francisco on New Year’s Eve 1978. Photo by Ed Perlstein/Redferns/Shutterstock.
In their home in San Francisco in 1967, band members protested to reporters that they have been unjustly arrested for marijuana possession.
(AP Photo)
Jerry Garcia, folk singer Joan Baez, and Mickey Hart shared a laugh at his home in San Rafael, Calif.
Image by Roger Ressmeyer/CORBIS
Suzanne Vega performed with the Grateful Dead at Madison Square Garden in New York City during a rainforest benefit in 1988.
Photo by Ebet Roberts/Redferns
Two fans cried at a shrine at the entrance to Serenity Knolls, the Marin County, Calif., rehab center where Jerry Garcia died in his sleep on August 9, 1995.
(Photo by Misha Erwitt/NY Daily News Archive via Shutterstock)
Jeff Cimenti, Phil Lesh, Joe Russo, Bob Weir and John Kadlecik carried on the legacy of the Grateful Dead as they performed at 2010 Further Festival on May 30, 2010 in Angels Camp, Calif.
Photo by Jeff Kravitz/FilmMagic.
Celebrating the band’s 50th anniversary, the surviving members of the Grateful Dead played at Soldiers Field in Chicago in 2015 to conclude their Fare Thee Well tour.
(Photo by Brooks Kraft LLC/Corbis via Shutterstock)
Even you’re in Miami, It doesn’t get much cooler than an evening with Frank Sinatra. In 1965 LIFE photographer John Dominis went behind the scenes as Sinatra enjoyed a two week residency at the Eden Roc Hotel, and he captured the spirit of an entertainer who had ascended to icon status but still had a boyish spirit. On stage he could sing deeply felt tales of love and loss, and at a party in his hotel room he could try to tear away the table cloth without upsetting over any of the dishes.
Photo by John Dominis
Sinatra had of course come to the Eden Roc hotel for work, and at night he would fly audiences to the moon with his trademark song stylings.
Photo by John Dominis
What came next? Some nights doing it Frank’s way meant a run to the hot dog stand in a tuxedo, with fellow crooner Tony Bennett (above, right) there for company. Then maybe back to the hotel for a game of darts (below).The man in the bathrobe is Joe E. Lewis, the comedian who was performing with Sinatra.
Photo by John Dominis
Photo by John Dominis
Above, Sinatra set up for his attempt to execute the table cloth gag. His technique appears fundamentally sound. Do not try this at home, but if you do, one of the keys to the trick is to make sure the far end of the tablecloth isn’t draping over the table. If the table cloth has to go up before it goes over, the pullaway will be too uneven. So it helps that Sinatra begins with the tablecloth already pulled back some. You also want the dishes to have some weight to them, because inertia is the principle that makes this stunt work. The heavier the object, the more it will resist motion. On Sinatra’s table, for example, it’s helpful that the ketchup bottle is nearly full.
Photo by John Dominis
Said the photographer, John Dominis, “I’d never seen that trick really done. It worked. I was amazed. He didn’t spill any dishes on the floor.”
Photo by John Dominis
While the table was a bit of a mess, Sinatra declared victory and flung that tablecloth with the flair of a man who was a master at playing to the audience.
Photo by John Dominis
Photo by John Dominis
Sinatra bodyguard Ed Pucci could make the cloth go flying too (above). Sinatra (below) was sent rolling on the floor in laughter from the clowning of Joe E. Lewis.
Below, Sinatra relaxed with a massage, tube socks and all. It was a new day, and another audience awaited.
Christian Dior was born on January 21, 1905, and had to wait until he was 42 years old to become an overnight sensation—as well as an international one. Dior had worked in the service of others for his first decade in fashion, but then on February 12, 1947, he debuted the first collection, and the echoes could be heard across the Atlantic, and in the pages of LIFE magazine. The story was headlined ” The House of Dior: New French Designer is Surprise Success at First Showing” and it breathlessly quoted an unnamed American as saying, “God help the buyers who bought before they saw this. It changes everything.”
That story praised Dior for recognizing that his job was to seduce. A year later the magazine did another major story on the designer, observing that he was surprisingly unassuming and polite. He commented, “I’m a mild man, but I have violent tastes.”
The photos below showcase Dior’s seductive designs during his electric decade at the top.
Photo by Pat English/The LIFE Images Collection via Shutterstock
Photo by Pat English/The LIFE Images Collection via Shutterstock
In 1957, ten years after his smashing debut, Christian Dior died of a heart attack. His funeral was a major event in Paris. The church held 2,000 mourners, who were assigned numbered seats as it they were at a fashion show, while another 7,000 stood outside. Among those at the funeral was Dior’s 20-year-old assistant, Yves Saint Laurent. Shown in a moment of solitary repose during the funeral, he succeeded his master and took over the House of Dior.
