Visiting the Studio Lots of Early Hollywood

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In 1938 Hollywood was still in its infancy. While cinema had long evolved from the point where most movies were simply filmed plays, the industry was just beginning to demonstrate what movies could do as a distinct art form.

A LIFE magazine story titled “Sound Stages of Hollywood Hum with Work on Movies for 1938” took a broad look at the state of the movie industry. One sign of how young cinema was is that LIFE began its article by explaining how sound stages had become necessary with the demise of the silent film era.

Sound stages…cover all the Hollywood movie lots. Ever since the advent of sound drove the movies indoors, these huge, sound-proof buildings have been the factories of the cinema industry. Covering more than an acre of ground, each stage is so big that within its walls can be re-enacted the sinking of the Titanic or Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow.

The theme that LIFE hammered in its story was the rise of big-budget pictures, which the magazine referred to as “million-dollar epics.” A million dollars is a lot, but also not that much for a movie budget, even taking inflation into account. For point of reference, a million dollars back then would be the equivalent of about $23 million in 2026. The most expensive blockbusters of today—such as the newer entries in the Star Wars and Jurassic Park franchises—cost around $500 million.

LIFE, perhaps sensing what the future would be, looked at this culture with disdain.

Hollywood’s most successful studios are headed by producing “geniuses” with a fondness for sending expeditions to the South Seas for “atmosphere” and junking $100,000 worth of film to shoot it in color. Surrounding them are equally temperamental directors, writers and actors. The only reason the movies ever get made at all is that beneath the batteries of geniuses are amazingly smooth-working studios.

While the text of the story had its snarky moments, the photographs by Margaret Bourke-White looked more lovingly at the magic of movie making. Her images include movie sets recreating lavish ballrooms or the streets of San Francisco circa 1859, and also showed appreciation to the prop master who kept a vast collection of smoking pipes to give directors plenty to choose from.

Bourke-White also took several photos from the set of the movie The Big Broadcast of 1938, which may be of interest to modern movie fans because of the way its ship models and lifeboats and icebergs call to mind one of the most extravagant and successful productions in the history of film—James Cameron’s 1997 movie Titanic.

The Big Broadcast of 1938 was the last in a series of variety show anthologies, and this edition featured a story about a race between two big boats, the Colossal and the Gigantic—two names which obviously reference the ship Titanic.

To compare The Big Broadcast of 1938 to the vast enterprise behind of the making of James Cameron’s movie is to appreciate how far cinema has evolved. And this isn’t a knock on the prop department’s work on The Big Business of 1938. Rather, it’s a recognition of what happens when one generation after another tries top those that came before—no matter what the cost.

The Warner Bros Studio lot in Burbank, California, 1938.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

On the Paramount Studios lot Ernst Lubitsch, with cigar in his mouth, directed Gary Cooper and Claudette Colbert in the 1938 romantic comedy “Bluebeard’s Eight Wife.”

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A movie set of the Paramount Studios lot, 1938.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

On the set of a movie at Paramount Studios, 1938.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

This prop was being built for the musical comedy “The Big Broadcast of 1938” from Paramount Studios.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

This prop was being built for the musical comedy “The Big Broadcast of 1938” from Paramount Studios.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

On the set of the movie “The Big Broadcast of 1938” from Paramount Studios.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstuck

A set for the oceanbound musical comedy “The Big Business of 1938” at Paramount Studios.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

This iceberg prop was built for use in the Paramount Studios musical comedy “The Big Business of 1938.”

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Paramound prop master Charles J. Mccormick posed with a prop mosquito on his hand that he controlled with a hair held in his other hand; the mosquito was made for the 1937 comedy “Thrill of a Lifetime.”

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Paramount Studios prop room included a wide selection of pipes, 1938.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

This breakaway stick in the Paramount Studios prop department was held together with toothpicks and designed to break away on contact, 1938.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Prop man R.B. Berscheid at work at Warner Bros. studio, 1938.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Prop champagne bottles on the lot at Warner Bros., 1938.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

This puppet of actress Martha Raye was built for a publicity gag and then kept hanging around the Paramount props department, 1938.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

This prop street on the Paramount Ranch, 30 miles from Hollywood, was meant to replicate San Francisco circa 1859 for the 1937 movie “Wells Fargo.”

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A set on the Paramount Studios ranch, 30 minutes north of Hollywood, 1938.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The World Before Wireless, As Photographed By Margaret Bourke-White

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Margaret Bourke-White, one of the original four staff photographers hired at LIFE magazine when it began publishing in 1936, had a talent for making beautiful pictures from industrial processes. See her photo essay on a Canadian paper mill for one such example.

For LIFE’s July 17, 1939 issue Bourke-White documented another industry: the telephone business. This was back in the day when the ability to talk to anyone anywhere by dialing some numbers wasn’t yet taken for granted.

“Even in this age, when mechanical marvels become a dime a dozen, the telephone remains a marvelous mechanical instrument,” LIFE wrote in its story. “…When you finally hear the ring which announces that you are connected to your number, 882 separate and distinct operations have been started and completed, all in 11 seconds.”

Of course nowadays an 11-second-wait to connect a call sounds like an eternity. And the rotary phones that this story heralded are now all but obsolete. But back then it was the new wave of technological advancement. LIFE wrote that almost half the 20,000,000 U.S. telephones were dial-operated and predicted, “Eventually almost all of them will be dial instruments.”

The New York Telephone Company, which was a local subsidiary of AT&T at the time, gave Bourke-White behind-the-scenes access for an essay which includes many images that are delightfully anachronistic to the modern viewer. One shows human telephone operators surrounded by phone books that were used to answer calls to Information. Another image shows operators on the international desk manually plugging wires into specific holes in order to complete overseas calls. Another shows a board with tiny meters that tracked usage for individual phone bills.

Bourke-White also documented the mechanics of how a call was made. In LIFE’s original story the photos were part of a sequence which, combined with interpretive illustrations, documented the Rube Goldberg-type chain of events required to connect callers. Bourke-White, as she always did, found beauty in the details.

Today’s world of digital calling is undoubtedly more efficient. These photos are a record of a technological system that was wondrous for decades, but has long since been relegated to the scrap heap.

Operators routed international calls at a switchboard in New York City, 1939.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Telephone operators consulted reference books in the course of answering calls to “Information,” 1939. Nationally, information operators fielded two million calls a day.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

These international directories were kept nearby as a resource for AT&T phone operators connecting overseas calls, 1939.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

As part of their training, novice telephone operators spoke into a voice mirror—a recording device which played the voice right back—so that they could hear if they were speaking clearly enough, 1939.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

An operator worked an AT&T telephone switchboard in New York City, 1939.

Margaret Bourke-White/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

In 1939 this voice-scrambling technology helped AT&T protect the privacy of overseas calls from ham radio operators.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

For a 1939 story on how telephone calls worked, this photo showed part of a huge distributing frame studded with terminal stripes into which each telephone was directly connected to its individual terminal point at the New York Telephone Co. office.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

In a 1939 story that explained the details of how a phone call was made, the dials in this picture show a call going to 245-4400, which was the phone number of the LIFE magazine offices.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

These mechanisms made the ringing noise in a dial-up telephone, 1939.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

These meters registered calls and determined a user’s monthly phone bill, 1939.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A telephone repair man worked on a network of cables that ran beneath the New York City streets for the New York Telephone Co., 1939.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

New York Telephone Co. lineman Wallace Burdick made repairs on telephone lines between Vallhalla and Brewster, 1939.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

This Was No Woodstock: Inside a Music Festival Disaster

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The Woodstock music festival was one of the signature moments the 1960s. Site owner Max Yasgur, a farmer and the concert site owner, memorably declared that the gathering proved that “a half a million young people can get together and have three days of fun and music and have nothing but fun and music.”

Woodstock’s success naturally inspired imitators, but the magic was hard to recapture. The Altamont concert later that year famously turned deadly when a member of Hell’s Angels, who had been hired for security, stabbed an audience member near the stage as the Rolling Stones performed.

Another music festival, the Celebration of Life in June 1971, is not as well-remembered as Altamont, but it was such a disaster that it helped put an end to the music festivals for a while.

The Celebration of Life had to change locations three times due to local resistance before finding a last-minute home on a remote tract of land in McCrea, Louisiana, about 60 miles north of Baton Rouge. The festival was scheduled for eight days but started late and shut down halfway through, with the IRS placing a tax lien that froze the organizers’ bank accounts. Performers who did get on the stage included Chuck Berry, the Stephen Stills Band, and Ike & Tina Turner. But others who had been promoted on the bill but never made the stage included Pink Floyd, the Beach Boys, the Allman Brothers and Miles Davis.

Most tragically, multiple attendees drowned in a river that bordered the festival site while seeking refuge from Louisiana’s summer heat.

Here’s what LIFE magazine wrote about the event, in a story headlined “Perhaps the last of the rock festival fiascos“:

Even before it opened, last week’s rock festival in McCrea, La., was a disaster. The stage collapsed while it was under construction, and when it was fixed, the sound system failed. Most of the previously advertised talent didn’t show up, food was overpriced, water was scarce, and sanitation facilities inadequate. The temperature soared over 100 degrees. Within four days there had been five deaths—four drownings and a drug overdose—and what the crowd wanted most was to go home.

While some later reports lowered the number of confirmed deaths to two, this was a brutal event by any accounting.

LIFE staff photographer Bill Ray appears to have arrived in McCrea after the music stopped, but he captured some of the aftermath of the Celebration of Life, including concertgoers, many of them nude, trying to cool down in the river. Ray also took many shots of people looking to hitch a ride home, holding up signs requesting transport to such locations as Virginia, Miami and New Mexico—a testament to how far people had traveled to get there. The happiest images he shot were of people who had been picked up and were on their way home.

In 2013 a 32-minute documentary called McCrea 1971 reviewed what went wrong with Celebration of Life, and the problems began with its hasty setup. In one historic clip a promoter said, “It takes about a month to set up a festival, but we’ll try to do it in about three days.” A local who attended the festival talked about the folly of festival goers swimming in a river that people from the area knew to be a “death trap.” He said, “I know of no one I have ever met who would willingly get in and swim in the Atchafalaya River.”

In 2018 Rolling Stone magazine ran its own retrospective on the Celebration of Life and talked about how out of hand things got. Because of the heat performances that were originally planned to start during the day shifted to the overnight, leaving attendees with nothing to do all day. Makeshift boulevards called “Smack Street” and “Cocaine Alley” cropped up on the festival site. Stunningly, given what happened at Altamont, festival organizers hired the Galloping Goose Motorcycle Club for security and its members reportedly became abusive with attendees.

LIFE magazine’s wish that music festivals go away for a while came to fruition. And while festivals have made a major comeback in recent years, they now look very different, with stronger organizations behind them. Some complain about how corporate they have become, with special bleachers for VIPs and so on. However you feel about that, it’s worth remembering that a more loosely organized gathering can come with its own hazards—sometimes big ones.

The ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival, after several late location changes, took place in McCrea, Louisiana, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers sought relief from the sweltering heat at the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers sought relief from the sweltering heat at the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrea, Louisiana, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers looked for rides home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrea, Louisiana, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers looked for rides home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers looked for rides home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers looked for rides home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers looked for rides home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers looked for rides home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers looked for rides home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers looked for rides home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers looked for rides home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers caught a ride home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Concertgoers caught a ride home after the ill-fated Celebration of Life music festival in McCrae, Louisiana was cut short, 1971.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Original ‘Thomas Crown Affair’: Talk About A Steamy Set

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In 2027 Michael B. Jordan will direct and star in the second remake of the 1968 movie The Thomas Crown Affair. The story is about a wealthy thief who pulls daring heists, and the romance that develops between him and a female investigator. Jordan, who won an Academy Award in 2026 for his performance in Sinners, has been wanting to play Thomas Crown since 2016.

LIFE staff photographer Bill Ray was on the set of the original movie, and he captured the chemistry that Jordan will be aspiring to equal.

The first movie starred Steve McQueen, an iconic actor who is the subject of the three best-selling images in the LIFE photo store. His opposite number in their cat-and-mouse pursuit was Faye Dunaway, who was coming off a star-making performance in Bonnie and Clyde. McQueen and Dunaway’s scene together in a sauna was the centerpiece of Bill Ray’s photo shoot.

But while the actors were prominent in the photos that ran in LIFE, the star of the accompanying article was director Norman Jewison, who was a hot property at the time because his previous movie, In the Heat of the Night, had just won the Academy Award for Best Picture.

Jewison was in his first decade of what would be a long Hollywood career that included such films as Moonstruck (1987) and The Hurricane (1999). LIFE honored Jewison’s prowess with an article formatted as if it were the script for a documentary about him.

For instance, the article included in its “dialogue” this quote from Jewison as he was in the process of directing Dunaway and McQueen in one of the movie’s steamier scenes:

The script calls for “chess with sex.” I like that…Faye, you are playing chess, but there is another game going on. Without thinking, your right hand goes up your left arm, lightly caressing, to your throat…Steve, let’s see your eyes follow her hand…You’re up to the shoulder, across to the neck. She looks up and catches you watching. (Jewison laughs). Good. You’re embarrassed. You smile and look down. Great!

The stars of the movie had relatively few lines in the LIFE story. Dunaway said of Jewison, “He’s the only man I’ve ever known who has no hostility in him. He’s all love.” McQueen, complaining about how long Jewison kept him on set in pursuit of a scene, said “I hate him, but I love him.”

Michael B. Jordan talked about his Crown remake at CinemaCon in April 2026. Jordan, who will be co-starring with Adria Arjona, said that he initially fell in love with the story from the 1999 version that starred Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo. But he had also studied the original and said, “McQueen brought this effortless cool, this rebellious edge. He didn’t just steal. He made a statement.”

Faye Dunaway (seated) and director Norman Frederick Jewison on the set of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair,’ 1967.

Bill Ray/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway during the filming of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’, 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen on the set of`The Thomas Crown Affair,’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Faye Dunaway;Norman Jewison;Steve Mcqueen

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Director Norman Frederick Jewison (left) with actors Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway during the filming of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Norman Jewison directed Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway in the 1967 crime caper ‘The Thomas Crown Affair,’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen on the set of`The Thomas Crown Affair,’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen on the set of`The Thomas Crown Affair,’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen on the set of`The Thomas Crown Affair,’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen on the set of`The Thomas Crown Affair,’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen on the set of`The Thomas Crown Affair,’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Director Norman Frederick Jewison (left) with actors Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway during the filming of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Director Norman Frederick Jewison (left) with actors Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway during the filming of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Director Norman Frederick Jewison (left) with actors Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway during the filming of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Director Norman Frederick Jewison (left) with actors Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway during the filming of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Director Norman Frederick Jewison (left) with actors Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway during the filming of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Director Norman Frederick Jewison (left) with actors Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway during the filming of ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ 1967.

Bill Ray/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Life of A Salesman

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Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman came out in 1949. The play was about a common man, Willy Loman, lost in the American dream, and its exhortation was that “attention must be paid” to such a person.

Among those who heeded the call was Cornell Capa, staff photographer for LIFE magazine. He produced a photo essay about a real-life salesman, Robert Brooks, as he went on a four-week tour through the Midwest, peddling a line of umbrellas for L.P. Henryson Inc. of New York.

Brooks’s circumstances weren’t completely identical to those of Miller’s protagonist. Willy’s sons were fully grown, for example, while Brooks’ daughter was not yet two years old. But they were both salesmen, and Capa’s story documented the stresses of a job, including the pressure of living on commissions and the isolation of life on the road.

Brooks’ tour that took him from his home in Long Island, N.Y., out to Cincinnati, Indianapolis, St. Louis, Chicago and Detroit. He traveled by train, and made this tour four times a year. LIFE said that Brooks was doing better than most of the three million “outdoor salesmen” working in America back then. But still, he had to front his own expenses and only earned money from completed sales. That year he faced a difficult marketplace in which shoppers were looking to economize. A buyer in Cincinnati rejected all Brooks’ higher-priced umbrellas, asking “What have you got, honey, that I can sell at $4.98?”

Brooks’ job also took an emotional toll. As LIFE put it, “Wherever he goes, he takes his loneliness with him.” When Brooks arrived in his Chicago hotel and found three letters from his wife waiting at the front desk, he went to his room and ripped open the letters before even taking off his raincoat. While he did find some camaraderie during his travels, either from fellow salespeople or visits with old friends, LIFE said “Brooks gets homesick as soon as he hits the road.”

Toward the end of the trip, Capa photographed Brooks standing outside a theater showing the movie Dead Man’s Gold, a negligible Western starring Lash La Rue. Brooks had already seen all of Hollywood’s major releases during his trip, so this was how he looked to pass the evening.

For the trip Brooks netted $2,600 (or about $35,000 in today’s money). LIFE assured its readers that this payday was not as good as it sounded, in part because of the uncertain nature of his profession: “Before making another trip he must wait (meanwhile living on the proceeds of the last one) until the market has renewed itself. And next time he may find the buyers so far up off their knees that they will ask “What have you got, honey, that I can sell for 98 cents?”

Traveling salesman Robert Brooks says goodbye to his wife Carol before headed out on the road for four weeks to sell umbrellas, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Robert Brooks says goodbye to his 19-month-old daughter Liza before headed out for a four-week sales trip, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

On the first stop of his four-week sales trip across the Midwest, Robert Brooks promoted his line of umbrellas to buyers in Cincinnati, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

In Indianapolis traveling umbrella salesman Robert Brooks waiting a half hour to be seen by a buyer during a four-week tour of the Midwest, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

During a four-week sales tour traveling umbrella salesman Robert Brooks visited with a friend in Indianapolis he knew from service in World War II, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Traveling umbrella salesman Robert Brooks slept on the train as he rides from Indianapolis to St. Louis as part of a four-week tour, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Umbrella sales Robert Brooks, on the St. Louis stop of a four-week road trip across the Midwest, checked out a model being offered by his competition.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Traveling salesman Robert Brooks, worn out and bored during a four-week tour of the Midwest, arrived at the St. Louis train station, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Traveling salesman Robert Brooks had cocktails with a department store buyer in St. Louis during a four-week sales tour of the Midwest, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Umbrella salesman Robert Brooks went to bed surrounded by samples during the St. Louis stop of a four-week road trip through the Midwest, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Alone in the club car of a train going from St. Louis to Chicago, traveling umbrella salesman Robert Brooks showed weariness during his four-week tour of the Midwest, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Traveling umbrella salesmen Robert Brooks didn’t wait to take off his coat before reading three letters from his wife that were waiting for him when he arrived at his hotel in Chicago as part of a four-week sales tour, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Traveling salesman Robert Brooks made one of a series of sales calls with buyers during his four-week tour of the Midwest, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Traveling salesman Robert Brooks found company with other traveling salespeople during a stop in Chicago on his four-week tour of the Midwest, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Robert Brooks, in the latter stages of a four-week sales trip, looked for entertainment on a dull night in Detroit; turning to lower grade cinema because on his trip he has already seen all the major releases, 1949.

Cornell Capa/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Bourke-White’s Images of the Northwest Territories, 1937

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The archetype of the LIFE photographer was a combination of artist and adventurer. That ideal was celebrated in the form of Sean Penn’s character in the 2013 film The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, but in real life no one embodied it better than Margaret Bourke-White.

Bourke-White was one of the magazine’s original four staff photographers, and her adventurous spirit was on display in LIFE’s Oct. 25, 1937 issue, which featured two related stories from her. The first, which began on page 40, was headlined “A 10,000-Mile Tour of Canada’s Northwest with Lord Tweedsmuir.” She had traveled along with Canada’s governor general as he visited remote communities in the Northwest Territories.

Bourke-White’s second story in that issue, which began on page 119, was also set in Canada’s Northwest Territories, but in that one the photographer briefly became a subject. She was on a separate tour with Archibald Fleming, the Anglican Church’s first-ever Bishop of the Arctic, when their small plane encountered heavy fog and had to make an unplanned landing in an unpopulated location. Bourke-White was the lone woman in the traveling party of five, and she pitched in to gather driftwood to build a fire while they waited who-knows-how-long for the fog to clear. That was typical of the hardiness she demonstrated throughout her career.

Bourke-White’s willingness to go the distance in the Northwest Territories resulted in an intimate portrait of the lives of indigenous people in one of the most remote locations in North America. Her photo essays in that 1937 issue, which include shots of Inuit people at their homes and at a Hudson’s Bay Company trading post, document an ancient culture being touched by outside forces, and are the reason LIFE photographers like her were always up for a journey, no matter how arduous.

LIFE photographer Margaret Bourke-White gathered driftwood for a fire after her plane made a forced landing due to fog in the Canadian Arctic, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

After a forced landing due to fog in the Canadian Arctic, members of the traveling party of Archbishop Archibald Fleming studied maps to determine their whereabouts, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Rev. Archibald Fleming served as the Anglican Church’s first-ever Archbishop of the Arctic, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Inuit people arrived by boat to meet the plane of Rev. Archibald Fleming, Anglican Bishop of the Arctic, in the Northwest Territories, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Inuit people greeted Rev. Archibald Fleming, Anglican Bishop of the Arctic, after his landing in the Northwest Territories, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A priest played during vespers in the Church of St. Theresa, Fort Norman, Northwest Territories, Canada, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

An aerial view of Aklavik, a town on the Mackenzie River delta in the Northwest Territories of Canada, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Canada’s governor general, Lord Tweedsmuir, looked at a map of his domain made of moosehide and embroidered with silk that was given to him by the townsfolk of Fort Simpson in the Northwest Territories, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

In Kugluktuk (then known as Coppermine) people gathered outside the Hudson’s Bay Company trading post, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

An Inuit person traded wolverine fur for flour, baking soda, tallow, butter, jam and tobacco at the Hudson’s Bay Company store in Kugluktuk (then known as Coppermine) in the Northwest Territories, 1947.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Furs at the Hudson’s Bay store in the Northwest Territories, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

White fox pelts at the Hudson’s Bay Company store in the Northwest Territories, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Inuit children at the Sacred Heart school in the tiny town of Fort Providence in the Northwest Territories awaited a visit from Canada’s governor general and the chance to perform a dance they had spent months rehearsing, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The sisters of the Sacred Heart School harmonized along with an organ in Fort Providence, Northwest Territories, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

This Inuit family enjoyed such modern conveniences as a victrola, a sewing machine, and a coal-burning stove in their tent, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Portrait of an Inuit mother and her child in Kugluktuk (then known as Coppermine), Northwest Territories, Canada, 1937.

.Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

An unidentified Inuit couple in Kugluktuk (then known as Coppermine), Northwest Territories, Canada, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

An Inuit mother tended to her child in Canada’s Northwest Territories, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A scene from Inuit life in Canada’s Northwest Territories, 1937.

Margaret Bourke-White/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

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