While he was never Hollywood’s most iconic figure Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, James Cagney, Bette Davis and a half-dozen other actors and actresses can stake a more legitimate claim to that title no legend of the silver screen, male or female, was ever as engagingly enigmatic as James Dean. When he died on September 30, 1955, at just 24 years old, Dean had starred in only three films (two of which hadn’t even been released yet). But in those three movies East of Eden, Rebel Without a Cause and Giant he crafted a legacy as a sensitive, tortured outsider that has influenced generations of actors, musicians and artists around the globe.
Here, LIFE.com revisits a photograph that captures the essence of Dean’s enduring appeal. The picture, shot by Dennis Stock in early 1955, shows Dean walking alone in an eerily empty Times Square. It’s a lousy day. Wearing a long, wool coat, hunched against the chill, a cigarette loosely clamped in his lips, the actor is seen in mid-stride, stalking through the bleak Manhattan rain. At first glance, it might be a portrait of isolation, or even downright despair.
And yet . . . something in Dean’s expression lends a kind of quiet, mischievous elation to the scene. That he was not yet a star, much less a legend, when the photo was made is beside the point. In this picture, at this moment in his life, the Indiana native is a young, talented, blithely rebellious spirit in the big city, pursuing a dream.
He’s alive. He has his whole life ahead of him. Nothing can stop him.
Some World War II battlefields have been immortalized in histories, memoirs, novels and films that the names alone can conjure stark and stirring images for even the most casual history buff.
But how many of us recognize names like Sidi Bou Zid? El Guettar? Seden? Wadi Akarit? To a lesser or greater degree, these and other battles with now long-forgotten names also helped to determine the course and the outcome of the Second World War. That they were fought not in Europe or in the Pacific, but instead in the deserts and towns of North Africa, might come as something of a shock to people who never knew in the first place that Allied and Axis troops fought and fought for years in Libya, Tunisia, Algeria and other countries along the northern rim of the African continent.
Here, LIFE.com presents a series of photos—many of which never ran in LIFE magazine—made in Tunisia by photographer Eliot Elisofon in 1943, as the campaign was nearing its end. The number of dead, wounded and missing in North Africa didn’t come close to the millions lost in Europe and the Pacific during the war but neither side got off easy. Close to 100,000 troops were killed, the grim total split almost evenly between the Allies (British, American and Free French, for the most part) and Axis powers (Italian, German and Vichy French). Among the Allies, the British were the hardest hit, with more than 200,000 men killed, wounded, captured or missing.
In May 1943, LIFE noted to its readers:
The Allies’ final push caught the Germans completely off base. Thousands of German officers and soldiers were obliviously promenading the streets of Tunis when four British armored cars rolled into the city on May 7. When LIFE’s correspondent Will Lang entered Tunis’ Majestic Hotel to register for a room, German officers were still drinking at the bar.
Allied pressure never relaxed. Audacious columns streamed to the coast from all directions, cutting the enemy into hundreds of hopeless, helpless units. The disintegration was complete. German motorized elements simply decorated their vehicles with white flags and drove into the Allied lines. Gasped one British general: “These last three days have been fantastic, unbelievable. The Germans may have witnessed scenes of wholesale surrender like this, but we never have.”
After North Africa, Allied eyes in the Western hemisphere were trained on Europe: by July 1943 American, British and Canadian troops had landed in Sicily and had begun the long, brutal push toward Mussolini’s Rome, Nazi-held Paris and ultimately, two years later, Berlin.
A tank-artillery team stood on alert. Expers said this kind of unit—a 105mm. howitzer mounted on a half-track— was well-suited for ground warfare in Tunisia.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Camouflaged American artillery fired on German positions during Allied campaign in North Africa.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
American forces in Tunisia, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Soldiers covered a two and a half ton truck with netting after arriving at an ammo dump near the front.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Douglas A-20 intruders in formation, about to bomb an enemy position in Tunisia during the Allied campaign in North Africa, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Photographs and clipped contact-sheet images (uncharacteristically glued to paper) from Tunisia, 1943, from the LIFE archives.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Desert scene, World War II, Tunisia, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Three soldiers took refuge during a bombing attack.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
American soldiers charged into a wall of smoke during a raid on German positions at Sened in the North African campaign, Tunisia, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Bespattered with blood and oil after a strafing attack by nine Messerschmitts on first day of battle, a wounded half-track gunner vainly tried to swallow a sulfa tablet. The attending officer subsequently flushed it down his throat with water.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
A wounded German soldier was captured during the Battle of Sened, Tunisia, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
C-rations, Tunisia, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Photographs and clipped contact-sheet images (uncharacteristically glued to paper) from Tunisia.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
George S. Patton, then a lieutenant general, in North Africa during WWII, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
American troops, North Africa, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
American soldiers in North Africa during the Allied Tunisia Campaign, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Photographs and clipped contact-sheet images (uncharacteristically glued to paper) from Tunisia.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
A barbed wire enclosure held Axis prisoners taken during the Allied assault on German positions near Sened, Tunisia, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Italian prisoners playing cards, Tunisia, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
These Axis prisoners were taken during the Allied assault on German positions near Sened, Tunisia, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
A cactus-camouflaged half-track guarded an armored division command post in North Africa.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
An American M3 tank was disabled in Tunisia, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Airplane wreckage in the desert, Tunisia, 1943.
Eliot Elisofon/Life Pictures/Shutterstock
A shelled building behind an Italian gun position, Tunisia, 1943.
During National Cat Week in November 1952, Los Angeles hosted more than 300 felines and their owners from all over the country for America’s biggest cat show of the year. “One couple from Wyoming,” LIFE magazine informed its readers in an issue published a few weeks later, “arrived in grand style in a big green Cadillac with six highly pedigreed cats.”
Other exhibitors brought less aristocratic cats on the trolley [i.e., the now-defunct Los Angeles Railway streetcar system]. Many cages were festooned with ribbons and equipped with castles and thrones and with pans filled with an absorbet deodorizer called Kitty-Litter.
Competition was fierce, with both the cats and owners displaying tempers. The cats caterwauled, clawing at the judges and spitting at each other, while owners muttered charges of bias and politics. . . . Some of the cats were petulant because their owners starved them to make them look lean and svelte, and one judge stopped the show twice to urge exhibitors to feed their pets. “These poor kitties are hungry,” she said, “and we judges are not so stupid that we don’t know the difference between a fed cat and a fat cat.”
In the end, the best cat in show was a blue female longhair called Bentveld Rosemary, the pride of San Antonio, Texas. No word, alas, on the reception she received upon returning home. We can only assume it was commensurate with her achievement.
In the early 1950s, when Milton Gunzburg, a scriptwriter at MGM, and his brother Julian, a Beverly Hills ophthalmologist, developed a process that would allow moviegoers to watch the dominant entertainment medium of the age in what came to be called “3-D,” they figured Hollywood studios would leap at the chance to take advantage of their brainchild.
But movie studios, broadly speaking, are notoriously cautious creatures, and only one person—the remarkable and now largely forgotten screenwriter, director, producer and radio pioneer Arch Oboler—showed enough interest in the Gunzburg’s “Natural Vision” process to actually use the technology in one of his productions. When his 1952 movie, Bwana Devil, was released (a based-on-true-events story about man-eating lions written, produced and directed by Oboler himself), Natural Vision was a huge part of the promotional campaign.
“The World’s First Feature Length Motion Picture in Natural Vision 3-Dimension,” Bwana Devil posters proclaimed. The movie’s tagline, meanwhile, offered the striking, near-poetic promise of “A LION in your lap! A LOVER in your arms!”
The striking J.R. Eyerman photo above made during the Nov. 26, 1952, opening night screening of Bwana Devil at Hollywood’s Paramount Theater has been reproduced so many times, and is now so famous in its own right, that it’s difficult, today, to appreciate just how strange and enticing the idea of three-dimensional viewing really was.
As a seemingly surefire draw to get people in the seats, 3-D had been around since well before Oboler and the Gunzburgs unleashed it on the Paramount crowd. Stereoscopic pictures both the still and the moving variety had enthralled viewers for decades; but no one had taken the concept as far as Arch Oboler, producing and distributing a full-length 3-D feature film, in color, for a mass audience.
As visionary as Oboler’s effort might have been, the movie with which he introduced 3-D motion pictures to the world, while profitable, was destined to be remembered for agitating a good number of the men and women in the audience, rather than entertaining them.
In its December 15, 1952, issue the issue in which Eyerman’s famous photograph of the Paramount audience first appeared LIFE magazine summed up the evening thus:
These megalopic creatures are the first paying audience for the latest cinematic novelty, Natural Vision. This process gets a three-dimensional effect by using two projectors with Polaroid filters and giving the spectators Polaroid spectacles to wear. The movie at the premiere, called Bwana Devil, did achieve some striking three-dimensional sequences. But members of the audience reported that the glasses were uncomfortable, the film itself dealing with two scholarly looking lions who ate up quantities of humans in Africa was dull, and it was generally agreed that the audience itself looked more startling than anything on the screen.
Dull or not, the movie produced for an at-the-time stratospheric $400,000 made more than $2.5 million at the box office to become one of the biggest hits of 1953.
In the years since Bwana Devil enticed (and then let down) thousands of movie fans, the technology of the medium has changed, the fashions worn to the theater have changed, everything about going to the movies has changed—except for one vital, enduring quality that has always defined the experience: a collective suspension of disbelief and a disappearance into wonder.
And that’s something worth embracing, in any dimension.
Audience members sport 3-D glasses during the first screening of “Bwana Devil,” the first full-length, color 3-D movie, November 26, 1952, at the Paramount Theater in Hollywood.
In the late 1930s and early 1940s, a German photographer and ardent Nazi named Hugo Jaeger enjoyed unprecedented access to the Third Reich’s upper echelon, traveling with Adolf Hitler to massive rallies and photographing him at intimate parties and in quieter, private moments. The photos made such an impression on the Führer that Hitler famously declared, upon first seeing Jaeger’s work: “The future belongs to color photography.”
But beyond merely chronicling Hitler’s ceaseless travels, Jaeger also documented the brute machinery of the Reich, including the Nazi invasion of Poland in 1939. Here, LIFE.com presents a series of photos from Warsaw and from the town of Kutno, 75 miles west of the Polish capital, in 1939 and 1940. Adding perspective to the images is an essay (below) by Justyna Majewska, discussing just what Jaeger’s haunting images can still tell us about that era, three-quarters of a century after they were made. Ben Cosgrove
Why would Hugo Jaeger, a photographer dedicated to lionizing Adolf Hitler and the “triumphs” of the Third Reich, choose to immortalize conquered Jews in Warsaw and Kutno (in central Poland) in such an uncharacteristic, intimate manner? Most German photographers working in the same era as Jaeger usually focused on the Wehrmacht; on Nazi leaders; and on the military victories the Reich was routinely enjoying in the earliest days of the Second World War. Those pictures frequently document brutal acts of humiliation, even as they glorify German troops.
The photographs that Jaeger made in the German ghettos in occupied Poland, on the other hand, convey almost nothing of the triumphalism seen in so many of his other photographs. Here, in fact, there is virtually no German military presence at all. We see the devastation in the landscape of the German invasion of Poland, but very little of the “master race” itself.
It is, of course, impossible to fully recreate exactly what Jaeger had in mind, but from the reactions of the people portrayed in these images in Warsaw and Kutno, there appears to be surprising little hostility between the photographer and his subjects. Most of the people in these pictures, Poles and Jews, are smiling at the camera. They trust Jaeger, and are as curious about this man with a camera as he is about them. In this curiosity, there is no sense of hatred. The men, women and children on the other side of the lens and Jaeger look upon one another without the aggression and tension characteristic of the relationship between perpetrator and victim.
Strikingly, none of the people in these photos appear to have been forced to pose. In fact, Jaeger probably asked them for permission to take their pictures; maybe he and they had a short chat before he began photographing them. We can even go so far as to suggest that there is no sign of overt brutality here. To Jaeger (unlike for so many of the Reich’s supporters), Jews were not mere “rats,” or “parasites”: He simply perceived them as fascinating subjects. While he probably felt that their subjugation was inevitable in the face of the German Blitzkrieg, he nevertheless captures these already subjugated people sympathetically.
We know, all these decades later, that these thousands of people were, in fact, prisoners, whether or not the ghettos that would follow had already been built. [NOTE: In a city the size of Warsaw the creation of the notorious ghetto was quote complicated, and took a few months to complete; in Kutno, the Jews were forced into their ghetto in one day.]
We know what it means that their homes had been destroyed. We know what the anti-Semitic regulations like the yellow Star of David that Jews were forced to wear at all times in public would ultimately come to symbolize. But Jaeger, photographing in 1939, shows these people as a community trying to rebuild against all odds.
Seeing these photographs today, seven decades later, we know the harsh, unspeakable truth. Within a very short time, the situation for Kutno’s and Warsaw’s native Jews became more and more difficult, and ultimately catastrophic. Poles and Jews were separated from one another. The Nazis created a Jewish council, the Judenrat, responsible for making Jews obey the Germans’ diktats. The food supply dwindled horribly.
In June 1940, all of Kutno’s roughly 8,000 Jews were forced into the ghetto the grounds of an old sugar factory. Typhus and hunger soon began killing hundreds of them. In 1942, the Nazis implemented Operation Reinhardt, which effectively put in motion the Nazi’s planned destruction of all Polish Jewry. In the spring of 1942 the Kutno Ghetto itself was “liquidated.” Jews who were unable to escape and find help among their Polish neighbors were taken to Kulmhof (CheÅ‚mno), the first death camp, located on the River Ner not far from the city of Lodz. There, thousands of Kutno’s Jewish men, women and children were put to death in “gas vans” mobile gas chambers in what were among the first mass murders of the Holocaust.
Operation Reinhardt also sealed the fate of the Jews of Warsaw. Liquidation of the Warsaw Ghetto started in July 1942 and took nearly three months to complete. Horrifically overcrowded cattle trains carried 300,000 Jews to Treblinka.
All these many years later, Jaeger’s pictures from Warsaw and Kutno are still so hard to look at and hard to turn away from. I presume that the beautiful young girl seen smiling directly, confidently, at the camera (slide #1 in this gallery) is Jewish: on the collar of her coat, we see what is evidently a folded, yellow Star of David. Neither she, nor Jaeger himself, could have truly, fully foreseen her fate: to die of typhus, or to starve to death, or to be forced into a gas chamber at Chelmno, only to emerge again in a haunting photograph long, long after she was dead.
Justyna Majewska works as a curator at the Holocaust Gallery in the Museum of the History of Polish Jews in Warsaw. She is also a Ph.D. candidate in the Polish Academy of Science’s Institute of Philosophy and Sociology. Her dissertation focuses on social change in the Warsaw Ghetto.
Kutno WWII
Hugo Jaeger Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Kutno WWII
Hugo Jaeger Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Warsaw, World War II
Hugo Jaeger Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Kutno, World War II
Hugo Jaeger Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock
Kutno, World War II
Hugo Jaeger / Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock
A youngish, black-clad hipster isn’t the image that usually comes to mind when we think of Walt Disney. A gray-haired, grandfatherly guy in a suit and tie that’s Walt Disney. Right?
And yet here he is, with his little 8mm movie camera on a beach in Brazil, of all places looking for all the world like a lank-haired, goofily grinning film student on spring break. What in the name of the sorcerer’s apprentice is going on here?
As it turns out, the Walt Disney in this photograph was on a break, of sorts; in late 1941, with his studio in the midst of a major labor battle namely, a crippling strike by animators Disney flew to South America under the aegis of the federal government’s newly formed Office of the Coordinator of Inter-American Affairs. The brainchild of Nelson Rockefeller, the CIAA was created, at least in part, with the aim of countering German influence in countries like Brazil, Argentina and Chile on the eve of the Second World War. The CIAA not only convinced Disney and more than a dozen of his colleagues to fly south on a cultural goodwill tour; taxpayers paid for the entire 12-week trip.
By this point in his career, Disney had already produced Pinocchio, Fantasia, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfsand other landmark features, as well as scores of short films. He had received a special Academy Award for the creation of Mickey Mouse, and had won eight (eight!) Short Subject Oscars for his cartoons. (He would eventually win or receive more than two dozen Academy Awards, including the Irving Thalberg Award in 1942.) In 1941, his name was better-known in South America and in countless other countries around the globe than that of almost any other person on earth. He was 39 years old.
Once the United States entered World War II, Disney’s studio churned out military training films, as well as some entertaining Allied propaganda including the classic Der Fuehrer’s Face (originally titled Donald Duck in Nutzi Land.) In 1944, Disney released a second feature inspired by the trip to South America, The Three Caballeros.
Today, so long after Walt and his older brother Roy founded what became, arguably, the most powerful pop-culture force on the planet, it’s somehow both jarring and heartening to see this single photograph of Disney in Brazil, and consider the man not as the familiar face of a multinational corporation, or the creator of a soulless marketing juggernaut, but as a filmmaker, an inventor, an artist.
Love him or hate him, Walter Elias Disney changed the face of entertainment forever. Not bad for a lank-haired guy with a movie camera and a goofy grin.
![Bespattered with blood and oil after strafing attack by nine Me-109s [Messerschmitts] on first day of battle, a wounded half-track gunner vainly tries to swallow a sulfa tablet. Attending officer subsequently flushed it down his throat with water. Three other men on the half-track were killed.](https://static.life.com/wp-content/uploads/migrated/2013/03/09_00584740-1024x825.jpg "Bespattered with blood and oil after a strafing attack by nine Messerschmitts on first day of battle, a wounded half-track gunner vainly tried to swallow a sulfa tablet. The attending officer subsequently flushed it down his throat with water.")
