One of the few things you can count on during a college football season is that Ohio State is going to be pretty darned good. It was certainly the case during the 2020 season, with the Buckeyes in pursuit of a national championship as they have been so many years before.
When you have a big school and a demanding fan base, a championship is an annual expectation. It’s true in Columbus and many other college football towns around the country.
In 1948 LIFE visited Columbus to capture that kind of unbridled enthusiasm for story titled “Frenzied Football.” While much has changed about college football in decades since that story was reported—for instance Ohio State’s conference, the Big 10, now has fourteen teams—certain aspects are quite similar.
Examine these images from 1948 and one immediate difference that will stand out to those know Ohio State football is the stadium. Back then, Ohio Stadium was still open at one end, as it was originally designed. Bernard Hoffman‘s magnificent photo for LIFE captures the grandeur of the fans’ procession to the stadium’s open arms. But “The Horseshoe,” as the stadium is known, has since added new stands to what had been the open end to accommodate more spectators. The stadium now can hold a staggering 104,944 people, up from its original capacity of 66,210 when it opened in 1922. Ohio Stadium is now the third-largest football stadium the country, behind those at Michigan and Penn State.
The more striking difference may be the attire of the people who fill those stands. Look at their dress—the women in their fancy hats, the men in their coats and ties. It’s a far cry from today, when most spectators come dressed in the school colors, and many fans are wearing team jerseys, looking as if they were ready to be called into the game.
But the true constant is the passion for the game. LIFE summed up how all-consuming football was for the local fans: “It is an old Columbus joke that whenever three stenographers and a boss are in the same room they forget about business and start running through backfield plays.”
It shows in the faces of the fans in these photos. Just look at them. Don’t you want to share that excitement?
No wonder they had to make the stadium bigger.
Fans approached Ohio Stadium on a football game day in 1948.
Then as now, football fans could get rowdy; here university employees cut corners of paper laundry bags to prevent students from converting them into water balloons for pre-football game celebrations.
In its January 26, 1962 issue, LIFE’s profile of Debbie Drake opened with a bold proclamation from the 29-year-old woman from Indiana. “I want to be the most important exercise girl in the world,” she said.
Drake did make her mark on history, as the first woman ever to host a national fitness instructional show on television. Her show launched in 1960 and stayed on the air through 1978. In 2015 she was inducted into the National Fitness Hall of Fame.
LIFE’s 1962 story on Drake, headlined “A Pretty Parer of Poundage,” talked about how she grew up “scrawny” but then put on weight after an unhappy teenage marriage and divorce, before turning to fitness. “That’s when the ugly duckling turned into a 38 ½-22-36 swan and an expert in figure improving exercises,” LIFE wrote. The story said that her show was viewed by millions, her syndicated column appeared in 40 newspapers, and her income was “in the $100,000 bracket.” The story also praised her “naive, unrehearsed, girl-next-door sincerity.”
If her persona was charmingly unrehearsed, it was also entirely of her era. In 1964 Drake released a record album of fitness instruction titled How to Keep Your Husband Happy, in which the cover showed a lounging man thinking of Drake going through various exercise poses. At least one cultural critic drew a line from Drake to the controversial Peleton ad that got run off television in late 2019 for its view of women’s fitness as being about pleasing men, rather than its physical and mental health benefits.
While many of Drake’s routines will be familiar to anyone who has taken modern fitness instruction, some of the exercises showcased in LIFE make dubious claims, such as a move while resembles yoga’s cobra pose, and which she said could help erase a double-chin.
Drake also wasn’t shy about appealing to a male audience. Her photo shoot for LIFE magazine included cheesecake poses in a bathtub. In a bit of footage from the Dick Cavett Show (she comes on at the 4:28 mark, after Woody Allen) Drake engages the host in a two-person, face-to-face stretching routine that was nominally about loosening Cavett’s back but also meant to weaken his knees.
It’s a far cry from the you-go-girl messages of personal strength advocated by the legions of Drake’s contemporary progeny on YouTube.
But there’s also no denying that she was in at the start of something big. For Drake, the medium was the message that lasted.
Debbie Drake filmed an episode of her fitness instructional show in a studio in Indianapolis, 1962.
I wasn’t aware of Van Halen’s debut album when it came out in 1978, but I did become aware of it some years later at a time when the consideration of albums, and CDs, was still made with a sense of the whole. How the songs were ordered, how the experience unfolded from the opening track to the last, was one measure of the music itself. In that time it was part of a collective understanding that there had rarely, or never, been a debut album quite so audacious, cocksure, excellent, and embraceable as Van Halen. Who were these guys? The first three tracks went like this. 1) Here’s the band: “Runnin’ with The Devil.” 2) Here’s our guitar player: “Eruption.” 3) Now here’s a cover of a seminal rock song (in which, while paying all due homage, we proceed to kick the s— out of the original): “You Really Got Me.”
They never looked back.
“Runnin’ with the Devil” encapsulated Van Halen’s brashness and joie de vivre, all under a title so succinctly evocative the band’s manager later took it as the title for his book. The song has story, hoots and hollers, the big steady bass notes, and (one more time) Eddie’s joyously melodic guitar runs. “Eruption”—gorgeous, ecstatic, technically astonishing— reframed the potential of the electric guitar. The rest of the 11-song album follows suit, replete with the vocal harmonies on “Feel Your Love,” Alex’s tom-tom riff on “Jamie’s Cryin’ ” (sampled by Tone Lōc on his megahit “Wild Thing” 10 years later), and a kind of, well, call it a coupe de glace in the playful near-finale, “Ice Cream Man.” The band members couldn’t wipe the smiles off their faces, and neither could we.
For rock DJs, 1978 was a fertile year: Bruce Springsteen’s Darkness at the Edge of Town and the Rolling Stones’ Some Girls came out within a week of each other in June. Billy Joel’s 52nd Street and the Police’s Outlandos D’Amour arrived in the fall. None of those records deliver the crucial feeling—how lucky we are to be alive right now—in the way that Van Halen’s lid-lifter does. The feat of yea-saying harkened to the Beats of the ’50s (Is “Runnin’ with the Devil” a three-minute, 36-second interpretation of On the Road?) while also auguring the decade of celebration ahead. February 10, 1978, when Van Halen appeared on record-store shelves, was the day, as Americans would come to find out, that the 1980s began.
There’s an avid sense of community among Baseball Hall of Famers, due in part to their collective understanding of what it means to play the game at such an exceptional level for so long, as well as for the not-unrelated realization that there are so very few of them. Seventy-six living members by the Hall of Fame’s November 2020 reckoning. In early April there were 82. “I don’t want to keep posting the passing of another @baseballhall friend,” tweeted Dave Winfield, Hall of Fame 2001, on October 12. “With Joe Morgan today, it’s just too much. We’re talking about extraordinary people and great players we’re losing.”
Some years ago, early 2010s, I rode to a charity event in a large limousine with five such Hall of Fame players—Johnny Bench, Wade Boggs, Mike Schmidt, Robin Yount, and Lou Brock, who is among the extraordinary people and great players we lost this year. There was a fair amount of horsing around and sharing stories, and Bench told of the time early in his career when he’d thrown out Brock at second base by 15 feet. “True,” Brock acknowledged, and Boggs gave Bench a clap on the back. And then Brock, the greatest base stealer planet earth has ever produced (it is understood within baseball circles that Rickey Henderson arrived here from somewhere else) told everyone something they didn’t know. He said that while leading off of first base he could tell what pitch the catcher was calling for because when a catcher put down two fingers for a curveball, it caused a ripple in the muscles of his forearm that putting down one finger for a fastball did not. “If I saw that lit- tle movement right here in his arm,”— Brock had pushed up the right sleeve of his suit jacket and was showing the others what he meant—“then I was gone.” Schmidt and Yount looked across the seats at one another, impressed.
The criteria for induction to the Hall of Fame, beyond the most minimal technical standards (at least 10 years in the majors, at least five years since retirement) is nowhere defined. But like Justice Potter’s threshold for obscenity, you know a Hall of Famer when you see one. The players who died in 2020—Brock, Morgan, Bob Gibson, Tom Seaver, and Whitey Ford within six weeks in the late summer and fall, and Al Kaline on April 6—were no-doubters. They combined periods of pure dominance with longer periods of sheer excellence, and they played their best when everyone was watching.
They produced statistics to charm any baseball fan, and images to charm anyone at all. Do you remember the way the dirt accumulated on Tom Seaver’s right knee as he followed through again and again, pitching deep into another summer night? Did you know that over a stretch of 96 2⁄3 innings pitched during the 1968 season Bob Gibson allowed two runs, earned or otherwise? Two. Isn’t it something that Whitey Ford, who was there at the Copacabana with the Mick and Billy Martin that night in 1957 when the fight broke out, said he knew to drink in moderation from growing up around his father’s bar in Queens, New York? And then he lived to be 91 years old and was married to his wife, Joan, for 69 years? And remember how Morgan flapped his elbow in the batter’s box as if pumping himself full of air and swagger? And wasn’t it just like Al Kaline, the boy-next-door superstar, to finish his career with 399 home runs, just shy of the prestigious 400 club? One percent of all major-leaguers ever have been inducted into the Hall of Fame.
Brock was 81 years old when he died. Gibson was 84, and Morgan 77, and Seaver 75, and Kaline 85. Yet all of them will never be anything but in their primes in our mind’s eye, on top of the game in ’61 or ’68, in ’69 or ’75, fixed forever in their time of glory, forever young.
As distractions go, playing cards have plenty to recommend them. A deck of cards is inexpensive, easily available, portable, and doesn’t need charging. And as the photos in this gallery show, the many games that people play with cards have the power to mesmerize folks from all walks of life.
LIFE’s photos of card players include a number of celebrities. Joe DiMaggio passes the time on a road trip playing casino with his teammates. Sophia Loren uses cards to pass a slow moment on a movie set. Actor Yves Montand gets in a few hands while his actress wife, Simone Signoret, gets made up for the Academy Awards.
But star shots aside, card games—whose history traces back to 9th-century China—are a truly democratic entertainment. Young boys play on the streets of Brooklyn, as do older gentlemen on the sidewalks of Paris. College girls play in a Connecticut dorm room, as do adults at an Illinois social club.
The games that they play vary: poker, bridge, gin rummy, hearts, pinochle, solitaire. Perhaps most striking is the variety of situations in which the cards come in handy. For the soldiers on the eve of battle in Luzon, the games may be a relief from stress, or boredom, or both. In a photo from a bridge club in Mapletown, N.J., a woman appears to be waging a battle against existential boredom—and losing.
That woman is an unhappy exception to the rule, though. In most photos, the players are utterly absorbed by their cards, their attention devoted to assessing what they have in their hands and figuring out what their next play should be.
For such a humble thing as a deck of cards, the depth of distraction they can achieve is really quite an accomplishment.
Actress Sophia Loren played cards with photographer Pierluigi in her trailer while fans waited outside during location filming of “Madame Sans Gene” in 1961.
Kenneth Trout and actress Ella Raines played gin rummy at the deck of a Nevada hotel; the couple were high school sweethearts who had married before his deployment as a bomber pilot during World War II, and LIFE chronicled their first real vacation together in its July 30, 1945 issue. The couple divorced in December of that year.
Actor Yves Montand (second from the right) played cards while his wife, actress Simone Signoret, had her hair done in a Beverly Hills Hotel room hours before the 32nd Annual Academy Awards in 1960; she would win Best Actress.
James Jones (right), author of From Here to Eternity, played cards with a group that included, from left to right, his wife Gloria, Bernie Frizzell and Addie Herder played poker during a party at his Paris residence, 1967.
The card game went on a coffee house in New Hampshire as Estes Kefauver, in the background, campaigned for the Democratic nomination for president in 1952.
Lunch is the meal most likely to be either wolfed down or skipped entirely. It is as true in modern life as it was back in 1955, when LIFE cast its lingering gaze on the oft-hurried mid-day ritual.
“At the daily shriek of the factory whistle, clang of school bell or simple growl of an empty tummy, workday America rushes eagerly to cafeteria, lunch box, bean wagon, or executive dining room for its meridian meal,” LIFE said in its June 3, 1955 issue, introducing a photographic essay on the topic by Alfred Eisenstaedt. That entire issue was devoted to food, and the American way of lunch, LIFE wrote, was seen as offensive by “….European gourmets, to whom the hurried inhalation of hot dogs, hamburgers and poor boy sandwiches is an abomination.” But LIFE’s conclusion was that lunch, “if no epicurean triumph, still fulfills its chief function—the revitalization of a busy nation.”
Eisenstaedt photographed a wonderful variety of subjects—from the solitary meal of a construction worker or U.S. Secretary of State John Foster Dulles to communal gatherings at the farm table or the midtown diner. Some of the midday diners enjoy themselves, like workers at the Boeing plant who not only eat but play shuffleboard during their lunch break. But the photo that captures the essence of the American lunch, then and now, is the one of actress Angela Lansbury.
Lansbury is shown downing a hamburger at the Paramount Studio commissary. She sits at a table with Basil Rathbone, her costar in the movie The Court Jester. The movie was a musical comedy set in medieval times.
Lansbury sits in full costume, for her role of Princess Gwendolyn. But the meal is no royal treat. between the burger in her hand and the expression in her eyes, she looks like just another worker in need of a break, and some sustenance. So, thank God for lunch.
And then, back to work.
Carpenter Chuck Haines relaxed on a sixth-story I-beam of a bank being built in Beverly Hills, Calif., while lunching on a ham and cheese on white.
Billie Ryan drank coffee as she waited for her turn at shuffleboard during the second shift’s 7:45 p.m. lunch break at the Boeing aircraft pIant in Benton, Wash.