In 1957 the top-selling single in America was Elvis Presley’s “All Shook Up,” and the top hairstyle in Grand Rapids, Michigan was a tribute to the man who sang it. America was so wild for Elvis at this time that when the singer made his debut on the Ed Sullivan Show, 82.6 percent of America’s televisions were tuned in. Glenwood Dodgson, who operated a chain of beauty salons in Grand Rapids, read the market and began offering women an Elvis hairdo. He knew what he was doing.
Photo by Grey Villet / LIFE Picture Collection (c) Meredith Corporation
In six weeks more than 1,000 women came to Dodgson’s shops and had themselves made over in the image of Elvis. The makeover cost the not-outrageous price of $1.50 (which would be about $14 today).
Photo by Grey Villet / LIFE Picture Collection (c) Meredith Corporation
This seventeen-year old sacrificed a foot-long pony tail to the altar of the King.
Photo by Grey Villet / LIFE Picture Collection (c) Meredith Corporation
Her father (above left), greeting her outside the shop, didn’t know quite what to make of the new ‘do, but if he had any criticism, he saved it for home. The group photograph below shows that there was some variety in the hairdo approach. While every woman was given Elvis’ sideburns, each took a different tack to the forehead locks, and some went all the way and dyed their hair black. LIFE’s headline on its story: “Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hairdo.”
Photo by Grey Villet / LIFE Picture Collection (c) Meredith Corporation
The Minnesota Twins entered their inaugural season of 1961 with more motivation than most sports teams to emphasize their team name. Calling themselves the Twins was more than just a simple reference to the Twin Cities. It was a call to unity for the baseball fans of Minneapolis and St. Paul.
Before the Twins (formerly the Washington Senators) moved to Minnesota in ’61, the local baseball scene was defined by the fierce rivalry between two Triple A teams, the Minneapolis Millers and St. Paul Saints. The Twins wanted to appeal to fans in both Minneapolis and St. Paul, and so the team name was chosen with care. For one, the team was named for Minnesota, rather than either city (unlike the Minneapolis Lakers of the NBA, who had moved to Los Angeles after the 1960 season).
To make no mistake about this, the logo on the cap was an interlocked T and C, rather than an M— which could be mistaken as standing for Minneapolis.
Also, the uniforms had a patch on the left arm which showed players in Millers and Saints gear smiling happily and reaching across the Mississippi river to shake hands.
To really hammer home the point, the team hired bat boys who were actual twins.
Photo by Francis Miller
Photo by Francis Miller
The bat boy auditions, which were held at Memorial Stadium and photographed for LIFE by Francis Miller, drew 74 sets of twins, and the young men were served hot dogs and milk as they waited to be interviewed for a chance to wear that beautiful new uniform.
Photo by Francis Miller
Photo by Francis Miller
Photo by Francis Miller
Richard and Peter King, above, were chosen as the winning twins. The team also selected a pair of twin ball boys, Jerry and James Dempster (not pictured). LIFE’s story on the auditions never ran in the magazine, but the King twins had a moment of national fame when, in May of that 1961 season, they appeared on the game show To Tell the Truth. The boys’ fielded questions from celebrity panelists such as Don Ameche and Betty White. As was the case in the auditions, on the show they are alongside other sets of twins, waiting to see if they will be picked.
In the decade following the end of World War II, tourism in the Rockies doubled as Americans took to the road to explore and enjoy the American West. In 1959 LIFE photographer Eliot Elisofon made his own trek through the Rocky Mountain, on a five-day journey that covered 1,800 miles. He trained his camera on natural landscapes and also on the area’s burgeoning manmade attractions, like the massive outdoor skating rink in Sun Valley, Idaho, above. The netting was placed over the rink to cut down on the glare of the mountain sun.
Welcome to the 50s, and also the Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs. The staff of lifeguards proved ready to channel their inner Esther Williams.
Colorado was full of all kinds of fun and games. At a rodeo in Ridgway, Colo., the action got a little wild, and a ride on an old-time looked a little hairy too. The train, which carried tourists along the canyon walls above the Animas River, also known as the River of Lost Souls, made the 90-mile round trip between Durango and Silverton daily, and had been featured in the filming of Around the World in 80 Days.
Looking back at car culture from those years can feel like its own kind of natural wonder—a parking lot becomes as attractive as the attraction. But then, the attractions on the trip were pretty darn good too. Below: Bryce Canyon in Utah, and then onto Yosemite, with its bears and Old Faithful.
In this last photo, below, a family from Louisville headed out into the Idaho hills with a crew that included a cook, a wrangler, and pack mules for a multi-day trek. Their deep dive underlines the appeal of the Western United States. It’s about the breathtaking scenery, but it’s also about a journey back to a time when this country was wild.
Millions of tourists each year come to stroll the stone walkways of Florence, where the Italian Renaissance echoes around the beautifully preserved city center. The art and architecture have dazzled visitors for more than 500 years. But during the 20th century history’s boot stepped hard on Florence, as it endured fascism and also a historic flood.
In 1935 LIFE photographer Alfred Eisenstaedt visited Florence and captured the beauty of the city, with views of monks walking along the Arno river and a cat finding quiet on one of the city’s narrow streets
In May 1938, with fascists taking over Europe, Adolph Hitler made an official state visit to Florence, as part of a tour that included Naples and Rome. He rode with Italian prime minister Benito Mussolini as he toured Florence. in a work called “Hitlerian Spring” the Italian poet Eugenio Montale wrote of the visit: “Not long ago on the main street an infernal messenger flew.”
American soldiers came Europe to beat back the forces of fascism, and on January 1, 1945, the military decided to stage American-style football bowl games around the world to build troop morale. Florence was the site of the Spaghetti Bowl at Berta Stadium in Florence, with an estimated 20,000 in attendance. The day began with college-style pageantry, and the game was won by the Fifth Army, which shut out the 12th Air Force by a score of 20-0.
In 1966 Florence experienced its worst flooding in four centuries as heavy rains caused the Arno to overflow its banks. Here Michelangelo’s David stood tall on his pedestal as floodwaters reached the Accademia Gallery. The painting “Christ and the Wife of Zebedee” by Florentine artist Matteo Rosselli (1578-1650) was carried to safety. A fresco by Paolo Ucello was removed from the Church of Santa Maria Novello for restoration.
Restorers worked on the 14th century fresco The Last Supper by Taddeo Gaddi at the Basilica of Santa Croce. The work required to repair flood damage to Florence’s historic art is said to have spurred advancements in the field of art restoration. Restorers and their supporters were dubbed “mud angels.”
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.
Chadwick Pictures/Kobal/Shutterstock
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.
