Posts Tagged ‘vintage nude’

NSFW November: Dianne Danford, Miss November 1961

November 20, 2009

We’ll kick off today with Miss November 1961, the lovely and talented Dianne Danford. She was discovered and asked to pose for Playboy while shooting skeet at a range in Los Angeles (“Venus with Arms,” Playboy, November 1961).

Photographed by Mario Casilli

Dianne — a 23-year-old, emerald-eyed, honey-tressed, fresh-visaged fair belle to arms — gets herself to a gunnery for sweet sessions of not-so-silent skeet shooting whenever she can break away from her workaday chores modeling the latest in bathing regalia, for which her 5’7″, 120-lb. frame is perfectly suited. Living with her mother, father and brother close by Hollywood’s celluloid dream factories, Dianne presents a pretty paradox — she couldn’t care less about getting her face and form before a movie camera.

That bit about not desiring to appear before a movie camera may have been true at the time of this shoot, but in fact Dianne did end up with a movie credit under her belt. She appeared as Connie in 1966’s Weekend of Fear. The movie was written, directed, and produced by a Mr. Joe Danford (a connection, maybe?).

Good grief, he was also the editor. Did he do sets and gripping, too? Cook and serve the food at the craft table? Master of the wardrobe? Gaffer? Now I’m just being cruel. Gaffers aren’t people. Anyway, the movie is the sole credit for both Danfords.

According to Sandra Brennan of, the picture’s plot runs like this:

In this horror movie, an insane widow desires a young lover and decides to steal him away from his own lover by employing a crazed deaf-mute to frighten her away. The fellow does too good a job and the girl dies.

Of course. Happens all the time.

While she does state in her data sheet that her ambition in life is “to be happy,” no Irish need apply: Ms. Danford lists among her turnoffs “being poor.”

Sick left-field burn on my own heritage!

Today is a triple-playmate-play day, so stay tuned for mas y mas Miss Novembers. My gift to you. Think nothing of it!

NSFW November: Danielle de Vabre, Miss November 1971

November 19, 2009

Playboy’s Miss Novembrrrrr 1971, Danielle de Vabre, came from the frozen North of Canadialand, where she was a lovely and talented bunny at the Montreal club.

Photographed by Dwight Hooker

She grew up skiing in Canada, but, after graduating from high school, she and her parents agreed she could take a year off and go to Colorado to be a ski instructor there.

Danielle’s parents agreed that, before beginning her English-literature studies at a Montreal college, she should have her dream adventure in the Western U.S. “My parents knew that if I started school right away, I would resent being there and, consequently, my concentration would suffer.” There was one condition in their agreement, however: Danielle was to finance the trip herself (“Snow Job,” Playboy, November 1971).

Yes, it is so often the case that concentration in college suffers because all you can think about is skiing. Thank goodness her parents were aware of this educational pitfall.

Naturally, the next logical step was to become a Playboy bunny. Pfft — duh! Everyone knows that’s how you get money to go to Colorado and become a ski instructor. Story as old as time.

For the next few months, Danielle worked as a Bunny while waiting to hear from the Colorado resorts to which she’d applied. Finally, she received a positive reply from the Steamboat Springs ski school’s Skeeter Werner, sister of the late Olympic skier Bud Werner.

Oh, hey, aging rich plane passenger. Coffee, tea, or Danielle?

To become an airline stewardess. I’d also like to study interior design and fine arts.
Age does not matter, as long as he has character.

I just kind of feel like those two statements are related.

Though I of course assume that all her dreams came true and she is doubtless skiing down some snowy slope in her airline stewardess uniform while sketching an interior design and dictating a novel into a tape recorder, I absolutely came up triple goose eggs on searches for what Ms. de Vabre is really up to these days. If you know, drop me a line!

NSFW November: Playboy’s Miss November 1957, Marlene Callahan

November 11, 2009

Playboy’s November 1957 write-up on the lovely and talented Marlene Callahan provoked me to dig a little in to a subject I generally hate, the modern history of Southern California.

Photographed by Vivienne Lapham, a woman. More on her another day, promise.

See, the little blurb about her, which has a grating amount of purple prosaic references to her Irish heritage as though she is from freaking County Cork and not sunny California, which annoys me too much to reproduce it here, I’ll just link to it, also overemphasized her wholesome, small-town upbringing. But my eyebrows raised when I read this was in Ventura.

I don’t think of Ventura as wholesome and oldtimey: I guess I’m tarring it with the brush of my feelings toward more major cities in its vicinity to be guilty and glutted by filthy, phony, decaying greed by association. You know, trash everywhere, traffic jams, cement as far as your eye can see, no one gives a shit about anything but their phone and their fake tan — I just have strong feelings about that area. It offends my eyes. But I don’t have the whole story on it, I told myself, so I decided to look in to Ventura a little. Visions of carhops and mall parking lot mazes dancing in my head, I smugly decided to give this situation the ol’ googly-moogly and see just how “rural” a lass Miss Callahan was in 1957.

Answer: Pretty reasonably freaking rural. In my face!

Not easily accessible, Ventura was not a target of immigrants, and as such, remained quiet and rural. For most of the century which followed the incorporation of Ventura in 1866, it remained isolated from the rest of the state.

From the south, travel by auto was slow and hazardous, until the completion of a four-lane expressway (US Highway 101) over the Conejo Grade in 1959. This route, now further widened and improved by 1969, is known as the Ventura Freeway, which directly links Ventura with the Los Angeles metropolitan area.

The wiki reports that in “1950 the population reached 16,643, by 1970 the population was 57,964,” so this spread, photographed in 1957, and its accompanying blurb, were published just as the city’s population and industry were poised to explode due to the freeway’s construction. This town could have really stayed in a kind of innocent, mill-town type isolation (everyone in town relying on the industry of the citrus and nut farming in a symbiotic relationship of trade, labor, and self-sustenance) were it not for the freeway coming through. That is a mindfuck to me.

Of course, it is also the home of what was once the California Fruit Growers Exchange, which grew in quick order in to Sunkist Growers, Inc., a company with a history of up and down labor and ethical practices vis a vis immigrants, other farmers, and influence over politics and land use. (Until today I would have said “fie” upon them, but now I’m just a little up in the air on all kinds of my feelings.) I’m torn and conflicted by this. Being the county seat of an area essentially owned by Sunkist by the ’50’s means that the “innocence” and rurality of the leaders of the town were questionable at best, but the majority of people in the area were just living their lives, doing their best, taking simple pleasures in county fairs and cakewalks.

I’m not supposed to feel compassion or empathy for Southern California and its denizens. I need to go watch Chinatown. Yes, Chinatown needs a movie moment or two. Arg. I’m still going to wander away muttering “Fuckin’ freeways…”

NSFW November: Donna Lynn, Playboy’s Miss November 1959

November 4, 2009

Ladies and gentleman, your Playboy Miss November 1959 — the lovely and talented Donna Lynn. (applause.)

As far as I know the whole shoot was photographed by Frank Bez.

As you can see, Playboy was starting to get their shit together and have a strong budget by this point, enough not to cobble together hack photographers and shitty sets in eight different crummy apartments to put together a single spread. Consistency is important for the overall feel of a shoot. These look like they were all done around the same place, a nice spread of house with a good-sized backyard in some smoggy shithole suburb of L.A.

Art direction was actually beginning to play a part in the magazine’s design and composition. Sex sells. Slickly packaged sex sells better, and for more.

I find it just so unforgivably rude when people screw around on the phone when you are trying to have an in-person social conversation.

Miss Lynn was like bazillions of buxom blondes, a pretty girl who made her way from the midwest to Los Angeles with dreams of being a star. She must have had a smidge of tinfoil and gritty hustle behind that vacuous smile, because she came closer than most, landing not just a plush job and a centerfold spot, but a movie part from a big name, too. The Playboy sez:

Cocktail Waitress on the Sunset Strip
In Hollywood even the girls who wait tables are beautiful!

It is news to nobody that Hollywood is the cutie capital of the country, racking up more shapeliness per square inch — or maybe we mean round inch — than any other city in the nation, probably the world. To its sun-drenched purlieus swarm America’s loveliest lasses, all eager for film and TV stardom. Of course, stardom doesn’t usually come overnight and while they’re waiting the hopeful honeys take jobs as waitresses and car hops, cashiers and receptionists — which accounts for the high degree of pulchritude among Hollywood’s hired help. Even in such a splendorous setting, blonde Donna Lynn is a standout. As a waitress, she brightens The Cloister, a smart supper club on Hollywood’s famous Sunset Strip. There recently Mickey Rooney spotted her and signed her up for a part in his new motion picture The Private Lives of Adam and Eve. There recently we spotted her, too, and decided she was just what we’d been seeking for Miss November.

In the imdb’s cast list for the 1960 Rooney flop (guess it must have been one of the ones he drank his way through), she is credited as “Wednesday,” along with several other cast members named for days of the week. Her next part is listed, bizarrely, as “10 year old girl” a decade later on a 1971 episode of The Partridge Family, which I’m going to chalk up to a mistake.

Tan lines are like highlights for what you are not ordinarily allowed to see. Ladies, STOP laying in the booths naked. Way more hot to be stripey.

In fact, the credits her file at imdb lists from that point really take a nosedive in believable accuracy, so I’m assuming there was some kind of huge mistake in identity, because I seriously doubt that in 1981, having been born in 1936, she was in any shape to play “Kiki” in Hollywood High II (“It’s the end of the semester and finals are near, but that doesn’t stop the girls of Hollywood High from having fun. From the pool to the beach, they cavort with their boyfriends, drink, and smoke a joint or two!”). Her final alleged credit is 1988’s Hollywood’s New Blood, a horror film about which one imdb user commented, “A nursery school pageant is more professional.”

Malibu? Laguna?

Here she is, back in 1959 where we can be sure it was she, and reasonably clad to boot, washing a pretty freaking sweet indeedy Renault Dauphine; they did not always make teeny cars built to demolish one another jostling for parking on the streets of Paris. Even the French automaking industry was in the post-WWII car manufacturing heyday a decophilic slave to the beautiful trappings of finned and glorious car architecture.

Marvel of design. Car’s okay, too.

Hef & Co. were also very concerned with the physiology of sleep and how well you were resting, evinced by the cover theme. (That bunny looks twisted. Dude is toe up. I hate when people get animals drunk!)