Candida en Corse.
Chez Gabby.
Karinne de Aix en Provence.
Katie 1984.
Mirabelle Le Bad.
We'll always have Paris.
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Much more to come__
America's white rule in 1964 stretched from coast to coast, however Malcolm X preached resistance up in Harlem and Martin Luther King and John Lewis led marches in Selma, Alabama. Change was blowing in the wind and Nancy White, the Harper's Bazaar editor, transported an unknown black teenage with an African and Quechuan heritage from Detroit to the starry international modeling scene of New York and Paris.
According to Wikipedia Donyale Luna was 5-11, flat-chested and X-ray skinny. Her legs were as stilt-like as a Giacometti sculpture. She had caramel-colored skin, almond-shaped eyes, full lips and an oval-shaped face, which, in certain poses, portrayed an owlish surprise, as if she'd just been pinched from behind.
The world lay beneath her heels.
London's Telegraph reported that Luna wrote a friend, "New York is a dream, a man danced me down Fifth Avenue, and all up and down Broadway men were eyeing and whistling at me, and so many other unbelievable things. I'm really getting the works from head to toe by Harper's Bazaar's best! As soon as possible I'll send you a picture of the new me. I'll be on top of the world if it takes every breath I have, every muscle of my skinny body. I feel it, I know it. I'll be some kind of star real soon. Real soon."
Avedon shot her for Harper.
After a violent family tragedy in which her mother shot dead her drunken father in self-defense, Luna took solace with high class friends, but defected to London, as her career languished in racist America.
In the city of BLOW-UP she became a star for David Bailey, William Klein, Helmut Newton, William Claxton, and Dali.
"She had no tits, but lots of presence," quipped her model friend Pat Cleveland in the Telegram article. "We'd walk down the street and men's mouths would drop open in awe. When we walked into restaurants, people would stop eating and stand up and applaud. She was like a mirage, or some kind of fantasy."
And like a mirage she vanished into the world of drugs and died a model's death in Rome.
A black beauty forever.
ps America is no longer all white.
No matter what white people think, because goddesses come in all shapes, sizes, and colors.
Traditionally there are only three ways to get rich; birth, marriage, or theft.
Anne Nichole Smith, Texas sex bomb, stepped off the runway of a strip club into popular culture by wedding an admiring oil tycoon. Their sixty-three year age difference evoked cries of gold-digger from the billionaire's family. That accusation might have been true, but the old man certainly looked happy in all the photos of them together and upon his death his lawyers announced that Anne Nicole Smith had been bequeathed a third of his fortune.
This rags to riches fairy tale was denied a happy ending by her in-laws. They contested the last testament with the traditional viciousness of white rich people. $300 million was a fortune to give a buxom blonde high-school dropout. I was pulling for the blonde heiress, but each week her name tarnished in the tabloids by another scandal. The in-laws were playing for 'winner takes all'.
Nothing those scandal sheets liked better than to see someone from the lower class fall back to white trash earth.
First her son died of a drug overdose and then Anna Nicole Smith herself was found dead of a drug overdose administered by her 'doctor'. All the drugs were legal. She left a daughter and the US Federal Court has decreed that the deceased starlet's young girl will never see any of the money left to her by the tycoon, proving once more that the rich stay rich and the poor get dead.
Her daughter should be happy to be alive.
The only question is for how long.
Several years ago I was getting gold chains on 47th Street to show a customer at the Plaza Hotel store opened by Richie Boy. Business was slow at the exchange and the older gold dealer asked with a Levantine accent, "Where are you from?"
"Boston." No one in the Diamond District had ever asked my origins. I am a goy. Gentiles don't really count except on the Shabbath, when the Hassidim need us to turn on the lights.
"Are you Jewish?" He picked out several heavy necklaces.
"No, I'm the Shabbath Goy."
"I'm not Jewish either. I'm an Armenian born in Israel." Armenians are scattered through the jewelry business. "I left in 1957."
"That's a while ago." I had been five when he arrived in the USA
"I've spent my entire working life on this street."
"And have you ever seen times like this?" I signed the memo.
"Never."
"Not even in Palestine." I put the gold necklaces into a packet and slipped it into my jacket.
"That's the first time I've ever heard anyone on this street call it that." He smiled with a lost sadness. "Palestine. It wasn't like they said. All that dreck about changing the land from desert. Feh. It was beautiful. More natural. Like Utah. And the fruit. It wasn't fake like now. But what can you do?"
"Just remember I guess." Like I remember so many good things in New York like the Second Avenue Deli, the St. Mark's Movie Theater, and CBGBs.
"Well, have a good day."
I thanked him for his best wishes and headed back to the Plaza Hotel. It was a little after 10.
My cellphone rang. It was Richie Boy.
"Why aren't you at the Plaza?"
"I had to pick up some pieces to show a customer." The Plaza store had nothing like them in our inventory
"Hurry up."
"Yeah, sure." I hung up and slowed my pace.
In the past no one was in such a hurry as the 21st Century.
Certainly not in Boston and not Palestine.
I was going to open late.
It happened every day when business was slow.
It was a land of many faiths.
A land of Milk and Honey.
Palestine had access to the sea.
The Wailing Wall.
The beauty of Palestine is not gone.
Just buried under modernity.
They set me to CALIFORNIA DREAMIN'.
Or THE MOD SQUAD
Famous groupie models.
Dancers.
An iconic dancing girls at Woodstock.
It was enough to make a young man grow his hair long and hit the road.
When you're bad, you go to the sin bin.
Even Lily.
A blonde as pure as snow and a bad girl in good light.
This postcard from the 1920s served as an inspiration to many like Lily Bayliss for Pete Townsend's first power pop hit.
To hear the Who's PICTURES OF LILY please go to the following url https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BmkBroiw1s
Billy and Sara O's daughter is back from college.
She has the right attitude.
Peace on Earth.
