Your Eyes Are Your Diamonds

Evening in Paris

2011-09-06T17:41:00.191-04:00

Prince Albrecht vo Liechtenstein and his
beautiful wife Tamara Nyman.

I had not been in Paris long before I was introduced to a charming young man named Albrecht. His full name was Prince Albrecht Johannes Géza Augustinus Wilhelm Maria von Liechtenstein, a royal prince, who later was also given the title of Baron von Landskron. He was in line as heir to the throne of a tiny fairy-tale monarchy in the Alps. I had not even heard of Liechtenstein but I looked it up in my guide book. It was the only predominantly German-speaking country not to share a common border with Germany and the only predominantly German-speaking nation to have a monarch. It was known as a principality as it was a constitutional monarchy headed by a prince. The country had a strong financial sector located in the capital, Vaduz, and had been identified as a tax haven.

Prince Albrecht was handsome and tall, with dark wavy hair and a slight Teutonic accent. He seemed very knowledgeable about culture and society, and he took it upon himself to show me Paris in a way I had not yet experienced. He was familiar with the exciting world of theater, opera, ballet . He loved fine wine and gourmet dining, my weakness to this day.

Having eagerly studied "Berlitz Teach Yourself French", I could already exchange greetings, ask for things, say please and thank you. I knew how to count to one million and how to order every item on the menu. With these rudimentary communication skills I could get around quite well. Thanks to my parents strict insistence on good table manners I was able to behave acceptably.

Later I became engaged to a French aristocrat, who gave me a crash course in French etiquette and protocol. There was not too much I needed to learn, but there were certain important things I did not know. For example, you never cut a piece of cheese at a right angle. The greatest cheese faux pas is cutting off the end of the wedge, which is called "le nez", "the nose" of the cheese, with a cross cut. You must cut it at a 45-degree angle. Anyone who did otherwise was considered terribly gauche. I also had to learn not to freak out when and entire broiled trout was served to me, head, skin, fins, tail and all, with a great white hard boiled-eyeball staring up at me. Not only that, but I learned how to decapitate and debone the entire thing, using just a knife and a fork, in the French style, with my elbows at my side and without making a mess. There were many little things I had to learn. Another one was never to thank a waiter. But I constantly ignored that one.

Albrecht's family home: Vaduz Castle

One evening Albrecht called for me at the little old-world Hotel du Danube. Susan Brainard, my roommate and buddy was off on a trip to Milano, one of many, and Ulla Bomser, my other chum, was off in Germany, working for the big catalog house Burda Moden. It was a Thursday night and I had nothing to do so was happy when Albrecht called me at the last minute. I was impulsive in those days and an eleventh hour invitation was a passport to adventure.

A few years earlier an enterprising lady named Madame Lebesque had become the owner of the hotel at 56 Rue Jacob which had been the site of Peace Treaty signed by John Jay and Benjamin Franklin in 1783. She brought her signature family style to every possible corner. The rooms all had antique furnishings and an eclectic decor. In the early 60's, the hotel had offered its very simple comfort to students from the nearby Fine Arts School (Ecole des Beaux Arts) and to painters and other artists. But, now it also housed a bevy of very young international fashion models who enjoyed its excellent location, reasonable prices and bohemian atmosphere.

Through the decades the former mansion had faded a bit, it might have been a bit shabby but it retained an air like a lady of faded beauty and presence. The elevator was broken, as usual, so I took the little winding staircase down to the small lobby. The little mustachioed concierge was seated behind the counter, in front of a wall of cubbyholes with keys and messages for the guests. Sometimes he would snooze late at night and you could reach beside him and just take your key. Or anyone's key. That is how I was involved in a big robbery a few weeks later.

Hotel du Danube

Albrecht was standing there, waiting for me, looking debonair in his Savile Row suit, worn with a turtle neck. We exchanged the obligatory three cheek kisses and a hug. He led me to chauffer driven Citroen, parked on the Rue Jacob just outside the hotel. When I asked what he had in mind, he said we were going to dine with a couple of his old friends, who were in town for the evening, a distant cousin that he had spent a lot of time with as a child and young man. He said it was a last minute thing. He was smiling to himself.

The smooth driving car turned right onto Rue Bonaparte driving slowly to the exciting River Siene which flows right through Paris. He made a left onto the Quai that ran alongside the river. I could see the beautiful Pont Carousel, the Carousel Bridge, as we were approaching the glittering Pont Royale. I rolled down my window to get a better look. I could see the beautiful bridges spanning the deep green river whose surface iridescent with the lights from the festive Bateau Mouche. As the party boats, moved slowly in the shadowy water Parisian music and laughter floated up from the passengers. Along the river bank there were several barges where people actually lived on houseboats moored to the Quai. It was a coveted address if you had an excellent converted barge. Couples were strolling along the banks, holding hands and stopping to kiss. I could not believe I was here and out with a Prince no less.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

I thought we would be staying on the Left Bank, which was the younger hipper part of Paris. I only went on the Right Bank for business reasons. There were usually no go-sees. If you came from New York and had tearsheets you worked. There was actually too much work. I usually ate at Café Flore with any of the models who came back, exhausted, to the Danube after their busy days running around Paris on bookings, some times two or three a day. This entailed getting from one side of Paris to another toting a large satchel full of a complete selection of scarves, necklaces, bracelets, shoes, make-up, hot rollers, combs, brushes, hats and wigs. Part of the expense of being a model was maintaining an up to date accessories collection. After wearing designer clothes all day, I just wanted to be casual.

Then we turned right onto Pont de la Concorde and crossed over. I looked down the river, with all the bridges looking like magic circles reflected in the smooth water. Suddenly we were passing the Place de la Concorde. As we drove by I was very impressed with the obelisk in the center that had been brought from Egypt by Napoleon and the beautiful architecture. The driver stayed straight and we drove slowly onto the Rue Royal.

“We are going to Maxim’s” he said nonchalantly.

The car turned the magnificent Rue Royal where you could see the Oblelisk of the Place de la Concorde at one end and the Madelaine church at the other, looking like a Greek Temple. We pulled up in front of Maxim’s, one of the most famous restaurants in the world. A uniformed door man stood outside.

I had anticipated a typical evening , going to Brasserie Lipp, or Au Pied de Cochon, and then on to Chez Castel, the most exclusive private nightclub in Paris, for a night of dancing with the stars, which was becoming a weekly event for me. I was wearing my up to the minute black Cardin hip huggers and a black ribbed turtleneck sweater also by Cardin, and short white go-go boots by Couregges. It was what Mademoiselle was calling "The American Image", pure snap, crackle and pop. I had on full Mod make-up, false eyelashes, pale lips and a closely-cropped, boldly geometric Sassoon haircut.

Of course I had heard of the legendary Maxim's, the timeless symbol of a certain art of living, a mythical vision of festivities in all of their expressions. It had been founded as a bistro in 1893 by Maxime Gaillard, formerly a waiter. It later became one of the most popular and fashionable restaurants in Paris under its next owner, Eugene Cornuché who created the dining room’s elaborate Art Nouveau décor.

For decades Maxim’s had always been filled with beautiful women and their glittering escorts. “An empty room… Cornuché would say : Never! I always have a beauty sitting by the window, in view from the sidewalk.” Renowned guests of that time period were Edward VII ,the notorious king who had abdicated the throne of England for love of his mistress, Wallis Simpson. They married and lived in Paris as the Duke and Duchess of Windsor and remained steady clients for years, their every moved written about in the newspapers and magazines. Marcel Proust, Jean Cocteau, and Georges Feydeau, were regulars. Feydeau wrote a popular comedy called La Dame de Chez Maxim, which I had read in school

In 1913, Jean Cocteau said of Maxim's: “It was an accumulation of velvet, lace, ribbons, diamonds and what all else I couldn’t describe. To undress one of these women is like an outing that necessitates three weeks advance notice, it’s like moving house."

The décor had not changed since those days. And now I was actually going to go in to this sanctum of glamor and history. Maxim's was immensely popular with the present day international elite of the Swinging Sixties. I spotted Aristotle Onassis with Maria Callas at a table for two and did not allow myself to stare. I had heard that at the end of the Fifties when the restaurant was restored, the workmen found a treasure trove of lost coins and jewelry. It had slipped out of the pockets of the well-to-do diners and been trapped between the cushions of the banquettes for years. It certainly was believable.

The table where we sat.

Maxims’s was the most famous restaurant in the world, and one of the most expensive ones as well with an international prestigious reputation. I was struck by the opulent interior decoration, featuring a beautiful stained glass window, lush table cloths, glittering lighting and lots of dark wood reflected in large mirrors. We passed by a table for four, where two handsome men were with the popular French singing star Sylvie Vartan. One of was Johnny Halliday, France’s answer to Elvis and the other was Gunther Sachs, the handsome German Playboy who was married to Brigitte Bardot. The fourth chair was empty.

The maitre d' and the waiters were bowing and scraping to Albrecht and calling him "Your Excellency". Up until this time I had not really thought about Albrecht being a Prince of the Royal family of Liechtenstein and all that title entailed. He, like many of the titled youth, did not want to make a big fuss. To him the to-do over the aristocracy was boring. The exciting world of fashion was very glamorous and interesting for these sons and daughters of very conservative families. Diana Vreeland had made people like Twiggy and Jean Shrimpton objects of fascination through the pages of Vogue.

The Jet Set and the Young Bloods were fascinated with models. The political climate was moving way toward the left as the working classes were beginning to get more and more power. The Beatles and the Rolling Stones set the tone and a working class hero was something to be. Sons of Dukes and Barons came to Paris, London and Rome to mix and mingle with the Mods, the designers, artist, and musicians and of course the models. And the Mods were mingling right back. And so it was that a regular girl from Long Island found herself in this fantastic place, and many others.

Trying to maintain some dignity while on the arm of the Prince, I could hardly help looking up and all around at the sumptuous décor. We were led to a table for six that had only four plush antique chairs around it. It was covered with a fine linen table cloth and set with crystal and Limoges china. The other "couple" was already there, waiting for us, seated on the plush red banquette, facing us with their backs to the wall. I could not believe my eyes.

Princess Grace and Prince Rainier of Monaco

I don't know how I kept my poise when I was presented to Prince Rainier, the reigning ruler of Monaco and Princess Grace, the former actress Grace Kelly. They were to be our dinner companions. Was I supposed to curtsy? And how do you curtsy in bell-bottoms? I kept calm and collected as Prince Rainier rose and kissed my hand, the first time anyone had ever done that to me. He was tall and dark haired, like Albrecht, not quite as handsome but with his own special charm. His hair was tinged with silver and he sported a neat mustache. He was dressed in a tuxedo and tails, a red diagonal sash across his chest covered in medals. Evidently they were in Paris for some state event.

Princess Grace remaining seated, of course, offered her hand for me to shake. Her blonde hair was swept up in a chignon. She was wearing a long, white satin evening gown, studded with pearls, with a matching 3/4 sleeve jacket. I think it was Dior. On her left hand, she had THE RING, it was huge, a diamond set in rubies, and she had dazzling diamonds on her ears and throat. She was thirty-seven years old and very beautiful. Her white satin gloves were folded beside her. The maître d' pulled out the chair for me opposite Her Serene Highness, as she was known. And I sat down. The waiter put my napkin on my lap

Now I knew I was hopelessly underdressed, and felt a bit awkward, but no one seemed to mind. Everyone else was dressed in cocktail or evening attire. The prince and princess were relaxed and natural and very nice to me. Fine Champagne was poured, and although I did not drink, I took a few sips. I decided to just brazen it out as if I dined with royalty every day. I couldn't believe I was having this opportunity to have a conversation with these two world famous people. Because of Rainer's close relationship with Albrecht, they were all acting very congenial and unpretentious, glad for an unexpected chance to get together. Ever the actress, I played along, as if to the manor born.

I was discovering that the rich and famous are just like everybody else when they let their hair down. They like honesty and they often are interested and intrigued by talented youth. Albrecht mentioned that I was known as SuperChick from another planet and they thought it very amusing. Everyone was fascinated with Outer Space and Super Heroes in 1966. My mother had always taught me not to talk about myself, but to take an interest in other people. One of my good points was being able to ask a question that the other person would enjoy answering. I learned a lot that way.

"How did you to meet" I asked naively. They had met and married in 1956. while I was still too young to read the tabloids, so I really didn't know. But I had seen Grace's picture very often on the covers of French magazines and was well aware that she was a former American movie star who had married a romantic prince and was living happily ever after.

"I was in the palace for a pictorial with Paris Match". Grace answered, not at all taken aback that I didn't know. "It was during the shooting of a movie I did with Cary Grant, "To Catch a Thief."

I remembered the movie, but I had not seen it. I was only nine when it came out.

"The camera crew and I were there on time, but Rainer was delayed, so we decided to improvise," she continued. "We were a little bit panicky, thinking he was not going to show up! Photographs were being hastily contrived. Someone suggested that I sit on his red-canopied throne, when suddenly the door opened and there he was." She turned to the Prince and smiled. I could tell that she was proud of her husband and in love with him. What was not to love? He was quite good-looking, very smart and charming and he had his own country. I had recently seen a beautiful picture of the two of them and their three young children.

The prince picked up his glass of red wine by the stem and twirled it around, savoring the sight of the rich garnet color making small swirls inside the sparkling crystal.

"The first time I saw Grace, she was sitting on my throne", Rainier sighed., "And she looked pretty good there. For me it was love at first sight. I made up my mind that she would one day be my Princess."

"He didn't tell me that" , Grace laughed, "But, after the photo session he did take me on a tour of his exotic gardens and his private zoo with the most ferocious lions, and tigers and rare tropical birds."

Rainer said, "I had to make up some excuse to see her again. I went to America to visit the wounded veterans, and I contacted her. Somehow I wangled an invitation to Grace's home at Christmas time." he smiled.

"And the rest is history" Albrecht added, slightly bored. "He proposed, she accepted and here they are!"

Monaco

To him it was all old hat. He had been to the wedding where the world had gathered in its finest attire to pay homage and offer its congratulations. Champagne flowed freely and there was dancing everywhere as flags waved, cannons boomed and fireworks splashed in the sky.

Suddenly there was an uproar. Albrecht and I turned around in our chairs and Ranier and Grace craned their necks to see, Who but Brigitte Bardot, the biggest movie star in France had entered the restaurant looking like she had just walked off the beach at San Tropez. The buzz was not about who she was. The place was filled with stars. The problem was Brigitte had no shoes on. She strode in, her long blonde hair streaming, wearing a quite beautiful lace dress her pretty bare feet treading the luxurious Persian carpet. People were looking askance and mummering ” Eh, bah, dit donc” which is French for “ I say!”

Brigitte Bardot and Gunther Sachs

With a little flurry of activity the situation was deftly handled. The owner, Louis Vaudable offered the beautiful Bardot his arm and escorted her to her table, the one with Sylvie Vartan, and everybody went back to their business. Nobody said anything about it at our table although Albrect was smiling to himself. The food was exquisite. I concentrated on eating with my best manners. I did not say much. I thought I should say something.

"I've never been to Monaco", I said, but I'd love to go!”

"You must come and see us when you do", said Rainier. Grace smiled at me. “By all means,” she said.

Too bad I never took them up on the invitation. But as fabulous as they were, they seemed a little old and stodgy for my Mod tastes. Besides the invitation was rather vague and probably just given out of politeness. We spent the rest of evening eating the delicious food, sipping the fine wine, joking and reminiscing and I even was able to come up with a few 'bon mots' of my own, but mostly I just listened. They told me a little about the history of Monaco and Albrecht and Rainier gossiped about mutual friends, using their first names, so I had no idea who they were talking about. As they chatted in French, I looked over the Princes shoulder. The wall behind the table was dominated by a huge, beautiful oval mirror richly framed in ornate dark wood. It reflected the Art Nouveau lamp in the shape of a sensual flower which was placed at the top of the mirror The wall behind the mirror was an sumptuous antique painting of figures in classical robes interacting in a fantastical landscape. Reflected in the mirror was the high ceiling, consisting of beautifully painted tiles, featuring flowers.

As I listened to them chattering away in French, and English, laughing and smiling, it all seemed like a dream. I was thinking about the movie Sabrina, starring Audrey Hepburn, where a little Long Island nobody attends a culinary school in Paris and returns a very attractive and sophisticated woman. Perhaps that would happen to me. Spontaneously they began lifting their glasses and toasting, the crystal tinkling musically. I snapped out of my reverie and joined in. Prince Rainier toasted me and wished me great success. Then we had dessert and coffee and, all too quickly, it was over. When Princess Grace arose I was able to see the entire magnificent gown, truly fit for a queen. A hush fell over the restaurant as Albrecht and I followed the Prince and Princess out of the restaurant. Then they got into their Bentley and were whisked away, Grace's white gloved hand waving good-bye.

On the way home, I playfully swatted Albrecht with my purse. "Don't ever pull a trick like that on me again!" I said. Albrecht laughed and said the evening had been a great success. He had wanted to delight his friends with his interesting 'mannequin Americaine', and that they had been very happy to meet me. It was hard for me to believe that but it seemed to be true. After years of being the biggest geek in Lindenhurst, here I was living a fantasy. I decided to learn as much as I could and enjoy every minute of it while it lasted. Driving down the Rue de Rivoli, hardly seeing the beautiful Palais du Louvre. I peered at Albrecht, sitting back in his seat beside me, enjoying a Cuban cigar and looking like a cool, sassy pussycat. He was still laughing at me. I still thinking of the white bejeweled couture dress with the incredible jewelry.

"She had so many diamonds and I wasn't wearing any." I sniffed. I actually didn't have any at the time.

Albrecht took my hand and bringing it to his lips, he gently kissed it. The second time I had had my hand kissed. And by another prince! Then looking deeply into my eyes he said with a disarming smile. "Not to worry, My Dear, your eyes are your diamonds."

Modeling In the Sixties

2011-08-28T20:20:00.002-04:00

Being plunged into such a sophisticated society as the international fashion world was a bit overwhelming for teenagers from the USA. Each of us dealt with it as best we could. I went a different route than many because I got involved with the aristocrats and the literary set, by accident really, not by design. Most models dated photographers and sometimes together they made a great creative team.

I never really got involved with a photographer, although I found some very attractive. I did like Arthur Elgort, but it was not to be. It's a funny story and I will tell it later.

I started out as a plain tall skinny nerd, talented in Art and English, but a hopeless outcast in high school society. By my junior year I had attained a level of popularity because of my resemblance to the First Lady, Jacquelyn Kennedy but I still did not fit in with the different cliques at school. I was the Art editor of the school newspaper and appeared in the high school plays, but my friends were usually older. That made it altogether more fabulous to be turned into Cinderella for a season. I was swept from an ordinary existence as a typical Long Island girl into a world of glamour and intrigue, jealousy, madness and even murder.

What have I learned over the years is that having seen life at the "top" as one of the so-called "beautiful people" did not make me any happier. Happiness comes from within. You will see a little of my point of view emerge as I try to show the that even with all that wealth and glamour, people still have their problems, triumphs and tragedies, and that beauty and fame are not guarantees of happiness. Many of the people I knew ended up tragically, Sharon Tate, Donyale Luna, Wallis Franken, etc.

As I piece all these stories together, I will go into the effect the great rebellion against our parents' generation had on us and society as a whole. The shortening of skirts, the emergence of the birth control pill, the popularity of drugs, the androgynous look, the Women's Movement, all these had effects on society, some good, some bad. I try to be objective in my reporting, while still being subjective in my experiences.

Somehow such incredible opportunities were thrown at our feet in those days. International models were considered eligible young ladies and were welcomed into aristocratic circles and the jet-set, as individuals with character and personality, as well as beauty. Academy Award winning movie stars, European Royalty, Hollywood producers, international executives and whatever other dashing personalities were around, were courting us, much to our amazement. They would send private jets to pick us up, just to attend a party. And no one was expected to do anything they did not want to do. Before this I had dating been good old American college boys and of course Michael. They were wonderful but this was a whole new ball game. I was playing in the Big Leagues now. Still, I was interested in being in a relationship. I was pretty old-fashioned despite my Mod clothes. I mostly went out with Susan Brainard and and Ulla Bomser. We would run into other New York models. Most of us lived on the Left Bank in inexpensive, but clean and quaint hotels.

Top models were independent contractors, signing with the best agents and working hard. You could say we were rootless mercenaries, traveling the world and earning our own way. I loved living in hotels, eating in restaurants and traveling by plane and train, for free because the client paid all expenses. And I loved buying new clothes in each city. Such wretched excess, is what I am thinking now. But that was the way it was. I had to travel light. I left so many suitcases in so many hotels and bed and breakfast places because I could not carry everything back to my home in Paris. All the models were always dressed three to six months ahead of what was shown in the magazines and the stores, because of course we had seen it on the shoots. So I did not really miss the clothes I left behind. Later I learned to buy classic styles that could be worn for a long time.

Models did not get ten thousand dollars a day in the Sixties but we made as much as any big CEO of a corporation. We were sole proprietorships. Very large responsibility was placed on us. Thousands of dollars were riding on us showing up in the right country, in the right studio and on time and in good working order. We didn't have teams of stylists, designers and hairdressers to give us support, but I sure wish we did. We had to schlep huge bags filled with all kinds of wigs, hairpieces, scarves, jewelry, hats and other necessities. Professionalism was stressed. and insisted upon by the top agencies. It was a blessing to have hair and make-up artists once in a while, for covers or beauty ads and editorial. But mostly I did my make-up myself and my hair. I had many wigs and hair-pieces so I could change my look.

There was no time for ego-trips, temper tantrums, lateness or no-shows. We did not consider ourselves as sex-objects and were not asked to pose in compromising pictures. There were still certain standards of behavior although they were more relaxed in Europe. Still you were not expected to do anything you would not want to do.We wore some very short skirts and were sometimes very scantily clad, but because it was haute couture, and we were so skinny and looked so cool and classy. We set the standards for a generation.

Below are some of the pictures I did in New York, before I took a helicopter of the PanAm building which took me to the airport. I looked down on New York City not realizing then that i would not see it again for many years. I was off to Paris, meant to stay for six weeks, but the life of a model in Paris in the Sixties was so appealing, I decided not to return. I worked a lot, traveled and played. And then I fell in love with a dream man. Or so I thought.....

My first composite before the Vidal Sassoon haircut that set me apart.

Betsey Johnson bathing suit shot with a wide angle lens Gosta Petersen for Mademoiselle

Click to enlarge

It's easier to stop traffic in a mini-skirt.
I never liked these long skirts but I was booked for an editorial in on
the new phenomenon The Midi . These pictures are for sale on the Intenet by Life magazine.

My first booking in Paris for Pierre Cardin. The hair was by Carita.

This was shot by Gosta Petersen. It was done live.
The studio was dark. He held the lens open and flashed once, I jumped into the second pose,
showing the dress underneath and the light flashed again. It was very a very new photo technique.

This is the first shot I did for Mademoiselle by Gosta Petersen. It can be ordered as a poster from Conde Nast.
I actually was very displeased with these pictures which were distorted on purpose. But they were very well received.

1960s fashion

2011-08-24T17:21:00.000-04:00

1960s fashion:

'via Blog this'

MOD ROMANCE

2011-08-24T16:34:00.002-04:00

Top Teens

2011-07-30T14:12:00.001-04:00

Two young girls from New York. The one on the left Susan Brainard, a recent graduate from Syracuse University. After modeling part time in New York she went to Paris and Milan where she enjoyed a very interesting and successful career. That's me on the right. Susan and I became roommates in Paris and had a lot of fun running around in the jet set, meeting movie stars and royalty. It was a blast. We became roommates and best friends in Paris, lost touch and found each other again.

Magazines and Models in the Fifties and Sixties

2011-03-09T09:58:00.016-05:00

Cartoon of Linda Morand by Angora Sox

Magazines shaped our lives in the Sixties.

Before there was an Internet and cable TV the best way to find out what was going on in the world was by reading magazines. Growing up in the Fifties and Sixties,most Boomer girls looked at the magazines their parents read. They would see the glamorous image of Suzy Parker, the elegant Dovima, and the Miss Rheingold contestants. I remember cutting out the images of the models from the Sears & Roebuck Catalog, a huge thick look book about the size of a telephone book. I would cut out entire families of models and glue them to cardboard making paper doll families and I even had a schoolroom full of paper doll children in big shoe box with Wilhelmina as the teacher.

As I grew up I started to read Teen and Seventeen in the early Sixties and knew the names of most of the models. I loved Colleen Corby and Terry Reno, the two most popular teen models, Diane Conlon, Babette Russell and many more that appeared regularly in the major publications. Little did I know that I was going to grow up and enter the world of modeling myself. Having had that brief fairytale experience changed my li

Modeling in the Sixties was not what it later became. In my years of research on models and modeling I can see how the industry changed in the Seventies and could become very dangerous for a model. Of course not all models experienced the horror stories that happened in Milan and Paris. But there were dangers that were just not there in the years between 1960 and 1969 to most of the top models.

As more and more European and Scandinavian models poured into New York the agencies lost some of the control they had over their models and could not stop some of them from making risky choices. Eileen Ford preferred young models, still in their teens, who she could house in her own home and oversee their careers.

A Ford model was like a prize athlete and had six-figure earning potential. The agency would take 20% of the models' earnings. Each model was an expensive investment of the agencies time and resources. Eileen regularly went through the agencies rosters and trimmed what she called "dead wood", the models who partied too much, had loose morals, were late or who did not maintain the agencies strict grooming standards. The article below shows how it was to be a model in the Sixties.

Modeling was a viable career choice for a young woman and teenage girls in the Sixties. The top agencies were very reputable and models were treated as ladies. They were cherished and looked after by avuncular photographers and caring agencies. Eileen Ford, who is remembered fondly by all her models was known as the Godmother. She fiercely protected her models from the advances of unsavory characters that preyed upon the thousands of girls coming to New York City in search of their dreams.

Linda Morand wearing Betsey Johnson 1966 mademoiselle photo: Gosta Petersen

My career took off in 1966 when I became a popular model for Mademoiselle and other magazines geared to the younger readers, ages 17 - 25. This led to a whirlwind decade of modeling in Paris, Rome and Milan, marrying a French Viscount, a stint in Hollywood and vacationing in Ibiza, Crete, The South of France and extensive travel throughout Western Europe. I lived mostly in Paris, Rome and Munich for ten years.

Life After Modeling

When I got back to the real world, after retiring in 1975, I returned to the United States and I led a fairly normal life.I had four children which kept me pretty busy. I decided to start my own business. In my thirties I opened a modeling school in a small town. It was a run as a working studio with models being taken through a runway course, a commercial shoots, headshots/beauty shots and hair, make-up and grooming courses, as well as social graces. The demand for our brand of headshots was great as no one else in the area could shoot like that and have such a quick turnaround time. We had our own lab which processed 30 rolls of film at a time. The demand for the headshots developed into a photography studio as we phased out our own school handled photoshoots for modeling schools around the USA.

The Model Studio

In the mid-80s I was running a small modeling school which had a great curriculum.

My experience as a model and my husband's skill with the camera and a unique system of fast turn-around led to ten years of traveling to many cities in the USA, motivating talented young girls and guys, beauty artists and teaching staff. Besides seminars and one on one counseling we made good, marketable commercial images of them with excellent lighting and gold quality prints. We would have loved digital cameras but they did not have them then so processing the film was time consuming and expensive. Most of the people we photographed all around the USA had no future as a fashion model, but had the personalities, looks and drive to pursue other forms of show business and modeling. I enjoyed working with young people and gave each of them an excellent calling card. Everyone needs a good headshot. Although none went on to become a supermodel, many had successful careers in regional modeling and commercial modeling. I am still in touch with some of my former students today.

I am retired now and spending time on my hobby again. I collect pictures from old magazines and have people from all over the world who send them to me. My group identifies the models and we have even built a community on Facebook and on my website miniMadMOD60s.com

Now just past my 65th Birthday I am happy to know that I have helped to bring those pictures back to life by starting a movement, mobilizing several hundred people to send me the images of those models.

So many people have written to me asking for biographies and stories so I will do that here. I will speak about the models I knew and liked before, during and after my career and show images of them at the time.