Despite Janice Dickinson's claims, there were supermodels prior to her stalking the cocaine-saturated 70's; and arguably the most famous was that icon of swingin' Sixties London, Twiggy (September 19, 1949). Her boyish bob, heavily-lashed doe eyes and remarkably lean figure is practically synonymous with an entire epoch of fashion and style. Twiggy is also a rather accomplished singer, having starred in the film version of the musical The Boy Friend (1971), and releasing a string of well-received albums. She's also appeared, to strong reviews, on London's West End as well as Broadway. "The Twig" continues to model occasionally, as well as appear on television (most notably, America's Next Top Model).
Gorgeous and talented Freda Payne (September 19, 1942) is a Detroit native, so it's scant surprise that an aspiring young record mogul named Berry Gordy, Jr., approached the beautiful teenager in 1960, with hopes of signing her to his fledgling Motown corporation. Mama Payne would hear nothing of it, however; and Freda would have to wait an entire decade before she made her quasi-Motown connection. Instead, she honed her jazz chops, touring with the Duke Ellington Orchestra, and releasing an acclaimed album for the Impulse! jazz label in 1963.
When the songwriting/producing team of Lamont Dozier and brothers Eddie and Brian Holland defected from Motown to begin their own Invictus label in 1968, they approached Freda to be their female figurehead; their "Diana Ross," if you will. She agreed, and in 1970, achieved everlasting fame thanks to the enigmatic "Band of Gold," an instant classic. Although she never again had a hit as sizable, and left Invictus amid much acrimony in 1973, such was the magnitude of that hit, Freda continued to appear on television, headline in prestigious venues, and record for major labels for the remainder of the decade on the strength of its success. More recently, the still-stunning singer has returned to her jazz and nightclub roots, earning rave reviews for her performances.
It's hard to think of a more beloved pop "diva" than Cass Elliott (September 19, 1941 - July 29, 1974). We use the quotation marks lovingly; for Cass had the stunning voice and theatrically camp personality that hallmark a true diva, but her self-effacing humor and warmth suffused everything she did with a decidedly un-divalike, cuddly glow. She, of course, first gained fame as "Mama Cass" of The Mamas and The Papas; while still with the group, she had her first solo hit, "Dream a Little Dream of Me" -- a ballad version of a 1931 dance-band favorite which was, well, dreamy. A highly successful solo career followed, with charismatic Cass becoming a popular talk show performer, sought-after nightclub artist and, of course, legendary Scooby-Doo guest star. In 1974, shortly after filming a triumphant Don't Call Me "Mama" Anymore television extravaganza, Cass Elliott died in her sleep of a heart attack. That same night, she had closed a wildly spectacular run at the London Palladium, playing to a packed house and standing ovations. Urban legends aside, nary a trace of a ham sandwich was anywhere to be found.
Was there ever a more horrifying Hollywood tragedy than that of Frances Farmer (September 19, 1913 - August 1, 1970)? Well, perhaps. The lives of Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth and Gene Tierney, among many others, were touched by tragedy, madness or both, but none reached the frenzied, operatic pitch of the Farmer Saga, especially as sensationalized by the media, biographers and Frances herself. Recent revelations cast the true story a bit differently; the ghostwriter of Farmer's shocking memoirs, Will There Really Be a Morning?, for instance, admitted that many of the more sensational bits were fabricated for the sake of saleability. The author of another biography, Shadowland, called his work largely "fictionalized."
This much is true: Frances Farmer possessed a breathtaking beauty and screen presence, and from the start, was a headstrong, often difficult star. Only a few short years into her stardom, alcoholism and a worsening mental state (later diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenia) led to battles with her studio, Paramount; multiple arrests for drunk driving and assault; and, finally, committment to a mental institution. Farmer's memoirs, future biographies and popular legend paint this incarceration as not only involuntary, but a veritable snake pit of physical, mental and sexual abuse, with vile stories of Farmer forced to eat her own feces, and used as a sex slave for male doctors. It was also widely rumored, then reported, that Farmer had undergone a lobotomy. Doubt has been cast on these claims, with many disproven as outright lies.
In her later years, Farmer attempted a small comeback in the late 1950's, and found mild success as a television hostess on a local Indianapolis station. By the mid-1960's, however, her drinking had again become a problem; she was fired from the television show, and again had multiple arrests for drunk driving. She died, hopefully peacefully, of cancer in 1970. Frances Farmer was only 56 years old.
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