The New York TimesThe Lively Morgue

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“Hope Bubbles in Champagne’s Province,” read the headline from the paper of Nov. 26, 1933. Just a couple of weeks before the 21st Amendment repealing prohibition was ratified, French vinters were looking to open up an old market in the United States. “No group has more breathlessly awaited the outcome of the American prohibition battle than the champagne growers of France,” The Times reported. Photo: The New York Times
“Hope Bubbles in Champagne’s Province,” read the headline from the paper of Nov. 26, 1933. Just a couple of weeks before the 21st Amendment repealing prohibition was ratified, French vinters were looking to open up an old market in the United States. “No group has more breathlessly awaited the outcome of the American prohibition battle than the champagne growers of France,” The Times reported. Photo: The New York Times

“Hope Bubbles in Champagne’s Province,” read the headline from the paper of Nov. 26, 1933. Just a couple of weeks before the 21st Amendment repealing prohibition was ratified, French vinters were looking to open up an old market in the United States. “No group has more breathlessly awaited the outcome of the American prohibition battle than the champagne growers of France,” The Times reported. Photo: The New York Times

March 27, 1921: Contents under pressure — a Weimar-era advertising gimmick put unemployed soldiers to work extolling the virtues of German champagne. Years later, in The Times Magazine, Stephen Spender recalled youthful days in Berlin toward the end of the 1920s. “We saw Berlin as a tremendous phenomenon, but not as the cultural center of the then contemporary Europe,” he wrote. “In fact, I doubt whether Berlin could ever be the center of anything, even of Germany: It is a kind of off-center, just as New York is off-center to the United States.” Photo: The New York Times
March 27, 1921: Contents under pressure — a Weimar-era advertising gimmick put unemployed soldiers to work extolling the virtues of German champagne. Years later, in The Times Magazine, Stephen Spender recalled youthful days in Berlin toward the end of the 1920s. “We saw Berlin as a tremendous phenomenon, but not as the cultural center of the then contemporary Europe,” he wrote. “In fact, I doubt whether Berlin could ever be the center of anything, even of Germany: It is a kind of off-center, just as New York is off-center to the United States.” Photo: The New York Times

March 27, 1921: Contents under pressure — a Weimar-era advertising gimmick put unemployed soldiers to work extolling the virtues of German champagne. Years later, in The Times Magazine, Stephen Spender recalled youthful days in Berlin toward the end of the 1920s. “We saw Berlin as a tremendous phenomenon, but not as the cultural center of the then contemporary Europe,” he wrote. “In fact, I doubt whether Berlin could ever be the center of anything, even of Germany: It is a kind of off-center, just as New York is off-center to the United States.” Photo: The New York Times

Nov. 28, 1923: Liquor and beers were examined by J. W. Quillen, the Bureau of Internal Revenue’s chief chemist, who determined that only two of the thousands of bottles in this warehouse weren’t terrible moonshine counterfeits. Three years later, Mr. Quillen was quoted in The New York Times warning against future deaths from poisonous alcohol. At the time, the government had taken up the practice of denaturing alcohol in order to prevent its being bootlegged. Nevertheless, bootleggers sought to “renature” alcohol, and weird elixirs started finding their way into beverages and killing people. “The Government, according to the chemist, formerly used in denaturing a formula known as No. 6, which was believed to be deadly,” reported The Times. “Very recently, Mr. Quillen said, he has been receiving samples of beverages which contain wood alcohol, and no bootlegger has yet been able to get rid of the poison in that.” Photo: The New York Times
Nov. 28, 1923: Liquor and beers were examined by J. W. Quillen, the Bureau of Internal Revenue’s chief chemist, who determined that only two of the thousands of bottles in this warehouse weren’t terrible moonshine counterfeits. Three years later, Mr. Quillen was quoted in The New York Times warning against future deaths from poisonous alcohol. At the time, the government had taken up the practice of denaturing alcohol in order to prevent its being bootlegged. Nevertheless, bootleggers sought to “renature” alcohol, and weird elixirs started finding their way into beverages and killing people. “The Government, according to the chemist, formerly used in denaturing a formula known as No. 6, which was believed to be deadly,” reported The Times. “Very recently, Mr. Quillen said, he has been receiving samples of beverages which contain wood alcohol, and no bootlegger has yet been able to get rid of the poison in that.” Photo: The New York Times

Nov. 28, 1923: Liquor and beers were examined by J. W. Quillen, the Bureau of Internal Revenue’s chief chemist, who determined that only two of the thousands of bottles in this warehouse weren’t terrible moonshine counterfeits. Three years later, Mr. Quillen was quoted in The New York Times warning against future deaths from poisonous alcohol. At the time, the government had taken up the practice of denaturing alcohol in order to prevent its being bootlegged. Nevertheless, bootleggers sought to “renature” alcohol, and weird elixirs started finding their way into beverages and killing people. “The Government, according to the chemist, formerly used in denaturing a formula known as No. 6, which was believed to be deadly,” reported The Times. “Very recently, Mr. Quillen said, he has been receiving samples of beverages which contain wood alcohol, and no bootlegger has yet been able to get rid of the poison in that.” Photo: The New York Times

Dec. 1, 1923: The French actress Mistinguett, née Jeanne Florentine Bourgeois, photographed at home in Paris with her hundreds of fine shoes and blurry pet monkey. She had a certain flair for things ostentatious and dramatic, having reportedly had her famous legs insured in 1919 for 500,000 francs, and, according to The New York Times, challenging strangers who jostled her. “Mlle. Mistinguett, France’s most popular music hall artist, may fight a duel one day soon,” a special cable to The Times reported. “She slapped a man’s face the other other evening and his wife is demanding reparation. Meanwhile Mistinguett is practicing with both pistols and foils so that she may be ready.” Photo: The New York Times
Dec. 1, 1923: The French actress Mistinguett, née Jeanne Florentine Bourgeois, photographed at home in Paris with her hundreds of fine shoes and blurry pet monkey. She had a certain flair for things ostentatious and dramatic, having reportedly had her famous legs insured in 1919 for 500,000 francs, and, according to The New York Times, challenging strangers who jostled her. “Mlle. Mistinguett, France’s most popular music hall artist, may fight a duel one day soon,” a special cable to The Times reported. “She slapped a man’s face the other other evening and his wife is demanding reparation. Meanwhile Mistinguett is practicing with both pistols and foils so that she may be ready.” Photo: The New York Times

Dec. 1, 1923: The French actress Mistinguett, née Jeanne Florentine Bourgeois, photographed at home in Paris with her hundreds of fine shoes and blurry pet monkey. She had a certain flair for things ostentatious and dramatic, having reportedly had her famous legs insured in 1919 for 500,000 francs, and, according to The New York Times, challenging strangers who jostled her. “Mlle. Mistinguett, France’s most popular music hall artist, may fight a duel one day soon,” a special cable to The Times reported. “She slapped a man’s face the other other evening and his wife is demanding reparation. Meanwhile Mistinguett is practicing with both pistols and foils so that she may be ready.” Photo: The New York Times

March 25, 1934: Inspired by the newfangled contraptions of the era, Andre Perugia unveiled some of his latest shoe designs: “Evening Oxford With Airplane Wire Heel; a Mule With Organ Pipe Heel, and a Sandal With a Machine Age Heel of Metal Balls.” Elsewhere in that Sunday’s “Rotogravure Picture Section in Two Parts” (beginning on page 103): signs of spring; a scowling Princess Margaret Rose of York; the pouring of 100 tons of molten glass for a mirror; and a “new plane with wings like a saucer: the ‘circle plane.’ ” Photo: The New York Times
March 25, 1934: Inspired by the newfangled contraptions of the era, Andre Perugia unveiled some of his latest shoe designs: “Evening Oxford With Airplane Wire Heel; a Mule With Organ Pipe Heel, and a Sandal With a Machine Age Heel of Metal Balls.” Elsewhere in that Sunday’s “Rotogravure Picture Section in Two Parts” (beginning on page 103): signs of spring; a scowling Princess Margaret Rose of York; the pouring of 100 tons of molten glass for a mirror; and a “new plane with wings like a saucer: the ‘circle plane.’ ” Photo: The New York Times

March 25, 1934: Inspired by the newfangled contraptions of the era, Andre Perugia unveiled some of his latest shoe designs: “Evening Oxford With Airplane Wire Heel; a Mule With Organ Pipe Heel, and a Sandal With a Machine Age Heel of Metal Balls.” Elsewhere in that Sunday’s “Rotogravure Picture Section in Two Parts” (beginning on page 103): signs of spring; a scowling Princess Margaret Rose of York; the pouring of 100 tons of molten glass for a mirror; and a “new plane with wings like a saucer: the ‘circle plane.’ ” Photo: The New York Times

March 4, 1962: “Sing Sing is a town that lives on hope,” wrote Fred J. Cook for The Times Magazine, chronicling inmates’ days in terms that might come off unusually cheery. “For the first two weeks, the day of the new arrival bears some resemblance to that of a freshman in college;” the routines are rigid, “but not unbearable,” and there are activities like working in a print shop, tearing apart and rebuilding motors, getting an education, or working in industrial shops supervised by one Fred Christ. Photo: Sam Falk/The New York Times
March 4, 1962: “Sing Sing is a town that lives on hope,” wrote Fred J. Cook for The Times Magazine, chronicling inmates’ days in terms that might come off unusually cheery. “For the first two weeks, the day of the new arrival bears some resemblance to that of a freshman in college;” the routines are rigid, “but not unbearable,” and there are activities like working in a print shop, tearing apart and rebuilding motors, getting an education, or working in industrial shops supervised by one Fred Christ. Photo: Sam Falk/The New York Times

March 4, 1962: “Sing Sing is a town that lives on hope,” wrote Fred J. Cook for The Times Magazine, chronicling inmates’ days in terms that might come off unusually cheery. “For the first two weeks, the day of the new arrival bears some resemblance to that of a freshman in college;” the routines are rigid, “but not unbearable,” and there are activities like working in a print shop, tearing apart and rebuilding motors, getting an education, or working in industrial shops supervised by one Fred Christ. Photo: Sam Falk/The New York Times

Sept. 5, 1961: In the Bergdorf Goodman Custom Salon, Henrietta Gabriel checked a muslin pattern. As The Times reported, Metropolitan Opera labor negotiations were threatening a shipment of fabric on its way to the Custom Salon for the ’61-’62 opera season, and Ethel Frankau, the salon’s director, was anxious. “I don’t know what we’ll do if there’s no opera,” she said. “What about all our brocade?” Photo: The New York Times
Sept. 5, 1961: In the Bergdorf Goodman Custom Salon, Henrietta Gabriel checked a muslin pattern. As The Times reported, Metropolitan Opera labor negotiations were threatening a shipment of fabric on its way to the Custom Salon for the ’61-’62 opera season, and Ethel Frankau, the salon’s director, was anxious. “I don’t know what we’ll do if there’s no opera,” she said. “What about all our brocade?” Photo: The New York Times

Sept. 5, 1961: In the Bergdorf Goodman Custom Salon, Henrietta Gabriel checked a muslin pattern. As The Times reported, Metropolitan Opera labor negotiations were threatening a shipment of fabric on its way to the Custom Salon for the ’61-’62 opera season, and Ethel Frankau, the salon’s director, was anxious. “I don’t know what we’ll do if there’s no opera,” she said. “What about all our brocade?” Photo: The New York Times

Dec. 31, 1968: “The whole idea of a debutante affair is for a girl to be presented who is available for dating,” explained Vera Wang, representing China at the 14th annual International Debutante Ball at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel, even though she “hadn’t formally announced her two-week-old engagement to Thomas Bermingham of Chicago and Phoenix.” She also admitted that she had never actually been to China, but that her parents had “homes in several areas in the Far East.” The ball, it seemed, was also about demonstrating filial piety: “ ‘My parents wanted me to represent China … Nationalist China,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mind.’ ” Photo: The New York Times
Dec. 31, 1968: “The whole idea of a debutante affair is for a girl to be presented who is available for dating,” explained Vera Wang, representing China at the 14th annual International Debutante Ball at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel, even though she “hadn’t formally announced her two-week-old engagement to Thomas Bermingham of Chicago and Phoenix.” She also admitted that she had never actually been to China, but that her parents had “homes in several areas in the Far East.” The ball, it seemed, was also about demonstrating filial piety: “ ‘My parents wanted me to represent China … Nationalist China,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mind.’ ” Photo: The New York Times

Dec. 31, 1968: “The whole idea of a debutante affair is for a girl to be presented who is available for dating,” explained Vera Wang, representing China at the 14th annual International Debutante Ball at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel, even though she “hadn’t formally announced her two-week-old engagement to Thomas Bermingham of Chicago and Phoenix.” She also admitted that she had never actually been to China, but that her parents had “homes in several areas in the Far East.” The ball, it seemed, was also about demonstrating filial piety: “ ‘My parents wanted me to represent China … Nationalist China,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mind.’ ” Photo: The New York Times

Sept. 30, 1956: The Times feted the Waldorf-Astoria hotel on its 25th anniversary (at its Park Avenue site) with a spread in the magazine, which sought to determine why the place was better than any other first-class hotel. The article also explored the provenance of the hyphen. (It was originally the Waldorf hotel; quoth the article, “A prime jape of the day was to say ‘Meet me at the Hyphen.’ ”) Perhaps a lesser known fact: The newer iteration, which opened on Oct. 1, 1931, “operated in the red for a dozen years.” Photo: Sam Falk/The New York Times
Sept. 30, 1956: The Times feted the Waldorf-Astoria hotel on its 25th anniversary (at its Park Avenue site) with a spread in the magazine, which sought to determine why the place was better than any other first-class hotel. The article also explored the provenance of the hyphen. (It was originally the Waldorf hotel; quoth the article, “A prime jape of the day was to say ‘Meet me at the Hyphen.’ ”) Perhaps a lesser known fact: The newer iteration, which opened on Oct. 1, 1931, “operated in the red for a dozen years.” Photo: Sam Falk/The New York Times

Sept. 30, 1956: The Times feted the Waldorf-Astoria hotel on its 25th anniversary (at its Park Avenue site) with a spread in the magazine, which sought to determine why the place was better than any other first-class hotel. The article also explored the provenance of the hyphen. (It was originally the Waldorf hotel; quoth the article, “A prime jape of the day was to say ‘Meet me at the Hyphen.’ ”) Perhaps a lesser known fact: The newer iteration, which opened on Oct. 1, 1931, “operated in the red for a dozen years.” Photo: Sam Falk/The New York Times

May 3, 1968: “There were no sticks or pucks and the only ice around was in the drinks,” reported Enid Nemy in The Times, describing a specially invented version of hockey at the St. Regis Hotel, where the elite bounced a balloon around a ballroom at a benefit for the Girl Scouts. “It turned out to be a rather ephemeral version of basketball,” Ms. Nemy wrote. The game had a penalty box (another table), referees and rules, with teams even opting for the balloon over a beach ball for fear of breaking the chandeliers. Opposing players had gardening gloves to know whose side they were on, and the “mistress of ceremonies” said “kicking or dribbling was permitted but warned against biting, gouging or breaking balloons with fingernails.” “I’m glad I’m crippled and can’t play this game,” said one observer, who had hurt his wrist in an accident. Photo: Larry C. Morris/The New York Times
May 3, 1968: “There were no sticks or pucks and the only ice around was in the drinks,” reported Enid Nemy in The Times, describing a specially invented version of hockey at the St. Regis Hotel, where the elite bounced a balloon around a ballroom at a benefit for the Girl Scouts. “It turned out to be a rather ephemeral version of basketball,” Ms. Nemy wrote. The game had a penalty box (another table), referees and rules, with teams even opting for the balloon over a beach ball for fear of breaking the chandeliers. Opposing players had gardening gloves to know whose side they were on, and the “mistress of ceremonies” said “kicking or dribbling was permitted but warned against biting, gouging or breaking balloons with fingernails.” “I’m glad I’m crippled and can’t play this game,” said one observer, who had hurt his wrist in an accident. Photo: Larry C. Morris/The New York Times

May 3, 1968: “There were no sticks or pucks and the only ice around was in the drinks,” reported Enid Nemy in The Times, describing a specially invented version of hockey at the St. Regis Hotel, where the elite bounced a balloon around a ballroom at a benefit for the Girl Scouts. “It turned out to be a rather ephemeral version of basketball,” Ms. Nemy wrote. The game had a penalty box (another table), referees and rules, with teams even opting for the balloon over a beach ball for fear of breaking the chandeliers. Opposing players had gardening gloves to know whose side they were on, and the “mistress of ceremonies” said “kicking or dribbling was permitted but warned against biting, gouging or breaking balloons with fingernails.” “I’m glad I’m crippled and can’t play this game,” said one observer, who had hurt his wrist in an accident. Photo: Larry C. Morris/The New York Times