DCS: the kessler sisters
Alice and Ellen Kessler were born performers. The pretty twin blonds joined the Leipzig Opera Company in their native Germany as children. Later, they were featured performers at famed Le Lido on the Champs-Élysées in Paris. There, met even met Elvis Presley while he was on leave from the US Army.
Alice and Ellen went on to represent West Germany in the 1959 Eurovision Song Contest. They moved to Italy in the 1960s and were regular performers on Italian television. They posed for the Italian version of Playboy, in what became the fastest selling issue of the European magazine. They eventually made their way to America, where their popularity blossomed on variety shows like The Ed Sullivan Show, The Red Skelton Show and The Danny Kaye Show. The sisters appeared as dancers in the 1962 film Sodom and Gomorrah and found themselves on the cover of Life magazine the same year. They moved back to Germany and continued performing for adoring crowds.
The Kessler sisters experienced declining health in their later years. Ellen suffered a stroke in October 2025. They made it very clear that they did not wish to be dependent on nursing care, and wanted to die together. They agreed upon and arranged for an assisted suicide. Alice and Ellen Kessler were born on August 20, 1936. They died on November 17, 2025.
Together.
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inktober52: goose
Abe Saperstein, the founder of the world famous barnstorming basketball team The Harlem Globetrotters, discovered one of his biggest stars in a very unlikely place — a baseball field.
Goose Tatum was playing for Birmingham Black Barons, a professional baseball team in the Negro League. Saperstein thought the athletic fielder’s 6-foot-plus frame and 6-foot-plus arm span would translate perfectly on the basketball court. Goose was signed to a contact with the Globetrotters and spent the next eleven years as the original “Clown Prince of Basketball.”
Goose loved to make people laugh and a lot of the “shtick” he invented still shows up during Harlem Globetrotters’ exhibitions today. Goose is also credited with inventing and perfecting the hook shot, still used in professional basketball. At the top of his game, in 1955, Goose was making a reported $55,000 per year — an unheard-of salary at the time.
His fame went to his head, however, and Saperstein released Goose from his contract for missing too many games and violation of team rules. Unfettered, Goose, along with Globetrotters’ teammate Marques Haynes formed a rival basketball club called The Harlem Magicians. Saperstein eventually sued Goose for trademark violation, a case that was settled out of court.
Goose fell into a state of depression after the 1966 death of his son in a car accident. He began drinking heavily and his health began to decline. He passed away in January 1967 at the age of 45.
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DCS: angela aames
Angela Aames had a handful of roles in both B pictures and Hollywood blockbusters. Relegated to roles reserved for dimwitted buxom bombshells, Angela made her big screen debut in Harry Hurwitz’s Fairy Tales, an adult take on familiar bedtime stories, as “Little Bo Peep.” She also appeared in Scarface, Bachelor Party, All The Marbles and several mindless sex romps that tried to capitalize on the success of Animal House. The most notorious of these was H.O.T.S., a favorite of Cinemax which eventually gained a loyal cult following. Angela was also cast in episodes of Cheers, Mork & Mindy, The Love Boat and Night Court.
In 1988, Angela was found dead in a friend’s San Fernando Valley home. The cause of death was determined to have been a deterioration of the heart muscle, brought on by an undetected virus. She was 32 years old.
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inktober52: sneakers
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DCS: evelyn west
Evelyn West was a pioneer… sort of a Hernando de Soto of Burlesque. In the early days of the art form theater, the emphasis for titillation was placed on sexy walks and suggestive pelvic gyrations. Evelyn, with her reputed 39 1/2 inch bust line, moved the focus upward. She employed her own style of publicity, insuring her breasts with famed Lloyd’s of London in excess of $50,000. She insisted on being billed at appearances as “Evelyn West — the $50K Treasure Chest.” She started off her career in traveling sideshows, but soon gained recognition and was playing the popular President’s Club in San Francisco.
Evelyn loved publicity. She often challenged and teased her fellow strippers. Once she spotted actress Anita Ekberg leaving the venue during a performance. The always-prepared Evelyn hurled a ripe tomato from the stage, squarely hitting Miss Ekberg. She regularly antagonized colleague Tempest Storm as well as threatened legal action against actress Jane Russell. Evelyn was very critical of Jayne Mansfield and Marilyn Monroe, making public accusations that their respective physical attributes were greatly exaggerated and — daring to hint — even fake. She loved making guest appearances at nudist colonies and even served as a bridesmaid at a nudist wedding in Denver, where she carried a sign reading “Park your Fig Leaves Upstairs.” Not leaving any media untouched, Evelyn was a popular pin-up model and often posed for noted photographer Bunny Yeager. She loved meeting her fans and would slyly inscribe pictures “Bust Wishes!”
After her husband, promoter Al Charles, passed away, Evelyn stepped out of the spotlight. She assumed her birth name — Amy Coomer Charles — and moved to Hollywood, Florida to live a quiet life. In 1981, the sixty-year old Evelyn was approached by the owners of a San Francisco strip club to come out of retirement and perform alongside fellow strippers Tempest Storm and Blaze Starr. Although flattered, she turned the offer down. She was happy with her lifestyle change — selling memorabilia on eBay and rooting heartily for the Florida Marlins.
Evelyn died in November 2004 at the age of 83.
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inktober 52: scorpio
Australian actor Tristan Rogers played the character “Robert Scorpio” on the ABC soap opera General Hospital for twelve years. His character was killed, but Rogers returned for a series of episodes in which he played Robert Scorpio’s spirit. He returned again, this time playing a very much alive Robert Scorpio in early 2006. He popped up again at the end of 2006. Two years later, Rogers reprised the role on a night time spin-off of the popular daytime soap. He finished the year playing Robert Scorpio in another series of episodes. Over the next thirteen years, Rogers showed up here and there on General Hospital, even while playing another character on another soap opera on a rival network. He appeared on the final episode of General Hospital broadcast on October 2, 2025 — recorded shortly before his death in August 2025.
By the way, Tristan Rogers was a Gemini.
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DCS: pierre robert
In 1981, I was a student attending a small but respected* art school in Philadelphia. To help pay my tuition, I worked three evenings a week at my cousin’s health food restaurant. Each Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, I would sneak out of class a bit early and rush to the restaurant to get there in time to begin my 4:00 shift.
One afternoon, a tall, lanky guy with a thick beard and very long hair came in for an early dinner. Seeing a guy of this description was not unusual. The clientele of a health food restaurant — one with an exclusively vegetarian menu — was chock full of characters who looked like this guy. I greeted him as he approached the service counter and allowed him time to peruse the evening’s dinner offerings on display in a hot table behind protective glass (It was cafeteria-style.) He smiled and gave the various entrees the ol’ “once-over.” I noticed his bright orange t-shirt was emblazoned with the logo of up-and-coming rockabilly band The Stray Cats. I pointed to the logo and said, “That’s a pretty cool shirt. Where would one get a shirt like that?”
He glanced down at his chest and smiled. “This?,” he replied, “I got this where I work.” His voice was deep and commanding and mellifluous. I was surprised for a moment.
“Where do you work?,” I pressed. And then I answered my own question. “What a second! I know that voice! You’re Pierre! Pierre Robert!”
His smile widened. “You know me?,” he shyly asked.
“I sure do! I listen to you nearly every night when I’m up doing homework.,” I proudly explained. At the time, Pierre was doing the dreaded 2 AM to 6 AM overnight shift and I often found myself awake at ungodly hours drawing or painting some sort of class project that was due the following day. Pierre’s mix of rock and roll and homey commentary kept me awake and aware and able to finish my school assignments. Pierre was flattered that he was recognized. Genuinely flattered. He ordered something for dinner and, after I fixed him a heathy platter, he found a quiet corner of the small dining area to enjoy his meal. Pierre came in often and we always had a nice conversation and then I always allowed him go off and eat in peace.
In the summer of 1982, WMMR — the radio station where Pierre worked — was sponsoring an exclusive premiere of the teen comedy Fast Times at Ridgmont High. At any given time, a random caller would be selected to receive two passes to the film as well as a paperback copy of the book on which the film was based. In the middle of the night, I paused my work and called Pierre on the station’s request number. He answered the phone. “Hey, Pierre,” I began, “I sure would like to see Fast Times.” He chuckled and said he’d happily add my name to the “Winners List.” He told me I could pick up the tickets the next day.
Around the time I met Pierre, I also met the future Mrs. Pincus. After a whirlwind nine months of dating, I asked Mrs. P to marry me. I felt our friendship was at a level where I could invite Pierre to our up-coming engagement party. He graciously accepted. It was amusing to see Pierre nursing a Coca-Cola at a picnic table in my future in-law’s backyard while he carried on a conversation with my family and friends.
Over the years, I saw less and less of Pierre. I finished art school. I left my cousin’s restaurant and found employment elsewhere. And I even switched my radio listening loyalties to a station that would eventually employ my son. I would run into Pierre here and there, as he grew to be a beloved and accessible celebrity in the Philadelphia area. Each time our paths would cross I would do my best to refresh his memory as to how exactly we knew each other. He’d try to fill in the blanks and I was never convinced that he fully placed me correctly in his past. But, Pierre was friendly and everyone was Pierre’s friend. He greeted everyone with a smile and a comforting arm around your shoulder and his signature salutation of “Greetings, citizen!”
This past July, Mrs. P and I ventured out to see Rod Stewart on his final tour of large-scale arenas. At the show’s conclusion, I spotted Pierre among the crowd of folks making their way up the aisle. I waved and squeezed myself between the exiting concert-goers to say a quick “hello.”
“Hey Pierre!,” I announced.
“Greetings, citizen!,” he replied.
As I got closer to him, I explained who I was and how we knew each other. He sort of followed my explanation. He called me by my cousin’s name and I corrected him. His eyes darted around as he gathered bits of internally-stored information about events that transpired between us over 40 years prior. He got some details wrong, but I think it finally hit him as to who he was talking to. He gave me a warm handshake and a friendly pat on the shoulder. He waved to Mrs. Pincus and then disappeared into the crowd.
Pierre died on Thursday, October 30, 2025. He had just turned 70.
My art school has closed.
My cousin’s restaurant has closed.
And Pierre — a voice on Philadelphia radio for 44 years — has been silenced.
Rest in peace, citizen, from that guy behind the counter… from the restaurant… you remember.
* I like to tell myself this.
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inktober52: vacant
In a 2007 interview, 51-year old John Lydon — former punk rock poster boy Johnny Rotten — said this about second wave punk band Green Day:
“I think Green Day fucking stink. I think they’re the biggest load of fake nonsense I have ever seen. This lot really irk me. They’re everything that’s wrong.”
John Lydon, trying to stay relevant in a music world that has moved on from his snot-nosed antics.
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DCS: june lockhart
June Lockhart passed away on October 23, 2025 at the age of 100. 100 — boy! what a run!
June was most identified as the all-American wholesome model Mom, playing the definitive role in — not one but two — popular TV series, Lassie and Lost in Space. Well, I never watched Lassie and I’ve seen only a handful of episodes of Lost in Space. I remember June Lockhart from several other of her 179 screen credits over a career that spanned an impressive and productive nine decades.
I have always loved Charles Dickens’ holiday novella A Christmas Carol. I loved to check the sole copy out of the library at my elementary school and read and re-read about the transformation of miserly Ebenezer Scrooge into a benevolent and humbled servant of the winter holiday season. As a fan of horror movies, I loved the juxtaposition of a ghost story for Christmas, years before Tim Burton claimed the idea for himself. I watched (and enjoyed) every single incarnation and reimagination of the classic tale. From the creepy 1935 version starring Seymour Hicks to the musical interpretation of Scrooge starring Albert Finney to Mr. Magoo’s animated antics, the first animated special produced for television to the more recent productions with George C. Scott and the Disney CGI take with Jim Carrey. My favorite, however, is the 1938 version featuring Reginald Owen in the main role. Countering Mr. Owen’s “Scrooge,” is formidable character actor Gene Lockhart as the beleaguered but jovial clerk “Bob Cratchit.” Gene’s real-life wife, actress Katherine Lockhart portrays “Mrs. Cratchit” and their 13-year old daughter June, making her uncredited screen debut, plays “Belinda Cratchit,” sister of the perennial optimist “Tiny Tim.” Up until June’s death, she and actor Terry Kilburn (whom played “Tiny Tim”) were to only cast members still alive from the 1938 production.
Despite its sappy sentiment, I have always been a fan of the TV series Family Affair. Gruff Brian Keith played gruff “Uncle Bill Davis” to his brother’s orphaned children. At first reluctant to care for the kids, he grew to love them, as they did him. They series presented gentle lessons in growing up alongside light comedy, mostly at the expenses of exasperated “Gentleman’s Gentleman” “Mr. Giles French,” memorably portrayed by the late Sebastian Cabot. June Lockhart popped up a Season 3 episode of Family Affair as a substitute teacher that young Jody Davis becomes infatuated with. In class, Jody can’t concentrate, as he stares dreamily at June Lockhart as “Miss Evans.” In an effort to get to the bottom of thing, Uncle Bill invites the substitute to dinner at his sprawling New York apartment, and for a post-meal discussion. When she arrives, older sister Cissy nearly shits herself when she gets an eyeful of June Lockhart. It seems June is the spitting images of Jody’s late mother and Jody is getting “motherly vibes” from his sub, even though he was very young at the time of his mother’s death (off-screen death, of course). With the conflict solved, everyone smiles, Jody thanks Uncle Bill, hugs June Lockhart, and she is never seen in Family Affair land again.
When I used to collect autographed photos and frequently attended collector shows top expand my collection, I was told an interesting story about June Lockhart by one of her Lost in Space co-stars. (I can’t remember if it was Marta Kristen of Mark Goddard, but it was one of them.) While inscribing a group shot of the cast of the 60s sci-fi adventure, either Marta or Mark told me that June Lockhart (at the time) was signing photos with her signature as well as that of Guy Williams, the ruggedly handsome actor who played her husband on the show and has passed away in 1989 at the age of 65. According to the story, June claimed that she was duly authorized by the family and estate of Guy Williams to sign photos with his name. I was warned to be extra wary of any Guy Williams autographed I may come across because it could be one from the forged pen of June Lockhart.
Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson.