In 1975, I entered high school as a rambunctious, unwieldy fourteen year-old. After rattling the nerves of most of my teachers, I was quickly dismissed and sent to the only class that could keep me under control — art.  The art class to which I was relegated was a senior class. I was the lone freshman. I didn’t know any of my classmates and, frankly, they didn’t want to know me. So, I sat quietly at a desk, happily drawing my silly little pictures and just as happily keeping to myself.

Among the students in the class was a girl named Denise. And Denise was a dead ringer for David Bowie. I mean she looked exactly like David Bowie — flaming red-orange hair, tweezed eyebrows, pronounced cheekbones. She wore a “Bowie” emblazoned T-shirt nearly every day. On the days too cold for a lightweight cotton top, she sported some glittery, sequin-y garment, reminiscent of a Bowie stage get-up and accessorized with a Bowie pin-back button. While she busied herself with her art project du jour, she talked about one subject and one subject only  — David Bowie. Every aspect of every one of her conversations found its way back to the statuesque glam-rocker. His songs, his album titles, his elaborate stage costumes  — every topic had a David Bowie spin. Of course, her artwork consisted of beautifully executed copies of photos of David Bowie from various issues of Circus and Creem magazines, many of which were regularly carried and produced from Denise’s backpack.

In early 1976, Bowie brought his Station to Station Tour to Philadelphia and the months and days leading up to the performance were like Denise’s birthday. She talked about what songs he would play, what costumes he would wear and where she would sit on each night of the two-show stop. She planned her strategy for a rendezvous at his hotel and, perhaps another at the artist’s entrance at the concert venue. Denise was more devoted to Bowie than Peter was to Jesus.

Denise graduated in June 1976 and I never saw her again.

David Bowie passed away this week at the age of 69, after a private battle with cancer. I’m sure, somewhere, Denise is sad.

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Born in Japan in 1929, Umeki Miyoshi was the youngest of nine children of the owner of an iron factory. In her 20s, using the stage name “Nancy Umeki,” she recorded a succession of American jazz standards for the RCA Victor Japan label and performed a popular nightclub act. A talent scout saw her act and convinced her to move to New York.

Now using the name Miyoshi Umeki (Japanese tradition has the family name preceding the given name. She reversed her name to the more American form.), she was booked on the Arthur Godfrey Talent Scouts show and became a series regular for a short time. Her enchanting combination of American pop styling and traditional Kabuki theater caught the eye of director Joshua Logan. Miyoshi was cast in Logan’s big screen version of Sayonara, based on the on the novel by James Michener. Her moving performance earned her an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress in 1958 (as well as the Best Supporting Actor Oscar for her co-star Red Buttons). She was next cast in the Broadway production of Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Flower Drum Song, and eventually, the film version. She sang the memorable “A Hundred Million Miracles” and was serenaded by Jack Soo, the future Detective Yemana on TV’s Barney Miller, in the song “Don’t Marry Me.”

Throughout the 1960s, Miyoshi regularly appeared on episodic television, like The Donna Reed Show and Mr. Ed. In 1971, she took on the role for which she is most remembered – the gentle housekeeper “Mrs. Livingston” on The Courtship of Eddie’s Father. After three seasons, the series was canceled and Miyoshi left show business for good. She stayed completely out of public life for 35 years, her name only surfacing when her obituary appeared in newspapers across the country in 2007. While living with her son and grandchildren in Missouri, she succumbed to cancer. Miyoshi was 78 years old.

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I haven’t been posting illustrations to this blog as often as I’d like. So, in 2016, I will post at least one illustration per week (maybe more) on the subject for which I’ve gained a reputation — dead celebrities.

The first one is actor Edward G. Robinson.

Ten-year-old Emmanuel Goldenberg emigrated with his family from Romania, after experiencing constant antisemitism. The family settled in Manhattan’s Lower East Side and soon, Emmanuel (now calling himself Edward) entered the popular Yiddish theater. At 23, he made his Broadway debut which led to a lucrative and very productive film career.

In films, he was typecast as crass, ruthless and vile gangsters. It was a direct contrast to his actual demeanor. Edward was a sweet, gentle and  compassionate man. He was an outspoken combatant to Nazism. He contributed thousands of dollars to many political groups throughout the years during World War II. He called for a boycott of German-made products. He portrayed several prominent Jewish public figures, including Dr.Ehrlich, pioneer in blood disease research, and Paul Reuter, a forerunner in news reporting. He was a man of culture with a love for classical music and a collector of fine art. Edward partnered in an art gallery with fellow art lover Vincent Price.

In the 1950s, he was called to testify in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee. He worked hard to clear his name, although he refused to name any Communist sympathizers. His testimony damaged his career and, although not blacklisted, he found it difficult to be cast in anything larger than minor and supporting roles. His friend, and noted anti-Communist, Cecil B. DeMille cast him as the nefarious Dathan in The Ten Commandments. It was the jump-start that his sagging career needed. Edward was soon back in demand, taking roles in both television and movies.

In 1973, he was cast as Charlton Heston’s friend and roommate in the science-fiction classic Soylent Green. Edward was suffering from the effects of cancer during production and had gone completely deaf. He regularly had to perform several takes of scenes until he got the rhythm of his fellow actors delivering their lines, as he could not hear them. Sometimes, he would continue to deliver his own lines after the director had hollered “Cut!” He had only told co-star Heston of his illness, prompting Heston to cry real tears during Edward’s climactic “suicide” scene. Edward passed way ten days after the film wrapped. He received an honorary, though posthumous, Oscar later that year. He was never nominated for the award during his 50-plus year career.

In the 2015 film, Trumbo, Edward (as portrayed by actor Michael Stuhlbarg), is wrongly shown as the betrayer of Dalton Trumbo and others during hearings before the House Un-American Activities Committee. This is not historically accurate. Edward even wrote an article for American Legion Magazine called “How the Reds made a Sucker Out of Me,” explaining how he was duped by communist organizations.

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