Miss American Pie

Before we reveal the identity of our latest Mystery Guest (which eluded all of you!), let's have a look at all of your incorrect guesses. We normally don't do this; but the contrast between your contenders and the actual subject is just too, too delicious!

Top row: Doris Day, Elizabeth Taylor, Sophia Loren; Middle row: Shelley Fabares, Audrey Hepburn, Sandra Dee; Bottom row: Marilyn Monroe, Leslie Caron, Brigitte Bardot

Glamorous ladies, all; but not the lady in question. Are you ready, possums? Here she is, boys; here she is, world; here's...

...MAMIE!!!

Yes, those fabulous frocks were designed by Arnold Scaasi for Mrs. Eisenhower. Just as Jacqueline Kennedy would epitomize the sleek sophistication of the early 1960's, Mamie Eisenhower was the walking embodiment of the affluent, upwardly mobile, conspicuously consumptive, yet decidedly middlebrow 1950's: the kind of woman who would want a mink coat and a Scaasi dress as status symbols, but who also clipped coupons, served tuna noodle casserole, and cast a suspicious, disapproving eye on the burgeoning social upheaval around the corner. It's a forgotten fact today, but during her husband's administration, Mamie was something of a fashion icon, idolized as the ultimate 1950's housewife: she was named to several best-dressed lists; purchased gowns from such high-end designers as Scaasi; and her 1953 Inaugural Ball gown (by Nettie Rosenstein) caused a sensation.


Interestingly, at the same time that Mrs. Eisenhower was patronizing Scaasi, so was her successor. A long-sleeved ruby dinner gown with a scalloped neckline from Scaasi's 1959 collection caught the eye of Senator Kennedy's beautiful young wife while she was shopping at Bergdorf Goodman, and later made for a striking portrait. The mouth waters at the thought of a dressing room confrontation between Mamie and Jackie, a la The Women, or better yet, a run-in at the ladies' lounge, as in Valley of the Dolls! Disparaging what she perceived as Mrs. Eisenhower's stuffy style, Jackie later wrote in a letter to her fashion mentor, Diana Vreeland, as her husband was on the presidential campaign trail, that she needed "my own little Mollie Parnis," a wicked swipe at the soon-to-be-departing First Lady's personal designer. Mrs. Kennedy also got in a pointed dig at Mamie's iconic inaugural gown; Jackie's would be "in perfect taste -- so simple and beautiful -- not lots of Nettie Rosenstein pailettes."

She and her Scaasi: Jacqueline Kennedy, 1959

Comparisons, of course, are odious; and there couldn't be two more dissimilar women. Jackie Kennedy's soon-to-be-revered style had its strongest influence from the Parisian haute couture, while Mamie Eisenhower's style was squarely rooted in middle America; and, as such, perhaps the choice of Arnold Scaasi for some of her most important gowns was not so surprising, after all. For, although his training and background was in haute couture (in Paris at the House of Paquin, and in New York with the legendary Charles James), Scaasi's trademark exuberance, opulence and more-is-more aesthetic was completely in-sync with the bigger-is-better zeitgeist of the All American Fifties. Witness his 1959 silk damask gown for Mrs. Eisenhower, specially created for a dinner with Soviet premier Nikita Krushchev; Scaasi reputedly recommended gold to be worn in order to symbolize the United States' wealth and power.


Mrs. Eisenhower purchased several gowns by Scaasi in 1959 and 1960; their bouffant- and bubble-skirted lavishness are in direct contrast to the slim shifts and sheaths that Jackie Kennedy (who preferred her bouffants and bubbles on her head) would be photographed in, courtesy of Oleg Cassini (with a little help from Givenchy). But they typify an era, as witnessed by the catalogue of starlets you SSUWAT-ers named as possible answers. Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn and Sandra Dee couldn't be more disparate "types," but they all are forever etched in amber as icons of the 1950's. So is Mamie Eisenhower, and the dresses Arnold Scaasi designed for her are masterpieces of time capsule fashion.

Mrs. Eisenhower in a full length version of the floral dress featured in our original post

For more fascinating reading about Scaasi and his fabulous coterie of clients, we heartily recommend Scaasi: American Couturier by Pamela A. Parmal, "with contributions by William DeGregorio" -- SSUWAT's longtime friend and supporter, Billy D! It's a delicious companion piece to the current exhibition of Scaasi's work at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, where Billy was Textile and Fashion Arts Department Assistant -- an exhibit we dearly hope to visit in person before it closes on June 11, 2011. Besides being a fine read and a visual treat, imagine our delight to find a hidden SSUWAT reference in one of the book's captions, courtesy of Mr. DeGregorio -- all the more reason for each and every one of you to run out and buy a copy!

Free, White, and 51

For the entitled few.

Chicken in a Basket

Choose a thigh or a drumstick.

That Gibson Girl

SSUWAT's good friend Michael O'Sullivan of Mike's Movie Projector recently posed the query: "Who is Virginia Gibson?"

Frankly, we had no idea. But you asked, Mike; we researched. It would seem that Virginia Gibson is the former Virginia Gorski (born April 9, 1928) of St. Louis, MO. A triple-threat singer, dancer and actress, Virginia became a Warner Brothers contract player in 1950, making her debut in the Doris Day box office bonanza, Tea for Two. A year later, Gibson was appearing in a straight, non-musical role with an even more formidable star, none other than Joan Crawford. Goodbye, My Fancy (1951) was a misfire, with a miscast, leaden Crawford in a role originated on the stage by the patrician British beauty Madeleine Carroll.

Lulu Hubbard and Madeleine Carroll in the play Goodbye, My Fancy (1948)

Joan Crawford and Eve Arden in the film Goodbye, My Fancy (1951)

Perhaps the miscasting as a congresswoman visiting her alma mater had Crawford even more on edge than usual; instead of taking the young actresses playing the fictional university's co-eds under her wing (a la her championing of Ann Blyth, who played her daughter in Mildred Pierce), Crawford went on the attack, famously calling out Janice Rule in front of the cast and crew: "Miss Rule," Queen Crawford intoned icily, "you'd better enjoy making films while you can. I doubt you'll be with us for long." Gibson apparently played it safe by staying as far out of Crawford's immediate eyesight as possible: that's her in the below still, to the very far right, next to a rather apprehensive-looking Miss Rule.

The atmosphere was undoubtedly sunnier on the sets of Gibson's next few films: friendly, cheerful, inconsequential, low-budget musicals presumably churned out to finance Doris Day's extravaganzas: Painting the Clouds with Sunshine (1951) with reliable B-unit bombshell Virginia Mayo; About Face (1952), about hidden pregnancies at a military academy (!), teaming Gibson with Gordon McRae; and Stop, You're Killing Me (1952), a slight Damon Runyon tale with old pros Broderick Crawford and Claire Trevor as Gibson's parents.

Lucille Norman, Virginia Gibson and Virginia Mayo in Painting the Clouds with Sunshine (1951)


Bill Hayes, Virginia Gibson, Claire Trevor and Broderick Crawford in Stop, You're Killing Me (1952)

Gibson traded up from Warners to go to Metro in 1954, immediately landing a role as one of the lucky seven in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. She was paired with the New York City Ballet star Jacques d'Amboise, who, in the full flush of his youthful virility, may have been even prettier than she at the time.

Seven brides: Jane Powell, Virginia Gibson, Norma Doggett, Ruta Lee, Betty Carr, Nancy Kigas, Julie Newmar

Her next MGM feature, Athena (1954), cast Gibson as one of three sisters, once again with Jane Powell, and this time with the indefatigable Debbie Reynolds to round out the trio. Athena is one of those supremely weird, cobbled-together musical curiosities that Metro was putting out at the time, as it flailed wildly in an attempt to do battle with television; the refreshingly straightforward, old-fashioned Seven Brides was, sadly, an exception to the rule in 1954. If Athena is remembered at all today, it's for the campy presence of such bodybuilding talent as then-Mr. Universe, future Hercules Steve Reeves and Mae West plaything Dick DuBois.

Dick DuBois, Debbie Reynolds and Steve Reeves

Jane Powell and Steve Reeves

Once the gold standard of movie musical making, MGM made some of the worst ever between 1954 and 1955, including Athena, Kismet, Neptune's Daughter and Hit the Deck. Obviously, the timing couldn't have been worse for a new musical talent like Virginia Gibson to join the payroll; she was let go, although judging from her imdb.com entry, Gibson was kept fairly busy through 1956 with steady television work, including a regular gig on The Johnny Carson Show (1955-56), a precursor to his work on Tonight.

Virginia Gibson, Johnny Carson and Carson's wife, Joan

From there it was to Broadway, and perhaps Gibson's finest hour: the ill-fated, yet still-talked about Ethel Merman vehicle, Happy Hunting. Although it had tremendous advance sales, and was a respectable hit, the show became more famous for its backstage battles than for anything happening in front of the audience. The bickering between Ethel and her devastatingly handsome leading man, Fernando Lamas, is legendary; he responded to her characteristic scene-stealing, as well as her personal antagonism, by wearing his costumes so tight, that the audiences literally gasped at the sight of his manhood. Even The Merm couldn't steal focus from that. On April 7, 1957, Lamas appeared as the Mystery Guest on What's My Line?; starting at the 3:51 mark, that naughty, naughty Arlene Francis slips and slides around the subject of Fernando's costumes and his manliness, while Mr. Mahvelous himself jokingly quips that the censors wouldn't allow him to be seen on television as he did on stage.

The score, too, had its share of naysayers (the most vocal of whom was Merman!), although in retrospect, it's as bright, entertaining and hummable as any other hit or near-hit show of the period. "Gee, But it's Good to Be Here" is classic Merman all the way, and her duet with Gibson, "Mutual Admiration Society," was popular and catchy enough to become a minor standard on its own. Gibson was nominated for a Tony as Best Featured Actress in a Musical, and the show ran for a healthy (if emotionally draining) 412 performances. And, because the ghost of Kay Thompson seems to running amok around here lately, we feel compelled to mention that Ethel quietly brought Thompson and Roger Edens in to "spruce up" Matt Dubey and Harold Karr's score, adding "I'm Old Enough to Know Better (and Young Enough Not to Care)" and "Just a Moment Ago" to the song list. Also, Gibson made a final, fleeting film appearance with the divine Kay as one of Maggie Prescott's assistants in Funny Face (1957), which was filmed just before Happy Hunting opened on Broadway in December 1956.



After that, Gibson made a handful of dramatic television guest appearances, before settling in for a nine year run as the host of the ABC Sunday morning children's show, Discovery (1962-71). Presumably, that was more benign than the Merman-Lamas battling she had endured. After that, the trail goes cold; perhaps some SSUWAT-er out there "in the know" can tell us what ever happened to Virginia Gibson?

Ninel Conde photo pic

Nino Kirtadze photo pic

Nisha Kothari photo pic

Noa Tishby photo pic