Bunny Yeager

[hoffy]

I see that Bunny Yeager died yesterday:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/...ad-photographer-of-bettie-page_n_5391525.html

I found her work very interesting. Also interesting to note that she had a career in front of the lens prior to it.

RIP Bunny

 

[snapguy]

Bunny

She was a hoot and a holler, as they say. She was a top pinup model and picked up a camera and got a whole new career going which lasted from the mid-century until just recently. Smart gal. An era long gone by.

 

[Jeff Kubach]

She did great work. RIP Bunny.

Jeff

 

[Newt_on_Swings]

Her book came out only a year or two ago. It's on amazon too. Sad to hear.

 

[Xmas]

I never new she had gotten behind the camera.

 

[Ken Nadvornick]

When I was very young my late father would take me for my haircuts to this barbershop. Yes, it's still there today. He would order me up one of those Beaver Cleaver specials, sometimes finished off with a small smear of Brylcreem. ("A little dab'll do ya'!")

There were two distinct sides inside this small shop. On the left side was where the kids were directed to sit and wait their turn. It had stacks of Superman comic books and dog-eared old issues of Boy's Life on the table by the waiting chairs. Even a few pre-screened copies of National Geographic where the cover stories were solely about wild animals in Africa. As I remember, there was also a penny bubble gum machine.

On the right side was where the grown men always sat to wait their turns. They had a restaurant-style coffee machine. And donuts too, if you got to the shop early enough, as the Winchell's Donuts shop was just a few door away. (And still is as a Donut King, visible to the right in the above link.)

Their waiting table was covered with a huge number of very well-thumbed issues of the National Police Gazette. Often, while paging through a copy, one of these men—they were virtually all WWII veterans, the war having ended not much more than a dozen or fifteen years earlier—would lower his voice to a conspiratorial level, nudge the fellow next to him to have a look, then they would both laugh under their breath. If this ritual became too loud or too frequent, Bill The Barber would shush them up with a frown, while nodding in our direction.

All those long years ago, inside that little barbershop on a much less developed Rosecrans Avenue, is the first time I ever heard the name Bunny Yeager. For years I thought she was someone who actually raised rabbits, this being what one of the men told me with a very straight face when I once asked. His answer sounded reasonable enough to a young kid, and the frosted donut he let me pick out from the box guaranteed I would ask no further rabbit questions.

So this is truly sad news. I'm going to miss Bunny Yeager. And her rabbits. And the comic books, Brylcreem, and all of those always-nice-to-me vets from Bill's Barber Shop.

Ken

 

[hoffy]

Ken, that is a very cool story. Thanks for sharing!

 

[lxdude]

When I was very young my late father would take me for my haircuts to this barbershop. Yes, it's still there today. He would order me up one of those Beaver Cleaver specials, sometimes finished off with a small smear of Brylcreem. ("A little dab'll do ya'!")

There were two distinct sides inside this small shop. On the left side was where the kids were directed to sit and wait their turn. It had stacks of Superman comic books and dog-eared old issues of Boy's Life on the table by the waiting chairs. Even a few pre-screened copies of National Geographic where the cover stories were solely about wild animals in Africa. As I remember, there was also a penny bubble gum machine.

On the right side was where the grown men always sat to wait their turns. They had a restaurant-style coffee machine. And donuts too, if you got to the shop early enough, as the Winchell's Donuts shop was just a few door away. (And still is as a Donut King, visible to the right in the above link.)

Their waiting table was covered with a huge number of very well-thumbed issues of the National Police Gazette. Often, while paging through a copy, one of these men—they were virtually all WWII veterans, the war having ended not much more than a dozen or fifteen years earlier—would lower his voice to a conspiratorial level, nudge the fellow next to him to have a look, then they would both laugh under their breath. If this ritual became too loud or too frequent, Bill The Barber would shush them up with a frown, while nodding in our direction.

All those long years ago, inside that little barbershop on a much less developed Rosecrans Avenue, is the first time I ever heard the name Bunny Yeager. For years I thought she was someone who actually raised rabbits, this being what one of the men told me with a very straight face when I once asked. His answer sounded reasonable enough to a young kid, and the frosted donut he let me pick out from the box guaranteed I would ask no further rabbit questions.

So this is truly sad news. I'm going to miss Bunny Yeager. And her rabbits. And the comic books, Brylcreem, and all of those always-nice-to-me vets from Bill's Barber Shop.

Ken

I remember as well in our barber shop the magazines Argosy, True and True Detective. I quite enjoyed them while sitting there waiting my turn.