Gloria Pall deemed too sexy for TV

[caption id="attachment_256" align="alignright" width="300"] Gloria Pall one of my friends from the 50's whom i helped with her career. It was wonderful to see her picture on the paper, on January 6th 2013. It brought back those wonderful memories from the 50's. I just wanted to show all the people that could remember, and everything that was said was true, her career was moving rapidly and she had loads of fans that had never seen that exposure before.
Source: The LA Times[/caption]

On a December night in 1954, Los Angeles met the woman it would soon deem too hot for television.
After the success of Vampira, the glamorous ghoul of 1950s late-night TV, executives at KABC-TV (Channel 7) cast Gloria Pall, a showgirl and model, as Voluptua, the sultry hostess of a new, love-themed movie program.
Fans dubbed the statuesque Pall "Eyeful Tower" and "Miss Cleavage" for her shapely figure and plunging necklines. Her steamy on-camera poses and flirtatious comments soon earned her another moniker: "Corruptua."
Just seven weeks after it first aired, amid mounting pressure from religious and PTA groups and lackluster commercial sponsorship, the station abruptly canceled the show.
Pall, who went on to become a Los Angeles real estate agent, died Dec. 30 of heart failure at a Burbank hospital, her son, Jefferson Kane, said. She was 85.
R.H. Greene, a Los Angeles author and documentary filmmaker who put together a 2011 radio feature on Voluptua for KPCC-FM (89.3), called Pall a television pioneer.
"She was quite openly in touch with her sexuality, and that was an incredibly dangerous thing to do," Greene said in an interview Friday. "We don't have too many stories for that time that illustrate that, and Gloria's does."
Each Wednesday night, as the show's romantic theme song played, Pall slinked across Southland TV screens wearing an evening gown and dragging a fur coat.
Before she introduced the week's romantic flick, she greeted viewers with a breathy coo: "Welcome to my boudoir, I want you to feel that it's your special hideaway. Relax, take off your shoes, loosen your tie."
She caressed a bearskin rug, made silhouetted on-camera costume changes behind a translucent screen and answered a phone that didn't ring. Instead, it sighed her name: "Voluptua…Voluptua."
"You put that on television and people went crazy," Greene said. "They were simultaneously titillated and appalled. Gloria was way too hot to handle."
In a posting on her website, Pall described the over-the-top character she created as "just suggestive — corny not porny."
The show's risque theme and the protests it drew attracted national media attention. In 1955, Pall was featured in photo spreads in Playboy and Life.
Born Gloria Pallatz on July 15, 1927, in Brooklyn, New York, Pall grew up in poverty, her son said. As a teenager, she worked as an aircraft mechanic and as a filing clerk for the United Service Organization. She said later that she was working at the organization's office on the 56th floor of the Empire State Building on July 28, 1945, when an Army B-25 bomber crashed into the building.
"It threw me across the room, and I landed against the wall," Pall told National Public Radio in 2008. "We didn't know if it was a bomb or what happened. It was terrifying."
In 1947, she won the Miss Flatbush beauty contest in her hometown and then worked as a model.
After stints as a showgirl in Reno and Las Vegas, she moved to Hollywood, where she landed small but memorable roles.
In an iconic image from the 1957 film "Jailhouse Rock," Pall's legs frame Elvis Presley's face at a burlesque show; she clutches Kirk Douglas' arm in a scene from 1954's "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea"; and in "Crimson Kimono," a classic 1959 film noir, Pall played a stripper named Sugar Torch, who gets shot in the opening scene.
In her 30s, her film roles growing scarce, Pall started studying for a real estate license.
"I decided that I ought to do something with my life besides going to parties and doing occasional modeling work," she told The Times in 1962, adding, "I've finally got my name in lights on the Strip."
Indeed, the sign outside her lavender-hued real estate office on Sunset read simply: "Call Pall."
In 1965, Pall married Allen Kane, who owned a Ford dealership in North Hollywood. The couple, who later divorced, moved with their young son to Florida and Atlanta before returning to California in the late 1970s.
Pall, who drove a lavender 1957 Ford Thunderbird and dressed mainly in shades of purple, later wrote and self-published several books about her life.
"She just knew so much about the '50s," her son said. "Those were her glory days."
A memorial is planned for 3 p.m. Jan. 20 at Calvary Baptist Church in Burbank, 724 S. Glenoaks Blvd.
Asked toward the end of her life what she would say to those who campaigned to get Voluptua off the air, Pall laughed and offered three words: "Get a life."

One of Hollywood's hottest actresses; Georgia finds her photographer

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="258"] One of Hollywood's hottest actresses | The real Georgia (Alias) from Confessions of a Hollywood Agent[/caption]

She smelled the scent of incense burning in the room. She felt nervous. She had never been with a photographer of distinction or fame.

A small Italian man of about forty-five greeted her. He wore a long brown silk oriental robe. He smiled at her with a mouth too full of big fake-looking white teeth. He took her hands and then stood back and looked her over.

“My darling, how beautiful you are,” he said in a raspy cigarette voice as he breathed laboriously. She tried to relax with him, but it was difficult. He took a cigarette from his pack of Camels and lit it. His fingers were stained yellow from smoking. She hated the smell of smoke but tried not to let him know.

“Have you ever had your portrait taken before?” he asked.

“An artist painted me, but the only portrait was for my high school year book,” she answered.

“You’re almost a virgin then, aren’t you?” he said and smiled. “Come over and sit down on the divan so I can see you through the lens.”

He grabbed Georgia’s hand and walked her in front of a view camera. “Sit down, my pet.” Georgia felt self-conscious but tried to disguise it by smiling at him.

“You’re an angel in the lens, my darling. Now let’s see what you brought with you for wardrobe. Georgia got up from the divan and took her tote bag and pulled out a blue sheath dress with spaghetti straps and showed it to him.

“I like that. We’ll use it. What else do you have in there?” he asked.

Georgia showed him a red sweater and a pair of white short shorts, and a blonde mink stole she had borrowed from her aunt.

“Here, put this on,” he said handing her a leopard two-piece bathing suit. Georgia looked at it.

“The dressing room is over there,” he said pointing to a door. As she walked from the studio for the dressing room, she noticed wetness under her arms and on the dress she wore. This man bothered her. She put on the bathing suit and came out into the studio.

“It looks marvelous on you. You could star in a jungle epic. Come!

Get in front of the camera.” Georgia sat on the divan.

“Now do some poses for me,” he said.

Georgia started to pose. She stretched out the divan. She flirted with the camera. She smiled at it. She mocked it. Nick kept clicking away.

“Wonderful, lovely, I like that. Lift your head up. Some more. I like that. Hold it!” he said. Georgia started to enjoy herself. She felt good.

She was having fun and felt the camera loved her. Nick breathed harder now.

A clatter of air came from his lungs as he worked.

“You’re a natural, my pet. Playboy asked me to submit some photos to them for an issue. You could make three thousand dollars if they used them. With me as the photographer, it’s money in the bank.

Would you be interested?”

“Isn’t Playboy a nude magazine? My father is a minister. I couldn’t do that to him. He wouldn’t understand.”

“I only do class photos. Let me tell you how I’ll shoot you. I’ll build a long box like a coffin and line it with mirrors.” He animated the story with his hands. “Holes will be made at the top for the lights and a hole in the center for my camera. You will be nude in the box. I will shoot you as if you were a jewel in a mirrored sitting. It will give the illusion of three dimensions,” he gasped. “It’ll be sensational, and so will you.

It could do wonders for your career. How about it?”

“The three thousand dollars sounds interesting,” said Georgia.

“Well then. Let’s do it.”

“I don’t know if I should. I’ll embarrass my family.”

“Clint told me you’ve been doing beauty contests for years.”

“Yes, they’re with a bathing suit. I’ve never taken my clothes off for anyone.”

“Times are changing. It’s getting to be accepted. Believe me. If the right photo was taken of the right girl, that girl would be a star overnight. Look at the past, at some of the great nudes in history.

Goya painted the Duchess of Alba nude. It made her immortal. The nude calendar picture of Marilyn Monroe. Look what that did for her.

You’re in the same category. Believe me. I know. It’s my business,” said Nick.

“And I could approve of the photos?” asked Georgia.

“You’d have complete approval.”

“Okay, I’ll let you, but under another name. Will you agree to that?”

“Of course. Now let me see your body. Take off the bathing suit.”

“Now?”

“Why not? You’re here. I can measure you for the box.”

Georgia was skeptical. She got up from the divan and removed her bra. She stepped out of the bottom part of the bathing suit and was naked. She felt strange and wanted to get back in her clothes. Nick observed her nakedness. “I like it, but there’s too much hair around your crotch,” he said as he stared down.

Georgia blushed, but said nothing. She started to feel dirty and uneasy. She reached for a cloth drape that covered the divan. “Can I get back into my clothes? It’s cold in here,” she said.

“I want to take a picture of your pussy so I can show you what I mean when it’s developed. Stay there for a minute.” Nick picked up his Nikon and clicked away. Georgia started to get up from the divan. “Wait a minute.

I want to measure you.” He ran to a desk a pulled out a tape measure.

“Hold this,” he said. He pulled the tape down across her body getting a feel as his hand moved to her toes. Georgia gave him a look. “I’ll make the box six feet,” he said rolling up the tape. “You can get into the blue dress you brought. I’ll take your portrait now,” he said.

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Elvis Presley gets turned down; From my novel Confessions of a Hollywood Agent

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="487"] Source: http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/elvis-presley/images/54678/title/elvis-presley-wallpaper[/caption]

Georgia arrived at MGM in Culver City. She drove to the main gate in her MG with the top down.

The guard had her name and directed her to Stage Fifteen where Elvis was shooting his new musical.

Georgia had changed her clothes. She wore a bright blue tight sheath dress, cut low in the front. The color matched her blue eyes. Her hair fell around her shoulders. Clint stood waiting outside the stage door when she arrived. Georgia parked her car, and joined him.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, baby. Elvis is going to flip when he sees you.”

“Thanks, she said, as Clint opened the stage door for her. They walked into the brightly lit stage. Elvis stood in the center rehearsing a dance number with a big group of dancers and singers in the background. His costume was powder-blue western in style, with white fringes hanging down from the sleeves. The other dancers and singers dressed the same, but Elvis’s costume had more glitz.

The part Georgia came to read for was small, but the chance to be in an Elvis Presley picture mattered more than the part. Elvis had to be the biggest star in Hollywood. His pictures made big money. Elvis’s entourage of guys made all the work seem like a party.

Georgia and Clint watched the rehearsal from behind the large camera boom, as it moved in on Elvis for the final close up.

A couple of Elvis’s boys spotted Georgia and approached her.

“Hi, there pretty girl. You in the picture?” One of them asked.

“Oh, hi, I’m Georgia Evans. I don’t know yet. I’m here for an interview,” she said.

“You got the part, honey. I’ll take a bet on it.”

“Oh, are you the producer?”

“Naw, I work for Elvis, and if I know Elvis and I do, he’s my country cousin, you got the part.”

Elvis had finished the production number. His attention had taken him where Georgia stood on the set talking to one of his guys and walked over to them.

“Elvis, this pretty little girl is Georgia Evans,” said the cousin.

“Pleased to meetya.” Elvis took Georgia’s hand up to his mouth and flicked the tip of his tongue between Georgia’s fingers, which raised goose bumps all over her body.

Georgia was taken back by him; she could hardly get words out of her mouth. “It’s a … pleasure to meet you, Mr. Presley.”

The assistant director came up to Elvis. “Mr. Presley, they’re ready to shoot the dance number.”

“Thanks, Charlie. Well, pretty girl, don’t you go away,” he said as he left for the set. He stopped by a man wearing a fedora hat and smoking a cigar and spoke to him as they looked toward Georgia.

Clint recognized the man as the producer, Sam Katzman. Clint said.

“You got the part.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Let’s say I’m chalking it up to experience,” he said with confidence.

Sam Katzman came over and shook Clint’s hand. Clint introduced him to Georgia.

“Elvis told me he wants your little girl here for the part of “Traci, says he knows her work. I’ll get back to you tomorrow about the money and billing. It’s a nice part for her. Should get her some recognition.” He tipped his hat to Georgia and went back to his position on the stage.

“Quiet on the set. Ready to roll.” yelled the assistant director. The bright klieg lights switch on. Everyone quieted down. Elvis and the dancers stood in their places. Someone yelled “speed”. The director yelled “action” from up on the camera boom. The music started; the dancers went into their routine. It was to be the usual Elvis number with lots of pretty girls dancing around him. Elvis, playing his guitar, sang a country western song in a barnyard set.

“That’s a take.” said the director.

The crew set up for the next shoot.

Elvis’s cousin came over to Georgia after the shot. “Isn’t Elvis great? I love my old cousin. He told me to tell you that he’s havin’ a party tonight at his house. Wants you to all come. Here’s his address.

He says about nine o’ clock,” said the cousin as he handed Georgia a small piece of paper.

Georgia stiffened.

“What’s the matter? You act like someone said a dirty word. Don’t tell me you didn’t like what happened here?”

“Of course I did, but I can’t go to his party.”

“The hell you can’t, girl. His party is the most important engagement you have ever had to attend. Do you realize how many girls in this town would trade places with you? What ever you have planned, you’re going to cancel. I insist on it.”

Georgia was near tears. They left the stage to return to their cars.

When they got outside Clint could see that Georgia had been crying.

“You should be the happiest actress in town, you just got a good part in an Elvis Presley picture, for God’s sake. You should be kissing my ass. Shame on you … You’re crying. Where have I gone wrong?”

Clint threw his hands into the air.

“Clint, I can’t tell you now. I’m sorry.”

“Georgia, it’s one of those situations. “No ticky, no washy.” Georgia nodded her head as she got in her car. She looked up at Clint with tearrimmed eyes.

“I’m sorry, Clint. I can’t do it.” She started her car and drove toward the gate.

Clint stood in disbelief as she drove away.

Find out the rest in the thrilling hollywood novel Confessions of a Hollywood Agent

Dorothy tests for Bonnie in “The Battered Spouse”

Clint arranged for Dorothy Winters to test for the part of Bonnie in “The Battered Spouse”. It was a big day for Dorothy. She arrived at Columbia at six o’clock for make-up and wardrobe. The make-up man had to put bruises and a create a swelling and a cut over her right eye for the scene. When he finished, Dorothy examined her face in the brightly lit mirror. What she saw looking back was a dumpy, nervous looking woman with a face that had been almost deformed from a supposed beating. The image put her into the character she was playing.

The wardrobe lady helped her slip into a plain-looking housedress, and she walked on the set. The scene took place inside a house trailer on the sound stage. They had taken out a wall to open the trailer up so they could move the camera around for the action that was to take place.

Dorothy walked over to Hal, the director, a middle-aged, old-time Hollywood master-maker of woman’s pictures. He said to Dorothy. “I like it. Stay with the feeling you have.”

Dorothy nodded and went to her position on the set. Campbell, who played her husband in the scene, came on the set dressed in a tee shirt and jeans. His hair was uncombed, and he wore a four-day beard. A cigarette hung from his crooked mouth. The prop man handed him a fifth of whiskey, which was half empty.

Clint had gotten up early that day to come to the studio to watch his new client Dorothy Winters in her test and to give her moral support.

He walked on the set and stayed in the background as he heard the assistant director call out. “Lights! Quiet on the set!” the sound man yelled, “Rolling”. Hal said, “Action.”

The sound of a radio blared. Dorothy stood at the small sink washing up some dishes. She was crying and picked up a cloth and applied it to the cut on her face.

The door to the trailer opened and Campbell walked in; he picked up some kids clothes off the floor and said. “This place looks like a pig-sty. What the hell did ya mother ever teach you about keeping a place clean?” he yelled.

“I’m sorry Kip, I didn’t feel like doing much and I couldn’t go to work today. It’s my eye. I can’t see out of it. Does it look bad?” She held her face for him to see.

“Nothing wrong with ya that another good beating wouldn’t cure.

Ya know you are the laziest old woman I ever had the privilege to meet.

My ol’ daddy told me when I married ya you’d be trouble, cause you ain’t educated … yer stupid. Dinner ready yet?”

“It’s in the oven.”

“Where’re the kids?” he asked.

“I sent them to ma’s for the evening.”

“You’re always sending them to your ma’s. Who in the hell’s kids are they anyway, mine or your ma’s?”

“I’m sorry Kip. I didn’t think you cared,” she said as she opened up the oven and took out a casserole of macaroni and cheese, put it on a plate and set it in front of him.

“What! This crap-a-do again. Can’t ya feed me anything else? Why are ya always giving me this shit?”

“It’s all I can afford on what you give me for household.”

Kip got up from the table and hit her with his fist. She fell back against the stove. The teakettle turned over and hot water spilled on her.

She let out a scream. Kip punched her in the stomach. She collapsed on the floor groaning with pain. Kip went back to the table and sat down.

He poured whiskey into a glass and gulped it down. He continued eating his dinner.

Dorothy crawled to the back of the trailer. The camera followed her on the dolly. She reached under the bed and pulled out a paper bag. She reached in and pulled out a .38 caliber handgun. She stared at it and turned her head toward Kip. She got to her feet and walked back into the small room. Kip sat with his back to her. She pointed the gun at the back of his head. With no expression on her face, she pulled the trigger three times. Kip’s head fell onto the table, and Dorothy stood over him in a daze.

Hal, the director yelled. “Cut.” He went on the set to Dorothy and said:

“Perfect for me. How was it for you?” Dorothy nodded.

“How about you, Campbell?”

“I’m happy.”

“Good,” said Hal. To the cameraman. “Set up for close-ups.”

Clint walked up to Hal.

“What do you think of my new star?” he asked.

“She’s got a lot going on behind that sweet face.”

“You mean she has talent.”

“There’s no question about that. She is a very talented young lady, but there is something else. That girl is capable of almost anything.”

Clint quizzed him further. “Could she murder someone?”

Hal peered at him. “What an odd question. Are you worried she might kill you? I heard a few actresses tell me they like to kill their agents but I haven’t heard anyone who has. Don’t push it,” and walked away. Clint laughed to himself as he did.

Clint found Dorothy in her dressing room.

“Great scene. Where did you learn to act like that?”

“I’m so glad you got to see it. I studied with Michael Chekhov. He taught me the Stanislavski method. Marlon Brando uses it. It’s called method acting.”

“It’s strong. You’re constantly full of surprises. If you don’t get the part, it’ll have nothing to do with your acting. It will be politics.”

Dorothy smiled at him and said. “Maybe I can do something about that too.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

“They’re ready for your close-up, Miss Winters,” said the assistant director.

Dorothy gave Clint a strange smile and walked onto the set.

Hollywood Agent Reveals Casting Couch Secrets

An article written about my novel Confessions of a Hollywood agent

Clint gets an Agent

Gale stood on the set of a Bob Hope picture, when Bob’s agent, Mel, a little man with a pear-shaped body, small sloping shoulders, and a large waist, walked on wearing elevator shoes. “Look what’s left over from the “House of Wax,” Bob cracked when he saw Mel. Everyone laughed, but the remark didn’t seem to bother Mel. A few jokes were exchanged, then Mel spotted Gale. She wore a long gown that gave her the vision of a New York society girl. The set was decorated like the New York nightclub, El Morocco, complete with zebra-skin covered-booths.

Mel walked over to Gale, who kept adjusting the front of her dress, showing her large breasts, while giving him a flirtatious smile. As Mel approached he tipped his small brimmed fedora, which he never removed from his baldhead. “Hello, I’m Mel Cantor.”

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Cantor, I’m Gale Lawrence.”

“Have you considered getting out of extra work and going for speaking parts?”

“All the time, Mr. Cantor, but as an agent you know it’s not easy. I studied acting and have tried to find work as an actress, but it takes a good agent to get you in the right doors,” she said, giving him a sexy smile.

“I have a script in my office. It’s a new feature that starts in a month. Come by tonight after you finish here and we can discuss a part for you. Here’s my card.”

Gale took Mel’s card and put in down the front of her dress. Mel’s eyes followed the card lustfully as it disappeared into depths of her bosom. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll see you about seven,” said Gale as Mel again tipped his hat and walked off the set.

Gale was excited about the fortunate encounter. This could be the break I’ve been waiting for, she thought. Mel Cantor can get me in any studio in town. He knows everybody.

“I’m thrilled,” said Gale into the phone. “I’m going to see Mel Cantor tonight. You know who he is? The big Hollywood agent. I’ve been thinking all afternoon how to get you to meet him. Call Candy, and have her call Jean. She’s a showgirl at the Sands, in Las Vegas.

She’s been a customer for my hot furs and is in town looking to get in the movies. I’m going to get Mel to take me to the Brown Derby. You be there with the girls and I’ll introduce you.”

“I don’t get it,” said Clint. “What does you seeing Mel have to do with me?”

“Mel Cantor is an notorious lady’s man. I’ll tell him you have a string of gorgeous girls that would do almost anything for you. I won’t come right out and tell him you’re a pimp. He’ll know that when he sees you with the girls. This is a perfect way of getting into his confidence. If I read him right, and I know I do, he’d do almost anything for some new nooky. You can book it for him, and if I’m right he’ll be booking you and me.”

“So now I’m a pimp?”

“Darling. You want to be in the movies, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“What time do you want me there?”

“Between eight and eight-thirty. Make sure you wear a suit. Leave everything to me, and sweetheart, be nice to me. I love you.” Gale hung up the phone.