Monday, 25 March 2019

The Norfolk Jacket / VIDEO:How to choose a shooting jacket

A Norfolk jacket is a loose, belted, single-breasted jacket with box pleats on the back and front, with a belt or half-belt. It was originally designed as a shooting coat that did not bind when the elbow was raised to fire. It was named either after the Duke of Norfolk or after the county of Norfolk and was made fashionable after the 1860s in the sporting circle of the Prince of Wales, later Edward VII, whose country residence was Sandringham House in Norfolk. The style was long popular for boys' jackets and suits, and is still used in some (primarily military and police) uniforms.

History of the Norfolk Jacket
March 11, 2013 by Ville Raivio

Before odd jackets there came the Norfolk jacket. This humble jacket was prototypical sportwear before the age of sportswear, born a bit after the 1850’s for use in the British countryside. Its most important benefactor was Edward VII, at this time known professionally as Prince of Wales, who chose the jacket as part of his leisurewear. Following Edward’s example, his closest friends donned the garment and were, in turn, followed by the gentry in full.

The gentry would hunt, shoot and relax in a loose, single-breasted Norfolk jacket which is still set apart most by its box pleats on the front and back. The jacket also has a full- or half-belt made from matching fabric, along with leather buttons, notch lapels and a single vent. A burly option are notch lapels with throat latches. Its name comes from the Duke of Norfolk or from the county of Norfolk in the East of England. Before the advent of technical layers, Norfolks were among the best choices for sports.

A decidedly informal model, the Norfolk jacket is usually made from tweed, closed with three or four buttons and features large patch pockets. The jacket was worn with knickerboxers or loose breeches until the 20th century, when odd trousers became the norm. Its popularity soon lead to use in cycling and everyday leisure. Thanks to the rugged box pleats, the jacket allows great trajectory and comfort for the arms while its heavy fabric ensures warmth and protection from the foul British winds and torrents.

In essence, the Norfolk jacket is a manly garment. Despite the masculine spirit, Norfolk jackets were allowed for women from the beginning of the 20th century as sporting garb. Besides outdoor use, Norfolk jackets were a common sight on the shoulders of boys. As decades passed, the Norfolk jacket was modified to meet the needs of indoor and city use. The belt and box pleats disappeared, the pockets were cut smaller, leather buttons were replaced with horn versions — and the odd jacket was born.

The norfolk jacket is a singular sight today. Its rugged look is most at home in the countryside, yet still carrying an aura of costume. I feel this is mostly due to limited exposure: when not seen often, any item turns odd. Fedoras, top hats and Norfolks all suffer from this phenomenon. Tweed jackets are better suited for citywear and Norfolks should be reserved for rural outings. So as to avoid looking like a man lost in time, this jacket model is best paired with understated, yet complimentary clothing. Moleskin or corduroy trousers, large check shirts, heavy brogues, so on. The adventurous reader could also try jeans, roll-neck jumpers and beanies.

Saturday, 23 March 2019

Wellness is swallowing the fashion industry whole. Should I switch camps? / Jess Cartner-Morley

Woman doing reformer fitness exercise
 ‘Wellness does exactly what fashion used to do, which is sell you a dream version of you.’

Wellness is swallowing the fashion industry whole. Should I switch camps?
Jess Cartner-Morley
To be fair, my beat has had a good innings. For a hundred years, it has made billions of pounds out of selling us stuff that boosts our self-esteem

Sat 23 Mar 2019 08.59 GMT

I’m thinking of giving up writing about clothes and catwalk shows and reviewing bra tops and yoga classes instead. The latest “in” look for abs; whose mat was in the front row – that sort of thing. What do you think? After nearly two decades as a fashion editor, I feel as though it’s a straightforward transfer of my skillset.

It’s time for me to jump ship because wellness is killing fashion. To be fair, it has had a good innings. For a hundred years, it has made billions of pounds out of selling us stuff that boosts our self-esteem/makes us feel more attractive/makes us appear richer and more successful. Stuff, though – that’s the problem. Fashion is stuff and stuff is, like, so 20th century. No one wants stuff any more. We want glowing skin and a 110-minute half-marathon time and inner peace and Michelin-starred kombucha instead. That’s what aspirational looks like in 2019. Wellness does exactly what fashion used to do, which is sell you a dream version of you, only it’s better for you and doesn’t create landfill. Game over.

The cannibalisation of fashion by wellness began with athleisure. Around the beginning of this decade, £100 running leggings were suddenly a thing. Why would anyone spend £100 on leggings, normal people asked? And the fashion industry was like, sideways glance to camera, “the leggings aren’t the point, you desire clothes for the life transformation they promise. You ever hear of Cinderella?”

Fashion embraced those legging-curious newcomers with open arms. Come here, girl, we got you. But Lululemon leggings turned out to be a Trojan horse. A new and seductive industry grew up around the business of wellness. Boutique gyms instead of boutiques, gratitude journals instead of waiting lists. Expenditure and aspiration, but more virtuous.

Athleisure was just the start. This is a more significant culture shift than wearing leggings to brunch. The generation gap between millennials (those born between 1980 and 1999 or so) and fortysomethings is much wider than the one between fortysomethings and their baby-boomer parents. The instability of the world in which millennials have grown up has given them a sharply different understanding of what security looks like, of how investment works, of what their future environment will be. Wellness sounds made up to older people, but to a younger generation it is an investment in themselves in an uncertain world.

This cultural shift has been monetised rapidly. Notice how running, which was at the centre of the initial craze and costs nothing, has fallen off the radar in favour of £28 Pilates classes. You can tell that wellness is the new fashion because it has become so easy to spoof. There are £6,000 Chanel yoga mats. There is Mark Wahlberg starting his day at 3.40am with a 95-minute workout. And, of course, there is Gwyneth Paltrow – Patsy from Absolutely Fabulous for a new generation. On her website Goop, you can buy a candle called Church (£66 – free delivery, though) with a scent described as “cypress smoke, snow, sensual quiet”. Does snow have a scent? Or sensual quiet? Yet Paltrow is very much for real. Goop raised $50m in venture capital last year. It has started opening bricks-and-mortar boutiques. It recently signed a content deal with Netflix.

For a shiny, modern industry, the optics of wellness can be strangely regressive. While fashion is – finally, slowly – addressing its diversity problem, the imagery of wellness seems to skew heavily towards skinny, white women. The ideal requires you to be time-rich and rich-rich. Two hours spent working out each day – let alone a five-day yoga retreat in a hilltop Balearic finca – is a pipe dream for most of us. Wellness, which should be bolstering, is in danger of becoming yet another thing for women to fail at. The vagueness of “clean eating” dangles the carrot of perfection just out of reach. Beneath the manuka-honey sweetness there is a competitive core. Perfecting your right hook at Kobox and honing your willpower with intermittent fasting is the glossy, feminine equivalent of those gruff survivalist types stockpiling tinned food and doing pull-ups in a weird basement.

Does it matter if wellness edges out fashion? A two-minute plank is a more wholesome status symbol than a two-carat diamond. If sleeping well and eating vegetables are now aspirational, that must be good. Going to a yoga workshop is better for you than buying a new pair of earrings, even if, at the fancier end of the scale, it isn’t any cheaper. Vaginal steaming, coffee enemas and “venom cheese” (Google it) give wellness a bad name, but then every bit of culture has its freakstore fringes. They say that runners run because they like running and joggers jog because they like cake, but, as far as your cardiovascular system goes, the result is the same. If wellness really is the new black, it’s fine by me. After all, monochrome looks particularly chic at yoga.

Friday, 22 March 2019

Image of Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes's Hollywood by Karina Longworth / VIDEO:Top 10 CRAZY Facts about Howard Hughes!

In this riveting popular history, the creator of You Must Remember This probes the inner workings of Hollywood’s glamorous golden age through the stories of some of the dozens of actresses pursued by Howard Hughes, to reveal how the millionaire mogul’s obsessions with sex, power and publicity trapped, abused, or benefitted women who dreamt of screen stardom.

In recent months, the media has reported on scores of entertainment figures who used their power and money in Hollywood to sexually harass and coerce some of the most talented women in cinema and television. But as Karina Longworth reminds us, long before the Harvey Weinsteins there was Howard Hughes—the Texas millionaire, pilot, and filmmaker whose reputation as a cinematic provocateur was matched only by that as a prolific womanizer.

His supposed conquests between his first divorce in the late 1920s and his marriage to actress Jean Peters in 1957 included many of Hollywood’s most famous actresses, among them Billie Dove, Katharine Hepburn, Ava Gardner, and Lana Turner. From promoting bombshells like Jean Harlow and Jane Russell to his contentious battles with the censors, Hughes—perhaps more than any other filmmaker of his era—commoditized male desire as he objectified and sexualized women. Yet there were also numerous women pulled into Hughes’s grasp who never made it to the screen, sometimes virtually imprisoned by an increasingly paranoid and disturbed Hughes, who retained multitudes of private investigators, security personnel, and informers to make certain these actresses would not escape his clutches.

Vivid, perceptive, timely, and ridiculously entertaining, The Seducer is a landmark work that examines women, sex, and male power in Hollywood during its golden age—a legacy that endures nearly a century later.

Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes's Hollywood
Image of Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes's Hollywood
Karina Longworth
Release Date:
November 13, 2018
Reviewed by:
Mike Farris

“Throughout his moviemaking career, Hughes relentlessly worked the Hollywood system to fuel his ego, his libido, and his ambition, but in the end, he was undone by his own paranoia. He died a reclusive outcast remembered almost as much for his oddities as he is for his accomplishments.”

Most people today think of Howard Hughes as the eccentric germophobe who made millions in the oil and aviation businesses (including wartime profiteering during World War II), while dabbling in the movie industry, but Hughes more than dabbled. He used his money and power as a producer, and later as owner of RKO Studios (which he essentially ran into the ground), to collect Hollywood starlets “so visually similar to one another that a rubber stamp would have offered more variation,” while simultaneously using that power, and sex, to make, control, and crush careers.

If Hughes were alive today, he might well be a poster boy for the #MeToo movement. Such is the decidedly unflattering portrait author Karina Longworth paints of Hughes in her new book Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes’s Hollywood.

Longworth gives us a glimpse of Hollywood as it moved from its infancy to adolescence, from silent films to talkies, when multitudes of young women answered its siren call, hoping to find fame on the silver screen. For many, their only currency was their beauty and sexuality, which played right into the lustful hands of many of Hollywood’s power elite.

It was into this strange, and often perverse, industry that Howard Hughes, Jr. arrived in 1924 when, at the age of 18, he became heir to his father’s business as manufacturer of the Sharp-Hughes drill bit, with which the senior Hughes aspired to “drill the deepest well in the world.” But young Howard had different aspirations: to make a name for himself in aviation, movies, and golf . . . and to become the richest man in the world.

He quickly mastered Hollywood’s formula of promising young actresses a shot at fame in exchange for sexual favors. He also began “replicating the failure to make good on the promise, implied or directly stated at the beginning of the sexual transaction.” In fact, Hughes often took the formula one step further, promising marriage. That strategy would later cause considerable distress to his heirs and line the pockets of many a lawyer hired to untangle the legal mess wrought by his marriage-or-not to actress Terry Moore.

Seduction tells the story of some of the women who became involved with Hughes, either sexually or professionally. Some of them prospered because, or in spite, of Hughes, while others saw him dash their dreams before they could get airborne.  The names include luminaries like Jean Harlow, Katherine Hepburn, Ginger Rogers, Jane Russell, and Ava Gardner, and lesser knowns such as Billie Dove, Jean Peters, and Faith Domergue.

Hughes’s first major foray into moviemaking, which set a pattern for the rest of his Hollywood career, was with Hell’s Angels and his discovery of Jean Harlow. It also marked the birth of his fascination with using women’s breasts as a marketing tool. The author calls it his “interest and expertise in costuming for cleavage.”

That fascination created friction with his star, another pattern that would follow with future projects. Longworth tells us: “That Harlow took no pleasure in putting herself on display made the pleasure Hughes took in forcing her to do so all the more sadistic.” With Hell’s Angels, Hughes hit a trifecta of his personal interests: movies, aviation, and beautiful women. Had he been able to slip a Hughes drill bit into the film, it would have been a quadfecta.

Yet another pattern set by Hell’s Angels was the beginning of Hughes’s feuds with censors as he continually pushed the envelope of what was acceptable, often because he simply didn’t know what he was doing. The author tells us that his “lack of regard for the ‘rules’ of Hollywood had promotional value, but behind the scenes, his ignorance was at times almost embarrassing.”

By the time the 1940s rolled around, Hughes had mastered the game, and he turned his attention to a new generation of women. “As with so much in his career, Hughes did the same things that other men did—he just did them more crudely, and with even less of a regard for the person these actresses were before they came into his life, and what would become of them once he had moved on.”

Throughout his moviemaking career, Hughes relentlessly worked the Hollywood system to fuel his ego, his libido, and his ambition, but in the end, he was undone by his own paranoia. He died a reclusive outcast remembered almost as much for his oddities as he is for his accomplishments.

This is a book for Hollywood lovers, especially lovers of the golden age when the studio system cranked out movies like products on assembly lines. The moral of the story is that, when the rich and powerful die, they are just as dead as the poor and oppressed. The final exam is how they are remembered for living their lives when they were above-ground. To hear Karina Longworth tell it, Howard Hughes flunked.

Mike Farris is an author of both fiction and nonfiction.  His most recent nonfiction books include Poor Innocent Lad: The Tragic Death of Gill Jamieson and the Execution of Myles Fukunaga and the award-winning Fifty Shades of Black and White: Anatomy of the Lawsuit behind a Publishing Phenomenon. A retired attorney whose practice included commercial litigation and entertainment law, he is an adjunct professor of Constitutional Law at the University of Texas at Arlington.

Early romances
In 1929, Hughes' wife, Ella, returned to Houston and filed for divorce. Hughes dated many famous women, including Billie Dove, Faith Domergue, Bette Davis, Ava Gardner, Olivia de Havilland, Katharine Hepburn, Hedy Lamarr, Ginger Rogers, Janet Leigh, Rita Hayworth, Mamie Van Doren and Gene Tierney. He also proposed to Joan Fontaine several times, according to her autobiography No Bed of Roses. Jean Harlow accompanied him to the premiere of Hell's Angels, but Noah Dietrich wrote many years later that the relationship was strictly professional, as Hughes apparently personally disliked Harlow. In his 1971 book, Howard: The Amazing Mr. Hughes, Dietrich said that Hughes genuinely liked and respected Jane Russell, but never sought romantic involvement with her. According to Russell's autobiography, however, Hughes once tried to bed her after a party. Russell (who was married at the time) refused him, and Hughes promised it would never happen again. The two maintained a professional and private friendship for many years. Hughes remained good friends with Tierney who, after his failed attempts to seduce her, was quoted as saying "I don't think Howard could love anything that did not have a motor in it." Later, when Tierney's daughter Daria was born deaf and blind and with a severe learning disability because of Tierney's being exposed to rubella during her pregnancy, Hughes saw to it that Daria received the best medical care and paid all expenses.

Buys luxury yacht, fatal car accident
In 1933, Hughes made a purchase of an unseen luxury steam yacht named the Rover, which was previously owned by British shipping magnate Lord Inchcape. "I have never seen the Rover but bought it on the blueprints, photographs and the reports of Lloyd's surveyors. My experience is that the English are the most honest race in the world."Hughes renamed the yacht Southern Cross and later sold her to Swedish entrepreneur Axel Wenner-Gren.

On July 11, 1936, Hughes struck and killed a pedestrian named Gabriel S. Meyer with his car at the corner of 3rd Street and Lorraine in Los Angeles.[87] After the crash, Hughes was taken to the hospital and certified as sober, but an attending doctor made a note that Hughes had been drinking. A witness to the crash told police that Hughes was driving erratically and too fast, and that Meyer had been standing in the safety zone of a streetcar stop. Hughes was booked on suspicion of negligent homicide and held overnight in jail until his attorney, Neil S. McCarthy, obtained a writ of habeas corpus for his release pending a coroner's inquest. By the time of the coroner's inquiry, however, the witness had changed his story and claimed that Meyer had moved directly in front of Hughes' car. Nancy Bayly (Watts), who was in the car with Hughes at the time of the crash, corroborated this version of the story. On July 16, 1936, Hughes was held blameless by a coroner's jury at the inquest into Meyer's death. Hughes told reporters outside the inquiry, "I was driving slowly and a man stepped out of the darkness in front of me."

During his 1954 engagement at the Last Frontier hotel, entertainer Liberace mistook Hughes for his lighting director, instructing him to instantly bring up a blue light should he start to play "Clair de lune". Hughes nodded in compliance, before the hotel's entertainment director arrived and introduced Hughes to Liberace.

Marriage to Jean Peters
On January 12, 1957, Hughes married actress Jean Peters at a small hotel in Tonopah, Nevada.The couple met in the 1940s, before Peters became a film actress. They had a highly publicized romance in 1947 and there was talk of marriage, but she said she could not combine it with her career. Some later claimed that Peters was "the only woman [Hughes] ever loved," and he reportedly had his security officers follow her everywhere even when they were not in a relationship. Such reports were confirmed by actor Max Showalter, who became a close friend of Peters while shooting Niagara (1953). Showalter told in an interview that because he frequently met with Peters, Hughes' men threatened to ruin his career if he did not leave her alone.

Nixon scandal
Shortly before the 1960 Presidential election, Richard Nixon was alarmed when it was revealed that his brother, Donald, received a $205,000 loan from Hughes. It has long been speculated[98] that Nixon's drive to learn what the Democrats were planning in 1972 was based in part on his belief that the Democrats knew about a later bribe that his friend Bebe Rebozo had received from Hughes after Nixon took office.

In late 1971, Donald Nixon was collecting intelligence for his brother in preparation for the upcoming presidential election. One of his sources was John H. Meier, a former business adviser of Hughes who had also worked with Democratic National Committee Chair Larry O'Brien.

Meier, in collaboration with former Vice President Hubert Humphrey and others, wanted to feed misinformation to the Nixon campaign. Meier told Donald that he was sure the Democrats would win the election because Larry O'Brien had a great deal of information on Richard Nixon's illicit dealings with Howard Hughes that had never been released; O'Brien did not actually have any such information, but Meier wanted Nixon to think he did. Donald told his brother that O'Brien was in possession of damaging Hughes information that could destroy his campaign.Terry Lenzner, who was the chief investigator for the Senate Watergate Committee, speculates that it was Nixon's desire to know what O'Brien knew about Nixon's dealings with Hughes that may have partially motivated the Watergate break-in.

Last years and death
Physical decline

Dietrich wrote that Hughes only ate the same thing for dinner, a New York strip steak cooked medium rare, dinner salad, and peas, but only the smaller ones, pushing the larger ones aside. For breakfast, Hughes wanted his eggs cooked the way his family cook, Lily, made them. Hughes had a "phobia about germs", and "his passion for secrecy became a mania."

While directing The Outlaw, Hughes became fixated on a small flaw in one of Jane Russell's blouses, claiming that the fabric bunched up along a seam and gave the appearance of two nipples on each breast. He wrote a detailed memorandum to the crew on how to fix the problem. Richard Fleischer, who directed His Kind of Woman with Hughes as executive producer, wrote at length in his autobiography about the difficulty of dealing with the tycoon. In his book, Just Tell Me When to Cry, Fleischer explained that Hughes was fixated on trivial details and was alternately indecisive and obstinate. He also revealed that Hughes' unpredictable mood swings made him wonder if the film would ever be completed.

In 1958, Hughes told his aides that he wanted to screen some movies at a film studio near his home. He stayed in the studio's darkened screening room for more than four months, never leaving. He ate only chocolate bars and chicken and drank only milk, and was surrounded by dozens of Kleenex boxes that he continuously stacked and re-arranged. He wrote detailed memos to his aides giving them explicit instructions neither to look at him nor speak to him unless spoken to. Throughout this period, Hughes sat fixated in his chair, often naked, continually watching movies. When he finally emerged in the summer of 1958, his hygiene was terrible. He had neither bathed nor cut his hair and nails for weeks; this may have been due to allodynia, which results in a pain response to stimuli that would normally not cause pain.

After the screening room incident, Hughes moved into a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel where he also rented rooms for his aides, his wife, and numerous girlfriends. He would sit naked in his bedroom with a pink hotel napkin placed over his genitals, watching movies. This may have been because Hughes found the touch of clothing painful due to allodynia. He may have watched movies to distract himself from his pain—a common practice among patients with intractable pain, especially those who do not receive adequate treatment.[39] In one year, Hughes spent an estimated $11 million at the hotel.

Hughes began purchasing all restaurant chains and four star hotels that had been founded within the state of Texas. This included, if for only a short period, many unknown franchises currently out of business. He placed ownership of the restaurants with the Howard Hughes Medical Institute, and all licenses were resold shortly after.

Another time, he became obsessed with the 1968 film Ice Station Zebra, and had it run on a continuous loop in his home. According to his aides, he watched it 150 times. Feeling guilty about the commercial, critical, and literal toxicity of his film The Conqueror, he bought every copy of the film for $12 million, watching the film on repeat. Paramount Pictures acquired the rights of the film in 1979, 3 years after his death.

Hughes insisted on using tissues to pick up objects to insulate himself from germs. He would also notice dust, stains, or other imperfections on people's clothes and demand that they take care of them. Once one of the most visible men in America, Hughes ultimately vanished from public view, although tabloids continued to follow rumors of his behavior and whereabouts. He was reported to be terminally ill, mentally unstable, or even dead.

Injuries from numerous aircraft crashes caused Hughes to spend much of his later life in pain, and he eventually became addicted to codeine, which he injected intramuscularly. Hughes had his hair cut and nails trimmed only once a year, likely due to the pain caused by the RSD/CRPS, which was caused by the plane crashes. He also stored his urine in bottles.

Later years as a Las Vegas recluse
The wealthy and aging Hughes, accompanied by his entourage of personal aides, began moving from one hotel to another, always taking up residence in the top floor penthouse. In the last ten years of his life, 1966 to 1976, Hughes lived in hotels in many cities—including Beverly Hills, Boston, Las Vegas, Nassau, Freeport, Vancouver, London, Managua, and Acapulco.

On November 24, 1966 (Thanksgiving Day), Hughes arrived in Las Vegas by railroad car and moved into the Desert Inn. Because he refused to leave the hotel and to avoid further conflicts with the owners, Hughes bought the Desert Inn in early 1967. The hotel's eighth floor became the nerve center of Hughes' empire and the ninth-floor penthouse became his personal residence. Between 1966 and 1968, he bought several other hotel-casinos, including the Castaways, New Frontier, the Landmark Hotel and Casino, and the Sands.He bought the small Silver Slipper casino for the sole purpose of moving its trademark neon silver slipper; visible from Hughes' bedroom, it had apparently kept him awake at night.

After Hughes left the Desert Inn, hotel employees discovered that his drapes had not been opened during the time he lived there and had rotted through.

Hughes wanted to change the image of Las Vegas to something more glamorous. As Hughes wrote in a memo to an aide, "I like to think of Las Vegas in terms of a well-dressed man in a dinner jacket and a beautifully jeweled and furred female getting out of an expensive car." Hughes bought several local television stations (including KLAS-TV).

Hughes' considerable business holdings were overseen by a small panel unofficially dubbed "The Mormon Mafia" because of the many Latter-day Saints on the committee, led by Frank William Gay. In addition to supervising day-to-day business operations and Hughes' health, they also went to great pains to satisfy Hughes' every whim. For example, Hughes once became fond of Baskin-Robbins' banana nut ice cream, so his aides sought to secure a bulk shipment for him, only to discover that Baskin-Robbins had discontinued the flavor. They put in a request for the smallest amount the company could provide for a special order, 350 gallons (1,300 L), and had it shipped from Los Angeles. A few days after the order arrived, Hughes announced he was tired of banana nut and wanted only French vanilla ice cream. The Desert Inn ended up distributing free banana nut ice cream to casino customers for a year. In a 1996 interview, ex–Howard Hughes communicator Robert Maheu said, "There is a rumor that there is still some banana nut ice cream left in the freezer. It is most likely true."

As an owner of several major Las Vegas businesses, Hughes wielded much political and economic influence in Nevada and elsewhere. During the 1960s and early 1970s, he disapproved of underground nuclear testing at the Nevada Test Site. Hughes was concerned about the risk from residual nuclear radiation, and attempted to halt the tests. When the tests finally went through despite Hughes' efforts, the detonations were powerful enough that the entire hotel where he was staying trembled due to the shock waves. In two separate, last-ditch maneuvers, Hughes instructed his representatives to offer million-dollar bribes to both presidents Lyndon B. Johnson and Richard Nixon.

In 1970, Jean Peters filed for divorce. The two had not lived together for many years. Peters requested a lifetime alimony payment of $70,000 a year, adjusted for inflation, and waived all claims to Hughes' estate. Hughes offered her a settlement of over a million dollars, but she declined it. Hughes did not insist on a confidentiality agreement from Peters as a condition of the divorce. Aides reported that Hughes never spoke ill of her. She refused to discuss her life with Hughes and declined several lucrative offers from publishers and biographers. Peters would state only that she had not seen Hughes for several years before their divorce and had only dealt with him by phone.

Hughes was living in the Intercontinental Hotel near Lake Managua in Nicaragua, seeking privacy and security, when a magnitude 6.5 earthquake damaged Managua in December 1972. As a precaution, Hughes moved first to a rather large tent, facing the hotel, then after a few days there to the Nicaraguan National Palace and stayed there as a guest of Anastasio Somoza Debayle before leaving for Florida on a private jet the following day. He subsequently moved into the Penthouse at the Xanadu Princess Resort on Grand Bahama Island, which he had recently purchased. He lived almost exclusively in the penthouse of the Xanadu Beach Resort & Marina for the last four years of his life. Hughes had spent a total of $300 million on his many properties in Las Vegas.

Memoir hoax
In 1972, author Clifford Irving caused a media sensation when he claimed he had co-written an authorized autobiography of Hughes. Hughes was so reclusive that he did not immediately publicly refute Irving's statement, leading many to believe the Irving book was genuine. However, before the book's publication, Hughes finally denounced Irving in a teleconference and the entire project was eventually exposed as a hoax. Irving was later convicted of fraud and spent 17 months in prison. In 1974, the Orson Welles film F for Fake included a section on the Hughes biography hoax, leaving a question open as to whether it was actually Hughes who took part in the teleconference (since so few people had actually heard or seen him in recent years). In 1977, The Hoax by Clifford Irving was published in the United Kingdom, telling his story of these events. The 2006 film The Hoax, starring Richard Gere, is also based on these events.

Hughes family grave site at Glenwood Cemetery
Hughes was reported to have died on April 5, 1976, at 1:27 p.m. on board an aircraft owned by Robert Graf and piloted by Jeff Abrams. He was en route from his penthouse at the Acapulco Fairmont Princess Hotel in Mexico to the Methodist Hospital in Houston. Other accounts indicate that he died on the flight from Freeport, Grand Bahama, to Houston.

After receiving a call, his senior counsel, Frank P. Morse, ordered his staff to get his body on a plane and return him to the United States. It was common that foreign countries would hold a corpse as ransom so that an estate could not be settled. Morse ordered the pilots to announce Hughes' death once they entered U.S. airspace.

His reclusiveness and possible drug use made him practically unrecognizable. His hair, beard, fingernails, and toenails were long—his tall 6 ft 4 in (193 cm) frame now weighed barely 90 pounds (41 kg), and the FBI had to use fingerprints to conclusively identify the body.Howard Hughes' alias, John T. Conover, was used when his body arrived at a morgue in Houston on the day of his death.

A subsequent autopsy recorded kidney failure as the cause of death. Hughes was in extremely poor physical condition at the time of his death. He suffered from malnutrition. While his kidneys were damaged, his other internal organs, including his brain, which had no visible damage other than illnesses, were deemed perfectly healthy. X-rays revealed five broken-off hypodermic needles in the flesh of his arms. To inject codeine into his muscles, Hughes had used glass syringes with metal needles that easily became detached.
Approximately three weeks after Hughes' death, a handwritten will was found on the desk of an official of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Salt Lake City, Utah. The so-called "Mormon Will" gave $1.56 billion to various charitable organizations (including $625 million to the Howard Hughes Medical Institute), nearly $470 million to the upper management in Hughes' companies and to his aides, $156 million to first cousin William Lummis, and $156 million split equally between his two ex-wives Ella Rice and Jean Peters.

In this will, Hughes left his entire estate to the Hughes Medical Institute, as he had no connection to family and was seriously ill. This is contrary to the many wills that have surfaced after his death. The original will that included payments to aides never surfaced. It was apparently in a home surrounding the Desert Inn Golf Course belonging to the mother of an assistant. He had no desire to leave any money to family, aides or churches, including William Gay and Frank Morse.[131][full citation needed] Hughes was not Mormon and had no reason to leave his estate to that church. Frank P. Morse is still the attorney of record for Hughes.

A further $156 million was endowed to a gas-station owner, Melvin Dummar, who told reporters that in 1967, he found a disheveled and dirty man lying along U.S. Route 95, just 150 miles (240 km) north of Las Vegas. The man asked for a ride to Vegas. Dropping him off at the Sands Hotel, Dummar said the man told him that he was Hughes. Dummar later claimed that days after Hughes' death a "mysterious man" appeared at his gas station, leaving an envelope containing the will on his desk. Unsure if the will was genuine and unsure of what to do, Dummar left the will at the LDS Church office. In 1978, a Nevada court ruled the Mormon Will a forgery, and officially declared that Hughes had died intestate (without a valid will). Dummar's story was later adapted into Jonathan Demme's film Melvin and Howard in 1980.

Hughes' $2.5 billion estate was eventually split in 1983 among 22 cousins, including William Lummis, who serves as a trustee of the Howard Hughes Medical Institute. The Supreme Court of the United States ruled that Hughes Aircraft was owned by the Howard Hughes Medical Institute, which sold it to General Motors in 1985 for $5.2 billion. The court rejected suits by the states of California and Texas that claimed they were owed inheritance tax. In 1984 Hughes' estate paid an undisclosed amount to Terry Moore, who claimed she and Hughes had secretly married on a yacht in international waters off Mexico in 1949 and never divorced. Moore never produced proof of a marriage, but her book, The Beauty and the Billionaire, became a bestseller.

Wednesday, 20 March 2019

The Quality Mending Co. (NYC)

The Quality Mending Co.

About us:

The Quality Mending Company has been on the same block of Prince Street, in lower Manhattan, for more than a decade. Founded in 2003 as Eleven Vintage, the shop has always concentrated on stocking the finest in vintage menswear.

In 2010, as it became clear that select in-demand items were getting more difficult to track down, the owner introduced the Quality Mending Company, a line of mainly locally made clothing and accessories that takes its inspiration from vintage but possesses an of-the-moment sensibility.

These new items fit in nicely alongside the carefully curated vintage pieces that continue to be an essential element of the store.

Store Locations:

The Quality Mending Co. - Manhattan
15 Prince Street
New York, NY 10012
Sun. - Wed. 12:00 - 7:00, Thurs. - Sat. 12:00 - 8:00

The Quality Mending Co. - Williamsburg
705 Driggs Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11211
Open Everyday 12:00 - 7:00, Sat. 12:00 - 8:00