During the 50′s, Jack Paar helped bring Jonathan Winters to fame on television, always gave him a big show. Everyone made sure they saw him do his comedy which is the best we’ve seen in years.
Come back for another Jonathan Winters segment, stay tuned!
Roy Rogers with his wife Dale Evans and their famous horse Trigger
Roy Rogers, Dale Evans and their famous horse Trigger; Roy Rogers was one of the most popular cowboys during his time.
Gene Autry appeared in 93 films and 91 episodes of The Gene Autry Show television series. During the 1930s and 1940s, he personified the straight-shooting hero—honest, brave, and true—and profoundly touched the lives of millions of Americans.
The two were always competing but always remained good friends.
These are the clothes of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, and they are currently on sale at Intrepid Farms.
Clint gawked at the glamorous young blond as she swung her long, hose-less legs out of the driver’s seat of a new 1957 Thunderbird.
Noticing Clint staring at her, she opened her legs. He could see she wore no underwear. She stood, adjusting a blond mink
stole around her bare shoulders. As she passed him on her way to the front door, the smell of her perfume knocked him out. She gave him a
slight smile and a bump with her body, looking straight ahead. Clint felt her hand caress his crotch. Astonished, he stared at the woman and then
at Everett, who was standing at his side, slicking back a shock of thin gray hair.
“Didja see that? She grabbed my balls,” he yelled.
Everett put his finger to his lips. “Keep your voice down, this is a
chic party,” he whispered.
They were met at the entrance of the pink Beverly Hills mansion by a midget wearing a medieval court jester costume who ushered them
into a silk ornate room that resembled a reception room in an old European palace. There stood a throne, with a plump middle-aged
blonde sitting on it. If that old gal’s my date, I hope I can get it up, Clint thought. “Who is she?” he whispered to Everett.
“She bought a grand duchess title. She thinks she’s a queen.”
The lady hadn’t seen them. She leaned forward on the arm of the high back chair, enthralled with a young Latin in Argentine gaucho
attire, strumming a tango on his guitar. The man moved to her side finishing the last words of the ballad.
“Manuel, how wonderful. Do come back and play again before you leave.” She extended her jeweled hand and slipped him a fifty-
“Gracias, your Highness,” he said as he kissed her hand and backed away, bowing.
Everett stepped onto the throne platform as Billie Rodgers shifted and saw him. “Everett, you finally got here.” She turned her cheek for
him to kiss. “Where’s the medal I presented you? You are my minister of culture. You should wear it to all my official gatherings.”
“I’m sorry, your Highness. I wasn’t told the party was to be so formal,” he said in a clipped English accent.
“My parties are always formal. And tonight especially. We’re unveiling my official portrait.” Billie glanced past Everett. “And, who
is the handsome young man?” She looked Clint over.
“May I present Mr. Clint Nation. Her Highness, Billie Rogers.” The jester pushed Clint onto the platform.
Clint’s tall lanky body moved self-consciously forward in the rented tuxedo. His straight blonde hair fell in his eyes as he fidgeted
with his too-small shirt collar. Billie extended her hand that Clint took and shook clumsily. “Pleased to meet ya, ma’am. Your worship… I
mean ya… Highness,” said Clint, in a western drawl.
“You may call me Billie, if I may call you Clint. Clint, I like that name…it sounds so western.”
“I’m from Montana, ma’am, I mean, Miss Billie,” said Clint nervously.
Billie pushed herself up from the throne. As she did her diamond tiara slid to the side of her head and dropped onto the throne platform
near Clint’s feet. He rushed to pick it up. And handed it to her. She gave him a pleasing smile as she put the crown into place, mussing her thin
“Thank you, young man,” she said, patting his hand. “What a pleasure to have such a strong man to help a lady when she needs some-one.
” She turns her head towards the jester. He handed her a gold-headed cane. She stepped off the platform adjusting a blue silk gown
that was a size too small.
“Come, I’ll introduce you to my guests.” Billie took Clint’s arm as they exited the throne room with Everett and the jester following behind. “You
have a strong arm, Clint. Walking with you is a joy. As you see I need help. I fell off a horse a few years back and my hip never healed properly. I love
to dance, but that’s over now. I’m so excited about my official portrait. You have no idea what I had to endure with the artist, Mr. Reinholt. He wanted
me to pose in the morning light. I never get up before three. It’s inhuman of him to think I could. We had so many quarrels. I wanted to sit on a horse
to look regal, like they do in Europe, but with my hip it was impossible.”
They approached an aging dowager covered with jewels, who stood with two effeminate-looking men. They gave Clint a look that made
“Cynthia, darling, when did you arrive? Meet Mr. Nation.”
Cynthia extended her thin hand, enhanced with large jewels. “Oh, darling. He’s divine. You must bring him to Honolulu. “Do you surf, Mr. Nation?”
“Yeah, sure, I surf,” lied Clint “Nice meetin’ ya, ma’am.”
“See you at the unveiling,” said Billie as she and Clint walked off.
“I wish I had her money. Millions!” said Billie.
Clint glanced back at Cynthia for another look.
Everett and the jester observed Clint’s actions from behind.
The Jester in his high nasal voice said, “Her Highness seems to be happy with this young man.”
“That’s why he’s here. replied Everett, assured.
“I hope he sticks around. It’s been miserable since the last one left. She’s been on me constantly. I’ll get a rest again if she picks up with him.”
Billie turned around. “Everett, Clint tells me he’s a Scorpio. I’ve always loved Scorpios. They’re so much fun. And sexy. Find me a chair.
I want to sit. It’s time,” she said to the jester. “Have the servants bring in my official portrait, and tell the orchestra to be ready.”
The Jester rushed to the orchestra leader and then left the room. The orchestra started a musical fanfare.
“They’ll play my official waltz. I wrote it. I love my music when I hear it. I feel so royal,” she said as she made herself comfortable in the chair.
Two male servants dressed in footman costumes rolled the portrait in on a dolly. It was covered with a purple cloth. Billie searched the ballroom.
“Where is Mr. Reinholt? He must be here with me.”
“I’m sorry, your Highness, he sends his regrets. He’s ill,” said the Jester.
“Ill? The paint-slapping fairy! He goes to the top of my unwanted list. He’s barred from the house. I hope I haven’t paid him. Find out if I made payment,”
she said scowling at the jester.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Send the painting away. I’ll see it later.” She said to Clint. “I’m getting bored with this party. Come along to the honeymoon suite with me, Mr. Nation,”
she said pushing herself up from her chair and extending one arm to Clint.
The Jester ran after them. “Your Highness?”
She turned and said. “Have a few of my select guests come up for some fun.” They started up the long grand staircase.
“Anyone in particular, Madam?” called the jester.
“You know who I like. And have the waiters bring champagne.”
Billie turned to Clint. “Come along Mr. Nation. Do you play the horses?” she asked, as they moved slowly up the curved stairs.
“I spend most of my days at the track, ma’am.”
“You do? I adore the horses, but my information is so poor these days. You can help me pick some winners.”
“I do real good, ma’am. I got a couple of sure winners for tomorra.”
“Wonderful, you can go with me. Come along, angel. I’ve arranged for some marvelous entertainment.”
At the top of the staircase, Billie led Clint down the hallway into a large pink satin bedroom that resembled a theater. On the far end of
the room stood a circular bed covered in pink silk, a canopy positioned above. A cluster of cupids hung from the ceiling on strings.
Heavy pink silk drapes covered the tall windows and numerous chaise lounges were scattered around the bed and other areas of the
room. A small stage stood opposite the bed, a soft pink curtain concealing it. Billie, with Clint’s help, moved toward the canopied bed
and sat on the end.
“Come sit next to me, angel. Tell me about yourself.”
Clint sat down cautiously, smoothing the bed cover as he did.
“There ain’t much to tell, ma’am. I just got out of the army. I want to be an actor like Gary Cooper. He’s from Montana. Could ya know a
agent who could git me a part?”
“I do have a friend who’s an important agent. He just might be interested in a handsome young man like you. You’ll have a chance to
show what you can do shortly. We’re going to do improvisations. Where did Everett find you? He brings the most handsome young men
for me to meet, he’s so sweet.”
“I lives in the same apartment house, ma’am. We all met at the swimming pool,” said Clint nervously.
“You must look magnificent in a bathing suit! Don’t be so nervous, angel. I won’t bite you.”
“Well, ma’am I ain’t never met no one like ya before.”
“I hope that’s a compliment. My dear boy, do you realize you’re sitting in the presence of the future Queen of America? My whole life
is dedicated to achieving it. The trouble today is there’s no hope for this country. All this tax business. I paid more tax last year than the
President’s salary. It’s horrible. Look how wonderfully the Queen of France, Marie Antoinette, lived. A marvelous time.”
“Didn’t she get her head cut off, ma’am?”
“That’s not funny. That remark does not gain my favor, you’re here to gain my favor. Everyone is.” Clint glanced at his wristwatch.
“I better get goin, ma’am, it’s kinda late,” he said starting to get up.
Billie gripped his hand.
“Don’t go, angel, I like you. Stay to see my surprises.” A waiter entered the room with a tray full of glasses of champagne.
“Here comes the party. Sit down, angel.” Billie took two glasses of champagne and handed one to Clint, who sat back down on her bed.
She lifted her glass. “How old are you, angel?”
“Thirty, ma’am.” Clint was twenty-three. Billie lifted her glass to him and said. “To my new prince of the realm, or would you rather be
a duke? I can give you any title you want in my monarchy. I’m the Queen!”
“Being a prince is OK, ma’am,” said Clint, as he smiled at Billie drinking the champagne.
A group of merry guests came into the room talking and laughing among themselves. They sat on the lounges as the waiter passed cham-
pagne to them. The jester approached Billie and whispered in her ear.“Should this be a costume night, Your Highness?”
“Of course,” she replied, also whispering. “Get them into outfits, and hide the young man’s pants when he takes them off. I’m going to
have some fun with him.”
The jester smiled and got up on the stage. As he did the room quieted. He said, “Voyeurs and voyeurettes. Her Highness, the future
Queen of America, has requested your presence at this soiree. For the benefit of the few who have not been here before, go to the room
behind the stage. There you’ll find costumes for everyone. Pick out whatever you choose to be for this night of fantasy. There’s an assort-
ment of delusions from the past as well as the present to choose from. Put on whatever appeals to you and let the games begin. Take your
drinks and on to the costumes.” The jester came off the stage and grabbed Clint’s hand, pulling him off Billie’s bed. Clint didn’t want to
go, but Billie waved him on, laughing.
Clint followed the jester through a small door behind the stage. He felt shy and self-conscious. But, what the hell, I ain’t got nothing to
lose, he thought.
The smell of mothballs hit him as he saw rows and rows of costumes of every description. He walked over to a wolf’s head and put it
on, looking into the mirror. He saw the blonde with the nineteen fifty-seven Thunderbird who grabbed his balls come up behind him. She
carried a slave girl costume in one hand and a Roman centurion costume in the other.
She checked Clint out in the mirror and said. “Take that ridiculous thing off, and put this on.” She handed Clint the Roman costume. “This
is how I see you. A handsome Praetorian guard.” Clint was taken by her directness.
“Take your pants off.”
“Don’t just stand there looking dumb, sweetheart. Let’s see those legs.”
Clint laughed. “Gal, what’s your name? I’m Clint.”
“I’m Gale, cowboy. You’re sort of cute. I think our hostess, that old bag, thinks so too. Are you reserved for the evening?”
“Huh? Do it look that way?”
“Can I see ya later? Give me ya phone number.”
Gale reached into her bra, pulled out a card, and handed it to him.
“I don’t give my number to strangers, but you and I should get better acquainted. What do you do besides hustle?”
“I ain’t no hustler,” he said acting indignant. Gale glanced into his scowling face and said, “Sure you’re not,” smiling.
The room started to clear out. The other guests had gotten into costumes and had gone back into the bedroom.
“We’d better get dressed. Where do I get into this?” he asked, hold-
ing up the costume.
“Come, we can change together.” Clint gave her a look. “Don’t look
so startled, cowboy. Haven’t you ever taken your clothes off with a girl
before?” Gale pulled Clint into the small dressing room and closed the
door. She moved into him unbuckling his belt. Clint gripped her and
tried to kiss her.
“Not now. You’ll ruin my makeup. God, you’re a hot thing. Get
dressed, I got plans for you.”
Clint could feel the heat. He pushed Gale against the wall, holding
onto her large breasts. “No. Not so fast, cowboy.”
“You started it, gal,” he said, panting.
Gale broke out of the dressing room and entered another next to
Clint, locking the door. Clint pushed down his erection to get into the
Roman costume. He came out of the room and walked over and
checked himself in the mirror as the jester came in.
“Her Highness is asking for you. Have you finished dressing?”
“Yep, I’m ready,” replied Clint as he exited.
After Clint had gone, the jester glanced around and went into the
dressing room and picked up Clint’s trousers. He put them into a
clothes hamper by the door as he left.
The bedroom had taken on a carnival atmosphere. Everyone except
Billie was in costume. The guests stood around laughing and checking
each other’s outfits. The waiters moved through the room handing
champagne to everyone.
When Billie saw Clint in costume coming towards her she said.
“You look so handsome! You almost take my breath away.” Clint
felt uncomfortable, but managed to smile. He eyeballed the room and
spotted Gale. She reminded him of a showgirl he had met in Las Vegas.
He liked the way her boobs swelled over her strapless brassiere. She
smiled and winked at him, not letting Billie see. The jester gave a sign
“Shhhhh…my dear subjects. Our entertainment is about to begin.”
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?”
“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.
Clint’s bright red 140 Jaguar roadster swung into Thorton North’s curved driveway and parked under an expansive portico. As he buzzed the front door, a bright light flashed on and a tiny television camera focused on him.
A cheery black maid opened the door.
“Hello, Mister Clint. Mr. North is in his office.”
“Thanks Maisie. Is Marge home?”
“No, she’s out shopping”. Maisie left for the kitchen.
Clint went behind the bar and fixed himself vodka. He peered out to the expansive view of Los Angeles and Beverly Hills below as Thorton entered and sat at a tool at the bar.
“Hello, Thorton, what will you have?”
“Fix me a double.” Clint thought Thorton looked sober so he fixed him a weak scotch. He watched Thorton pick up the drink and gulp it down.
“What kind of calf piss is this?” asked Thorton as he pushed the glass back for more.
“Thorton, are you racing in Havana?”
“Yes, we’re getting the Ferrari ready. I’ve been on the phone with Havana. I got a couple of suites at The Nacional. We can watch the race from our balcony. Don’t have to go near the damn track”.
“I’m going too. My client, Marty Fallon, has a club date at Meyer Lansky’s Riviera, and Fangio’s racing. That I gotta see”.
“Make me another double.” Thorton pushed his empty glass toward Clint. “A little girl Jimmy introduced me to has been calling. I told her to come up.”
“Do you think that’s wise with Marge here?”
“Hell, she’ll never know.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about Marge”
They heard the door latch open and Marshall, Thorton’s business manager, walked in. His open shirt revealed lots of gold around his neck; a chunky gold watch hung from his wrist and a heavy linked gold bracelet on the other.
Gifts from Marge, thought Clint.
“Marshall, I’m glad you’re here. Thorton is about to call one of his whores. Talk him out of it. You can’t fool Marge.”
“Clint’s right. Wait till we get to Cuba. I’ll get you all the whores you want down there,” said Marshall.
“Hell, I woke up this morning with this big throbbing hard on. It won’t go away. I even put on the air-conditioner,” said Thorton as he got up and left the room.
“We’re in for it,” said Clint.
“I’m leaving,” said Marshall.
“No, you’re not. It could be fun,” said Clint.
When the doorbell rang, Clint yelled out, “I’ll get it, Maisie. It’s for me.” Clint made his way to the front door. He checked the monitor and saw a young girl and let her in.
“Hi, I’m Shirley,” said the blonde as she extended her hand. She was sexy, about twenty with big breasts and a cinched small waist. She wore a black and white large polka dot dress, open in the front. A young Mae West, thought Clint. “I’m Clint,” he said. Thorton is in his room. Follow me.”
He opened the door to Thorton’s bedroom. Thorton sat on the large bed in a pair of long boxer shorts looking like he had just gotten out of a concentration camp. His stick legs were crossed as he peered into a glass of scotch. Clint knew the white plastic dish placed by his feet was used for spit and vomit.
“Hello Mr. North,” the girl said. “I’m Shirley, remember?”
“Why sure, honey. Sit down next to me. I want to tell you a story.” he said. Shirley sat down.
“Thorton, why don’t you and Shirley go to the office? S0MEBODY will be here soon. Have you forgotten?”
“Now that’s a pregnant thought. Why didn’t I think of it?” said Thorton as he pushed himself to his feet while Shirley steadied him.
Clint called into the bar. “Marshall, go to the kitchen and keep Maisie busy. I don’t want her to see Shirley.” Marshall went off to the kitchen.
“Thorton, you lead the way,” said Clint.
“Clint, you’re such a good friend,” he said as he moved slowly toward the rear of the house.
Shirley stayed back and pulled Clint aside. “Is he okay? He’s a
no-go to me.”
“You’re in for a big surprise,” said Clint.
“What’s that mean?” she asked.
“You be the judge.”
Shirley was puzzled and caught up with Thorton and followed him into the office.
“Honey”, said Thorton. “Did I tell you, you’re the best looking piece of poontang I ever did see?”
Shirley closed the door behind them.
Clint went back to the bar and poured himself a big drink. Marshall came in from the kitchen.
“The last hooker he had here he wouldn’t pay. So she cleaned the steaks out of the deep freeze before she left,” said Marshall.
“You mean he does this all the time?”
“Yeah, but never with Marge in the house.”
The sound of a latchkey in the front door was heard followed by Marge’s entrance. She was dressed in a light green silk Pucci top with bright fuchsia slacks. Her white blonde hair was done up in a smart do. “Why Clint, I didn’t know you’d be here. Will you stay for dinner? I picked up some divine lobsters at Jurgensen’s. Where’s Thorton?” she asked, as she glanced into the living room for him.
“He’s around, isn’t he, Marshall?” asked Clint uncomfortably.
“Look!” She put her hand forward to show off a large diamond ring. “Thorton bought me this for my birthday. The girls at Saks just died when they saw it.”
“I don’t blame them, its a queen’s ransom,” said Clint.
“I wanted to go on this cruise to New Zealand, but Thorton thought it was too expensive; I’m sure this ring cost a lot more. Anyway, we’re going to Havana, have you heard?”
“I’m going too,” said Clint.
“How divine! We’ll have so much fun. Fix me a drink. I’ll tell
Maisie you’ll be staying for dinner,” said Marge as she left the bar and went into Thorton’s room on her way to the kitchen.
Clint poured himself another strong drink.
A few minutes later Marge was back. She picked up her drink. She stared at Clint and then Marshall suspiciously.
“I went by the office. The door is locked. I smell whore!”
Clint and Marshall exchanged looks.
“I’ve got to go.” Marshall said getting up to leave.
“You’re staying right here,” said Marge. “Thorton has a whore here, doesn’t he?”
Clint and Marshall said nothing.
“I knew it. That dirty old man has brought a whore into my house. That horrible creature.” She moved fast and left the room for the office.
Clint and Marshall could hear her pounding on the door with
Clint worried she might hurt herself or have a heart attack.
“I know you’re in there you dirty old man,” she yelled. “Let me tell you. You’re going to stay there. I’m going to sit in front of this door. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll stay here all night if I have to. There’s no bathroom in there and no windows. You’re going to start stinking soon. How’s that going to go over with your whore, you old bastard?” Marge came away from the door exhausted. She went to the terrace and picked up a chair and brought it to the door and planted it. Clint joined her. Marshall had disappeared.
“The years I have put up with that old sonofabitch. All the horrible things he’s done to me. I saved his life many a time. I spent years watching out for him. Saw to it that he had proper care when he’d go on a drunk. I kept him alive through it all. I’m so mad I could spit.” She sat in the wrought-iron chair.
Clint handed her a fresh drink. “Marge, this incident could work out for you”.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You’ve never had Thorton in a more compromising position.”
“Yes,” she said interested.
“You can take that cruise to New Zealand. See your sea-captain friend. Who knows, you might just stay.”
“What would I do for money? Thorton had me sign a quitclaim
deed on all his property. I’m screwed.”
“Here’s your opportunity. Get a blank check. Write it for a hundred thousand dollars, paid to you. Push it under the door for his signature. If he signs, you’ll let him out.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” She asked excitedly.
“You’re too upset.”
“Do you think he’ll do it?”
“Does he have a choice?” … to be continued..