March 2013 - LIFE

LIFE’s Best Baseball Pictures

April 13, 2023March 31, 2013 by

LIFE magazine’s coverage of the American pastime while always steeped in a genuine appreciation for the nuances, intricacies and thrills of the game was often as much personality-driven as performance-driven.

George Silk, Ralph Morse, Mark Kauffman, Francis Miller and the other photographers who so frequently covered baseball for LIFE beautifully captured the action unfolding on the field. But they were also photojournalists: pretty much every photographer on the LIFE staff who was shooting baseball in the 1940s and ’50s (and even into the ’60s) also had occasion, throughout their careers, to photograph . . . well, you name it. War, science, technology, the arts, pop culture, politics, other sports from yachting to boxing to golf: the breadth of the subjects covered by LIFE, and the necessity for LIFE’s photographers to ably capture the heart of the matter whatever the matter happened to be meant that baseball was a bit more than just a game. For LIFE’s editors, writers and photographers, it was one more window into the human spirit.

Here, LIFE.com offers the best baseball pictures made for LIFE, from the late Forties to the early Seventies. The great players one would expect are, of course, here: Jackie Robinson, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Willie Mays, Ted Williams and other Hall of Famers make their obligatory appearances. But above and beyond the sheer, phenomenal athletic talent on display (talent gauged by records set, titles won, World Series rings worn) there is also another, less-quantifiable element of the game portrayed in most of these pictures an element of individual and collective striving on the part of players, managers, owners and, of course, fans. For lack of a better word, that element is drama, and it’s here in abundance.

Finally, viewers will note and many will no doubt grumble about the preponderance of New York players and teams represented in these photos. More than half of the photographs either include players in Yankee, Dodger or Giant uniforms, or depict a scene in which New York players, even if unseen, either have or had a central role. In our defense we’ll just note that, during the years in which these photos were made, New York teams were hard to ignore. Between 1941 and 1956, the Yankees and Dodgers played each other in the World Series seven times.

So, yeah. There might be a little too much New York here for some. But if it’s any consolation, there’s nary a Met in sight.

After umpire William Grieve issues a walk to a Washington pinch-hitter, Red Sox manager Joe McCarthy and catcher Birdie Tebbetts express their doubts about Grieve’s judgment, 1949.

Michael Rougier/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

1960 World Series, Pittsburgh

George Silk/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Yankee pitcher Don Larsen talks to the press after throwing a perfect game—still the only perfect game in postseason history—against the Dodgers in the 1956 World Series.

George Silk/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Brooklyn Dodger rookie hopefuls work out at spring training, 1948.

George Silk/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Jackie Robinson, the great disruptor, dances off of third in the 8th inning of Game 3 of the 1955 World Series.

Ralph Morse/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Roy Campanella (left) talks with an awed fan during spring training in 1959.

Robert W. Kelley/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Red Sox star Ted Williams, all of 22 years old, demonstrates his batting technique in 1941.

Gjon Mili Time & Life Pictures/Shutterstock

In one of the most poignant pictures ever made of a great athlete in decline, 33-year-old Mickey Mantle—his electrifying talents blunted by injuries, age and years of alcohol abuse—tosses his helmet away in disgust after a weak at-bat at Yankee Stadium, June 1965.

John Dominis/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Dodger southpaw and 1955 World Series MVP Johnny Podres reads about his own and his teammates’ exploits while visiting a store in his hometown of Witherbee, New York, a small mining town in the Adirondacks, a few hundred miles north of Brooklyn.

Grey Villet/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Hall of Famer, linchpin of the Big Red Machine and the man ESPN once pegged as the greatest catcher in history, Johnny Bench displays the intensity that made him such a force on the diamond, Cincinnati, 1970.

John Dominis/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Milwaukee Braves fans listen to a game against the Dodgers in 1956. The Dodgers ended the season one game ahead of Milwaukee in the National League, then lost in seven to the Yankees in the ’56 Series.

Francis Miller/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Leroy “Satchel” Paige, ageless relief pitcher for the Cleveland Indians, watches his teammates practice in 1948.

George Silk/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

A rapt audience in a Chicago bar watches the 1952 Subway Series between the Yankees and Dodgers.

Francis Miller/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays, arguably the greatest all-around ballplayer in major league history, poses for LIFE’s Alfred Eisenstaedt in 1954, the year the Giants won the World Series the Series against the Indians in which Mays made his legendary, running, back-to-home-plate catch of a long Vic Wertz drive in the far reaches of the Polo Grounds.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Yogi Berra takes issue with the umpire’s “safe” call after Jackie Robinson’s electrifying steal of home in Game 1 of the 1955 World Series.

Grey Villet/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Ailing baseball great Babe Ruth thanks the crowd at Yankee Stadium for their ovation on “Babe Ruth Day,” April 27, 1947.

Ralph Morse/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Jackie Robinson during filming of The Jackie Robinson Story (in which he starred), 1950.

Ralph Morse/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

Little Leaguers in Manchester, N.H., dress in a schoolroom before their first game of the season, as their formidable leader, Dick Williams, demands to know where the rest of the uniforms are.

Yale Joel/Life Pictures/Shutterstock

LIFE With Horace the Housebroken Hare

January 16, 2020March 22, 2013 by

Carl Mydans belongs on anyone’s short list of the 20th century’s finest photojournalists. The Boston native chronicled downtrodden migrant farmers in New England and the American South during the Great Depression, covered the Soviet invasion of Finland in 1939, documented Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s legendary “return” to the Philippines in 1945 and was aboard the USS Missouri when a Japanese delegation signed surrender documents, ending the Second World War.

In 1956, Mydans also memorably captured the mercurial essence of an utterly compelling figure who, in his own time and in his own way, was as fascinating as any that ever graced the pages of LIFE: Horace the housebroken hare.

The notion of a wild hare (distinguished from a mere rabbit by its longer ears, longer legs and other physical traits) living in one’s house does not sit well with a lot of people. Men and women who are perfectly content to let a cat or dog roam around their homes will shiver in something like revulsion at the idea of a virile, bright-eyed hare hopping blithely through the kitchen, hanging out in the bathroom or sitting quietly on the living room sofa.

Judging by the mood of Mydans’ photographs, however, Horace and his people—the Webbs of Dublin, Ireland—appear to have come to an amicable agreement about how to get along under the same roof. In fact, in most of these pictures, it’s evident that the hare holds sway in the household, and the humans are there, for the most part, simply to do Horace’s bidding.

In its March 12, 1956, issue, LIFE shared the housebroken hare’s tale and Mydans’ pictures with the magazine’s readers:

It is the usual fate of the Irish hare, a wild strain betwixt the Scottish and European varieties, to sleep by day in the hedgerows and by night to scurry through plowed fields in search of leafy delicacies. To live long he must be a wary hare, on guard always against man, his guns and dogs.

This might have been the life of Horace, the loveable hare, had he not fallen three years ago into the hands of Cecil S. Webb, director of the Dublin Zoo. Webb and his wife took Horace into their home to study the ways of small wild animals. They kept him on … because they had acquired a wonderful pet, as intelligent, playful and domesticated as any dog.

Horace loves to eat from his master’s mouth, kick and drum against him in mock battle, bound about the house from chair to bed to bureau. And hare, a favorite food all over Europe, has no place on the Webbs’ dining table.

Liz Ronk edited this gallery for LIFE.com. Follow her on Twitter at @LizabethRonk.

Cecil S. Webb, director of the Dublin Zoo, with Horace the hare.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

When he wanted to get in, Horace drummed his paws against the door.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Horace the hare sprawled out on the kitchen floor in home of Cecil S. Webb, director of the Dublin Zoo, 1956.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Horace the Irish hare took a drink, 1956.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Horace the Irish hare, 1956.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Horace the hare and Cecil S. Webb, director of the Dublin Zoo, 1956.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Horace the Irish hare, 1956.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

When the Webbs played table tennis, Horace took his place at midcourt and watched the ball flash by. Sometimes he caught it and ran off with it.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Horace the Irish hare in midair, 1956.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Horace liked to sit on a rug while Webb pulled him rapidly around the room. He was seldom thrown from the rug, balancing cleverly as it made sharp turns.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Horace the Irish hare in mid-snack, 1956.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Horace the Irish hare, 1956.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

When bedtime came, Horace usually acted as if he was asleep and forced Webb to pick him up and carry him to an outside run.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Portrait of Horace the Irish hare, 1956.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Horace the Irish hare navigated the stairs in home of Cecil S. Webb, director of the Dublin Zoo, 1956.

Carl Mydans The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Willie Mays: Photos of the Say Hey Kid, On and Off the Diamond

August 11, 2021March 22, 2013 by

With all due respect to Hank Aaron, Stan Musial, and even Babe Ruth, Willie Mays was the greatest all-around player baseball has ever seen. The epitome of the “five tool” threat he could run, throw, field and hit for average and with astonishing power Mays bedeviled opponents and thrilled fans for more than two decades.

Legends vary about who first bestowed the famous nickname, the “Say Hey Kid,” on Mays when he was still a young player in New York. By the time he was playing in San Francisco, after the Giants’ move west in the late Fifties, it was clear that, whatever he was called, Mays was on track to challenge the most hallowed records in the game. As it happened, he retired with some mind-boggling numbers, including: 660 home runs, 3,283 hits, and a record-tying 24 All-Star appearances.

Here, LIFE.com offers a gallery of photos of Willie Mays by LIFE photographers Loomis Dean, Alfred Eisenstaedt, and Ralph Morse from the ’50s and ’60s an era when the man’s preternatural talent and infectious joy on the diamond provided millions with one more giant reason to love the game.

Twenty-two-year-old Willie Mays at spring training in Arizona in 1954, the year the Giants won the World Series—the sole championship of Mays’ long career.

Loomis Dean/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Wlliie Mays, spring training, Arizona, 1954

Loomis Dean/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays signed autographs for fans, 1954. “I’m not sure what the hell charisma is, but I get the feeling it’s Willie Mays,” Reds’ slugger Ted “Big Klu” Kluszewski once said.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Wilie Mays, Leo Durocher and Whitey Lockman, spring training, 1954

Loomis Dean/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays, San Francisco Giants, 1964.

Ralph Morse/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays at home in Harlem with his landlady, Ann Goosby, in 1954. A profile of Mays published that year in LIFE pointed out that Mrs. Goosby “cooks his meals, keeps his clothes clean and generally takes care of” the young star.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays clowned with teammate and fellow Hall of Famer, Monte Irvin. “I’ve got a couple of kids, 6 and 10, but when I take a road trip I’ve got another one on my hands. Willie is 23 years old and he’ll drink maybe seven big sodas and a dozen Cokes in 12 hours.” — Irvin, quoted in the Sept. 13, 1954 edition of LIFE

Alfred Eisenstaedt/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays at home, 1954.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays trotted in from center field, 1954

Loomis Dean/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays in the batting cage, 1954. “God gave Willie the instincts of a ballplayer. All I had to do was add a little practical advice about wearing his pants higher to give the pitchers a smaller strike zone.”—manager Leo Durocher

Loomis Dean/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays, 1954.

Loomis Dean/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays and teammates in the dugout, spring training, 1954.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays, spring training, 1954.

Loomis Dean/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays in the outfield, 1964.

Ralph Morse/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Willie Mays was besieged by fans after a game.

Alfred Eisenstaedt/LIFE Pictures/Shutterstock

Stars Behind Bars: Meet the Prisonaires

January 17, 2020March 20, 2013 by

For much of the 20th century and well into the 21st, much of popular music rock and roll, R&B, hip hop has banked on the appeal of the rebel. Arguably no single label in the history of music had as many true hell-raisers and genuine pioneers as Sam Phillips’ Sun Records. Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins and, of course, Elvis Presley were all early Sun stars, and their personae all contained that element of danger.

But another Sun act, signed to the label in the early 1950s, was comprised of five men who made Sun’s more famous bad boys look like proverbial choir boys. The doo-wop group the Prisonaires were actual prisoners, all of them doing hard time for serious offenses. Here, LIFE.com offers a series of unpublished pictures of the Prisonaires from 1953.

The group was led by Johnny Bragg—who, by the time LIFE’s Robert W. Kelley was photographing the quintet, had been an inmate at Tennessee State Penitentiary for a solid decade; he was convicted at the age of 17 on six charges of rape. The other Prisonaires included convicted murderers Ed Thurman and William Stewart, Marcell Sanders (involuntary manslaughter) and John Drue Jr. (locked up for for larceny). One of their very first singles, “Just Walkin’ in the Rain,” written by Bragg and fellow inmate Robert Riley, was a solid hit for Sun Records in 1953 and three years later was an absolute smash for Johnnie Ray, his version eventually reaching #2 on the Billboard chart and #1 in England.

The Prisonaires never became megastars, but even while incarcerated they definitely had fans, sold records and were often allowed out of Tennessee State (under guard, of course) to perform at VFW halls, in churches, on TV and, frequently, at the prison warden’s home, where they’d sing for the warden, James Edwards, his wife and their two kids, Joyce and Jim.

Members of the incarcerated musical group the Prisonaires, Tennessee, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The incarcerated musical group the Prisonaires performed for other inmates, Tennessee State Penitentiary, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Robert Riley, serving 10 to 16 years for housebreaking, sat in his cell composing music, Tennessee State Penitentiary, 1953. Riley co-wrote the hit song, “Just Walkin’ in the Rain.”

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Members of the incarcerated musical group the Prisonaires, Tennessee, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Prisoners talked through heavy screens to friends and relatives, Tennessee State Penitentiary, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Prisonaire William Stewart and night warden, Tennessee State Penitentiary, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Prisoners talked through heavy screens to friends and relatives, Tennessee State Penitentiary, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Members of the incarcerated musical group the Prisonaires rehearsed in the prison auditorium, Tennessee, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Members of the incarcerated musical group the Prisonaires, Tennessee, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Prisonaires left Tennessee State Penitentiary for a performance, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Prisonaires at Kane Street Baptist Church, Nashville, Tenn., 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Prisonaires

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Prisonaires at Kane Street Baptist Church, Nashville, Tenn., 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Prisonaires’ guard rested at Kane Street Baptist Church, Nashville, Tenn., 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Prisonaires performed at Tennessee State Penitentiary warden James Edwards’ home, Nashville, Tenn., 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Prisonaires under the watchful eyes of guards, Nashville, Tenn., 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Prisonaire Marcell Sanders, Tennessee State Penitentiary, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Prisonaire Johnny Bragg, Tennessee State Penitentiary, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Prisonaire and convicted murderer Ed Thurman inspected cloth in prison textile school, Tennessee State Penitentiary, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Members of the incarcerated musical group the Prisonaires, Tennessee, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Prisoners at the Tennessee State Penitentiary auditorium, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Members of the Prisonaires prepared to perform, Tennessee, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The Prisonaires posed with sheet music of their first hit song, Tennessee, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Writing music, Tennessee State Penitentiary, 1953.

Robert W. Kelley The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

American Atrocity: Remembering My Lai

January 17, 2020March 13, 2013 by

Through the centuries, whether combatants have fought with spears or cutting-edge drones, one aspect of warfare has never changed: innocents die. In the 20th century alone millions tens of millions of civilians were killed and continue to be killed and maimed in global, regional and civil wars.

Most of these victims are “collateral damage”: men, women and children who die as the result of military errors. But some civilians are killed by design—murdered, often after being raped or tortured. For Americans of a certain age, the My Lai (pronounced “me lie”) atrocity not only remains a grisly emblem of other war crimes that have been committed by some of “our boys” through the years, but in a very real sense marked the end of a certain willful American innocence about the fluid, shadowy line that separates good and evil in war zones.

The chilling facts about My Lai itself are widely known, but some details bear repeating. On March 16, 1968, hundreds (various estimates range between 347 and 504) of elderly people, women, children and infants were murdered by more than 20 members of “Charlie” Company, United States’ 1st Battalion 20th Infantry Regiment. Some of the women were raped before being killed. After this mass slaughter, only one man, Second Lt. William Calley, was convicted of any crime. (He was found guilty in March 1971 of the premeditated murder of 22 Vietnamese civilians, but served just three-and-a-half years under house arrest at Fort Benning, Georgia.)

Incredibly, the world at large might have never learned about the death and torture visited by American troops upon the villagers at My Lai had it not been for an Army photographer named Ron Haeberle. Following Charlie Company’s 3rd platoon into the tiny hamlet, and expecting to document a battle between American and Viet Cong fighters, Haeberle instead ended up chronicling (with his own camera, not his Army-issue camera) a scene of unspeakable carnage.

More than a year later, when he returned to his hometown of Cleveland, Ohio, he shared some of the pictures from the massacre with the city’s newspaper, the Plain-Dealer, which published them in late November, 1969. A few weeks later, in its Dec. 5, 1969, issue, LIFE magazine published a series of Haeberle’s photos and the full story (as much as was then known) of what happened halfway around the world the previous March.

Decades after American troops unleashed hell in that village in Vietnam, LIFE.com remembers by republishing the story as it ran in LIFE, 20 months later.

Nothing will ever keep innocent men, women and children from being killed in the midst of war. Nothing will ever keep warriors from acts of savagery and, just as often, feats of unimaginable bravery. (Three American troops in the village that day tried to stop their comrades from committing rape and murder, and fought to protect the wounded. Back in the states after news broke about My Lai, the three were initially denounced as traitors. Later, the Army lauded them for their heroism.)

Nothing will bring back the dead. But decades after the gunfire has ceased and the terrified cries of the innocent have faded, we can still bear witness. And so we do.

Vietnamese villagers, including children, huddle in terror moments before being killed by American troops at My Lai, Vietnam, March 16, 1968.

Ronald S. Haeberle The LIFE Images Collection/Shutterstock

December 5, 1969 issue of LIFE Magazine

The Charm of Michael Caine: Rare Photos, 1966

January 17, 2020March 13, 2013 by

In October 1966, in a lengthy profile of a young English actor on the rise, LIFE magazine took a stab at describing what would in time be recognized not only as one of the most extraordinary instruments in all of movies, but a pop-culture touchstone ripe for loving parodies: Michael Caine’s voice.

“When Michael Caine talks about himself,” the magazine told its readers, “his voice is soft and couched in an accent that Englishmen call ‘London,’ a nondescript Cockney derivative with the harsh edges honed off and the aspirates intact.” That’s pretty good, especially the part about the aspirates, and with a little bit of effort most of us can easily conjure the sound of that “nondescript Cockney” in our heads or, in all likelihood, the sound of people gleefully impersonating the octogenarian movie star.

But when LIFE published its 1966 feature on Caine (born Maurice Joseph Micklewhite in the Rotherhithe district of London on March 14, 1933), the actor was far from the two-time Oscar-winning screen legend he was eventually to become. He had starred in two movies that had put him on the map, as it were, and got him noticed outside of England as a spy in The Ipcress File (1965) and as a Cockney Casanova in the classic British film, Alfie (1966) but the titles that would put him on the path to legend status were still years away. Those movies, like The Italian Job, Get Carter, Sleuth, Educating Rita, Hannah and Her Sisters, Cider House Rules, Little Voice, The Quiet American and most recently the films of Christoper Nolan such as Inception and his Batman movies, have shown Caine to be as versatile an actor as one is ever likely to see.

And then there are the duds. Anyone who has acted in more than 100 movies is, of course, going to have some bombs on his hands. But in Sir Michael’s case, calling more than a few of his titles godawful is putting it mildly. The Island. Jaws: The Revenge. Blame It on Rio, for chrissake. These are movies that most actors would probably disown if they could. But to Caine’s credit, he has always been completely upfront about why he makes so many movies, even if some of them are abominations. He does it, he says, because of the money—which is often very, very good—and because it’s his job. As the son of a father who worked in a fish market and mother who worked as a house cleaner, Caine never believed there was any shame in being poor, but he sure as hell would rather be rich. And if occasionally working in a movie he knew was going to be rubbish helped pay the bills, well, that’s what people worked for. His job just happened to allow him the luxury of traveling the world and hanging out with attractive women.

Here, LIFE.com celebrates Michael Caine with a series of previously unpublished photos from 1966, made by LIFE’s Bill Ray. Of Caine himself who at the time was divorced from his first wife, Patricia Haines (1932 – 1977) but had not yet married the woman to whom he’s still married today, the former model Shakira Baksh. Ray recalled that “there is a very fine line between being lazy and being laid back, and Caine knew exactly were that line was. He worked all the time but never broke a sweat. He always knew his lines, but was in no hurry to blurt them out. If things broke down on the set, he was happy in his trailer listening to The Four Tops or grabbing a nap. He was simply made for the movie business.”

As for the women—the many women—who happened to be in the vicinity of Caine during the assignment, Ray remembered that Caine “seemed to be a magnet, without ever lifting a finger. And that was another part of the laid-back thing. He seemed to have perfected a way to make things look easy, and so things became easy.

“That sort of magic,” Ray continues, “would have been much easier to take if Caine had been half as good looking as, say, another young Cockney, like Terence Stamp. He wasn’t. But charming, fun, and easy to be around and work with, he definitely was.”

Liz Ronk edited this gallery for LIFE.com. Follow her on Twitter at @LizabethRonk.

Michael Caine in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine with an unidentified woman in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine with an unidentified friend in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine lifted girlfriend Natalie Wood off the ground, 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Natalie Wood, Michael Caine and an unidentified man and woman in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine read an article about himself, Los Angeles, 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine and Shirley MacLaine on the set of the 1966 heist movie Gambit

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine laughing, Los Angeles, 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine and an unidentified man in a car in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine dances with friends, including the actress Sally Kellerman, in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine with friends, including the actress Sally Kellerman (on his left), in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Michael Caine with an unidentified woman in Los Angeles in 1966.

Bill Ray The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

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