george silk Photo Archives - LIFE

Cowboy Life in the Australian Outback

Bill Syken — Tue, 25 Nov 2025 16:36:47 +0000

The cowboy is one of distinct characters of American life. And while their numbers have been dwindling for ages— in 1949 LIFE ran a memorable story on the vanishing American cowboy—today movies and TV shows with Western themes have never been more popular.

And it’s worth noting that while cowboys are original to America, versions could be found on other continents. In 1967 LIFE wrote the frontier people of the Australian Outback. The story appeared in a double issue devoted to what LIFE termed “The Wild World.”

To the reckoning of LIFE editor Don Moser, the Outback was even more rugged than the Old West. Here’s how he put it:

The Outback of Australia is a frontier, and the men and women who live in it are frontiersmen just like those who opened the American West—cattlemen, prospectors, professional hunters. But their frontier is harder than ours ever was. It is, God knows, beautiful, but without prettiness—the austere beauty of light and space, of harsh country and big sky. There are vast red deserts, bizarre hills and strange ridges, chasms and gorges, dry riverbeds of white sand, and above all, endless miles of blank, brutal land.

The photos by George Silk capture that world in vivid color, and Moser’s words bring to life the characters trying to make a life in the Outback. One cattle rancher, Bill Waudby, talked about the dry years he had endured. He quipped, “It’s not hard to become a cattle baron out here. It just depends on how you spell baron.”

Silk photographed a rancher named Joe Mahood while he was breaking a wild horse. Mahood is quoted as saying, “You’ve got to be as gentle as you can. But as gentle as you can is fairly rough.” Silk also documented life for Mahood’s family, which included his three younger kids receiving their school lessons over a two-way radio from a teacher who was hundreds of miles away. Talk about your remote learning.

The Mahood family’s nearest neighbor was 120 miles away. But seven-year-old Tracy Mahood told LIFE she had no interest in moving. “There are too many people in the town, there’s not enough space to wander, and you don’t get goannas there.”

The frontier spirit could not be summed up any better.

A stockman broke an untamed horse at a ranch in the Australian Outback, 1966.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Joe Mahood, a rancher in the Australian Outback, gets a recently broken horse used to a saddle blanket, 1966.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

After five hours of struggle, Australian horse farmer Joe Mahood sat on top of exhausted horse he has finally tamed, 1966.

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Joe Mahood, a rancher in the Australian Outback, posed with his three youngest children; his teenage daughter moved away to go to school, because there were none nearby,1966.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Five-year-old Jim Mahood received his school lessons over two-way radio while growing up on his father’s ranch in the Australian Outback, 1966.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Five-year-old Jim Mahood ran in the tall grass around his father’s ranch in the Australian Outback, 1966.

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Bill Waudby learned through hard experience that running a ranch in the Australian Outback meant weathering some dry years, 1966.

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Battered hands fashion a popper on the Australian Outback, 1966.

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George Girdler, professional hunter of wild horses, in the Australian Outback, 1966.

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George Girdler, professional hunter, played with a foal in the Australian Outback, 1966.

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George Girdler, professional hunter, in the Australian Outback, 1966.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Wild horse hunter George Girdler roared off on motorcycle with his dogs trailing behind in Australia, 1966.

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The sand hills of the Simpson Desert in central Australian, 1966.

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Cowboys in the Australian Outback, 1966.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

In the Australian Outback a stockman worked with one of his horses at dawn, 1966.

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The Look of a Westminster Champion

Bill Syken — Tue, 28 Oct 2025 14:01:57 +0000

The expressions on this dog’s face are priceless, and you don’t need to know his place in history to appreciate the photos of Kippax Fearnought that were taken by LIFE staff photographer George Silk.

But in fact the dog does have a place in history, which in why LIFE featured this grumpy-looking fellow its Feb. 28, 1955 issue. Fearnought had just won the Westminster Kennel Club dog show, which was a rarity for a bulldog.

Here’s what LIFE said about the result:

With his whiskers properly clipped and his nose vaselined to bring out the highlights, an English-born bulldog, Ch. Kippax Fearnought, won U.S. dogdom’s top laurels, the best in show award of the Westminster Kennel Club’s show in New York’s Madison Square Garden. First in his breed to win the award since 1913 and only the second to win the award since it was established in 1907, Fearnought was brought to the U.S. 14 months ago by Dr. J.A. Saylor of Long Beach, Calif., who bought him after seeing his picture in a magazine.

In the years since these photos were taken, Fearnought’s place in history has only become more precious, because since 1955 show no other bulldog has joined him on the Best in Show list.

But all talk of prizes aside, it’s these looks that are winning. If you can’t get enough of them, check out this Facebook group dedicated to Grumpy English Bulldogs.

Kippax Fearnought, here going through his grooming routine in 1955, is the last bulldog to win Best in Show at the Westminster competition.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

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What Fun Looked Like in Brussels, 1945.

Bill Syken — Fri, 23 May 2025 15:23:24 +0000

The magic of photography is that it takes people to places they could never go on their own—whether it’s the front lines of battle or the home of Marilyn Monroe. The power of the photograph to transport its viewers is what made LIFE magazine so popular in its early heyday, when photography was the principal means for gaining a window to the world.

Sometimes LIFE’s photographers took its readers to a places they would never have thought to go—for example, a nightclub in Brussels during the waning days of World War II, and months after German occupation of Belgium had ended. Here’s how the magazine set the scene in a story that ran in its issue of March 26, 1945:

By New York and Paris standards, most nightclubs in Brussels are drab and dingy. There is little glamor and no fancy decor. After 10 o’clock the only light is from oil lamps, and by midnight, when civilians must be home, the nightspots are empty. Still, they do a good business because liberated Belgians are in a mood to celebrate and so are the weary soldiers—British, Canadians and Poles—who go there on leave. There are champagne, friendly girls and musicians trying to earnestly play American swing.

The description of the club makes it sound like it could be the setting for a seedy film noir, or possibly even a romantic comedy. And on the particular night that LIFE photographer George Silk visited a cellar bistro called La Parisiana, which was said to have the best floor show in Brussels, the entertainment included snakes. A pair of “old-time circus performers” named Hamid and Aicha danced for customers with pythons draped around them.

During World War II Belgium was occupied by Germany from May 1940 until late 1944 and early 1945, when the Allied Forces liberated Belgium in stage. At the time of this snake show, the country had just been through years of hell. In short, the clientele of La Parisiana was truly in need of some entertainment.

A dancer named Aicha, with two pythons wrapped around her, entertained patrons at the La Parisiana nightclub in Brussels, 1945.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Former circus performers Hamid and Aicha, pythons draped around them, entertained patrons at the La Parisiana nightclub in Brussels, 1945.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A dancer named Aicha, with two pythons wrapped around her, entertained patrons at the La Parisianna nightclub in Brussels, 1945.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The floor show at the La Parisiana nightclub in Brussels, 1945.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

The floor show at the La Parisiana nightclub in Brussels, 1945, months after Belgium had been liberated from German occupation.

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Patrons at the La Parisiana nightclub in Brussels, 1945.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

An American flier enjoyed a night at the Brussels nightclub La Parisiana, 1945.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Hamid held a python aloft while Aicha, in the background, sat before crosses as part of the floor show at the Brussels nightclub La Parisiana, 1945.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

A dancer named Aicha, with two pythons wrapped around her, entertained patrons at the La Parisianna, Brussels, 1945.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

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Muhammad Ali: Loud and Lyrical, 1963

Bill Syken — Fri, 11 Apr 2025 13:55:28 +0000

Muhammad Ali was much more than a championship boxer. He was also a natural entertainer. In February 1963, a year before he changed his name, LIFE magazine wrote “Cassius Clay has the loudest—and most lyrical—mouth in the history of boxing and the fists to back it up.”

In March 1963 LIFE photographer George Silk photographed Ali for his fight with Doug Jones at Madison Square Garden, one which was meant to a be a potential stepping stone to a title shot against Sonny Liston. Ali came into the fight against Jones, another top contender, with a 17-0 record and already carrying himself like a superstar. The most popular photo from this set shows Ali, young and lean, mouth aroar as he met with the media before the fight. This image of the young and bombastic Ali is one of the top sellers in the LIFE online print store.

It is but one of many evocative photos from the lead-up to the fight. Another shows Ali’s trainer, Angelo Dundee, placing a piece of tape over the boxer’s mouth, a playful nod to the fact that not everyone enjoyed the boasting of “the Louisville Lip.”

Before the fight Ali announced that he would finish off Jones in four rounds—one of Silk’s photos shows Ali, mouth still taped, holding up four fingers to remind everyone of his prediction. Ali did beat Jones, but the fight went a full ten rounds and was much closer than people expected. While the judges gave the decision to Ali narrowly but unanimously, many observers thought Jones had won the fight. Afterward UPI surveyed 25 ringside writers, and their vote was 13 for Jones to 10 for Ali, with two calling it a draw.

After the fight Jones said of Ali, “I’m not knocking his big mouth. He made me a lot of dough. He talks a lot outside but doesn’t show much in the ring. He better fight me again before he even thinks of Liston.”

Ali did not fight Jones again, though. He moved on to his title shot against Liston, winning the heavyweight championship in February 1964 and becoming as famous around the globe as any athlete has ever been. Ali didn’t lose a professional fight until 1971, in a decision against Joe Frazier in the “Fight of the Century.”

At first glance these 1963 photos by George Silk feel like they capture the story of the inevitable rise of Ali. But if the judges had seen the fight the way the ringside writers did, it is possible that the narrative of one of the most fascinating characters of the 20th century would have taken a very different form.

Muhammad Alin, then known as Cassius Clay, before his fight with Doug Jones at Madison Square Garden, March 13, 1963.

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Muhammad Ali, then known as Cassius Clay, held a locker room media session before his fight with Doug Jones at Madison Square Garden, March 13, 1963.

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Muhammad Alin, then known as Cassius Clay, spoke to the media before his fight with Doug Jones at Madison Square Garden, March 13, 1963.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Muhammad Ali, then known as Cassius Clay, exuded confidence to reporters before his fight with Doug Jones at Madison Square Garden, 1963.

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Muhammad Ali, then known as Cassius Clay and criticized for talking too much, theatrically had his mouth taped by trainer Angelo Dundee before a fight with Doug Jones, 1963.

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Muhammad Ali, then known as Cassius Clay, despite wearing tape over his mouth as a mocking gesture toward people who said he talked too much, used a finger gesture to promise that he would defeat Doug Jones in four rounds at Madison Square Garden, March 13, 1963.

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Muhammad Ali (then known as Cassius Clay) defeated Doug Jones in ten rounds in Madison Square Garden, March 13, 1963.

George Silk/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock.

Muhammad Ali (then known as Cassius Clay) defeated Doug Jones in ten rounds in Madison Square Garden, March 13, 1963.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Muhammad Ali, then known as Cassius Clay, fought Doug Jones at Madison Square Garden, March 13, 1963.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Muhammad Ali (then known as Cassius Clay) defeated Doug Jones in ten rounds in Madison Square Garden, March 13, 1963.

George Silk/Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Muhammad Ali, then known as Cassius Clay, defeated Doug Jones in ten rounds at Madison Square Garden, March 13, 1963.

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Muhammad Ali, then known as Cassius Clay, had his hand raised in victory after defeating Doug Jones in 10 rounds in close heavyweight bout at Madison Square Garden, March 13, 1963.

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Wild and Frozen: Minnesota at Its Coldest and Most Remote

Bill Syken — Mon, 11 Nov 2024 14:22:54 +0000

Today Alaska holds a well-earned place in the American imagination as the country’s final frontier, and a host of reality shows use the 49th state as a backdrop for its rugged adventures.

In 1950, eight years before Alaska officially joined the union, LIFE took its readers to the what was then America’s northernmost territory—a chilly and remote part of Minnesota known as Northwest Angle. This patch of land seems like it should really be part of Canada—it does connect with the rest of The Gopher State by land and has physical borders with Manitoba and Ontario. Northwest Angle is only part of the U.S. because people got confused while the details of the U.S.-Canada border were being negotiated.

If you’ve never heard of the Northwest Angle, you’re not alone. LIFE began its 1950 story by explaining just what this place was, and what life was like there:

Jutting out like a tiny bell tower at the top of Minnesota is a strip of woodland-and-lake wilderness called the Northwest Angle. … Its inhabitants, cut off from the rest of the U.S. by the 1,500-square mile Lake of the Woods, are an isolated, frontier people. For a brief period during the summer they live in a paradise of thick green forests and deep blue lakes. They hunt, fish, eat wild berries and trap for lynx. But when the long winter sets in, they live in an inhospitable land which is more like Siberia than the U.S. Blizzards roar down out of the North. The temperature drops to 50 degrees below zero, cold enough to split the logs of a cabin. Even on warmer days it seldom gets to more than 20 below zero.

In 1950 this isolated piece of America was out there in more ways than one. “The Angle has no telephones, roads, telegraph, movies, churches or doctors,” LIFE wrote. “The log homes have neither running water nor plumbing. The main meat dish is venison.”

The frontier aspects of the Northwest Angle were a large part of its appeal to residents, most of whom were living there by choice. They had vacationed there during the summer and fallen in love with the place.

The photos by George Silk capture the unique way of life in Northwest Angle. Women made their own butter in hand-cranked churns, and gathered for quilting bees for amusement. Residents traveled in horse-drawn sleighs to collect firewood. Kids amused themselves by playing tag in the deep snow. One man described as a “hermit” spent his winters reading the Congressional Record.

The winters drove most residents indoors. The attitude of the locals, LIFE wrote, was “They don’t particularly like the winters, but they don’t dislike them either.”

The reward for enduring the winter, as they saw it, came when the snow thawed, the geese returned, and the Northwest Angle became an outdoor paradise. LIFE wrote, “Then the citizens of the Angle tell each other that there is no other place on earth where they could enjoy so good a life at so little cost.”

Men cross a frozen lake in a horse-drawn sleigh while on a firewood-gathering expedition. Because the Northwest Angle has no roads, gathering firewood can actually be easier when the lake is frozen..

George Silk/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Twelve-year old David Colson of Northwest Angle, Minnesota, photographed after walking home two miles from school, 1950.

George Silk/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Two boys and a girl hid up to their necks in a snowdrift, nibbling at the snow.while playing a game of tag in Northwest Angle, Minnesota, 1950.

George Silk/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Scenes of wintertime in remote Northwest Angle, Minnesota, 1950.

George Silk/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Twevle-year-old David Colson rode a cow to get water from a hole drilled through ice in the lake in Northwest Angle, Minn., 1950.

George Silk/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Mrs. Joe Risser of Northwest Angle, Minn., carried in wash that had frozen on the line, 1950.

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Mrs. Edison Risser used a hand-operated butter-making machine like virtually every other family did in Northwest Angle, Minnesota, 1950.

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Postmaster Jake Colson ran the smallest post office in the U.S in a six-by-four-foot corner of Northwest Angle’s general store; only twelve homes received mail up there.

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Eli Olson, a reclusive trapper and 34-year resident of Northwest Angle, Minnesota, liked to read the Congressional Record during the winter, 1950.

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A women carefully wove a rug during the extremely cold winter months in Northwest Angle, Minnesota, 1950.

George Silk/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Grandfather Oscar Risser whittled while his grandchildren watched during a long winter in Northwest Angle, Minnesota, 1950.

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Kids in Northwest Angle, Minnesota, generally took baths once a week, on Saturdays, during the winter.

George Silk/LIfe Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Quilting bees like this one were a popular winter pastime in Northwest Angle, MInnesota, 1950.

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A winter quilting bee in Northwest Angle, Minnesota including a break for a two-hour lunch that featured chicken, baked beans, canned vegetables and pie, 1950.

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Newlyweds Sid and Skippy Hanson, ages 23 and 19, struggled to keep their cabin warm enough over the winter in Northwest Angle, Minnesota, 1950.

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Two Canadians braved the wind and snow to come into Northwest Angle, Minnesota, to buy provisions, 1950.

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A dog made its way through three-and-a-half feet of snow In Northwest Angle, Minnesota, 1950.

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A lone lighthouse sat amid a stark frozen landscape during winter in Northwest Angle, Minnesota, 1950.

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Face of a Fighter: A Special Pearl Harbor Story

Bill Syken — Tue, 14 Nov 2023 20:02:37 +0000

In 1961 LIFE magazine decided to commemorate the 20th anniversary of Pearl Harbor by focussing not on how it changed the world, but how it altered the life of one man.

Harold Lumbert was a civilian living thousands of miles away when Japanese pilots bombed Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941. He was 21 years old and working on an assembly line in Aurora, Illinois. He had been married for eight months and his wife Burnette was pregnant with their first child, a son named David.

But Pearl Harbor drew the United States into World War II, and eventually Lumbert into the Marines, by way of the draft. He was shipped overseas in November 1944. And he became one of 670,846 Americans who were wounded during the war.

During fighting at Iwo Jima, he was hit by a Japanese shell that tore away the flesh at the front of his skull, broke his lower jaw in seven places and also ripped the nerves at the base of his neck. He was sure he was about to die, and he wondered to himself, “How is Burnette going to bring up the kid?”

Lumbert didn’t die, but he would stay in hospitals into 1947, enduring 33 major operations and countless smaller procedures, in an effort to put his face back together.

As one operation followed another, with painful missteps along the way, Lumbert became increasingly worried about what he looked like—and he had no idea, not only because he was bandaged but also because, to his great frustration, the hospital staff kept him away from mirrors. Finally, in the office of the dentist who had been working on his jaw, with his bandages off, Lumbert slid down in the chair to get a look at himself in the reflection of the metal instrument tray. The dentist, seeing what he was doing, relented and gave Lumbert a proper mirror:

The doctor watched and said nothing while Lumbert stared into the mirror at an apparition that was mostly a hole from the sockets of its burning eyes down. The remaining flesh hung shapeless because there was no longer an upper jaw nor much of the front of the skull to support it. A framework of aluminum bars was fastened to the skull with screws and looped down to give some kind of alignment to the fragments of the lower jaw. The sight, the doctor knew, could destroy a man; he prayed that it would not destroy this one.

Lumbert’s face was rebuilt, and so too, slowly, was his life. He eventually returned to Aurora and his job on the assembly line. Lumbert had feared his wife would leave him, given his disfigurement, but Burnette stayed by his side, and their family grew. They would have three more children, though in a tragic accident their first-born, David, died in 1953, at age 10, after falling from a tree and fracturing his skull.

LIFE devoted 18 pages to Lumbert’s story. The photographs, taken by George Silk, show Lumbert with his wife and three daughters, and with friends, partaking in the satisfactions of everyday life. What SIlk’s photographs do not show, however, is Lumbert’s face. Silk photographed Lumbert from behind or over the shoulder, or with Lumbert’s face in the shadows.

The choice not to show Lumbert’s face is a powerful one because of what Silk does capture in abundance: the friends and family who are enjoying Lumbert’s company. Especially when Lumbert is with his daughters, their eyes are looking at him with love.

In the story Lumbert talked about how he enjoyed the company of his daughter’s friends, because kids had an easier time with his appearance. “If you grab the chance, you can make a friend out of a youngster before she knows what’s happening,” Lumbert explained. “Once that’s done, she thinks of you as a friend and it won’t even occur to her that you look different from anybody else.”

It’s the real message of Silk’s photos: how Lumbert looks matters less than how the people in his life see him. That message is brought home by the story’s closing lines:

By now Lumbert fully understands the special vision which allows children to see beyond the face of a man. As he watches his daughters happily shuffle through the family album and talk about the photographs of their father as he was long ago, he knows that they know that the two faces belong to the same man.

Harold Lumbert and wife Burnette with their son David, before Lumbert deployed to the Pacific in World War II.

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Marine Private Harold Lumbert on his last leave in 1944 before he deployed to the Pacific in World War II.

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David Lumbert, son of World War II veteran Harold Lumbert, at age 5. David died in 1953 at age 10, after falling from a tree and fracturing his skull.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert operated a fork lift at work in Aurora, Illinois, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert with daughter Joann, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert consoled his daughter Sue, 1961.

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Joann Lumbert gets help with homework from her father, World War II veteran Harold Lumbert, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert held the hand of his daughter Sue just before her bedtime, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert and his daughter Sue, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert with daughter Sue, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert played with his daughter Sue, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert drove with his daughter Sue, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert said grace with his wife Burnette and his three daughters (left to right): Patricia Ann (14), wife Bernadette, Virginia Sue (5), and, mostly hidden by her father, Joann May (11).

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert with his three daughters, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert talked with a neighbor, George Glass, with whom he felt at ease, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert and his family hosted a dance party in their home, 1961.

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Harold Lumbert with his daughter Joann Lumbert (right) as she and a friend ride a go-kart, 1961.

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World War II veteran Harold Lumbert walked with wife Bernadette and daughters Sue and Patricia, 1961.

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