Showing posts with label Madonna. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Madonna. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Madonna's Rare JHS Yearbook Comes To Auction: A Personal Overview

by Stephen J. Gertz


In Booktryst's ongoing effort to bring to readers the most important, indeed earth-shattering stories from the world of rare books, we herald the news that Madonna's rare 1971-1972 yearbook from West Junior High School in Rochester Hills, Michigan is currently being offered by Nate D. Sanders Auctions in an online sale ending tomorrow, August 30, 2012, at 5 PM

Minimum bid is $500. As of this writing (9 PM, PDT, 8/28/12) there have been no bidders.


The yearbook bears a warm inscription from the future Material Girl to a junior high school friend.

"Dear Nancy, I hope you have fun at Adams [local high school] and all the years to come, Madonna '76'."

The inscription possesses all that we expect from junior high school yearbook student-to-student graduation notes: gushy lotsa luck n' fun in high school and in the future, with a wee bit'o loopy syntax. Madonna notes that she will be a member of the high school class of '76. 

Madonna Louise Ciccione, age 14, 1972, page 7.

In 1977. a year after high school graduation, Madonna went to NYC to seek her fortune. In 1983 she found it with her eponymously titled debut record album.

School yearbooks are usually bound in hardcover so they will last long enough for you to forget everyone's name and face including your  own. I have never seen a school yearbook bound in wrappers but this one is, a softcover book measuring 8.5'' x 11 inches. There are only a handful of other inscriptions in the book, so the copy isn't crowded with ink from people collectors don't know and don't care about. The front cover is nearly detached at the spine with separation to the rear cover at the spine. The rear wrapper has toning and staining, otherwise the yearbook remains in collectible condition. That it has lasted as long as it has is something of a miracle. The yearbook is scarce with  Madonna's inscription.

Why have there been no bids so far for this Madonna fan must? Is it because few are aware of its sale? Or is it because Madonna, for all her efforts at remaking herself and career at critical junctures, is no longer relevant in 2012 as a creature-product-brand of popular culture that has moved on, and is now Queen of Pop emeritus with a dwindling fan base? 

My mistake: I now recall with wrenching pang that the yearbook for NYC Steinway Jr. High School 141 class of '65 was a staple-bound softcover. I'd forgotten only because I loaned my copy to former classmate Larry Newhouse in the late 1970s and have not seen it since. Hey. Larry! 

Within it was a brief, achingly intimate and plaintive inscription from a beautiful Hungarian girl with a cleft palate that left her speaking voice acutely nasal, particularly when raised, so she spoke in a whisper whenever possible. Two years my senior, she, sixteen, fully-formed and finely curved, had lost two school-years when she moved to the U.S.; we were classmates. She was my first experience with an "older woman," and in the inscription confessed her love (after throwing me over for a boy her own age a few months earlier during a school trip to Bear Mountain in upstate NY and, I suppose, regretting it  - he was an experienced jerk; I merely a callow fledgling).  It was the first time a girl expressed that to me. She signed the yearbook when they were handed out on the last day of school. She made the  approach, wrote, looked into my eyes for an eternal moment, then walked away without a word. I never saw her again. It turned my head and I have never forgotten Roxanne. More than once we'd be lying in each others' arms after making-out and she'd begin to weep and it wasn't because I was Mr. Young Teen Wonderful. Her eyes were all shades of hurt even when happy. This is the kind of thing that compels us to keep our school yearbooks. They can tap into the marrow and draw out a 14-year old heart.

Hey, Larry.
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Images courtesy of Nate D. Sanders Auctions, with our thanks.
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Of related interest:

The Stars in School! Collecting Celebrity Yearbooks.

Madonna and Sean Invite You To Their Wedding.
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UPDATE: 5 PM PST, 8/29/12. Auction closed with two bids and the yearbook sold for $550.
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Monday, September 20, 2010

Madonna and Sean Invite You To Their Wedding (Very Late Breaking News)

by Stephen J. Gertz

Can this marriage be saved?
Only time will tell.

Granted, it has arrived more than a little late. But, should you be able to hitch a ride on Mr. Peabody's WABAC machine and catch a wormhole backward in time, here's an invitation to Sean Penn and Madonna's wedding:

"Welcome to the remaking of Apocalypse Now"
Sean Penn, addressing wedding guests.
Royal Books, one of Baltimore's premier rare book shops, is offering indie filmmaker Trent Harris's invitation to Armageddon in Malibu. It's printed on pink designer paper, addressed in ribbon type, and postmarked July 10, 1985. It is a very choice piece of Hollywood ephemera, almost as ephemeral as the marriage,  considered one of the most turbulent in Movietown history, turned out to be. The nuptials went nuclear immediately, before the "I do's" were done.

Please come to Sean and Madonna's
Birthday Party on the Sixteenth of August,
Nineteen Eighty-Five
The Celebration Will Commence at Six o'clock p.m.
Please Be Prompt or You Will Miss Their
Wedding Celebration
The Need for Privacy and a Desire to Keep You Hanging
Prevent the Los Angeles Location From Being Announced
Until One Day Prior

(...blah, blah, blah).

The invitation features a drawing by Sean's brother, Michael, of the dynamic duo, Madonna sporting a belt with buckle reading "Sean Toy." It's an image that out-gothics American Gothic. Perhaps it was  emblematic of a latent desire to ditch Hollywood for Green Acres.

Blue skies with a chance of air assault and heavy chopper-wash by news helicopters are forecast, and I don't think it indiscreet to reveal that the weather report will be accurate. Penn was right; it was like the helicopter attack in Apocalypse Now.

"I love the smell of napalm in the morning. It smells like...victory." In retrospect, a more appropriate wedding benediction is difficult to imagine.

An additional Thank You note is included. In holograph red ink and written in the former Ms. Ciccone's private, non-celebrity, jus' folks handwriting, it reads:

Dear Trent
Sick card game...
We'll play
Thanks for being there
Sean and Madonna

(The referenced game is a variant of Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt's Oblique Strategies card set).

Just in case you can't make it, here's a photo album from the accursed event and People magazine's full report,  reprinted on acclaimed photographer Mary Ellen Mark's website, so you can relive the memories you never had of an event you never attended.

The marriage of Madge and Penn was doomed from the start. The actor later blamed the media for making him a nightmare to live with and impossible to remain married to. "Had we stayed together we would have driven each other mad," he declared sixteen years afterward.

"The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea,
and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man"
- William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.
Hell was ascendant in this union.

Consider the invitation, at the time the most coveted in the world, marching orders to a combat zone,  a frenzy by media berserkers that everyone knew was coming but was uncertain of the enemy's plan. This was American celebrity-pop-culture at its most intense, a carnival of the condemned, at once glittered and ugly, a freak-show spectacle for the masses fascinated by a train-wreck in progress. For even the most jaded  and averse it was impossible to cover one's eyes without stealing furtive peeks.

We leave you with bootleg footage of the armed and dangerous army of news hounds invading the ceremony, en EspaƱol to avoid copyright issues. Though those pesky paparazzi sure know how to spoil a party, Malibu beach has never looked so beautiful, and check out that exclusive, private (albeit  muy peligroso), progressive school in Malibu Colony:



"The horror, the horror, the horror..."
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