Jim Horne, a Familiar Face in Ads From the 1950s, Dies at 91-
It was a time when information didn't fly around the world in a nanosecond; when images were captured on film, not computer chips; when television commercials were performed live; when product advertising supplied newspapers and magazines with a rich and steady lifeblood.
Jim Horne, above in an undated photo, had bit parts in movies before he moved on to modeling.
It was also a time when it was still possible to be a famous face without a famous name. In fact, Jim Horne may have been asked more often than anyone else, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"
For about 15 years beginning in the late 1940s, Mr. Horne was ubiquitous, perhaps the most widely seen male model in the country, appearing in hundreds of advertisements in magazines and newspapers, on billboards and catalog covers, in television commercials and industrial brochures. He died on Dec. 29 in Manhattan, at 91. His wife of 45 years, Francesca Marlowe Horne, said the cause was cancer, but added that he also had congestive heart failure.
Mr. Horne had been an actor with bit parts in Hollywood movies before moving to New York City and establishing a second career. He had a chiseled jaw, a distinctively rounded hairline, a seemingly permanent pompadour, a gleaming California smile and an athlete's physique.
It was an image that photographers and advertisers found easily adaptable to a number of stereotypes of the day: the dashing ladies' man, the dapper dandy, the devoted dad, the suburban husband, the businessman commuter, the country club sophisticate and the one Mr. Horne, an avid fisherman, preferred: the rugged outdoorsman.
He was employed to help sell an extraordinarily eclectic range of products: automobiles and underpants; exercise equipment and mothproofing; hair tonic and gasoline; beer, blended whiskey and milk; pajamas, raincoats, cardigan sweaters, Panama hats, and suits with two pairs of pants for $44.95.
He appeared in ads for Macy's, Abraham & Straus and Alexander's; for York, L & M, Lucky Strike and Marlboro cigarettes (he was a Marlboro man before the Marlboro man); for Burberry, Chrysler, Budweiser, Van Heusen, Remington, The Saturday Evening Post and, in a stunningly glamorous print ad with the legendary model Suzy Parker, Grand Marnier.
In the summer of 1957, when Apparel Arts, a men's fashion magazine, decided to create a new identity for itself after more than a quarter century, it chose Mr. Horne for the cover of the magazine's first issue under its new name: Gentlemen's Quarterly. He appeared there in a jaunty striped jacket peering rakishly from behind a tropical plant. He was, in the lexicon of the day, a man's man, and in the lexicon of today, a hottie.
"Oh, was he ever!" his wife said.
James Wesley Horne Jr. was born on March 28, 1917, in Glendale, Calif. His father was a prolific director of both silent films and talkies, best known for his work with Laurel and Hardy, including "Big Business" and "Way Out West." His mother, Cleo Ridgely, was an actress and a great beauty from whom, it was generally acknowledged, Mr. Horne inherited his looks. His twin sister, June, grew up to marry the actor Jackie Cooper.
Mr. Horne had small, sometimes uncredited parts in about two dozen films, including "Gunga Din" and "A Place in the Sun." He auditioned for the part of Joe Bonaparte, the violinist who wants to be a boxer, in the film version of Clifford Odets's play "Golden Boy," but the role went instead to another unknown actor, William Holden, who shortly thereafter became Mr. Horne's bunkmate in Army basic training. Mr. Horne served in Europe in World War II, becoming a combat photographer and earning two Bronze Stars.
After returning to California, he continued to work in the movies and began modeling as well. By the early 1950s, as televisions became more common in American homes, advertisers seized on the new medium and began looking for models who could act a little. It was an opportunity that wasn't lost on Mr. Horne, and he moved to New York City, where he was soon immersed in bookings.
This was an era of growth in advertising, especially on television, where many commercials were broadcast live, resulting in a lot of nuttiness. Once, as Mr. Horne performed in an ad for the hair tonic Brylcreem, his comb stuck on a thread in his pocket. When he whipped it out to slick back his pompadour, he accidentally flung it across the room.
Male models were something of a new breed, weirdly anonymous and perceived by many as suspicious or threatening; once, dressed spiffily for work and passing an hour in a bar while he waited for a photographer who was late for an appointment, Mr. Horne was badly beaten by thugs who didn't appreciate his taste in clothes.
In general, male models also didn't get fabulously rich; as late as 1965, Mr. Horne's hourly rate was $50. But the job allowed him to lead the high life, traveling with pals like Mickey Mantle, whom he met at Toots Shor's restaurant, and Clark Gable, a sometime fishing companion.
Mr. Horne's first marriage ended in divorce. He never had children and is survived by his wife, a former model herself, who became international director of the Barbizon School of Modeling. In 1980, under the name Francine Marlowe, she wrote "Male Modeling: An Inside Look" (Crown).
Mr. Horne's modeling career continued sporadically through the 1960s, especially in print ads featuring products for "mature" men. In the mid-1960s, he became a sales manager and spokesman for an apparel company, and he later established his own business, manufacturing leather belts.
He learned the lesson of how evanescent celebrity could be without a famous name. Few, if any, of his photographs still strike a familiar chord. Well, maybe one does: a jokey shot taken in 1953 (whose rights he signed away), showing him with a sour, headachey expression of generic woe; it has been used dozens of times, even in the last decade, in ads for aspirin, tax services, hangover remedies and other stress relievers. His wife said it didn't bother him that this was the image that survived.
"To him it was a job you did," Mrs. Horne said. "And then you went fishing."
It was a time when information didn't fly around the world in a nanosecond; when images were captured on film, not computer chips; when television commercials were performed live; when product advertising supplied newspapers and magazines with a rich and steady lifeblood.
Jim Horne, above in an undated photo, had bit parts in movies before he moved on to modeling.
It was also a time when it was still possible to be a famous face without a famous name. In fact, Jim Horne may have been asked more often than anyone else, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"
For about 15 years beginning in the late 1940s, Mr. Horne was ubiquitous, perhaps the most widely seen male model in the country, appearing in hundreds of advertisements in magazines and newspapers, on billboards and catalog covers, in television commercials and industrial brochures. He died on Dec. 29 in Manhattan, at 91. His wife of 45 years, Francesca Marlowe Horne, said the cause was cancer, but added that he also had congestive heart failure.
Mr. Horne had been an actor with bit parts in Hollywood movies before moving to New York City and establishing a second career. He had a chiseled jaw, a distinctively rounded hairline, a seemingly permanent pompadour, a gleaming California smile and an athlete's physique.
It was an image that photographers and advertisers found easily adaptable to a number of stereotypes of the day: the dashing ladies' man, the dapper dandy, the devoted dad, the suburban husband, the businessman commuter, the country club sophisticate and the one Mr. Horne, an avid fisherman, preferred: the rugged outdoorsman.
He was employed to help sell an extraordinarily eclectic range of products: automobiles and underpants; exercise equipment and mothproofing; hair tonic and gasoline; beer, blended whiskey and milk; pajamas, raincoats, cardigan sweaters, Panama hats, and suits with two pairs of pants for $44.95.
He appeared in ads for Macy's, Abraham & Straus and Alexander's; for York, L & M, Lucky Strike and Marlboro cigarettes (he was a Marlboro man before the Marlboro man); for Burberry, Chrysler, Budweiser, Van Heusen, Remington, The Saturday Evening Post and, in a stunningly glamorous print ad with the legendary model Suzy Parker, Grand Marnier.
In the summer of 1957, when Apparel Arts, a men's fashion magazine, decided to create a new identity for itself after more than a quarter century, it chose Mr. Horne for the cover of the magazine's first issue under its new name: Gentlemen's Quarterly. He appeared there in a jaunty striped jacket peering rakishly from behind a tropical plant. He was, in the lexicon of the day, a man's man, and in the lexicon of today, a hottie.
"Oh, was he ever!" his wife said.
James Wesley Horne Jr. was born on March 28, 1917, in Glendale, Calif. His father was a prolific director of both silent films and talkies, best known for his work with Laurel and Hardy, including "Big Business" and "Way Out West." His mother, Cleo Ridgely, was an actress and a great beauty from whom, it was generally acknowledged, Mr. Horne inherited his looks. His twin sister, June, grew up to marry the actor Jackie Cooper.
Mr. Horne had small, sometimes uncredited parts in about two dozen films, including "Gunga Din" and "A Place in the Sun." He auditioned for the part of Joe Bonaparte, the violinist who wants to be a boxer, in the film version of Clifford Odets's play "Golden Boy," but the role went instead to another unknown actor, William Holden, who shortly thereafter became Mr. Horne's bunkmate in Army basic training. Mr. Horne served in Europe in World War II, becoming a combat photographer and earning two Bronze Stars.
After returning to California, he continued to work in the movies and began modeling as well. By the early 1950s, as televisions became more common in American homes, advertisers seized on the new medium and began looking for models who could act a little. It was an opportunity that wasn't lost on Mr. Horne, and he moved to New York City, where he was soon immersed in bookings.
This was an era of growth in advertising, especially on television, where many commercials were broadcast live, resulting in a lot of nuttiness. Once, as Mr. Horne performed in an ad for the hair tonic Brylcreem, his comb stuck on a thread in his pocket. When he whipped it out to slick back his pompadour, he accidentally flung it across the room.
Male models were something of a new breed, weirdly anonymous and perceived by many as suspicious or threatening; once, dressed spiffily for work and passing an hour in a bar while he waited for a photographer who was late for an appointment, Mr. Horne was badly beaten by thugs who didn't appreciate his taste in clothes.
In general, male models also didn't get fabulously rich; as late as 1965, Mr. Horne's hourly rate was $50. But the job allowed him to lead the high life, traveling with pals like Mickey Mantle, whom he met at Toots Shor's restaurant, and Clark Gable, a sometime fishing companion.
Mr. Horne's first marriage ended in divorce. He never had children and is survived by his wife, a former model herself, who became international director of the Barbizon School of Modeling. In 1980, under the name Francine Marlowe, she wrote "Male Modeling: An Inside Look" (Crown).
Mr. Horne's modeling career continued sporadically through the 1960s, especially in print ads featuring products for "mature" men. In the mid-1960s, he became a sales manager and spokesman for an apparel company, and he later established his own business, manufacturing leather belts.
He learned the lesson of how evanescent celebrity could be without a famous name. Few, if any, of his photographs still strike a familiar chord. Well, maybe one does: a jokey shot taken in 1953 (whose rights he signed away), showing him with a sour, headachey expression of generic woe; it has been used dozens of times, even in the last decade, in ads for aspirin, tax services, hangover remedies and other stress relievers. His wife said it didn't bother him that this was the image that survived.
"To him it was a job you did," Mrs. Horne said. "And then you went fishing."
Jim Horne, a Familiar Face in Ads From the 1950s, Dies at 91-
It was a time when information didn't fly around the world in a nanosecond; when images were captured on film, not computer chips; when television commercials were performed live; when product advertising supplied newspapers and magazines with a rich and steady lifeblood.
Jim Horne, above in an undated photo, had bit parts in movies before he moved on to modeling.
It was also a time when it was still possible to be a famous face without a famous name. In fact, Jim Horne may have been asked more often than anyone else, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"
For about 15 years beginning in the late 1940s, Mr. Horne was ubiquitous, perhaps the most widely seen male model in the country, appearing in hundreds of advertisements in magazines and newspapers, on billboards and catalog covers, in television commercials and industrial brochures. He died on Dec. 29 in Manhattan, at 91. His wife of 45 years, Francesca Marlowe Horne, said the cause was cancer, but added that he also had congestive heart failure.
Mr. Horne had been an actor with bit parts in Hollywood movies before moving to New York City and establishing a second career. He had a chiseled jaw, a distinctively rounded hairline, a seemingly permanent pompadour, a gleaming California smile and an athlete's physique.
It was an image that photographers and advertisers found easily adaptable to a number of stereotypes of the day: the dashing ladies' man, the dapper dandy, the devoted dad, the suburban husband, the businessman commuter, the country club sophisticate and the one Mr. Horne, an avid fisherman, preferred: the rugged outdoorsman.
He was employed to help sell an extraordinarily eclectic range of products: automobiles and underpants; exercise equipment and mothproofing; hair tonic and gasoline; beer, blended whiskey and milk; pajamas, raincoats, cardigan sweaters, Panama hats, and suits with two pairs of pants for $44.95.
He appeared in ads for Macy's, Abraham & Straus and Alexander's; for York, L & M, Lucky Strike and Marlboro cigarettes (he was a Marlboro man before the Marlboro man); for Burberry, Chrysler, Budweiser, Van Heusen, Remington, The Saturday Evening Post and, in a stunningly glamorous print ad with the legendary model Suzy Parker, Grand Marnier.
In the summer of 1957, when Apparel Arts, a men's fashion magazine, decided to create a new identity for itself after more than a quarter century, it chose Mr. Horne for the cover of the magazine's first issue under its new name: Gentlemen's Quarterly. He appeared there in a jaunty striped jacket peering rakishly from behind a tropical plant. He was, in the lexicon of the day, a man's man, and in the lexicon of today, a hottie.
"Oh, was he ever!" his wife said.
James Wesley Horne Jr. was born on March 28, 1917, in Glendale, Calif. His father was a prolific director of both silent films and talkies, best known for his work with Laurel and Hardy, including "Big Business" and "Way Out West." His mother, Cleo Ridgely, was an actress and a great beauty from whom, it was generally acknowledged, Mr. Horne inherited his looks. His twin sister, June, grew up to marry the actor Jackie Cooper.
Mr. Horne had small, sometimes uncredited parts in about two dozen films, including "Gunga Din" and "A Place in the Sun." He auditioned for the part of Joe Bonaparte, the violinist who wants to be a boxer, in the film version of Clifford Odets's play "Golden Boy," but the role went instead to another unknown actor, William Holden, who shortly thereafter became Mr. Horne's bunkmate in Army basic training. Mr. Horne served in Europe in World War II, becoming a combat photographer and earning two Bronze Stars.
After returning to California, he continued to work in the movies and began modeling as well. By the early 1950s, as televisions became more common in American homes, advertisers seized on the new medium and began looking for models who could act a little. It was an opportunity that wasn't lost on Mr. Horne, and he moved to New York City, where he was soon immersed in bookings.
This was an era of growth in advertising, especially on television, where many commercials were broadcast live, resulting in a lot of nuttiness. Once, as Mr. Horne performed in an ad for the hair tonic Brylcreem, his comb stuck on a thread in his pocket. When he whipped it out to slick back his pompadour, he accidentally flung it across the room.
Male models were something of a new breed, weirdly anonymous and perceived by many as suspicious or threatening; once, dressed spiffily for work and passing an hour in a bar while he waited for a photographer who was late for an appointment, Mr. Horne was badly beaten by thugs who didn't appreciate his taste in clothes.
In general, male models also didn't get fabulously rich; as late as 1965, Mr. Horne's hourly rate was $50. But the job allowed him to lead the high life, traveling with pals like Mickey Mantle, whom he met at Toots Shor's restaurant, and Clark Gable, a sometime fishing companion.
Mr. Horne's first marriage ended in divorce. He never had children and is survived by his wife, a former model herself, who became international director of the Barbizon School of Modeling. In 1980, under the name Francine Marlowe, she wrote "Male Modeling: An Inside Look" (Crown).
Mr. Horne's modeling career continued sporadically through the 1960s, especially in print ads featuring products for "mature" men. In the mid-1960s, he became a sales manager and spokesman for an apparel company, and he later established his own business, manufacturing leather belts.
He learned the lesson of how evanescent celebrity could be without a famous name. Few, if any, of his photographs still strike a familiar chord. Well, maybe one does: a jokey shot taken in 1953 (whose rights he signed away), showing him with a sour, headachey expression of generic woe; it has been used dozens of times, even in the last decade, in ads for aspirin, tax services, hangover remedies and other stress relievers. His wife said it didn't bother him that this was the image that survived.
"To him it was a job you did," Mrs. Horne said. "And then you went fishing."
It was a time when information didn't fly around the world in a nanosecond; when images were captured on film, not computer chips; when television commercials were performed live; when product advertising supplied newspapers and magazines with a rich and steady lifeblood.
Jim Horne, above in an undated photo, had bit parts in movies before he moved on to modeling.
It was also a time when it was still possible to be a famous face without a famous name. In fact, Jim Horne may have been asked more often than anyone else, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"
For about 15 years beginning in the late 1940s, Mr. Horne was ubiquitous, perhaps the most widely seen male model in the country, appearing in hundreds of advertisements in magazines and newspapers, on billboards and catalog covers, in television commercials and industrial brochures. He died on Dec. 29 in Manhattan, at 91. His wife of 45 years, Francesca Marlowe Horne, said the cause was cancer, but added that he also had congestive heart failure.
Mr. Horne had been an actor with bit parts in Hollywood movies before moving to New York City and establishing a second career. He had a chiseled jaw, a distinctively rounded hairline, a seemingly permanent pompadour, a gleaming California smile and an athlete's physique.
It was an image that photographers and advertisers found easily adaptable to a number of stereotypes of the day: the dashing ladies' man, the dapper dandy, the devoted dad, the suburban husband, the businessman commuter, the country club sophisticate and the one Mr. Horne, an avid fisherman, preferred: the rugged outdoorsman.
He was employed to help sell an extraordinarily eclectic range of products: automobiles and underpants; exercise equipment and mothproofing; hair tonic and gasoline; beer, blended whiskey and milk; pajamas, raincoats, cardigan sweaters, Panama hats, and suits with two pairs of pants for $44.95.
He appeared in ads for Macy's, Abraham & Straus and Alexander's; for York, L & M, Lucky Strike and Marlboro cigarettes (he was a Marlboro man before the Marlboro man); for Burberry, Chrysler, Budweiser, Van Heusen, Remington, The Saturday Evening Post and, in a stunningly glamorous print ad with the legendary model Suzy Parker, Grand Marnier.
In the summer of 1957, when Apparel Arts, a men's fashion magazine, decided to create a new identity for itself after more than a quarter century, it chose Mr. Horne for the cover of the magazine's first issue under its new name: Gentlemen's Quarterly. He appeared there in a jaunty striped jacket peering rakishly from behind a tropical plant. He was, in the lexicon of the day, a man's man, and in the lexicon of today, a hottie.
"Oh, was he ever!" his wife said.
James Wesley Horne Jr. was born on March 28, 1917, in Glendale, Calif. His father was a prolific director of both silent films and talkies, best known for his work with Laurel and Hardy, including "Big Business" and "Way Out West." His mother, Cleo Ridgely, was an actress and a great beauty from whom, it was generally acknowledged, Mr. Horne inherited his looks. His twin sister, June, grew up to marry the actor Jackie Cooper.
Mr. Horne had small, sometimes uncredited parts in about two dozen films, including "Gunga Din" and "A Place in the Sun." He auditioned for the part of Joe Bonaparte, the violinist who wants to be a boxer, in the film version of Clifford Odets's play "Golden Boy," but the role went instead to another unknown actor, William Holden, who shortly thereafter became Mr. Horne's bunkmate in Army basic training. Mr. Horne served in Europe in World War II, becoming a combat photographer and earning two Bronze Stars.
After returning to California, he continued to work in the movies and began modeling as well. By the early 1950s, as televisions became more common in American homes, advertisers seized on the new medium and began looking for models who could act a little. It was an opportunity that wasn't lost on Mr. Horne, and he moved to New York City, where he was soon immersed in bookings.
This was an era of growth in advertising, especially on television, where many commercials were broadcast live, resulting in a lot of nuttiness. Once, as Mr. Horne performed in an ad for the hair tonic Brylcreem, his comb stuck on a thread in his pocket. When he whipped it out to slick back his pompadour, he accidentally flung it across the room.
Male models were something of a new breed, weirdly anonymous and perceived by many as suspicious or threatening; once, dressed spiffily for work and passing an hour in a bar while he waited for a photographer who was late for an appointment, Mr. Horne was badly beaten by thugs who didn't appreciate his taste in clothes.
In general, male models also didn't get fabulously rich; as late as 1965, Mr. Horne's hourly rate was $50. But the job allowed him to lead the high life, traveling with pals like Mickey Mantle, whom he met at Toots Shor's restaurant, and Clark Gable, a sometime fishing companion.
Mr. Horne's first marriage ended in divorce. He never had children and is survived by his wife, a former model herself, who became international director of the Barbizon School of Modeling. In 1980, under the name Francine Marlowe, she wrote "Male Modeling: An Inside Look" (Crown).
Mr. Horne's modeling career continued sporadically through the 1960s, especially in print ads featuring products for "mature" men. In the mid-1960s, he became a sales manager and spokesman for an apparel company, and he later established his own business, manufacturing leather belts.
He learned the lesson of how evanescent celebrity could be without a famous name. Few, if any, of his photographs still strike a familiar chord. Well, maybe one does: a jokey shot taken in 1953 (whose rights he signed away), showing him with a sour, headachey expression of generic woe; it has been used dozens of times, even in the last decade, in ads for aspirin, tax services, hangover remedies and other stress relievers. His wife said it didn't bother him that this was the image that survived.
"To him it was a job you did," Mrs. Horne said. "And then you went fishing."
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