British actor Samantha Eggar, the Oscar-nominated star of films including “The Collector,” “Doctor Dolittle” and David Cronenberg’s “The Brood,” has died. She was 86.
Eggar died Wednesday evening, her daughter Jenna Stern announced Friday on Instagram. Stern said her mother died “peacefully and quietly surrounded by family” and recalled being by the actor’s side “telling her how much she was loved.” A cause of death was not revealed.
Stern described her mother, who was also a prolific TV actor, as “beautiful, intelligent, and tough enough to be fascinatingly vulnerable.”
Eggar pursued a film career that spanned the 1960s to the 1990s and was most celebrated for her work in “The Collector,” directed by William Wyler. The psychological horror movie, based on John Fowles’ novel of the same name, featured Eggar as the youthful art student abducted by a reclusive young man portrayed by Terence Stamp. For the thriller, Eggar collected the Cannes Film Festival‘s actress prize plus a Golden Globe Award and an Academy Award nomination.
After the film’s release, Eggar secured numerous roles, notably in the 1967 iteration of “Doctor Dolittle” opposite Rex Harrison, “Walk, Don’t Run” with Cary Grant, “The Molly Maguires” and “The Walking Stick.”
One of Eggar’s most memorable roles was in Cronenberg’s “The Brood,” released in 1979. She starred as Nola Carveth, a mental patient receiving radical psychotherapy treatment amid a series of mysterious murders. The film also starred Oliver Reed and Art Hindle.
Throughout her film career, Eggar also appeared in scores of television series ranging from “Anna and the King” (opposite “The King and I” star Yul Brynner), “Starsky & Hutch,” “The Love Boat” and “Star Trek: The Next Generation.” Her more substantial TV roles included a voice-acting part in the animated series “The Legend of Prince Valiant,” which ran for two seasons, and a stint as Charlotte Devane on the daytime drama “All My Children.”
The actor also lent her voice as Hera in Disney’s “Hercules,” then reprised the role in the animated classic’s spinoff video game and TV series.
Eggar was born March 5, 1939, in Hampstead, London. Her father was a British Army brigadier and her mother served as an ambulance driver during World War II. She studied art and fashion at the Thanet School of Art and pursed acting at the Webber Douglas Academy of Dramatic Art, according to a statement her daughter shared. Later in life, Eggar returned to the stage, performing “The Lonely Road” at the Old Vic and “The Seagull” at Oxford Playhouse and Theatre Royal, Bath.
She also brought her talents to radio, lending her voice to more than 40 productions for the California Artists Radio Theatre. Eggar was an animal enthusiast and supporter of several environment and health causes.
“Samantha Eggar will be remembered not only for her unforgettable performances but for her generosity, wit, and love of life,” the statement said.
Eggar is survived by her children Nicolas and Jenna, grandchildren Isabel, Charlie and Calla; and sisters Margaret Barron, Toni Maricic, and Vivien Thursby.
Bill Anderson was close to 70 when he first spotted the clock.
It looked like a ship’s wheel, a kitschy bit of decor you might see at a nautically themed bar. But he was drawn to it because of its maker.
Timepieces from Chelsea Clock Co. were renowned for their design and precision. The company’s clocks could once be found on Navy battleships during World War II, and adorned mantels, walls and desks at the White House for presidents ranging from Dwight Eisenhower to Joe Biden.
Anderson, a retired watchmaker and collector, was particularly interested in the base of the Chelsea Comet, which was engraved with the initials “J.F.K.”
John Fitzgerald Kennedy?
Although watch collectors obsess over celebrity ownership, and a Camelot connection counts for a lot, the prospect of a payday was only part of the allure for Anderson.
Retired watchmaker Bill Anderson owns more than 200 timepieces, including a Chelsea Comet with a plaque featuring a “J.F.K.” engraving.
(Courtesy of Bill Anderson)
The mystery of the clock’s provenance — could it possibly be the real deal? — has animated his life for years. This, Anderson said, “is a nice game that I’ve got going here.”
He’d purchased the clock in 1999 from a seller on EBay, a New Hampshire dealer who’d picked it up at an estate sale in Wellesley, Mass., for $280.
In the intervening years, Anderson, who is 95, has plumbed the cloistered world of clock collectors. His hunt would take him to the online message boards of watch and clock aficionados, and the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum. It would eventually lead to a refrigerated vault 200 feet below ground in a former limestone mine in rural Pennsylvania.
Anderson, who lives in Eugene, Ore., may not use the word “obsession” to describe his interest in his J.F.K. clock, but others do. All those decades he’s spent trying to uncover its backstory are evidence of its almost gravitational pull.
Anderson, whose parents ran a grocery store, grew up in Roseburg, Ore., south of Eugene. In the late 1940s, he left the University of Oregon after just one quarter and enrolled in a watchmaking school run by the Elgin National Watch Co.
Anderson’s maternal grandfather had been in the trade. “I leaned over his watchmaker’s bench and watched him as a little boy,” he explained. “He let me have the insides of an alarm clock … that was the beginning of it.”
In time, Anderson became a retail liquidator, helping to close jewelry and watch stores and sell their remaining inventories. Along the way, Anderson married and started a family. He gained a reputation as an honest broker — and for being able to spot the value in merchandise that others couldn’t sell.
“Bill is like the George Washington of people — you know, ‘I cannot tell a lie,’ that type of thing,” said Errol Stewart, a Maine watchmaker who has known Anderson for about 40 years.
In 1974, Anderson paid $15,000 for the inventory of a jeweler in Baker City, Ore., selling what he could and bringing the leftovers home. Forty years later, he came across them while cleaning out his attic; among the wares was an old football helmet.
It turned out to be a rare Spalding head harness from the early 1900s. No more than 10 are believed to still be in existence, and Anderson sold it for about $14,000.
He has retained more than 200 timepieces for his collection, including several from Chelsea, and has watched the prices for celebrity-owned timepieces surge in the last few decades.
“With Kennedy you get the highest multiplication factor for any political figure,” said Paul Boutros, who heads the U.S. watch business for Phillips, a London-based auction house.
Anderson knew if he could confirm the ownership, it would be a boon — perhaps a capstone to his legacy as a watchmaker and collector. The first thing he did was get in touch with Chelsea to request the clock’s certificate of origin.
When it arrived, the spot for the original buyer’s name was marked “no record.” Could that have been a courtesy extended to a VIP customer? JFK’s father, Joseph P. Kennedy Sr., had visited the company’s headquarters in Massachusetts — home to the Kennedy clan — where he purchased several items.
Chelsea had published a feature on its website about in-house master clockmaker Jean Yeo that touched on that celebrity connection. She said that she began working at Chelsea in 1951, a time when “all of the Kennedys came in here” and had special praise for the family’s patriarch, calling him a “nice guy” who talked to her about her work.
But Anderson wasn’t sure what to think. The growing allure of watches with A-list history was enticing people to peddle dubious timepieces.
In 2005, a Rolex that was said to be a gift from Marilyn Monroe to JFK was auctioned for $120,000. The gold Day-Date, reportedly given by the actress to the president in 1962 on the occasion of his 45th birthday, featured an inscription that reads, “Jack / With love as always / from / Marilyn.” But collectors and watch scholars have noted that the timepiece in question featured a serial number that dated it to 1965.
At one point in his search, Anderson had a breakthrough when he discovered an online photograph of the future president and his wife at home in 1954. A clock was positioned on a desk, and it looked just like Anderson’s Comet, but the low-resolution picture was so blurry that any engraving it may have had was impossible to discern.
Then-Sen. John F. Kennedy and his wife, Jacqueline, at their home in Washington, D.C., in 1954. A Chelsea Comet clock sits on the desk.
(Bettmann Archive)
James Archer Abbott, co-author of “Designing Camelot: The Kennedy White House Restoration and Its Legacy,” said there was no record of the Comet having been displayed at the White House, and cautioned that if it were important to the family, it probably would have been earmarked for JFK’s presidential library. A representative of the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum said that it has no record of or information on the Comet clock.
But Tony LaChapelle, president of Chelsea, was open to the possibility that it had once been owned by JFK.
“Could somebody who had nothing better to do in their life take that photo of JFK, Jackie and that clock, and get a Comet clock and try to capitalize on that? I suppose they could,” he said. “We look at [Anderson’s ] clock and we look at that photo of [JFK’s clock] sitting out on the table, and in our opinion it is highly probable” they were one and the same.
Anderson tried to find the original high-resolution image for years but couldn’t turn anything up. No one seemed to know the source of the photo. There were tens of thousands of pictures of JFK to comb through online. Or more.
But eventually, after a serpentine, multiyear effort, the whereabouts of the original negative were finally uncovered. It was in a photo archive stored inside a Boyers, Pa., facility known as the Iron Mountain, a formidable place that securely maintains records of all types, including for the federal government.
The Bettmann Archive, which comprises millions of photos and is managed by Getty Images, is housed in a section of the Mountain that’s more than 10 stories underground.
Last year, an archivist located the negative and brought it to one of Bettmann’s labs, where she placed it on a flatbed scanner. Soon, a new, ultra-high-resolution version of the 1954 image glowed on her computer screen. The clarity was remarkable.
The Comet could be clearly seen in the photo, including the clock’s wooden base.
It was blank.
When he heard the news — relayed via telephone — Anderson grew quiet.
But he offered no lamentations and later he said he wasn’t disappointed: “Not a bit.” He’d come to realize how important the hunt had been for him, especially after his wife, Sallie, died in July 2023. She was 93.
“She understood that I loved that kind of stuff,” he said.
The research made a dark time just a little easier.
During a recent interview, Anderson sat at his dining room table, where there was an array of photos of his wife. The Comet was there too. He explained that over the last year or so, he has asked each of his five children to select clocks from his collection that they will inherit when he dies.
Marilyn Monroe, seen in a 1962 photograph, is said to have gifted President Kennedy a Rolex that was later auctioned for $120,000.
(Cecil Stoughton / White House Photographs / John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum / Associated Press)
“I don’t know how many more miles down the road I’ve got,” he said.
But Anderson has yet to offer the Comet. “Why that hasn’t happened yet, I don’t know,” he said.
One of his sons, Mike Anderson, a watchmaker who owns Anderson Jewelers in Corvallis, Ore., has an idea. “There’s no doubt in my mind he wants to link [the clock] to JFK — he wants to believe that that was on his desk,” the younger Anderson said. “That’s what drives him.”
After all these years, Anderson still loves the chase.
SANTA MONICA, Calif. — Many fled when wildfires devastated Los Angeles earlier this year, but Guillermo del Toro rushed back in, determined to save his lifelong collection of horror memorabilia.
It’s the same loyalty that finds him making another tough decision to protect the items he loves like family: letting some of them go.
Del Toro partnered with Heritage Auctions for a three-part auction to sell a fraction of a collection that is bursting at the seams. Online bidding for the first part on Sept. 26 started Thursday and includes over a hundred items, with more headed to the auction block next year.
“This one hurts. The next one, I’m going to be bleeding,” Del Toro, 60, said of the auction series. “If you love somebody, you have estate planning, you know, and this is me estate planning for a family that has been with me since I was a kid.”
Del Toro is one of the industry’s most respected filmmakers, whose fascination with monsters and visual style will shape generations to come. But at his core, the Mexican-born horror buff is a collector. The Oscar winner has long doubled as the sole caretaker of the “Bleak House” — which stretches across two and a half Santa Monica homes nearly overflowing with thousands of ghoulish creatures, iconic comic drawings and paintings, books and movie props.
The houses function not just as museums, but as libraries and workspaces where his imagination bounces off the oxblood-painted walls.
“I love what I have because I live with it. I actually am a little nuts, because I say hi to some of the life-size figures when I turn on the light,” Del Toro told The Associated Press, sitting in the dining room of one of the houses, now a sanctuary for “Haunted Mansion” memorabilia. “This is curated. This is not a casual collection.”
The auction includes behind-the-scene drawings and one-of-a-kind props from Del Toro’s own classics, as well as iconic works like Bernie Wrightson’s illustrations for “Frankenstein” and Mike Mignola’s pinup artwork for “Hellraiser.”
A race to save horror history
In January, Del Toro had only a couple hours, his car and a few helping hands to save key pieces from the fires. Out of the over 5,000 items in his collection, he managed to move only about 120 objects. It wasn’t the first time, as fires had come dangerously close to Bleak House twice before.
The houses were spared, but fear consumed him. If a fire or earthquake swallowed them, he thought, “What came out of it? You collected insurance? And what happened to that little segment of Richard Corben’s life, or Jack Kirby’s craft, or Bernie Wrightson’s life?”
An auction, Del Toro said, gives him peace of mind, as it ensures the items will land in the hands of another collector who will protect the items as he has. These are not just props or trinkets, he said, but “historical artifacts. They’re pieces of audiovisual history for humanity.” And his life’s mission has been to protect as much of this history as he can.
“Look, this is in reaction to the fires. This is in reaction to loving this thing,” Del Toro told the AP.
The initial auction uncovers who Del Toro is as a collector, he said. Upcoming parts will expose how the filmmaker thinks, which he called a much more personal endeavor. The auction isn’t just a “piece of business,” for him, but rather a love letter to collectors everywhere, and encouragement to think beyond a movie and “learn to read and write film design in a different way. That’s my hope.”
A house full of ‘unruly kids’
Caring for the Bleak House collection feels like being on “a bus with 160 kids that are very unruly, and I’m driving for nine hours,” Del Toro said. “I gotta take a rest.”
The auction will give the filmmaker some breathing room from the collection’s arduous maintenance. The houses must stay at a certain temperature, without direct sunlight — all of which is monitored solely by Del Toro, who often spends most of his day there.
He selects the picture frame for every drawing, dusts all the artifacts and arranges every bookshelf mostly himself, having learned his lesson from the handful of times he allowed outside help. One time, Del Toro said, he found someone “cleaning an oil painting with Windex, and I almost had a heart attack.”
“It’s very hard to have someone come in and know why that trinket is important,” he said. “It’s sort of a very bubbled existence. But you know, that’s what you do with strange animals — you put them in small environments where they can survive. That’s me.”
Each room is organized by theme, with one room dedicated to each of his major works, from “Hellboy” to “Pacific Rim.” Del Toro typically spends his entire work day at one of the houses, which he picks depending on the task at hand. The “Haunted Mansion” dining room, for instance, is an excellent writing space.
“If I could, I would live in the Haunted Mansion,” he said. “So, this is the second best.”
Building a mini Bleak House
In selecting which items to sell, Del Toro said he “wanted somebody to be able to re-create a mini version of Bleak House.”
Auction items include concept sketches and props from Del Toro’s 1992 debut film, “Cronos,” all the way to his more recent works, like 2021’s “Nightmare Alley.”
The starting bids vary, from a couple thousand dollars up to hundreds of thousands. One of Wrightson’s drawings for a 1983 illustrated version of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” is the highest priced item, starting at $200,000.
The auction also includes art from legends like Richard Corben, Jack Kirby and H.R. Giger, whose work Del Toro wrote in the catalog “represent the pinnacle of comic book art in the last quarter of the twentieth century.”
Other cultural touchstones in illustration that are represented in the auction include rare images from the 1914 short film “Gertie the Dinosaur,” one of the earliest animated films, and original art for Disney’s “Sleeping Beauty” by Eyvind Earle and Kay Nielsen.
“As collectors, you are basically keeping pieces of culture for generations to come. They’re not yours,” Del Toro said. “We don’t know which of the pieces you’re holding is going to be culturally significant … 100 years from now, 50 years from now. So that’s part of the weight.”
Denise McKinney says she has probably somewhere close to half a million matchbooks tucked away inside her Riverside home.
She’s been collecting for years and will typically pick up whatever strikes her fancy, no pun intended. She has specialties now, like matchbooks with animals on them or matchbooks that advertise radio and TV stations, but she says her biggest collection by far is books from Southern California, including vintage motel matchbooks.
The motel turns 100. Explore the state’s best roadside havens — and the coolest stops along the way.
The president of the Angelus Matchcover Club says she likes matchbooks because of how they reflect a region’s history. She’s grabbed books that tout Route 66 attractions or places from her Orange County hometown.
Matchbook collectors Olivia Frescura, Robert Donnelson, Denise McKinney and Cheryl Crill.
(Amanda Villegas / For The Times)
This year marks the 100th anniversary of the motel, a concept that originated with the Milestone Mo-Tel in San Luis Obispo (later renamed the Motel Inn). Though it didn’t become widely known until after World War II, “motel” is essentially a portmanteau for “motor hotel,” or a lodging place where the rooms could be entered through the parking lot rather than through a central lobby.
To get travelers in the door, motels used gimmicks to stand out among the stiff competition, like neon signs and themed decor, but also promotional materials like free postcards and pocket-sized matchbooks. With the 100th anniversary in mind, we wanted to look back at some of Southern California’s motel history as seen through collectors’ matchbooks. These books represent just a small fraction of the thousands of motels that have operated in the region but are a great place to start.
