This post is written to accomplish three objectives.
- I needed to satisfy myself that the actor known as “Eva Perón” was indeed one person, and not a composite. I went looking for twins and body doubles.
- I needed to understand who the second “mother” was in the Ciccone family photographs. It took a second set of eyes, those of Richard once more, to solve that mystery.
- I need to put this project to bed and get on with my life. Here’s hoping.
As to the use of names like “Eva Perón, “Silvio Ciccone,” “Madonna Fortin,” and of course, the singer known as “Madonna,” we have no idea who they are or what their real names are. I use those labels for convenience, nothing more. All the world’s a stage.
So off we go once more. You might be surprised, no, shocked, at Richard’s discovery. Continue reading “Eva Perón: Another shoe drops”
Evita lived on in the material world
Back in the day, when Straight was still here, we bounced from one discovery to another. The zombie matter was of great interest. Rarely did a day go by that I did not get an email from him suggesting I look into this or that person. The man has great instincts. He tired of the work, wanting to live in a more positive sphere. I get that, and wish him well, always. For me, just as I loved to curl up with Sherlock Holmes as a kid, I love the work I do here and would not trade it for journalism in any form. This is honest and rewarding work.
There have not been too many new discoveries since Straight left, though I have moved far afield of facial analysis. But I do have my eye out. Thus it was that my wife suggested we visit La Recoleta Cemetery while in Buenos Aires with two crypts in mind: That of Liliana Crociati de Szaszak, a young woman killed in an avalanche in Switzerland (left), and Eva Perón, or Evita (right).
I knew very little about Evita other than that movie from 1995 and the Weber/Rice Broadway musical with its associated ear worms. I did not care for most of the movie but enjoyed the opening number in which Madonna sang Buenos Aires, train providing the percussion. The rest was not memorable for me, and anyway, what the hell was Che Guevara doing there? He seemed to be an anachronism. (He was put there for a reason, no doubt, but we can only guess.*)
Continue reading “Eva Perón: The Rest of the Story”