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Los Angeles Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
Poignant Desi Arnaz bio spotlights drive and showbiz innovations of Lucy's comic foil
Desi Arnaz's life ricocheted between privilege and economic hardship, creative peaks and alcoholic lows — the stuff of high drama. But it was comedy that secured his legacy. The Cuban American musician, bandleader, actor and producer remains most famous for his role as Lucille Ball's husband and straight man, Ricky Ricardo, in their iconic 1950s television series, 'I Love Lucy.' Arnaz, playing a version of himself, memorably exploded into exasperation or anger before forgiving the TV Lucy's slapstick schemes. In actuality, he was far more than his (real-life) wife's adroit comic foil. As Todd S. Purdum relates in his intimate, often poignant biography, Arnaz was the driving force behind the show and a pioneer of early television. 'I Love Lucy' was filmed before a live studio audience using multiple synchronized cameras, innovations that paved the way for both massively profitable syndication and future sitcoms. That business model, Purdum writes, 'lasted unchallenged for the better part of seven decades, until the streaming era established a competing paradigm.' Desilu Productions, the couple's company, became a leading creator of television content and eventually spawned the 'Mission: Impossible' and 'Star Trek' franchises. The themes in 'Desi Arnaz' are familiar from Amy Poehler's 2022 documentary, 'Lucy and Desi,' though the book provides more detail and context. Purdum stresses both Arnaz's underappreciated talents as a producer and showbiz entrepreneur and the couple's enduring bond, which survived even their divorce and remarriages to others. Like the film, the biography benefits from the cooperation of the couple's children, Desi Arnaz Jr. and especially Lucie Arnaz, who opened private family archives to the author. That access allows Purdum (who in 2018 chronicled another creative partnership, between Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, in 'Something Wonderful') to present a nuanced portrait of both Arnaz's gifts and his tragic shortcomings. Alongside his celebration of Arnaz's entrepreneurial savvy, comic flair, photographic memory, personal kindness and managerial skills, Purdum chronicles his (probable) sex addiction and descent into alcoholism. He emphasizes Arnaz's 'compulsive patronage of prostitutes,' which Purdum suggests played an outsize role in his philandering. Whatever the source and specific contours of his demons, Arnaz's impulsive, self-destructive behavior derailed both his marriage to Ball and his career. In material terms at least, Arnaz's childhood in Cuba was idyllic. The privileged only son of an aristocratic lineage, he was 'raised as a prince.' His pharmacist father became the reformist mayor of Santiago, and the youthful Desi — born Desiderio Alberto Arnaz y de Acha in 1917 — a bit of a hellion. But the 1933 Cuban Revolution impelled his family's flight from the island, dashing Desi's hopes of a legal career. At 17, he ended up penniless in Miami, living with his father in a rat-infested warehouse and cleaning canary cages for cash. In high school, his best friend was Al Capone Jr., the Chicago mobster's son. The radical shift in Arnaz's fortunes, Purdum argues, led to 'a willingness to take bold risks — and a burning, consuming drive to succeed.' Music was the first path he took. Purdum, otherwise an admirer, describes Arnaz's musical talents (if not his charisma) as 'limited.' Xavier Cugat, 'king of the rumba,' nevertheless hired him, and Bing Crosby advocated for him. Arnaz gained celebrity as the American popularizer of the conga, an Afro Cuban line dance that his father had once tried to ban. The Broadway lyricist Lorenz Hart spotted Arnaz in a Miami Beach club called La Conga, and with his collaborator, Richard Rodgers, invited him to audition for their new Broadway musical, 'Too Many Girls.' Arnaz and Lucille Ball, six years his senior and already a movie star, met on the set of the subsequent film adaptation. Their attraction was immediate, mutual and intense. But the relationship was tempestuous from the start. The couple were frequently apart — Arnaz touring with his band, Ball making movies — and they quarreled over his sexual peccadilloes. 'I Love Lucy' originated, in part, as an attempt to save their marriage. By then, Purdum writes, both Arnaz and Ball 'had run out their string in the movies and were willing to leap into the still-untested, second-tier medium of television.' The biography offers a fascinating play-by-play of the sitcom's development. The show relied on much of the same staff as Ball's radio hit, 'My Favorite Husband,' including head writer Jess Oppenheimer. Oppenheimer, the showrunner for 'I Love Lucy' in its early years, remained bitter that Arnaz publicly downplayed his contributions. 'Desi had become so used to being underestimated and taken for granted that when it was finally his turn to control the narrative,' Purdum writes, 'he sometimes took too much credit.' Arnaz's own achievements — as this country's first Latino television star and television executive — occurred against a cultural backdrop of condescension and outright racism. He also struggled with his insecurities about playing second fiddle to his immensely talented wife. In the end, though, Arnaz's addictive behaviors were his greatest challenge. He was 'often simply too drunk to function,' Purdum writes. Arnaz eventually got sober, but he died of lung cancer in 1986 at 69. One lifelong friend, Marcella Rabwin, said of Arnaz: 'He was a very serious, wonderful man who felt very deeply.' Purdum's empathetic biography endorses that assessment. Klein is a cultural reporter and critic in Philadelphia.
Yahoo
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
José Griñán, longtime Houston Fox 26 news anchor, dies at 72
José Griñán, the longtime Houston news anchor for Fox 26, has died. He was 72. The Houston affiliate, where Griñán worked for 30 years, announced his death in a news report Monday. No cause of death was revealed. "Beloved former FOX 26 Houston anchor José Griñán has died," Fox 26 wrote Monday on social media. "Though José may no longer be with us, his legacy will continue to shine brightly in the stories he told, the lives he touched, and the city he loved." In 1993, when Griñán began working with the station, he became the first male anchor of the channel's morning show. He anchored his final broadcast for Fox 26 in June 2023. Read more: KABC's Ellen Leyva signs off after 30 years in moving final broadcast: 'I'm really lucky' The news anchor took an extended break from the station in 2022 after getting diagnosed with polymyalgia rheumatica — an inflammatory condition mostly affecting people over 65 that causes stiffness and pain in the joints and muscles, according to the Mayo Clinic. Reflecting on his time at Fox 26 at the end of his broadcast career, Griñán told Houston's in 2023 that he deeply valued how his job helped him help others. "Working at the station has allowed me to, in a sense, provide life saving information for someone who was searching, and comfort someone who may have thought that the world was coming to an end, but letting them know that things are under control," he said. Read more: Aaron Brown, news anchor who helped CNN viewers through Sept. 11 attacks, dies at 76 Griñán was born on July 24, 1952, in Tampa, Fla., to a Cuban father and a first-generation Cuban American mother. Before appearing on-screen as an anchor, he worked as a cinematographer and documentary filmmaker for the U.S. Army. His first anchor role came in 1975 at a news station in El Paso, Texas. From there, Griñán held jobs in his hometown of Tampa, Miami, New York City and Dallas before landing in Houston in 1993. He held decades-long memberships to both the National Association of Black Journalists and the National Association of Hispanic Journalists. Griñán is survived by his wife, Kathy Griffin Townsend Griñán, his two daughters and three stepdaughters. Get our Latinx Files newsletter for stories that capture the complexity of our communities. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
José Griñán, longtime Houston Fox 26 news anchor, dies at 72
José Griñán, the longtime Houston news anchor for Fox 26, has died. He was 72. The Houston affiliate, where Griñán worked for 30 years, announced his death in a news report Monday. No cause of death was revealed. 'Beloved former FOX 26 Houston anchor José Griñán has died,' Fox 26 wrote Monday on social media. 'Though José may no longer be with us, his legacy will continue to shine brightly in the stories he told, the lives he touched, and the city he loved.' In 1993, when Griñán began working with the station, he became the first male anchor of the channel's morning show. He anchored his final broadcast for Fox 26 in June 2023. The news anchor took an extended break from the station in 2022 after getting diagnosed with polymyalgia rheumatica — an inflammatory condition mostly affecting people over 65 that causes stiffness and pain in the joints and muscles, according to the Mayo Clinic. Reflecting on his time at Fox 26 at the end of his broadcast career, Griñán told Houston's in 2023 that he deeply valued how his job helped him help others. 'Working at the station has allowed me to, in a sense, provide life saving information for someone who was searching, and comfort someone who may have thought that the world was coming to an end, but letting them know that things are under control,' he said. Griñán was born on July 24, 1952, in Tampa, Fla., to a Cuban father and a first-generation Cuban American mother. Before appearing on-screen as an anchor, he worked as a cinematographer and documentary filmmaker for the U.S. Army. His first anchor role came in 1975 at a news station in El Paso, Texas. From there, Griñán held jobs in his hometown of Tampa, Miami, New York City and Dallas before landing in Houston in 1993. He held decades-long memberships to both the National Association of Black Journalists and the National Association of Hispanic Journalists. Griñán is survived by his wife, Kathy Griffin Townsend Griñán, his two daughters and three stepdaughters.
Miami Herald
5 days ago
- Business
- Miami Herald
Venezuela Chevron oil deal is dead, for now. We can thank Rubio, Miami Republicans
When Chevron's oil license in Venezuela expired Tuesday, Miami Republicans in Congress and Secretary of State Marco Rubio, another Miamian, notched a big foreign policy win — and offered a bit of much-needed good news for Miami-Dade's Venezuelan immigrant community. The victory comes in spite of a push by Richard Grenell, President Trump's envoy for special missions who has been at odds with Rubio, to allow an extension of the American company's license to produce and export Venezuelan oil. For a while, it seemed that Grenell's vision of continuing the Chevron deal for at least 60 days would succeed. Last week, he announced there would be a Chevron license extension after saying he'd negotiated an agreement with Venezuela to release a U.S. military veteran detained there. The release of Joe St. Clair happened. But the announcement of the extension turned out to be premature. Last week, Miami's three Cuban American members of Congress seized a chance to fight the license extension. In a vote on Trump's 'Big Beautiful Bill' on taxes and spending, they unexpectedly cast 'no' votes, a politically savvy move at a moment when there was a razor-thin margin for approval. That's when the landscape shifted. Suddenly, Chevron's Treasury Department license was dead. And the votes by U.S. Reps. Maria Elvira Salazar, Mario Diaz Balart and Carlos Gimenez changed into 'yeses,' as first reported by Axios. Critics — Salazar, Diaz Balart, Gimenez and Rubio leading the way — have argued for years that allowing Chevron to continue its operations in Venezuela was effectively helping support the socialist dictatorship of Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro. They had counted on the Trump administration to see things their way. Their fury when that apparently wasn't the case nearly stopped Trump's signature legislation. All of this started when the Biden administration allowed Chevron to resume operations in the South American country in 2022. It was pitched as a democracy-building move: Maduro's government and Venezuelan opposition leaders had agreed to a humanitarian relief program and to continue talking about 'free and fair' elections. But elections in Venezuela have been far from that ideal — including the most recent 2024 presidential election, in which the opposition cast serious doubt on Maduro's 'win' and the U.S. said the opposition candidate had won — and the country continues to spiral downward economically. Over seven million Venezuelans have left their country since 2014, with many coming to South Florida. Those who wanted Chevron to stay in Venezuela have said its economic impact helps prevent further economic collapse. That may be true. And a worsening economy would no doubt trigger more human suffering and migration. Also, without Chevron, there's the worry that the vacuum in Venezuela may be filled by other companies. As Chevron's CEO Mike Wirth said in a May 4 interview on Fox News, 'historically that's been Chinese companies, Russian companies and others that are not necessarily in America's interest.' We can't forget that Venezuela's large oil reserves continue to be of global importance. Rubio has for many years been one of the staunchest voices advocating for a tough stance against Maduro (and for Venezuelans to be granted Temporary Protected Status, though that's certainly not the case now.) So for him, putting an end to Chevron's license is a particularly significant win. It also shows he's in a position of strength in the Trump administration. But how much of a win will all of this really be? There has been discussion of allowing Chevron to leave in place its equipment and structures and do minimal maintenance. If there's a reversal of policy by the Trump administration in months or years — and Trump has certainly showed he can reverse himself with a moment's notice — would Chevron be poised to go back into action in Venezuela? For now, it's been encouraging to see Miami's Republican members of Congress stand up for their constituents so strongly, even in the face of headwinds from the Trump administration. They need to remember the appalling situation facing some 350,000 Venezuelans on TPS who may face deportation after the Trump administration revoked their status. They did Chevron; now do TPS. Click here to send the letter.
Los Angeles Times
6 days ago
- Politics
- Los Angeles Times
Trump's immigration crackdown unnerves Cuban exiles long shielded from deportation
MIAMI — Immigration officials said Tomás Hernández worked in high-level posts for Cuba's foreign intelligence agency for decades before migrating to the United States to pursue the American dream. The 71-year-old was detained by federal agents outside his Miami-area home in March and accused of hiding his ties to Cuba's Communist Party when he obtained permanent residency. Cuban Americans in South Florida have long clamored for a firmer hand with Havana, and the recent apprehensions of Hernández and several other former Cuban officials for deportation have been extremely popular among the politically powerful exile community. 'It's a political gift to Cuban American hardliners,' said Eduardo Gamarra, a Latin American expert at Florida International University. But many Cubans fear they could be next on Trump's list, he said, and 'some in the community see it as a betrayal.' While President Trump's mass deportation pledge has frightened migrants from many nations, it has come as something of a shock to the 2.4 million Cuban Americans, who strongly backed the Republican twice and have long enjoyed a place of privilege in the U.S. immigration system. Amid record arrivals of migrants from the Caribbean island, Trump in March revoked temporary humanitarian parole for about 300,000 Cubans. Many have been detained ahead of possible deportation. Among those facing deportation is a pro-Trump Cuban rapper behind the hit song 'Patria y Vida' — 'Homeland and Life' — that became the unofficial anthem of anti-communist protests on the island in 2021 and drew praise from the likes of then-Republican Sen. Marco Rubio, now secretary of State. Eliéxer Márquez, who raps under the name El Funky, said he received notice this month that he had 30 days to leave the U.S. Thanks to Cold War laws aimed at removing Fidel Castro, Cuban migrants for many decades enjoyed almost automatic refugee status in the U.S. and could obtain green cards a year after entry, unlike migrants from virtually every other country. Support for Trump among likely Cuban American voters in Miami was at an all-time high on the eve of last year's election, according to a poll by Florida International University, which has been tracking the Cuban American community since 1991. Trump rarely mentions Cubans in his attacks on migrant targets including Venezuelans and Haitians. That has given many Cubans hope that they will remain immune to immigration enforcement actions. Democrats, meanwhile, have been trying to turn the immigration crackdown to their advantage. In April, grassroots groups erected two giant billboards on Miami highways calling Rubio and Republican Reps. Mario Díaz-Balart, María Elvira Salazar and Carlos Giménez 'traitors' to the Cuban American community for failing to protect tens of thousands of migrants from Trump's immigration policies. The arrest of former Cuban state agents is one way to bolster Trump allies, Gamarra said. In March, Giménez sent Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem a letter with the names of 108 people he said were former Cuban state agents or Communist Party officials living unlawfully in the U.S. 'It is imperative that the Department of Homeland Security enforce existing U.S. laws to identify, deport and repatriate these individuals who pose a direct threat to our national security, the integrity of our immigration system and the safety of Cuban exiles and American citizens alike,' Giménez wrote, adding that the U.S. remains a 'beacon of hope and freedom for those escaping tyranny.' Giménez's target list was compiled by Luis Dominguez, who left Cuba in 1971 and has made it his mission to topple Cuba's government. In 2009, when the internet was still a novelty in Cuba, Dominguez said he posed as a 27-year-old female sports journalist from Colombia to lure Castro's son Antonio into an online romance. 'Some people dream with making money, or with growing old and going on vacation,' said Dominguez, who lives in Connecticut. 'I dream with seeing my country free.' With support from the right-wing Foundation for Human Rights in Cuba, he started combing social media and relying on a well-oiled network of anti-socialist sources, inside Cuba and outside the country, to dox officials allegedly behind human rights abuses and violations of democratic norms. To date, his website, Represores Cubanos — Cuban Repressors — has identified more than 1,200 such state agents, some 150 in the United States. 'They're chasing the American dream, but previously they condemned it while pursuing the Cuban dream,' Dominguez said. 'It's the typical double life of any Communist regime. When they were in power they criticized anything about the U.S. But now that they're here, they love it.' Dominguez, 62, said he regularly shares his findings with federal law enforcement. A spokesman for U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement didn't comment on the agency's relationship with the activist. Enrique Garcia, a former colleague, said he studied with Hernández in the former Soviet Union in the 1970s. Upon their return, Hernández was sent to work in the spy agency's elite 'North America' department, said Garcia. Garcia, who defected to the U.S. in the 1990s and has devoted himself to helping American spy catchers unmask Cuban agents, said one-time Cuban agents have infiltrated the current migration wave while hiding their past and even current loyalties to the Cuban government. 'You can't be on both sides at the same time,' he said. It's not known when Hernández entered the U.S. and why. U.S. immigration law generally bars people who've belonged to Communist parties. Anyone caught lying on their green card application can be deported or prosecuted. But removing Cubans who are no longer welcome in the U.S. could prove challenging. The Trump administration sends a single 60-passenger plane to Cuba every month as part of its deportation drive, unchanged from the past year's average, according to Witness at the Border, which tracks removal flights. At that rate, it would take almost 700 years to send back the estimated 500,000 Cubans who arrived during the Biden administration and now lack protected status. At Versailles Restaurant, the epicenter of Miami's Little Havana, few among its anti-Communist clientele seemed poised to turn on Trump, who visited the iconic cafe twice during the recent presidential campaign. Most of the aging exiles applauded Trump's migration crackdown overhaul but there were a few cracks in the GOP armor. As the late afternoon banter switched between talk of CIA plots to assassinate Castro and President John F. Kennedy's failure to provide air cover during the 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion, one retiree stood up and quietly stepped away from his friends. 'People are trembling,' Tony Freitas, who came to the U.S. from Cuba in the 1980 Mariel boatlift, said in a hushed voice. 'For any little thing, you could be deported.' Goodman writes for the Associated Press. AP journalist Gisela Salomon contributed to this report.
