I participated in an interview with Dark City Podcast about my investigation into Christa’s Helm’s life and murder. You can hear the episode below. You can follow the podcast by visiting buzzsprout.com/2321516/follow. For more information on Christa's case, visit WhoKilledChristaHelm.com.
February 12, 1977
Christa took her place behind the driver’s seat of her roomate Stephanie’s car and pulled out from the scene of a party. It is not known if she made any stops before she reached her final destination – 9022 Lloyd Place in West Hollywood, the address where Sandy Smith resided.
Sandy’s house was located at the back end of a duplex. Facing the street was 9020 Lloyd Place, the home of an elderly producer who rarely stepped foot outside. That’s where Christa parked her car. She made her way across the front of the duplex and around the adjacent street to the back, where she would have passed a small parking area on the side of the house that bridged both residences. It’s impossible to know if Christa made it to the door and knocked. But if she did, she would have been facing her attacker once she turned.
Around 1:30 that morning, Jon Gries awakened from a deep sleep to the not-so-distant sounds of screaming.
“It was the scariest noise I’ve ever heard in my life,” he recalled years later. “You know when you get goose bumps head to toe and cannot control them? At first, I thought it was a racoon and a cat having a fight, or a baby crying. It was this weird, horrible sound.”
A little over a month before, his father – the acclaimed Helter Skelter and Will Penny director Tom Gries – had passed away unexpectedly of a heart attack at the age of 54 while playing tennis.
To help Jon and his three siblings heal in the wake of their loss, their mother Sally opened up a rental property to them which was located on Lloyd Place, a half a block from the site of Christa’s attack.
In the darkness of that night, startled by the nightmarish screams, Gries grabbed for the gun of his deceased father and bravely made his way out of the house. He stepped as far as the sidewalk, but the screams had ceased, and he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Was it all just a bad dream?
Within moments, Thurman Brooms, the 31-year-old owner of Bear’s Limo Service, neared Smith’s house, and slammed his car to an abrupt stop when he noticed a body lying on the street before him. He exited his car and stepped towards the figure. The bloodied female drew one last breath upon his approach.
It appeared to him as though she had been the victim of a hit and run. Panicked, he went to Sandy’s door and knocked furiously, but received no answer. He then returned to his car and drove a mile to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department West Hollywood division to alert them of his grisly find. Christa’s body lay unattended on the street before police units made their way back to her.
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By the time Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department homicide detective Larry Gandsey arrived on the scene, patrol cars had already barricaded the street.“What we observed at the start was a considerable amount of blood in the street that had some tire tracks running through it,” Gandsey recalled to me in 2014. “It was obvious it wasn’t a hit and run situation.”
What they had, as soon became apparent, was a rage killing. Christa was settled on her left side, armed tucked down the length of her torso and her hand gripped between her thighs. Her legs were partially obscured under the car, as if the attacker had attempted to pull her inward to avoid detection and then abandoned the effort.
A steady stream of blood cascaded down the length of the street from the body. Mixed in with the blood was a thick gelatinous matter which was soon identified as the contents of her breast implants. The police photographer captured the customary snaps only to discover later that they were using bad film. Fortunately, the sheriff’s photographer took his own photos. These continue to serve as the only visual depiction of the scene that night.
No purse, personal belongings or identification was found on Christa’s person. But when her body was turned over, investigators noticed a set of keys submerged in the underlying pool of her blood. Efforts were launched to comb the neighborhood and locate a match to the car key.
It didn’t take long to find the right fit – a Mercury Cougar registered to Stephanie Warshaw of 949 N. Larrabee Street, Apt. 2 in West Hollywood. At this stage, the police had every reason to believe that she was their mystery victim.
The car was parked awkwardly at the curb; in fact, the front passenger tire was blown, indicating that the driver was either inebriated or in a hurry to exit the vehicle. Perhaps the driver knew they were being followed.
Officers knocked on Sandy’s door repeatedly to no avail. If anyone was inside the residence, either they would not awaken or refused to come to the door. The detective left his card in the door frame.
Back at the station, the grilling of Thurman Brooms began. Known as “T’ by those closest to him, Brooms was an ambitious go-getter, with an unquenchable entrepreneurial spirit. As a younger man, he sent out five thousand fliers across the city promoting an ingenious idea for a start-up business – home grocery delivery. No one bit. Undeterred, he tried his hand at designing and selling denim shoulder bags. The enterprise took off for a time until a Boll Weevil infestation led to a severe shortage of materials, and the business could not acclimate. He then began to prosper with his own limousine service. He catered to an elite clientele, the most loyal of which were given a magic word. Once spoken, the client would find a tray of white powder awaiting them when they hopped on board.
Cocaine was everywhere in L.A., and it found unhidden residence in homes, clubs, parties, and meeting rooms across the city. The drug was considered by many a perfectly acceptable lubricant for daily living. “Hollywood was a cherry patch,” Gandsey claimed. “You could get dope anywhere.” Brooms had tinkered with the drug for many years. This was likely the foundation of his acquaintance with and reliance on Sandy Smith.
Professionally, Smith was employed with WorldWide Artists, a talent agency he co-owned with entertainment veteran Henry Lazarus. Smith handled musical clients while Lazarus led the theatrical division. Smith also popped up on television occasionally. He did a favor for an industry friend by appearing in two episodes of Starsky & Hutch, the second of which titled Starsky’s Lady enjoyed its network premiere on – of all evenings –Saturday, February 12, 1977, the same date Christa was murdered beside his home.
Smith also dealt drugs from his home. It was a known party house, playing host to an endless parade of thrill seekers in a series of all-night, drug-fueled shindigs. On the night of Christa’s murder, it is not clear if Brooms was heading to Smith’s house for a friendly visit, or a possible score, when he happened upon Christa’s body.
After a lengthy period of questioning, Brooms left the station and returned to Smith’s home. Upon knocking, Sandy actually answered this time. Brooms proceeded to fill Sandy in on the details of the previous hours. Looking upon the business card the detective had left in his door, he called the sheriff’s office and awaited Gandsey’s arrival.
Gandsey found Smith’s alibi more than a little unconvincing: he claimed he went to bed early that Friday night. “He said he was hard to wake up when you knocked on his door,” Gandsey recalled in 2014 when reflecting on his first interview with Smith.
The detective knew of Smith’s reputation as a late-night party hound and drug dealer. The calls Smith received during this informal interrogation all but confirmed it. “During our conversation, the phone would ring a couple of times and his first statement on the call was “Could you imagine? The police are here with me!,” Gandsey recalled of Smith’s exaggerated reaction. “And the phone conversations would end.”
The car under which Christa’s body was found belonged to Sandy’s live-in girlfriend at the time – a woman named Nancy (last name unknown) - who was suspiciously absent from the house that night.
Smith first met Christa through their mutual friend - her roommate Stephanie Warshaw. Smith admitted to Gandsey that he wasn’t particularly close to Christa, but that they had shared two intimate encounters.
At the conclusion of Gandsey’s first interview with him, Smith followed the investigators back to the station to identify Christa’s body. The detectives were likely studying Smith’s reactions upon seeing her lifeless corpse.
The detectives returned to Smith’s home several times over the ensuing months, but they could establish no meaningful connection to her murder beyond the vicinity of her body.
Officers knocked on other doors throughout the neighborhood that day, including the one belonging to Jon Gries and his brothers. Gries recited his recollections from hours earlier – the horrific screams, grabbing the gun, stepping outside to the sidewalk and seeing nothing unusual. Officers told him that if he had ventured away from the sidewalk and further out onto the street, he would have witnessed the immediate aftermath of the attack. “Literally, I was three steps away from discovering her,” he would later say.
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Christa’s body was delivered to the coroner’s office at 4:15 that morning. At 10:00 am, her five-foot eight inch, 142-pound frame was wheeled in for autopsy. Thirty-six-year-old Dr. Robert Zedelis was assigned to perform the examination. His findings were meticulously collected and annotated, and his resulting report identified the central cause of death as exsanguinating hemorrhage exacerbated by multiple stab wounds involving the neck, chest, and abdomen. The report detailed 22 separate wounds from head to ankles, likely inflicted by a large buck knife.
Angles and trajectories indicated that two of these wounds were incurred after she was already face down on the street. The killer, stabbing from above, plunged the blade down on one side of her back, made their way to the other side of her body and plunged again. The report noted a number of defensive cuts and bruises across the front and back of her hands, shins, and ankles, indicating that she put up quite a struggle as she punched, kicked, and attempted to shield herself.
The toxicology report returned no traces of alcohol or barbiturates. Based on these findings, it seems unlikely that Christa was in any way impaired when she parked her car haphazardly at Sandy’s house.
Zedelis’ report provides valuable answers regarding the character of Christa’s wounds, and the temperament and mindset of the figure who inflicted them. But many resolutions involving the murder act remain elusive even to this day.
It was clear that this was not a smash and grab mugging turned brutal. The interaction was too intimate, prolonged and rageful. Because of this, detectives felt from the beginning that this was someone who knew Christa and enacted a personal vendetta against her. The sheer number of stab wounds indicated that the attacker might have been caught off guard by the ferocity of Christa’s defensive postures and flailed with the blade repeatedly just to subdue the onslaught of her counterattacks. But the dozens of wounds also pointed to overkill. Then there were the blows to her face and skull, thought to be the result of a hammer. If they were inflicted after she fell, they may have demonstrated the killer’s urge to further defile the chiseled beauty that had long served as her calling card.
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News of Christa Helm’s demise would soon spread throughout the states and internationally. But it had already infected the psyche of her sizeable social circle in the hours that followed the discovery of her body on February 12, 1977.
The corpse on Dr. Zedelis’ table harbored an ocean of secrets, and a community of characters – from the dregs of the drug scene to the starriest inhabitants of celebrity culture - would soon find themselves trapped in the chaos of its currents.
British Tabloids Cover Murder in March 1977
Frustrated by the lack of forward progressive in the case, Detective Tiner spoke to the entertainment press during the final week of March 1977. The goal was to jostle cooperation from the same Hollywood community that was so reticent to participate during the first full month of the investigation. “I’m sure there are a lot of people out there in Los Angeles who knew her and knew more about her, but who have not contacted me,” he stated.
Here are samples of the ensuing coverage in the British tabloids in the immediate hours and days following Tiner’s conference.
The Preface to My Upcoming Book on Christa
I never set out to be an amateur sleuth. But that all changed when I came across Christa Helm’s story in early 2014.
I was preparing to produce and host a podcast series on infamous Hollywood crimes; an offshoot of a podcast I had founded in 2007 called Movie Geeks United.
It began, as so much research does nowadays, on YouTube. As I was searching for a Tinseltown crime that fell outside the purview of the usual Black Dahlia and Manson lore, I happened upon a blurry dupe of a 48 Hours episode from 2008. Titled The Last Take, the episode introduced me to Christa, her life of star-studded decadence, and the tragic end which befell her on February 12th of 1977.
On the surface, her story could be dismissed as a far too common retread of the “starlet sexpot who seeks stardom and pays the ultimate price for it”. But there were meaningful resonances that kept me fixated.
It started with the deeply affecting testimony of the daughter she left behind, a little girl who lost the world she was promised before the age of ten. Then there were the colorful characters who populated Christa’s life, a flamboyant parade of personalities who could have easily walked off a studio backlot (and actually had on occasion). Equally enticing was the flood of potential motives behind her murder – each seemingly as viable as the next – running the gamut from a scorned lesbian lover to a paranoid Hollywood big shot to the dregs of a thriving 70’s L.A. drug culture. Then there was Christa herself, a woman of great beauty, a profound drive, and an endearing yet ultimately tragic core of naivete.
Christa’s story also reflected a wider landscape that I had always found captivating. She entered the big city foray during a time of great turbulence and possibility. The upheavals of the day – including the continued bloodshed in Vietnam, the Stonewall Riots, the struggle to achieve female empowerment, and the ever-widening generational divide – informed each step in the march toward cultural rebellion. These seismic shifts were most apparent on the streets of New York City, the reservoir through which many of the country’s social ills and revolutions flowed.
In the words of Christa’s daughter Nicole, the era represented “the incoming age of drugs, peace and rock and roll, and the newfound sexual freedom that no generation of women before had the pleasure, and pain, of experiencing. My mother was one of these women, finally finding her power in her sexuality, as opposed to the shame her adolescent experiences had taught her.”
Christa Helm was an invention who was birthed in the thriving energy of the Big Apple. A port of sorts for outcasts from small towns across the United States, New York was a place where you could flirt with a fantasy image of yourself and be met with a higher level of acceptance and freedom that you’d ever known before. Christa found her place among the major cultural forces of the time – from sports heroes to iconoclasts of the modeling world to the behind-the-scenes trendsetters of the Broadway stage.
The New York and Los Angeles of the 1970s are major characters in Christa’s life and the story that follows here. Their nightscapes shimmered and threatened; you could party with the glam elite one minute, and find yourself wallowing in the vicinity of dopers, dealers and alley rats the next. Christa knew both worlds, and either could have played a significant role in her untimely downfall.
In the decade since I first produced my podcast on Christa, the true crime genre has rocketed into the stratosphere. In the interim, a general overview of Christa’s story has found its place among the hoopla, playing out in television exposés, short e-books, and many other podcasts. Though I am admittedly a frequent consumer of true crime media, I often find it a distasteful genre. Far too frequently, it’s a form of grisly pornography that relishes degradation over humanity. The trauma of real flesh and blood human beings is anesthetized into a form of senseless entertainment for the masses.
Christa’s story is almost tailor-made for this kind of vacant approach. The temptation to “slut shame” proves too irresistible in countless recounts that have been offered over the years.
“She played with fire and had it coming,” is one version of a common shaming response. It must be said that Christa lived on the edge, for sure, but she never murdered anyone. Being left to bleed out on a Hollywood street with over 20 stab wounds to her chest and back is far too harsh a price to pay for her comparatively meager indiscretions. Besides, most of us die as a result of the choices we make, but that doesn’t negate our worthiness for empathy. We’re all part of the human experiment; struggling to advance and cope with the limited tools we’ve inherited along the way.
In my estimation, Christa was bred from a faulty teacher. To a profound extent, Christa’s choices reflected her desire to overcome the emotional disabilities her mother instilled in her, and an overwhelming need to achieve her accepting embrace.
But resisting the urge to psychologize (something I’m not qualified to do), I think it’s important to acknowledge that the motivating factors behind a person’s principal drives can rarely be distilled into one neat package. I once asked a biographer of famous Hollywood star Burt Lancaster if she ever felt she truly understood her subject. She spent many years conducting hundreds of interviews and browsing through research materials spread far and wide. She knew the building blocks and timelines of his life and career chapter and verse. But, as she admitted, what she was left with were her own perceptions of Lancaster which were derived from the resources at her disposal. There will always be aspects to any human being that remain stubbornly enigmatic. Can we ever truly know a person’s inner being and the private thoughts that inform it? Many people don’t even fully understand their own complexities.
In the quest to uncover some modicum of a deeper truth, a biographer’s greatest allies are informed interview sources. In that respect, I’ve been incredibly fortunate in the development of this book. They’ve ensured that the profile that follows is as instructive and accurate as their individual memories and perspectives allow.
These sources include, first and foremost, Christa’s daughter Nicole, who kept the channels of communication open with me through what must have felt like an ordeal. She met me in New York City, revisited painful memories, and never wavered in her kind support of this project. I hope I did justice to her mom’s story because it’s her story too.
Then there are the sleuths who came before me. In the mid-2000s, Steven Thompson and John O’Dowd authored a lengthy piece on Christa that appeared online. For many years, that article constituted the only substantial material you could find on Christa’s story.
Steven and his wife Rene have shown me a generosity and encouragement I could never have expected. They’ve been unwavering cheerleaders throughout this process, and I’ve aspired to live up to their belief in the project. I’m especially grateful to Steven for sharing his prior research with me, and consistently communicating via Facebook and telephone to review my findings and help me speculate on what it all meant. Meanwhile, John did an interview with me for my podcast and, crucially, put me in touch with Christa’s last roommate Stephanie, whose insights into the final months of her life have proven essential.
Now retired, both cold case investigators – Sargent Thomas Harris and Detective Larry Brandenburg – were also very helpful. Brandenburg, in particular, went out of his way to procure answers he could not immediately access by memory, but as you’ll read in the coming pages, those efforts proved futile.
Dozens of figures in Christa’s life were gracious and forthcoming in sharing their remembrances with me, especially her close friends and companions Darlene Thoresen, Kevin McKeon, Joseph Middleton, Richard Banister, and Denise Steinle. Others who were completely unaffiliated with the story showed tremendous interest and went the extra mile to assist me, including librarians, county clerk employees and members of the Los Angeles Police Department and Savannah Police Department Records Division.
Then there were those subjects who refused participation.
The Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department – the law enforcement agency that has overseen this case from day one –has shown no interest in advancing their long dormant efforts to find resolution.
In spite of repeated attempts to reach them through social media, email, phone calls, texts and written requests delivered through snail mail, key figures in Christa’s life wouldn’t budge in their refusal of my overtures. In some cases, their denials (or outright avoidance in offering any response whatsoever) were infuriatingly obstinate. They could have provided crucial details regarding Christa and her final days. Sadly, they failed to follow through on the weight of that responsibility. Perhaps tellingly, most of the subjects who preferred to keep mum inhabited the L.A. portion of her life.
But some, I’m sure, had their valid reasons for declining my requests. After all, the 70s were a time of great debauchery. Today, those same rabble-rousers are parents and grandparents, and perhaps not eager to relive a period of time from which they harbor deep regrets. It’s not easy to promote the depravity in your life, particularly in the service of a book that will be available to the public and to a writer for whom you have little earned trust.
Still others might have been unable to transcend the sting that Christa’s death inflicted upon them all those years ago. Some likely questioned what right I had to delve into someone else’s tragedy. This posed a quandary for me as well.
The writing of this book consisted of long stretches of nothingness where no one would talk to me, and no new revelations were being uncovered. These stretches were punctuated by fleeting bursts of exhilarating discovery. But whether I was experiencing frustration or elation, I never lost sight of those who entrusted me with their travails and sorrows, and I remained steadfast in my determination to do right by them. Their recollections – and the narrative of Christa’s life and murder – became sacred to me. In the end, any sense of imposter syndrome faded away, and I felt secure in the belief that you either go all the way in, or you don’t go in at all.
Tracking Christa’s journey became my journey. Thank you for your interest in taking that journey with me.
Interview with The Hollywood Godfather Podcast
I appeared on The Hollywood Godfather podcast on 3/6/24 to discuss my ongoing investigation into he unsolved murder of Christa Helm.
An elaboration on a few pieces of info I share in the conversation:
- My criticism of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department stems from their refusal to allow access to Christa’s cold case files, especially to her daughter, after all this time when they have been left untouched. It was not intended as a critique of the cold case investigators from Christa’s case who are both now retired. They have been wonderfully generous to me in sharing the information they can recall, and they worked diligently to find answers in the case during the period of their investigation.
- Christa’s life encompassed so much more than the famous figures she was associated with. I urge you to read the brief recap of her story which is included on this site.
- I didn't set out to identify a killer in the interview, but merely to recognize persons of interest who had involvement in Christa’s story. I don’t necessarily believe that anyone I mention in the interview was Christa’s murderer. For those persons of interest who have since deceased, the hope is that they might have shared their knowledge with someone in their lives over the 47 years, who in turn might be willing to share this knowledge with me.
Christa's Final Resting Place
Christa"s final resting place at Forest Home Cemetary in Milwaukee. She has the second oldest niche in this section, which may explain why she is at the very top. All of her incarnations are present on the engraving - her birth name, married name and the initials of her stage name.
Help Us Find Patti Collins
DOES ANYONE RECOGNIZE THE BRUNETTE? Photos of one of the main persons of interest in Christa's case. Patti (or Patty) Collins. Knew Christa between 75-77 in the Los Angeles area. Possibly in her mid to late twenties when she knew Christa. Might have had experience or ambitions in music, and her parents might have lived in Sacramento during this time. #patticollins #patriciacollins #pattycollins #christahelm
More Information on David Stein
David Marcus (aka David Stein) was reportedly close to Christa in the last years of her life. He had achieved a degree of infamy before they ever met, having been deemed "the second greatest pimp in NYC" by New York magazine, and arrested for imprisoning and assaulting a Playboy playmate in his L.A. home in 1972. Christa and Marcus also shared mutual friends in her last roommate Stephanie and Bernie Cornfeld, an international financier who lived in a luxurious L.A. mansion called Grayhall. Marcus spent a lot of time in the mansion as he excelled in procuring women for Cornfeld.
Death frequently followed in Marcus' wake.
When I was working to track down his whereabouts, I spoke to many people who knew him, including Rebecca Kaye, Cornfeld's secretary in the 70s. “[Marcus] was a Svengali, and everyone who got close to him got burned,” she told me. “He was evil.” Hollywood madam Heidi Fleiss shared with me that he would destroy young women with drugs and desperation. Another interview subject told me his sister was driven to suicide by Marcus.
Marcus was definitely on the radar of the cold casers during their investigation into Christa's murder, but they never managed to track him down (even though he was near their neck of the woods in Palm Springs the whole time). Marcus' brother told me that he had passed away in 2021, though I've been unable to verify this.
Clips from Christa's Unreleased Film LET'S GO FOR BROKE
A 2K scan of two sequences from Christa's film LET'S GO FOR BROKE. Not seen publicly since the film’s brief two-week Cincinnati release during the Christmas/New Year season of 1974-75.
Need Help Locating These People
This is a fold-out poster of talents that were part of Lennie Barin's modeling agency in early 70s NYC. Christa is among them. Some of these models are from the Andy Warhol crowd. I'm trying to find out if any of these people are still alive. If anyone out there knows one or more of these - and more importantly, knows their current whereabouts - please let me know. (You'll probably have to zoom in on the pic to see everyone clearly).
The Diary Ratings System
An article from an August 1975 issue of The Village Voice by journalist Arthur Bell. The brief mention is most notable for revealing the ratings system Christa kept in her diary.
RIP Tony Sirico
RIP Tony Sirico (July 29, 1942 - July 8, 2022). Answers to several nagging questions involving Christa's case have likely passed with him.
As quoted by TMZ: He had one rule about his acting roles ... he never played "rats."
Let's Go for Broke Promotion
Christa promotes the opening of her film in Cincinnati in December of 1974. A lottery ticket giveaway was arranged with the Cincinnati Post in relation to the film’s opening on Christmas Day.
A Moment in Time
These beautiful photos come courtesy of Darlene, Christa's best friend since childhood. The setting is Darlene's wedding in 1969 when Christa (known as Sandy at the time) served as one of her bridesmaids.
The Investigation Continues
Stepping into the records division of this southern police department, you’re struck by a pleasing floral fragrance misting in the air. Delicate and welcoming, it doesn’t prepare you for the ugliness that awaits. I arrived to view a series of files stored on microfilm; a recounting of the curious death of Gary Clements – the mystery figure who impregnated, married, and abruptly abandoned Christa when she was still an impressionable teenager.
British Tabloids Cover Murder in March 1977
Frustrated by the lack of forward progressive in the case, Detective Tiner spoke to the entertainment press during the final week of March 1977. The goal was to jostle cooperation from the same Hollywood community that was so reticent to participate during the first full month of the investigation. “I’m sure there are a lot of people out there in Los Angeles who knew her and knew more about her, but who have not contacted me,” he stated.
Here are samples of the British tabloid coverage that followed in the hours and days after Tiner’s conference.
The Geography of the Crime Scene
Christa parked her car in front of 9020 Lloyd Place in West Hollywood roughly where the white car is located on the far left of this photo.
Christa walked around to the back of the property where there was an adjoining house at 9022 Lloyd Place.
She knocked on the door at 9022 Lloyd Place, and supposedly resident Sandy Smith did not awaken to answer.
She was attacked a few steps away from the front door at 9022 Lloyd Place (precisely where the red car is parked), There was no sign of a chase; her attacker was facing her when she turned and walked away from the door.
Let's Go for Broke Press Conference
In 1974, Joseph Brenner & Associates signed a deal to distribute Christa’s film Let’s Go for Broke. Brenner had the crew shoot additional explicit footage of Christa to garner the film an R rating, and changed the title to Lady J. This picture was snapped at a press conference announcing that deal. The accompanying article characterizes Christa as a rising star, We have not been able to determine why the deal for a wider release fell through.
Glimpses of Christa's NYC Apartment in Legacy of Satan
Christa’s feature film debut was Deep Throat director Gerard Damiano’s cheapo horror flick Legacy of Satan. Much of the film was shot in Christa’s NYC apartment.
Previously Unreleased Photos of Christa
These photos are dated November 21, 1974. I believe these were taken at a party in Christa’s NYC apartment to celebrate the completion of her film Let’s Go for Broke. They were taken by acclaimed photographer Ron Galella.
There was a set of photos on display at Getty Images titled ‘Christine Helm Go for Broke Party NYC’. Yet the only photos in the set were of Sid and Lorna Luft. We wrote the office of photographer Ron Galella and asked if there were more photos from this event. The personnel checked and found the following never-before-released photos of Christa, which have likely been in archived storage for the past 46 years.
We are trying to determine the identity of the two men with mustaches in these photos.
