Paul Coates

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Jan. 13, 1958

Juvenile terror has been a fact in this town for a long time. It’s nothing new.

But there is something new about the latest series of outbreaks which hit the headlines over the last few days.

Take a look at the stories:

First,
there was the 16-year-old honor student son of a Norwalk high school
principal who went on a wild spree with some "model youth" friends and
ended up firing three bullets into a liquor store clerk.

There
there were the dozen boys from typical, conservative middle-class homes
who filed into court last week to be sentenced for terrorizing the men,
women and children of a quiet neighborhood in North Hollywood.

There
was Barbara Burns, 19-year-old daughter of the late comic, Bob, and her
young Hollywood society friends who became caught on their own
doorsteps in a vicious web of narcotics.

And, over the weekend,
there was the arrest of 14 young men, including five star Glendale
college athletes, for some of the most senseless, destructive acts of
vandalism reported here in years.

The young men, most of them 18
and 19, allegedly caused more than $15,000 worth of damage to some 40
parked cars by aimlessly attacking the empty vehicles with hatchets,
crowbars and rocks.

In newspaper accounts of the above stories, there were some striking similarities.

In nearly ever case, the youths were reported to have been from "good families, from excellent environment."

In
those cases involving robbery, the kids invariably were quoted as
saying that they didn’t do it for the money. They had money.

And when asked why they did what they did, they had other stock answers:

"I don’t know… for kicks maybe… Nothing else to do."

I
think that now might be a good time to emphasize the fact that none of
these kids were from the so-called "underprivileged, gang-infested"
Eastside of town.

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In fact, when these stories were making black
headlines, there were some stories about Eastside "kid gangs" buried
much deeper in the news.

In case you didn’t see them, they
concerned Eastside "kid gang" activities like collecting food for poor
families, like planning charity benefit dances.

Councilman Ed
Roybal has griped for years that newspapers "protect" the delinquent
kids of high income neighborhoods and repeatedly blow up juvenile
disturbances on the Eastside into "gang wars" and "rat pack terrorism."

I don’t agree with Roybal.

And
I think police statistics will back me up. There has been much more
juvenile trouble in low-income neighborhoods than in high-income ones.

But over the last 15 or 20 years, there has been quite a change in our Eastside.

Most
of the slum areas are gone. Some vanished by edict of the city. But
more disappeared simply as a result of the hard work and sincere effort
by those who inhabited them to give their kids something a little
better.

Eastside and Southside gang problems haven’t been wiped out, by any means.

Still
left is a lot of the fear and poverty which drives kids into bands of
their own for protection and something called "status."

But
those kid gangs which are still active aren’t usually guilty of the
same type of offense which we’ve been reading about for the last week.
Gang members’ strange code of honor allows them to maim and kill each
other, but usually it spares the outsiders–the women and children.

This is by way of explanation, not excuse.

This
weekend, I talked with a longtime Eastside social worker. I asked him
for his analysis of Eastside teenagers and the so-called "more favored"
ones.

"There’s never been a lot of difference," he said. "Except
that, on the whole, most of the other kids got off to a better start in
life."

I asked him how, recently, the two groups seemed to be finding their positions somewhat reversed.

"Maybe," he answered me, "it’s part of growing up. Kids are known rebels at certain ages.

"You
take a kid, tell him he’s not expected to amount to anything, then give
him a little encouragement–and watch him fight to make good.

"Take
another kid, give him everything, tell him he can’t miss being
successful with his background. Then offer him a little temptation–and
watch him try to make a liar out of you."

L.A.’s got a problem–and it’s not going to be solved by gawking bystanders.

   
   

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Craby Joe’s RIP

All is not well in Bukowski Square at Main and 7th. As noted all over
the Internet, Craby Joe’s closed on Christmas Eve, a passing that was
mourned by many, though not the Daily Mirror, who was at midnight Mass.

However, a post by Ed Fuentes
noted that Craby Joe’s sign had vanished. My first thought was that
it was tucked away in the garage of Nathan Marask, 1947project partner, crime buddy
and authority on neon signs. Alas, no. Nor did Nathan know where it was. Sad foot!

So off I went to Bukowski Square, stopping by the film shoot I posted yesterday.

 

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Photographs by Larry Harnisch / Los Angeles Times

There was the former Craby Joe’s, with a man asleep in the doorway. And
barely a trace of the sign. I wish I’d gotten a better picture of it,
but the sun is at the wrong angle this time of year and the Daily
Mirror’s Speed Graphic is in the shop–permanently.

 

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Here’s Bukowski Square on Dec. 13, 2007. Note Craby Joe’s to the far left.

The good news is that I found some other vestiges of the past.

 

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Here’s a sign from the Leonide Hotel–"Nice Place."

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And, beneath a few inches of asphalt, what appears to be the tile floor of the Hippodrome, as noted in Ed’s post.

 

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And "L.A. Takedown."

 

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Edmund Hillary

 

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Here’s Dennis McLellan’s obituary on Hillary.

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The Badge

Well isn’t this interesting? Here’s the original cover of "The Badge," from my five-foot shelf of books on Los Angeles. Note the style of badge and Serial No. 714.

 

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And here’s the cover of the reprint ("With a new introduction by James Ellroy") using the style of badge that was abandoned in the 1940s. Jack Webb with this clunky old thing that isn’t even Serial No. 714? How the mighty have fallen.

 

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Update: Reader Call Box Sam points out further problems with the badge
on the new edition of Webb’s book. He correctly notes that there is no city seal
in the middle and that the titles are wrong. (Yes, I should have noticed this since I have an image of an authentic badge on my site, but  … I was hurrying to get to church).

 

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For comparison, here’s an old image of a proper badge (at least to the best of my knowledge it is an authentic badge) that I got years ago from EBay. This style of badge was withdrawn in the 1940s because there were literally thousands that had been given out to civilians over the years.

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Drunk farm

Jan. 13, 1958
Los Angeles

If you’ve read Jack Webb’s "The Badge," (Page 236-240) you’ll recall a section on the LAPD’s farm for rehabilitating alcoholics. According to Webb, who unfortunately is not a terribly reliable source, the project began because there were so many alcoholics on skid row–making it "the No. 1 Bowery of America." The facility was eventually turned over to Los Angeles County, then reverted to the city of Los Angeles. 27234 Bouquet Canyon Road is now the address of the Castaic Lake Water Agency Conservatory Garden and Learning Center.

And 50 years later, skid row remains one of the city’s intractable problems.

 

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Jan. 13, 1958

 

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Jan. 13, 1908

An experiment in powering streetcars via rails rather than overhead wires (the car reaches 35 mph and the inventor says it could hit 70 mph–an interesting idea when sharing the street with horses and autos)… A clothing sale… And how about a trip south for a stay at the Del Coronado? Note the Japanese influence: An art show and Yamato’s Bazaar.

 

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Location sleuth

 

 

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Photograph by Larry Harnisch / Los Angeles Times

I set out for Bukowski Square to check on Craby Joe’s (more about that later) and discovered Main Street was blocked for filming. Coming to a theater near you will be this scene from a film set in Indianapolis. The record will show that it was filmed using the Farmers and Merchants Bank at 4th Street and Main on Jan. 12, 2008.

Ps. I know I have some readers who are in law enforcement. Anybody care
to critique the way this intersection has been secured? I realize it’s
Hollywood, but….

 

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A map of the 1997 North Hollywood shootout. Note the difference.

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Here’s shootout site on Laurel Canyon from Google Earth.

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LAPD HQ

 

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Photograph by Larry Harnisch / Los Angeles Times

 

This is a detail of the slabs being installed on the new Los Angeles Police Department headquarters on Spring Street. I hope, I’m wrong but the idea of a big downtown building that looks like this isn’t terribly appealing.

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110 revisited

 

 

2008_0104_ramp
 Photograph by Larry Harnisch / The Los Angeles Times

And what have we here? It looks like there’s an abandoned freeway ramp behind this chain-link fence. Hm. Wouldn’t it be fun to get a closer look? Stay tuned.

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Carl Karcher

Jan. 11, 1968
Anaheim

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Whites only

Jan. 12, 1958

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Jan. 12, 1958

 

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Streetcar holdup

Jan. 12, 1908
Los Angeles

Streetcars robberies, although not everyday occurrences, were a regular risk 100 years ago on our sainted mass-transit system. In this instance, a passenger grabbed the bandit as he was holding two guns to the conductor’s head and the fare collector killed him. I love reading these old papers; most people have no idea just how wild Los Angeles was.

 

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Jan. 12, 1908

A feud between millionaire James Irvine and his neighbors involving access to land ends up in court … a dispute over the harbor… political influence and graft … and a man recovering at home from brain surgery to remove a bullet.

 

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Matt Weinstock

Jan. 11, 1958

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This is to report that progress has whacked away another footnote in
the American credo, this time the Tom Sawyer-Huck Finn division.

Ralph Hopkins, who spends his weekends fixing up his desert hideaway,
tried to buy some plain old whitewash all over Antelope Valley, with
discouraging reactions.

When he asked for 10 pounds of it in one store, the young clerk looked
at him blankly, as if he were a doddering old fool speaking poor
English, and said, "You mean white paint!" Ralph said, "No, whitewash,"
but he didn’t get through.

IN ANOTHER PLACE the
clerk, aged about 30, had heard of the stuff, then cagily asked what he
wanted it for. To lighten the inside of a 20×20 barn, replied Ralph.
Oh," said the clerk, "then what you really want is Goosefuddles
Synthetic Wonder Paint." Among other things, it injected vitamins into
the wood by osmosis, smelled of heliotrope and, according to the
clerk’s mathematics, would cost him only $52.40 plus tax for his barn.

In the next couple of places, Ralph changed his tactics. He asked for
calcimine, a mistake. The clerks recoiled as if he’d said a bad world.

Finally there was the old-timer who admitted he didn’t stock whitewash
anymore and suggested substitutes. At length, Ralph wheedled him into
selling a sack of lime which he slaked in an old keg. For $1.25 made
enough whitewash to administer several coats–without any aid
whatsoever from the world of synthetics, but with considerable sadness.

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AS PRESIDENT
of Chaos Unltd., I feel it is my duty to add what confusion I can to that which already exists.

Now and then at breakfast the pre-teenager in my keeping advises me of
her dream during the night. Usually she is being pursued by a witch or
a dragon or the villain in a horror movie. The other day she came up
with something more original.

"We all went downtown and there was this submarine base," she began.
[She didn’t know exactly where, except it was next door to a large dime
store].

"We tried to get aboard but the man said we had to wait two years. So
we waited. Finally we got in and the submarine flew to Santa Monica,
where it landed in the water, which was full of big fish."

Now this makes sense to me in a prophetic symbolic way. I’ve been
wondering what those deep excavations downtown were for. A submarine
base, of course. And that two-year wait–well, the parking lot
situation is critical. As for a submarine that can fly like a guided
missile, maybe that’s what this country needs–more imagination.

Meanwhile, no more lobster bisque for Jane for dinner.

ARMCHAIR sailors
everywhere will appreciate a classic incident reported by the
Manchester Guardian in reviewing the recent disbanding of the royal
naval volunteer reserve, known as the "wavy navy."

One time during WWII a corvette in mid-Atlantic plaintively requested a
sister ship to indicate its approximate position. Came the radio reply,
"Sorry, I’m a stranger here myself."

AS A BARTENDER,
Joseph Gianguili of Pacoima is always bugged by the saloon scene in
westerns in which the grim stranger buys a drink, fishes a coin out of
his vest pocket and tosses it on the bar. What bugs Joe is that he
never gets any change, whether it’s for a shot of red-eye or he’s
setting up the house. Furthermore, he never looks to see if it’s a
quarter or a $20 gold piece.

Maybe this is the reason for so many high-budget westerns.

FOOTNOTES–Leo
Shaw asks, "Have you noticed the falsies on the bumpers of the 1958
Cadillacs?" … Had your redundancy today? Doris Hellman asks how about
the license plate slogan, "Colorful Colorado"? … James Reardon, blind
multiple sclerosis victim, will be buried in Valhalla Cemetery after a
funeral service at Jones & Hamrock, 731 W. Washington Blvd., at 1
p.m. today. Friends will contribute the costs.

   
   

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Landlord slain

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Jan. 11-12, 1958

Los Angeles

So it’s right before Christmas, Dec. 7,
and our guy is a week late with the rent. Not working, no money. The
landlord comes around; he’s a machinist at Douglas who owns these four
apartments in Hawthorne.

They fight. Our guy stabs the landlord in the back of the neck with a hunting knife.

Wraps the body in a blanket, puts it in the trunk of the landlord’s car and heads for Riverside. Car breaks down near Mt. Rubidoux.

So…. He calls a friend, says come get me. The friend tows the car back to L.A., 11400 Felton Ave.
Our guy rents a car, puts the landlord in the trunk–remember it’s been
a couple days by now–and goes out to Lytle Creek, eight miles out of
San Bernardino. Up a dirt road for a mile and then up a firebreak trail
half a mile. Digs a grave and buries him.

It’s nine days later and the landlord’s cousin reports him missing.
Police investigate, find our guy driving the landlord’s car. Says the
landlord loaned it to him, doesn’t know where he is.

This is January now. They take him in on a GTA and start questioning
him. He’s got a record back to ’49: Forgery, burglary and mail theft.
Been in McNeil Island and the County Jail. But he doesn’t know anything about the landlord.

They get the wife to tell them he did it. "Buried him out in the
woods." So…. They keep working on him. Put him on the polygraph.
Doesn’t know anything about the landlord, just borrowed the car.

Finally, he cracks. Says the landlord was after his wife. He came over
to the apartment. They fought. The landlord got a hunting knife off a
shelf. He dropped it. Our guy picked it up and stabbed him.

Hertel and Rambeau * take him back out there with Al Edsel from the
Sheriff’s Department. Dark … late at night. Just a couple of
flashlights and the spots on the cars. They find the grave under heavy
brush and dig him up.

Our guy tells the papers: "I’m glad it’s all over with…. I haven’t really slept since it happened."

The Times never followed up on this story. According to California
death records, Harold Kelly Middlekauff died May 5, 1980, at the age of
58. There’s no listing for his wife, Eleanor. Beryl Creech, the
landlord, was 44.

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* Police Capt Arthur Hertel and Lt. Earl Rambeau.

 

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LAPD HQ

 

2008_0110_lapdhq
 Photograph by Larry Harnisch / Los Angeles Times

I saw the drab concrete facade being installed on the LAPD’s new headquarters yesterday and thought: "East Germany, 1962." This promises to be an interesting contrast to what Nathan Marsak calls "The Borg Cube," otherwise known as the Caltrans Building.

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Jan. 11, 1958

 

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Jan. 11, 1908

Men’s clothing… women’s shoes… Herbert Witherspoon sings… and the Friars Club holds a meeting…

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