As envisioned, 1957
As built, below, looking north from Slauson
As used, below, looking north from Slauson, April 22, 2007
The Harbor Freeway, below, looking south from 42nd Street, 1957. Note there are no center guardrails.
The Harbor Freeway, below, looking south from 42nd Street, April 22, 2007
April
25, 1957
Los Angeles
Charles S.
Howard and his estranged wife, Rowena, have declared a truce in their war over
two shotguns as they divide their property in a separate maintenance agreement.
Howard had already agreed to give his wife a $150,000 home at
133
S. Mapleton Drive in the Holmby Hills ($1,074,792.57 USD 2006) and payments
of $1,900 a month. However, he complained that she kept a portrait of his father, a wealthy Buick
dealer and racehorse owner; a bronze statuette of the family’s prized horse
Seabiscuit; a cashmere topcoat; a red bathrobe; and a 12-gauge Belgian shotgun.
His
wife countered by saying that he had failed to turn over her .410 shotgun, which
he had given her as a present years ago.
Judge Joseph W. Vickers called a recess in proceedings so the couple and their
lawyers could talk. At the end, the Howards agreed to return each other’s
shotguns.
Charles S. Howard Jr. married his third wife, Louise, in Reno, Nev., May 27,
1958. He died in June 1966 at the age of 63.
Seabiscuit died May 18, 1947, at the age of 14.
Note: Ulrich K. Quast, an auto salesman who took L. Ewing Scott and his wife, Evelyn, for a test drive along Mulholland in 1955, was probably the last person who saw her alive aside from her killer. As far as he was concerned, it was an ordinary sales call.
Page 1, "Give us your full name
"
Page 2 "May 12, 1955"
Page 3, "What time did you arrive there?"
Page 4, "We went for a ride."
Page 5, "First, I drove the car."
Page 6, "They were both around."
Page 7, "The phone was disconnected."
Page 8, "He was very considerate as far as his wife was concerned."
Page 9, "No disagreement whatsoever."
Page 10, "He only referred to her as being ill."
I’d like to extend a special thanks to Sandi Gibbons of the Los Angeles County district attorney’s office for granting me access to the Scott material.
April 24, 1957
Los Angeles
Note: Bylined stories were rare in the 1940s and 1950s. Here’s the handiwork of Jack Smith, doing rewrite on a celebrity brawl involving Yma Sumac and Fred Otash, former police officer, private detective and one of James Ellroy’s inspirations.
By Jack Smith
Singer Yma Sumac’s home yesterday was the scene of the champion brawl in fighting Hollywood’s history–featuring the Peruvian beauty herself, her estranged husband, two hot-blooded Inca dancers, three private detectives, a male Peruvian harpist and a collie dog named Prince.
The head-thumping, hair-pulling Donnybrook took place in the entry hall of the Cheviot Hills home as the tension in the Sumac household finally snapped into a shrieking extravaganza with sound effects in two languages, not to mention the barking of the dog.
The spark that touched off the swirling free-for-all was the strained relationship between the exotic songbird from the Andes and her high-strung Peruvian husband, Moises Vivanco, 38, whom she sued for divorce only a week ago.
The luxurious house shook from the piercing screams from Miss Sumac’s celebrated five-octave voice as clothes ripped, flesh and bone struck flesh, blood flowed and at least one 220-pound private detective hit the deck under a tangle of assorted Peruvians.
Flashbulbs and television lights bathed the colossal action in an eerie glare and photographers and reporters scrambled to the walls for points of vantage as the struggle unfolded before them like the climax of a high-budget Western.
Miss Sumac herself was credited with one of the most telling strokes of the con [text missing here–lrh]
after Miss Sumac and [private detective Fred] Otash, accompanied by one
of Otash’s operators, Norman Placey, 37, drove up to her home at 3065
McConnell Drive in Otash’s blue Cadillac.
Miss Sumac was wearing a long fur coat and her almond-shaped eyes with
their arched eyebrows were hidden behind the dark glasses.
She
went there with Otash, explaining that she wanted to pick up some of her her personal things and also to look for her 1957 Cadillac Fleetwood, which she said Vivanco had hidden from her.
Vivanco opened the door and beckoned to eight newsmen waiting outside.
“Please come in,” he invited. “I want you to see this.”
Miss Sumac swept regally through the large living room and into the den. There she found Farfan playing the alpa, an ancient Incan harp that stands on three legs.
Miss [Esmila] Zevallos was singing.
Farfan had arrived from Peru only yesterday morning, just in time for the festivities. He speaks no English, which turned out to be of little disadvantage in the events to follow.
Miss Sumac began questioning Zevallos about the night before–a preliminary skirmish in which, Vivanco charged, he was strong-armed and threatened with a gun by two of Otash’s detectives.
Miss Sumac asked Miss Zevallos if she had seen the gun. Otash has said his men carried none. Miss Zevallos said she saw it.
Miss Sumac, said witnesses, slapped her.
Miss Zevallos called Miss Sumac a “bad woman” and the battle was engaged.
“I have work for you like a servant,” cried Miss Zevallos. “Me and your
cousin, Yola. You’re going to throw me and your cousin out. I work for
you. I washed your…your… your many things. You are bad woman!”
Otash glided in from the living room, sensing trouble, to help keep the peace.
Farfan leaped up from his harp and helped Otash–for the time being.
The action subsided temporarily.
Peace was restored. Miss Sumac and Vivanco stood at the front door to pose for pictures.
“She knows how to pose,” he said gallantly. “She has many years of practicing.”
“Yes,” said Miss Sumac, smiling. “He taught me.”
Those were the last pleasant words spoken.
Vivanco spotted Otash and brought up the incident of the night before and the gun.
Otash said his man didn’t have a gun.
“If you say he didn’t have a gun,” cried Vivanco, his temper rising,”you are a big, fat liar!”
He exploded into Spanish and struggled back into English.
“You get out of this house!” he roared.
At this critical point,Vivanco noticed Private Detective Placey, who was standing mildly against the wall.
“There is the man,” he accused, “who had the gun!”
Vivanco lunged for Placey.
Another private detective, Bill Lowe, who had been staked out across the street, looking for the missing car, slipped up behind the irate Peruvian and grabbed his arms.
Otash moved in to separate the men.
Miss Rivero grabbed Otash from behind–by the hair–and yanked downward.
Otash backed against the wall, squirming to get free from the determined Inca woman.
Miss Sumac grabbed at Vivanco. Miss Zevallos danced onto the scene and grabbed Miss Sumac.
Miss Sumac’s dark glasses flew to the floor. Somebody tramped on them.
Prince, the collie, loped into the ring, threading among the struggling legs, tossing his head and barking joyously.
Miss Sumac flipped a smart backhand across Miss Zevallos’ mouth.
Farfan slithered in from the den, still speaking no English. He flung
his medium-sized figure at the bull-like Otash, trying to shove him
through the door.
Vivanco fell into a wrought iron planter.
Then, suddenly, the storm subsided.
Hair was patted and stroked back into place by the panting gladiators.
Yanked clothing was rearranged. Otash hunted on the floor for a missing
coat button. Miss Rivero dabbed at blood from a gash on the back of her
neck and assorted scratches on her arms.
But tempers still were on edge.
Miss Sumac slipped her mink coat down over her left shoulder and displayed a bruise the size of a dollar.
“How did I get this mark,” she demanded of Miss Rivero.
Haltingly, Miss Rivero recounted an incident of Thursday night, the import of which was that Vivanco had inflicted the bruise.
Vivanco smiled scornfully.
“This is your lover’s marking,” he said.
About this time, a district attorney’s car hove up on the curved driveway and three investigators spilled out.
In a few moments Sgt. V.A. Peterson and Det. Merle Pagh, who had investigated the incident of the night before, joined the show.
They had hardly taken charge before a patrol car raced up–somewhat
belatedly–in response to an alarm that a brawl was going on.
In the resulting powwow today’s meeting in Santa Monica was scheduled.
Otash later gave a stirring version of his own involvement, with comic overtones.
“This Vivanco grabbed my arm and his buddy grabbed my coat. Vivanco
took a couple of shots at me with his fists. I was afraid to hit him
back. I was afraid he’d go into another world.
“Then one of the maids jumped in and started pulling my hair. The other maid came up behind me and grabbed me by the coat.
“One minute I’m up–the next I’m down.
“They were pulling me and pushing me. I was spread-eagled. I couldn’t
hit anybody. The whole pack of them wouldn’t weigh in at more than 225
pounds.
“Miss Sumac let one of the maids have it in the mouth–backhand. I told
her to be quiet and take it easy. Boy, it was a ball there for a while!”
The
Monday night affair that roughened tempers for the main event of
yesterday began when Miss Sumac called at the house to pick up some
things. She was accompanied by two Otash operators, Placey and Henry P.
Cohen. Also with her was her son by Vivanco, Charles, 8.
Vivanco said he tried to talk to the boy and the two detectives
manhandled him and threatened to shoot him, one of them drawing an
automatic. He later signed a complaint against the two men charging
assault with intent to commit great bodily harm.
Otash scoffed at the charge, insisting “none of my men have a gun
permit and none of them even own a gun.” Police who were called to the
house Monday night said they searched the two private detectives and
their car and found no weapon.
Miss Sumac left her son without bothering to pick up any of her
belongings but the detectives did accomplish something. They served
Vivanco a Santa Monica Superior Court order to show cause why Miss
Sumac should not retain custody of the boy, and a second paper
advancing the hearing into the matter next Friday.
Troubles between Miss
Sumac and Vivanco, who has been her musical director for years, began
when he lost a paternity suit filed by her former secretary, Maureen
Shea, 24.
Miss Shea charged that Vivanco was the father of twin girls born to her
in 1954 as the result of a backstage romance carried on while Miss
Sumac and her troupe were on tour. Her claim was upheld here in
Superior Court last January after a three-week trial.
Otash said yesterday that he will demand his detectives and Vivanco take lie detector tests
to determine the truth of their stories on Monday’s incident.
“I told Vivanco he’s going to get in trouble for making false crime reports,” the detective said.
Before the situation boiled over into violence yesterday, Vivanco talked reminiscently of his long career with Miss Sumac, which he described as a Pygmalion and Galatea relationship.
“Yma was nothing–musically and artistically,” he told reporters. “I made her. Like you make an image from clay–a puppet.”
Miss Sumac was born 35 years ago in the Andean village of Ichocan. She was given her professional name by Vivanco. It is the name of a legendary daughter of an Inca ruler. Miss Sumac’s voice, which is said to range over five octaves, has electrified audiences the world over.
April
23, 1957
Los Angeles
"It’s
like a bad dream," he said. "You keep thinking you’ll awaken and find it’s a bad
dream."
Edward Simon Wein, given five death sentences under California’s "Little
Lindbergh Law" for a series of kidnappings and rapes, said: "I was convicted
before I ever came to trial. The papers said all kinds of bad things about me.
They called me all kinds of bad names, including ‘beast.’ There was so much
prejudice I was convicted."
The 32-year-old painting contractor was identified by seven women, but he said
they were all wrong. "They were mistaken–honestly, the first time," he said.
"But then they couldn’t change their minds."
"A half-hour after I was arrested, a Hollywood detective said they were going to
make a [Caryl] Chessman out of me. The prosecutor in my case is the one who
prosecuted Chessman. I had the same charges pressed against me as Chessman and
the verdict was the same."
Of California’s death penalty, Wein said: "I don’t think it’s human. It’s
something more or less out of the Middle Ages."
According to police, Wein, who lived at
418
S. Hamel Road, answered classified ads placed by women. He told them he
would have to check with his wife about whatever was being sold, then pretended
to have lost the stem from his watch. He gained control over his victims when
they stooped down to look for the missing watch stem and threatened to kill them
if they made any noise.
The attacks occurred over 18 months in Alhambra, Hollywood, South-Central,
Burbank and elsewhere in the San Fernando Valley. He was arrested by a private
officer at a Long Beach cocktail party after one of the victims said she
recognized Wein when he stepped on her foot. She said: "I’d never forget what he
looked like."
Wein was prosecuted by Deputy Dist. Atty. J. Miller Leavy, a formidable lawyer
who handled the Chessman, Barbara Graham and L. Ewing Scott cases. When
Wein said he’d never in his life answered a classified ad, Leavy produced
Shirley Tierstein, who identified a check Wein wrote to her for an electric
stove. Tierstein said Wein came into her home at
753
S. Mariposa in Burbank, but fled when her son Kenneth, who
was sick and home from school, called out to her.
The prosecution also introduced partial
fingerprints matching Wein’s taken from a glass that he allegedly used to drink
water at one victim’s home.
Wein was sentenced to death. His Dec. 5, 1958, execution was upheld by the state
Supreme Court and the U.S. Supreme Court rejected his appeal. However, the state
high court granted a delay pending a second appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court.
The mother of one of his victims, who was 14 at the time she was raped, wrote to
The Times in 1959: "What is wrong with the course of justice? … To think of the
possibility of such a man getting back on the streets again, free to come into
homes again to rape, rob or kill!!"
The U.S. Supreme Court denied his second appeal, which claimed inadequate
counsel. But in June 1959, Gov. Pat Brown agreed to grant Wein a clemency
hearing. Brown reduced Wein’s sentence to life in prison "without the
possibility of parole" because the kidnapping was technical–he only moved the
victims within their homes.
"I feel that only where there is kidnapping in the true sense of the word, with
bodily harm, should the death penalty be involved," Brown said.
In 1966, Brown further reduced Wein’s sentence, making him eligible for parole
and on Sept. 16, 1974, after 17 years on death row, Edward Simon Wein was a free
man.
Then on Aug. 8, 1975, the strangled body of Dorothy George, 52, was
found in the bathtub of her home at
5935
Abernathy Drive in Westchester after she placed an ad for a recliner on a
supermarket bulletin board. On Sept. 5, a woman living in Palms who had posted items for sale on
a supermarket bulletin board was raped by a man who claimed he had lost the stem
of his watch. He began filling her bathtub with water but fled when a neighbor
slammed a door.
Over lunch a few days later, Venice Division detectives were discussing the
cases with retired investigator Robert S. Wright, who recalled the series of
"watch stem" rapes from 1956. After learning that Wein had been paroled, they
arrested him and charged him with murder.
Several of his earlier victims testified during his 1976 murder trial. A
63-year-old woman said that on Dec. 15, 1955, Wein came to her Crenshaw district
home to look at a fur stole and dining room set that she was selling. He choked
her "so long and so hard it ruptured the blood vessels in my eyes," she said.
A 54-year-old woman testified that on March 12, 1956, Wein locked her 5-year-old
son in a closet at her Encino home before raping her after she advertised a
mattress and box springs for sale.
The testimony of a woman who was a 19-year-old concert pianist when she was
raped May 11, 1956, was read into the record because "her physical and mental
condition is still so fragile that she cannot testify in person," The Times
said.
In June 1976, Edward Simon Wein, the "watch stem rapist," was convicted of rape
and murder and sentenced to prison.
As he said in 1957: "It’s like a bad dream. You keep thinking you’ll awaken and
find it’s a bad dream."
April 22, 1957
Los Angeles
Latin Holiday
by Pepe Arciga
Lew Irwin, news director, KPOL, generously switches on his mike, bows and says:
"Listeners telephoned to call my attention to your article concerning my
unfortunate identification of the race of two of the Club Mecca firebombing
suspects as ‘Mexican American.’ I can only blame thoughtlessness and
carelessness on my part…. I offer my profoundest apologies to the Mexican
American audience of KPOL."
Off the record, senor Irwin, we who handle news sometimes slip inadvertently,
no? Mexican Americans, I’m sure, will accept your noble apology most graciously.
Now back to KPOL’s excellent Cloud Nine. Signed Pepe.
Justin McCarthy, 816 W. Olympic, L.A. Newspaper Guild, takes off his printer’s
devil apron and makes up a front page that reads like this:
"Being an old copy desk man and a Catholic I noticed one of your recent columns
which mentions the Virgin of Guadalupe as being a ‘Catholic’ deity…. I’ll bet
it spoiled the archbishop’s dinner."
Well, Don Justino, it’s hard to say if dinner was spoiled at all. His eminence
the archbishop has already forgotten, mebbe, Pepe’s slip. Signed, Pepe.
Jack Natteford, dahlia specialist, 12935 Saticoy, North Hollywood, waters his
rosebushes, turns around and bouquets Pepe
asi.
"Que tal? I consider you an ambassador
between two different cultures striving for same freedoms… (Mexico’s) idea of
religious sanctuary, carried into the political field, has drawn many of our
leading Reds to Mexican residence around Cuernavaca…. They wound up unable to
win power in the local parent-teacher association. Ha!"
Fascinating as the place is, my fran Jack, Cuernavaca is also home for the
gosh-darndest assortment of human birds you ever saw around its lovely plazas.
Including Red birds. Signed, Pepe.
Note: I can’t find Arciga’s original article referring to the Club Mecca firebombing so I’m not sure what he’s talking about. Two of the suspects were named Manuel Joseph Hernandez, 18, and Manuel Joseph Chavez, 25. Further research is clearly required.
Paul V. Coates
Confidential File
April 22, 1957
SUBJECT’S NAME: Stella Catherine Meyer.
SUBJECT’S DESCRIPTION: Age, 36. Height, 5ft., 1 in. Weight, 140 lbs. Black hair.
hazel eyes. Stocky build.
The county sheriff’s office reports that Mrs. Meyer left her home at 12118
Highdale St., Norwalk, on an errand on May 6, 1956, shortly after noon. She has
not been seen since.
I visited Roy Meyer this week. He is the subject’s husband. They had been
married for 13 years.
He told me about a little incident which happened not too long before his wife
disappeared.
"We–she and I–left the kids with some relatives to spend a few quiet days
vacationing by ourselves. As we drove out of Los Angeles, she kept asking me if
I thought the kids would be all right without her.
"I said sure, but before 24 hours had passed she talked me into turning around
and going back for the kids. That’s how strongly she loved them."
Mr. Meyer admits that a bit of friction had built up between himself and his
wife before she disappeared. But she couldn’t, he says, stand the pain of not
seeing her children.
"She needed them," he says. "Just like they need her."
All five of them.
There are John, 19, Frankie, 17, and Suzanne, 15–all Stella Meyer’s children by
her first marriage.
And there are Bobby, 13, and Jacqueline, the "baby" at 10.
It has been 50 weeks since she’s seen them.
"It was a Sunday," Mr. Meyer recalls, "and I was painting the bedroom."
"Stella called her brother and asked him if he had a paint roller. he did, so she
said she’d go over and pick it up and come back and help me.
"She said, ‘You should be through with the high parts by then, and I can do the
low parts without getting in your way.’
"She took Jackie with her–just like always.
"But after a couple hours she hadn’t returned, so I called her brother. He lives
about a mile and a half away.
"And you know what he said?"
"He said she only stayed a few minutes. And she left Jackie to play with her
cousins, saying she’d pick her up later–when she brought the paint roller
back."
That was the last time anyone saw Stella Meyer.
But someone heard from her the next day.
It was a friend who lived across the street.
Stella, the friend said, sounded like she’d been crying. "I’m afraid," she spoke
over the phone. But she didn’t say afraid of what.
Never in 13 years of married life had Stella Meyer left home before. Her husband
is a mild-mannered man and it’s unlikely that she was afraid of him.
The next day police found Mrs. Meyer’s car. It was parked on Rosecrans Boulevard
near the Santa Ana Freeway. The key was in the ignition and the paint roller was
on the back seat.
Sheriff’s deputies talked to neighbors.
They learned that Mrs. Meyer had been quite nervous for a few months.
"She never seemed to be listening when you talked to her," one neighbor said.
Another woman, one of her closest friends, said: "If she was nervous and tired,
she might have run off–but she’d never stay away for as long as she has if she
was all right."
In the year she’s been away, Mr. Meyer has done his best to devote the proper
time to his family.
"I guess that I personally have made the adjustment," he says, "but with the
kids, it’s something else.
"It’s rough on any youngster to know he doesn’t have a mother.
"But I’d say it’s rougher when a kid thinks he’s got a mother but doesn’t know
where.
"Of even if she’s dead or alive."
UNEXPECTED THRILL–Romping in the snow was a surprising Easter treat for youngsters in the 4500 block of Yellowstone Street yesterday when a white blanket fell–not in the foothills–but just 1 1/2 miles from General Hospital. Enjoying a rare toboggan ride is Karen Louise Block, 6, with others waiting their turn.
April
22, 1957
Las Vegas
Nils
T. Granlund, 1950s TV personality and master of ceremonies at Hollywood’s
Florentine Gardens through most of the 1940s, was killed in a car accident on
the Las Vegas Strip, ending a flamboyant career described in the 1957 book
"Blondes, Brunettes and Bullets."
The man nicknamed "Granny" and
"N.T.G." was taking a cab from the Riviera Hotel and died after the taxi was
hit by a driver who refused a blood-alcohol test, The Times said. Granlund was 57.
His casket was covered with flowers and a ribbon that said "To Granny From the Girls," a tribute to a man responsible for the careers of Jean Wallace, Lili St. Cyr and especially Yvonne De Carlo, who claimed his body and arranged
the funeral at Forest Lawn Memorial-Park in the Hollywood Hills
Here’s an interview I did years ago with the late studio publicist Bob Rains
about N.T.G.
In 1946, International Pictures, that I had started with, released a movie called “Tomorrow Is Forever,” which starred Orson Welles, George Brent, Claudette
Colbert, Natalie Wood, and a young kid called Richard
Long.
NTG in those days had a radio show on the Mutual Network, KHJ, and somebody called the studio and said they’d love to do an interview with him because he had a great story about the way he was
discovered.
He lived in the Valley and was a student at Hollywood High School, and he was hitchhiking from the Valley to
Hollywood High.
And one day he was picked up by a man by the name of Jack
Merton, who was a casting director for International Pictures. And they got to
talking. He says, “What are you doing?” and he says “I want to be an actor.” He
says “Great, call me some day, we may have something for you.”
Richard never called. About
three or four months later, it was pouring rain, Merton picks up the same kid,
it’s Richard Long. He says, “Call me!” He called him and that’s how Dick Long
got started with International Pictures when I was there. This was in 1946.
Anyway, the picture’s coming out and NTG heard about it. He called the studio, and wanted to interview Dick on his radio show on KHJ. I think it was the whole network then.
We said fine. I was then
involved in that. And he said well I’d like to meet him beforehand. In those days, 1946, it was live. I said fine, so we set up a meeting at NTG’s house on
Fountain Avenue [Note: It was really Franklin–lrh]. It was east of Vine Street, a great big place. And we were
supposed to be there at a certain
time.
We got there a few minutes early and rang the door bell, and a very voluptuous, beautiful young
lady opened the door. We introduced ourselves and she said “NTG isn’t here
right now; come in and
wait.”
So
we went in. And I don’t remember—we didn’t drink; we had some soft drinks or
something—and we waited for about half an hour.
During this time, one after
another after another of the most beautiful young ladies walked through the
room we were waiting in. All introduced themselves, all said they were his
secretary.
Finally NTG comes and we do a
nice interview, preliminary and all that. Somehow he says, “Do you want to see
the house?”
I said yes, so we have a tour
of the house. And we walk in one room, there is this immense bed. I don’t
recall the size, maybe 10 by 20, it was the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, twice
the size of a king size.
And I said to him, “How come
you got this big bed?”
He said, “Well we all live
here.”
I said,
“who?”
He said, “My secretaries; we
all live here.”
I says, “Well do you all sleep
together?”
And
he says yes!
And we went on a few days
later on KHJ, which used to be on Melrose, and Dick did the
interview.
It was an amazing… man with a
great appetite. But imagine … four, five, six of them of the most beautiful
broads you’ve ever seen … sleeping in the one bed. And every time they came
through the room, … I’m so and so, glad you’re here. Period. It was quite the
experience.
Note: Muzzy
Marcellino, former bandleader at the Florentine Gardens, used to joke
that N.T.G. stood for "Not Too Good."
Email
me
April 21, 1957
Los Angeles
I think about his hands. I don’t know, but I would imagine that at the age of 78,
they were old and worn from a lifetime of custodial work for Los Angeles County.
Gnarled, maybe, with age spots. I like to think you can tell more about
some people by their hands than by their face. This is mostly guesswork, but I
wonder what story his hands would tell.
Were his nails all ragged or did
he keep them neat and smooth? Were his fingers short and stubby or long and
thin? Did he have a wedding ring or was he one of those men who didn’t wear one
for fear it would get caught in the machinery he used?
We just don’t know.
He would have been born about 1879, and I picture him in school holding a pencil
and figuring sums. We know he could read and write because of his last note.
It’s fairly certain his hands gripped the reins of a horse and buggy; maybe he
held the steering wheel of an automobile, or maybe he took the streetcar. I
think of him as a young man in his 20s, filling out a job application. At that
time, many county jobs were gotten through political patronage, but that’s just
a guess.
At
some point in the next 28 years, he met a woman named Adelaide Houston, who was
15 years younger. I have no how they met, but I picture him holding her
hand and putting a wedding ring on her finger.
Then I picture his hands holding his son, Roger, who was born about 1928.
Maybe he pitched a ball to his son and hugged him when he graduated from high
school.
All along, those hands picking up a mop bucket and pushing a broom for the
county. Washing windows and scraping gum off the floor. Shaking hands when he
retired.
And then opening the door to the doctor’s office for him and Adelaide.
Comforting her when the doctor told them she had cancer, just like him.
Those worn hands, opening his wallet to get for medicine at the drugstore, and
paying the rent for the apartment at
834
N. Huntley Drive in West Hollywood.
The
hands, which figured sums in school so long ago, writing a three-page letter to
Roger, sealing it in an envelope and leaving it on the coffee table.
Then dialing the telephone to the hotel in Hollywood where Roger worked the
graveyard shift while going to law school at USC. There was a letter on the
coffee table, be sure to mail it, he said.
Finally, the old, worn hands picking the gun as he walked into the bedroom where
Adelaide was sleeping.
When Roger came home that morning, he found his parents’ bodies on the bedroom
floor.
The note said: "If we continue spending our money to keep ourselves alive, there
won’t be anything left for you to go to law school."
Note:
The
State Bar of California does not list an attorney named Roger M. Vivian.
April
21, 1957
Los Angeles
Although
Easter has passed in 2007, it has just arrived in 1957. One way Los Angeles
marked Easter weekend was by arranging the lights in City Hall so that they
formed a cross. I’ll apologize in advance for the poor quality of the pictures,
but take a look, because we are not likely to see this again.
The first example is from 1930, two years after City Hall opened. The practice
continued at Easter and Christmas for more than 40 years. (Below, Easter 1957 and Christmas 1962).
In 1959, Mrs. Gordon L. Mann (remember, this is the era when married women had
no first names) wrote a letter to The Times, invoking the Founding Fathers and a
Christian nation in protesting plans to keep City Hall’s windows dark
because of construction work. Her argument prompted a rebuttal from John R. Goy
on religious freedom.
Then,
in digging through the clips, I encountered the incomparable Jack Smith.
In 1971, he wrote about the annual press release announcing that the Board of Public
Works would present the cross in lights on three sides of City Hall. And yes,
I’m quoting an official City of Los Angeles press release:
"In a world of war and unease, among people who pray and plead for
peace, there will shine again this Eastertime the lighted Cross atop the
three sides of City Hall as a herald of the day when died a man who was born to
bring peace to the world….
"He died on a wooden cross he had carried himself up the hill of the
skull–called Golgotha–and none was to help him save Simon as he stumbled and
fell under his heavy burden. And they crucified him, the soldiers of Rome….
"Therefore, to illumine the story of his death and the lasting lessons learned
from his life, the Board of Public Works, on a directive from Mayor Sam Yorty,
today ordered the lighting of huge crosses on the high faces of City Hall
… to mark the advent of Easter and to bring a brightness into the hearts
of men troubled by the times….
"And as he was outstretched and pinioned to the cross to form a living crucifix,
so will the outflung arms of the lighted cross high above the city’s strife
serve as a sign of the universal appeal of the words he spoke in forgiveness of
his enemies and of the love he bespoke for all mankind….
"And the lights burning bright on City Hall will grow dim and flicker and die as
Easter morn again comes gently to the city with the message his believers form
gratefully with their lips and repeat in their hearts as has been their wont for
2,000 years: He is risen."
Now
that’s quite an official press release and it’s probably not something we would
expect to see today.
But of course being Jack Smith, he’s got a twist. And I’ll get to that in a
minute.
In 1976, Judge Norman R. Dowds barred the display in a preliminary injunction
sought by S. Dorothy Metzger Fox, who said the cost of the lights was an illegal
use of tax money. In 1977, the state Court of Appeal overturned the ban. The
state Supreme Court took up the case, and in 1978 upheld the ban.
Chief Justice Rose Elizabeth Bird wrote in a separate, concurring opinion:
"It does not take foresight to see that this situation is fraught with dangers
of political divisiveness."
In the dissenting opinion, Justices Frank K. Richardson and William P. Clark
said: "The 30-year practice has passed unchallenged either by the general public
or by any individuals or groups, religious or otherwise….
"The record before us totally fails to demonstrate that the display either
encouraged or inhibited any particular religion in Los Angeles or anywhere
else."
The
decision generated its own dispute and figured in a 1979 investigation as
to whether the high court delayed several controversial decisions until after
the Nov. 7, 1978, elections.
A report by the state Commission on Judicial Performance found that another of
the controversial decisions–overturning the "use a gun, go to prison"
law–could have been returned five months before the elections if Bird had not
decided to write a separate concurring opinion. The sensational investigation
ended in November 1979, when the commission found no wrongdoing by the state
Supreme Court.
And as for the author of the annual Easter press release, David Soibelman, who
emigrated from Russia, spent his retirement writing for The Times, the Santa
Monica Outlook and the Buffalo, N.Y., Jewish Review until his death in 1998 at
the age of 94.
"These Foolish Things," 1959
"Brandenburg Gate," 1959
"Take the ‘A’ Train," 1959
"St. Louis Blues," 1961
"Take Five," 1961
Note the personnel change, Gene Wright replacing Norman Bates on bass
April 20, 1957
Los Angeles
By Matt Weinstock
ONLY IN L.A.–A woman about to board a Metro 91 bus at Hollywood Blvd. and Vine asked, “Do you go on La Brea?” (Some turn on Fairfax). The driver said no.
She asked: “You don’t go on La Brea?”
He said: “No, lady, I don’t.”
She got on, started to put her fare in the box when the driver said firmly: “Lady, I said I didn’t go on La Brea!”
She deposited her fare and said pleasantly: “Oh, that’s all right–I didn’t want to go there.”
Which is one reason bus drivers acquire that harried look.
April 19, 1957
Los Angeles
It seems incredible, but The Times never ran an obituary on Charles E. Fuller, who helped found Fuller Theological Seminary and was one of the pioneers of radio evangelism.
Broadcasting live from the Long Beach Municipal Auditorium, and later in recordings made at a Hollywood studio, Fuller was on the radio for 43 years, until his death in 1968, preaching "salvation, personal conversion and the life hereafter," The Times said.
He was born in downtown Los Angeles, and his father, Henry, ran a furniture store. The Fullers moved to Redlands, where the family planted the first Valencia orange in 1886, The Times said. He graduated from Pomona College in 1910 and turned to religion in the 1920s after working as a manager at a citrus firm.
Fuller began his broadcasts in 1925 when he was at the Calvary Church in Placentia, with coast-to-coast transmission beginning in 1949.
The broadcasts featured Rudy Atwood, sometimes called the dean of gospel pianists, and the choir, male quartets and male and female soloists, with listeners' letters read by Fuller's wife, Grace.
"Its appeal is the universal appeal of the Scriptures," Fuller said of the broadcasts. "I preach a simple yet eternal message of the Gospel."
Fuller said he and Harold John Ockenga got the idea of founding a theological seminary after his encounters with other ministers across the United States.
"In traveling about the country, I met evangelists who themselves believed firmly in the Gospel and who were dedicated to their preaching of it. But they did not have the full understanding of theology and were frequently no match in theological debate. And, too, they could not meet with business and professional leaders on an equal footing."
Fuller, who lived at 1180 Oxford Road, San Marino, above, went to his heavenly home on March 19, 1968. The Old-Fashioned Revival Hour ended in October 1969 after 44 years.
"May we stand, please, and sing 'Heavenly Sunshine.' My what a privilege it is to send out this heartwarming, cheering chorus across the nation on 'Heavenly Sunshine.' As you do, sing through the first time, turn around and shake hands with as many people as possible. Glad to see so many here today at the Long Beach Municipal Auditorium. And now all together on 'Heavenly Sunshine.' "
April 19, 1957
Los Angeles
Dear Walter,
We all know that the lease on Ebbets Field expires in 1959. How would you like a nice 78-acre parcel in Flushing Meadows, 12 miles from Midtown Manhattan, for the Dodgers?
Forget this Chavez Ravine nonsense, just a stone's throw from downtown Los Angeles. So what if California has freeways. Wouldn't you rather pay a 25-cent toll for using the bridge or the tunnel? And wouldn't you prefer a 5% amusement tax here in New York rather than nothing out there on the West Coast?
Look, we'll build you a nice, Space Age ballpark. With a dome. A really nice one.
Just keep an open mind, OK?
Sincerely,
Robert Moses,
New York City Park Commissioner
ps. What's this I hear about some outfits called the California Baseball Club and the Dodgers Rookie Baseball Club incorporating in Los Angeles?
April 19, 1957
Los Angeles
Jerry Giesler, one of the most prominent attorneys in Los Angeles, was chosen to lead the war against Confidential magazine during a meeting of the Beverly Hills Bar Assn. at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.
Giesler, who handled the cases of countless celebrities, including Errol Flynn and Lili St. Cyr, bitterly attacked the studios for not protecting their stars but “running to cover” when any of them were accused of wrongdoing.
“They talk a lot, but they do nothing,” Giesler said. “I know. So each individual will have to stand alone. No matter who, no matter how right he or she may be.
“When it’s over, they may get a pat on the back. They are congratulated, and taken back into the fold. But while they’re on the battlefield, they never hear a word.” Continue reading
April
19, 1957
Los Angeles
Your name is Jay. You are 55. You grew up in the San Fernando
Valley–15224 Willard Way in Van Nuys, to be specific.
You were adopted at birth by a couple named Strickland: Jane and her husband,
Edward, a fourth-grade teacher at the Isabelle Buckley School, 4477 Woodman
Ave., in Van Nuys. There were other children in the home: Danny, who would be 61
now; Cynthia, 58; and Celeste, 52.
As far as your foster parents were concerned, you were an exceptionally bright
youngster. "I defy anyone to find a smarter little boy than this one," your
father, Edward, said. "He’s really adopting us," your mother said.
There’s one other thing we know: You were a little harder to place than other
foster children because one of your biological parents was white and the other
was Chinese.
The rest is guesswork, because I can’t seem to find any trace of you. So I’m
left to wonder what it was like for you growing up in the 1950s. Was it the
standard baby boomer childhood with a coonskin cap, a hula hoop and trips to
Disneyland? How was high school? Did you get drafted and go to Vietnam or
have a student deferment? And how about a family?
Maybe someone reading knows the rest of the story. I’d like to know what became
of that bright 5-year-old named Jay.
