Socioeconomic Quarantine

Last night was one of those humid L.A. summer eves that can easily drive you out of your mind and/or drive you out of your house in search of basic hydration. It was so bad I would have settled for anything liquid be it coffee, juice, a cocktail, water…whatever, just to get away from the cucaracha breeding stickiness of my floors and walls and into an air conditioned cool L.A. social setting. Seeing how I live in an area which has no such establishments catering to these needs I stayed home sweating up a thirst beyond reason. Within minutes I began to pace back and forth like a caged beast out of its natural element all the while pondering the reason for this sudden feeling of being under socioeconomic quarantine. In a city such as Los Angeles, why should I have to get in my car and drive 4 miles to the nearest Starbucks for a cup of coffee; 5 miles to browse a real magazine rack; up to 8 miles for a gin and tonic at a bar with a good selection on the jukebox; 9.6 miles to stock up on my favorite Trader Joe’s items; 10 miles to catch a movie in a theatre that shows independent and foreign films; 10 - 15 miles for dinner at a decent sit down restaurant? The answer is simple I live in Boyle Heights -- a neighborhood which has been stripped of all things which make for convenient living. Being a lifer in the area I have been witness to the removal of all major supermarkets over the years. Nowhere in the area will you find a single coffee shop. Gas stations are dwindled down to just a few. Restaurants are pretty much nonexistent. Lounge bars went out with a trigger happy bang in the late 60’s and early 70’s. Even if I did want to take a walk I’d have to do so in the dark seeing how all street lights running the distance of Whittier Blvd. from the eastern tip of the 6th Street Bridge down to Indiana St. have been blackened out by the powers that be. Maybe I’m just being too impatient. Haven’t I heard that Boyle Heights is being targeted as the new “it” location on the city map? Don’t I know that soon will come the hipster diners and cool coffee hangs with bright colored walls and scones scattered with blueberries. Am I not aware of the change to come? The gentrification on the horizon will be met with a bittersweet welcome. On one hand it would be a relief to be in the midst of a community that makes my life easier but on the other I know that none of the pending changes are being made with me or any of the current residents in mind.

Wilshire, what a miracle mile that once was.

One Wilshire Blvd. is located in the financial district of downtown Los Angeles at Grand. If you drove west to its very end you find yourself up against a decision of which way to turn on Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica. A left takes you to Venice Beach and the funky locos on rollerblades; a right heads you to PCH and up the coast as far as you are willing to go. How much more L.A. does this get?

I have always had a fascination with this route, mostly because of it's ability to get you from Point A to Point B, which at one time, felt like a major excursion like the time my friend Val and I made our way to the Santa Monica Civic for a Mink DeVille concert with the help of a Thomas Guide and sheer luck. Hey, we were teens. Now it has become a daily routine for getting to and from work riding Metro's Red Rapid (west) from Boyle Heights, over the 6th Street bridge, smack down the crusty crack of skid row, through downtown, along the Miracle Mile, and finally to the pits of La Brea where I disembark. Normally I tune out with whatever CD I can grab before running out the door or keep my eyes focused on the pages of a book I'm struggling to finish. Today, though, I kept my head up and eyes open studying everything in sight.

People, so many people, some sleeping on the filth of the streets waiting for their morning rations at the homeless shelters, others carrying lunches in recycled plastic supermarket bags heading off to do some form of slave labor in downtown sweatshops, teenaged kids ditching their last day of school headed to the beach -- summer is here, the occasional suited man with a stiff upper lip about to enter his heart attack of a work day, and me...wishing I could join the teens and forget my adult responsibilities...my own 9-5 routine.

Beyond the foot traffic I see the facades of buildings erected during the hey-day of Hollywood. This is the other reason I loved Wilshire Blvd. so much. I still admire the 1929 art deco magnificence of the old Bullock's Wilshire where customers like Mae West and Greta Garbo were catered to by young sales clerks, possibly Angela Lansbury, displaying designer gowns in the loungy woman's department now the site serves as Southwest University's law school.

I cringe to see the hideous strip mall where the famous Brown Derby once stood with the insulting miniature derby perched in the corner as if paying homage to the piece of L.A. history it destroyed. On my left stands the remaining walls of the Ambassador Hotel currently being demolished to make way for Central Los Angeles Learning Center. I wonder if the children attending this new school will be educated in the event which took place on that very land on June 5, 1968 when Democratic presidential candidate Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated before the eyes of BBC reporter Alistair Cooke and football star Rosie Greer tackled the gunman, Sirhan Sirhan.

Luckily the Gaylord, Talmadge and Los Altos apartments have survived the wrecking ball which is more than I can say for Perino's restaurant. In the year and three months since I've been taking this route I witnessed the destruction of Perino's restaurant and the construction of the condos planned with the same name. This was the place where Tyron Power had a booth and at any time you could see Frank Sinatra lift a martini glass in toast to his pack of rats. If I'm not mistaken, a couple of my uncles worked there when they train hopped their way to L.A. from El Paso, TX, so yes, there is a bit of personal history here.

Los Angeles, the city with a short lived history is not very kind to the things and people who helped create it. I can bitch and moan all I want about the changes to the things and places I remember and none of it really matters. It will all be history some day just like the fossils that get regurgitated in the pits of tar right in the heart of Museum Row on the Miracle Mile.

Introduction

It took a recent (and first time) trip to New York City for me come back to Los Angeles feeling as though I need to pay more attention to my hometown. Up until this point my visits to San Francisco made me yearn for living in a true metropolis -- a place where you can walk to just about anywhere and/or utilize a public transit system which makes sense. Even Seattle hit me in that way. But NYC topped them all.

I've always considered myself an observant person. One who appreciates the glory of a lone Victorian home tucked away on a neglected street or someone who still likes to take an occasional ride up the coast to Zuma Beach just to smell the ocean from up close and not have to wait until a fog brings in the scent to Boyle Heights on a summer night. I am also one who likes to peer into the crusty nooks and see what goes on within the shadows. Witness the underbelly of the city not glamorous enough to make it on the cover of a glossy mag or postcard. But lately though, I've found myself turning a blind eye to Los Angeles. Maybe I became bored. Maybe I've become disgusted. Maybe I just needed a break after 46 years of steady residence.

It wasn't until just now as I am typing this that I realized what it is I've been missing here in L.A. I miss the days before the introduction of the mega shopping and mini strip malls. The pre-stucco days when homes were made of wood and there was a sense of a short but important history to each building. The days before the nomads arrived and created their version of Los Angeles in places like Sunset Junction and now the Bankers District in downtown. What it all boils down to is this...Los Angeles had become a stranger to me. Maybe it's time for me to familiarize myself with this place I call home. Embrace it and accept it for what it is.
I'll be using this blog format to post journal and creative writing on a semi-daily basis. All this blog stuff is new to me so don't expect wonders. Oh, and one last note, I have a tendency to be brutally honest with my views and opinions. I will write about the things most people don't want to admit are true. I will bring to your screen the smell of wildflowers one minute and the next you'll be stricken with the stench of skid row. I hope you come back to visit often.

Didn't make it to any of the museums but this doorway made up for  it.

Lakeside Lounge - Alphabet City, NY

Typical neighborhood market.

Times Square