MY 50-STATE STRATEGY

ROUND & ROUND
WE GO ON THE
HOLLY-GO-ROUNDDuring our parting in Escondido, California, I requested that my cousin Pistol pass condolences along to my cousins, my Uncle Dick’s family, back to whom he would be taking that evening’s redeye east to join for the services. I also wished as well for continued progress for his son, Pistol, Jr. The evening before, after an Italian feast, I had made my goodbyes to the rest of the family.
Then I once more took to the road, north toward Los Angeles, off to visit with an old friend and neighbor, Yogie - my own personal Hollyweird guru.
The roads are crazy here. I counted at least 10 freeways with several dozen other major arteries in the general LA area. And these routes intersect at countless points (believe me, I tried to count them on a map; but I got dizzy and quit after the fourth try).
Directions go somewhat like this: get on the 15, head north, go west on the 210, cut over to the 134, still stay west, then go south, though it’s marked east, at the 101, back toward LA, get off two exits after the … On and on it goes. Southern California: land of the Fifty-Five Dollar Fill-up and endless opportunities to use that fuel.
Yogie has been living out here around Hollywood, for the most part, for over 25 years. He fancied himself as a performer in the early going and made the most of any opportunities offered. But, eventually circumstances and finances forced him, as it does most, to settle down. Yogie slipped into a slot working on movie productions and has grown quite nicely in his field, rising up to the level of location manager for some major film and TV projects.
By the telling, it appears to be a high-pressure profession, being in charge of everything from the pencil points to parking for the big rigs, all the while keeping an eye on a huge budget. But, after years of burning the candle at both ends much like myself, Yogie certainly now seems to be made of the material required.
After a brief get-reacquainted chat, we careened over the Hollywood Hills and out to the beach by Malibu, then sat down for a dinner at a restaurant on a pier overlooking the Pacific, one of the first of many such feasts on this visit (Yogie doesn’t cook much at home, and who am I to argue?)
Later we returned to Yogie’s place in Sherman Oaks - all the while swapping war stories as if we were still out there on the front lines. As kids, we grew up with one house in between ours and, in the same schools for 12 years we spent many a morning walking to class together. But, having seen each other once and only briefly in the last 25 years, we stayed up half the night, trading tales.
The next day, a Friday, was mostly for resting and some repairs to Yogie’s SUV, but we did do some brief touring in the late afternoon, followed by another sit-down, this one of that Hollywood dietary staple, sushi.
On Saturday, we had breakfast at a classic Hollywood deli, Jerry's, then went for a ride with Yogie at the wheel. LA’s pretty spread out, so it was up Ventura Boulevard, down Wilshire, across Sunset. From Van Nuys then over to Beverly Hills, you go through a city carved into cultures, yet connected by one common cause (or curse) -- the movie biz.
Finally, I stood at its nexus, Hollywood & Vine (see above). My research tells me that 109 years ago, a pioneer farming family subdivided its ranch, using two dirt roads as boundaries. They named one Hollywood, the other Vine. And, oh, what drama that single act has begat throughout the last century!
These four corners became the crossroads of entertainment back in the salad days of the Silver Screen, where celebrity met commerce. The areas’ many Art Deco buildings were headquarters for a number of the studios and networks. The stars and their agents held court here then and if you were a big wheel in the “industry,” you kept a spot at Hollywood & Vine. But that was before the moguls fled to the near suburbs - Burbank, Studio City and the like, and now only a few of the old crew remain, like those in the nearby landmark Capitol Records Tower, designed to remind one of a stack of 45s on a turntable.
Oscars were handed out here inside the Pantages Theatre in the ’50s. Once home to the famous Brown Derby restaurant, Sardi’s Diner and silent star Clara Bow’s “It Café,” these corners and those close by now appear to be home to many who simply have no home.
Yeah, this famous intersection is now down-market and downright cheesy, but it’s also where the Hollywood Walk of Fame starts. Among the many pink marble stars with gold letters and trim imbedded in the sidewalk, I spied a couple of my old favorites, now deceased, Johnny Carson and Barbara Stanwyck, and, momentarily star-struck, I snapped photos.
Yogie took me on the nickel tour, happily -- although much to his discomfort, as the traffic is horrendous and parking non-existent. We passed by many spots where he recounted assorted tales of movie productions, some triumphs and not a few tragedies. He passed along some anecdotes about some of current Hollywood’s biggest draws -- their habits, manners, disposition and the like, some good, some bad. The most telling moment of this tour is when Yogie related that he rarely goes out for a first-run film nowadays, but when he does, it is usually compromised by the fact he recognizes the setting, often during a pivotal scene, saying, “I know the background’s not what it appears to be … That it is just the parking garage at Universal … The glamour wears off real fast out here!”
We took some photos in front of the Hollywood sign up in the hills, as any self-respecting tourist must, then Yogie waited, double-parked, while I climbed up into the balconies surrounding the Kodak Theater, now home of the Oscars, to snap some photos and also to gain a little perspective on its size, then it was over by the landmark Grumman’s Chinese. On and on, it went, the chronicles continuing, along Sunset Boulevard, through Beverly's Hills and “Boy’s Town,” West Hollywood, across Burbank, Studio City, Westwood near UCLA, then by the Santa Monica Pier until we arrived finally at Venice Beach. Let the freak show begin …
It was almost twilight as we wandered among the stalls, checking out the bargain wares, watching the people parade between roller-bladers and in among the street performers. Graffiti artists were “tagging” right under the watchful eyes of the police.
We spied a collection of folks out on the sand and, attracted by the constant beat of drumming, ventured out to investigate. Over a 100, maybe as many as 150 people had gathered for a sunset celebration, and many were dancing to a throb supplied by 20 or so drummers forming the wide circle, some with professional kits, others beating on plastic buckets, and with everything else percussion-wise in between. The people dancing inside this imperfect circle were moving as if they were receiving electro-shock treatments! Or perhaps it was that they required them. Whatever … Venice Beach seemed smaller to me than the area portrayed on film, but no less eccentric.
Around noon the next day, I once again took to the highway, heading north up the coast, but first …
Some Random Observations …… In the form of a couple of brief editorials:
* People drive like fools around Los Angeles. Not so much riding as rushing everywhere as if today is the last day … ever.
Don Cheadle laments as much in a voice-over of KansasCali’s song “If I …” during the opening scene of the 2006’s best picture Crash. Cheadle’s character bemoans the fact that, in LA, unlike other cities, one person never touches another; everybody is always behind metal and glass. Ultra-impersonal, self-absorbed. Smiling, but separate. That speaks to my general feeling about the place: everyone’s grinning here, in with the In Crowd! But my gut says most are going it alone.
And, so as Cheadle’s character says, the occasional street smash-up is to be expected, even welcomed here, in the quest for some closeness. I witnessed the results of one collision and heard tell of many more as I monitored the traffic by radio on the long ride up the crowded highways from Escondido. (Yogie tells me it happens all the time, that the many accidents are just one part of living in La-La.) I know the above musical description is probably just Hollywood hyperbole, but maybe Cheadle’s detective has got something there…
* I’ve also found an easy way to tell a red state from a blue state: the red states allow the clip so you can set the gas nozzle to fill and go about any other tasks around your car, like the squeegee, as the gas pump works its magic alone while the politicos in the blue nanny-states, like California, Maryland, New York, New Jersey, and, of course, Massachusetts, have legislated these clips out, forcing one to stand there clutching the handle. If you fill up what seems like a hundred times in a short span in divergent areas, you tend to notice such obstacles to a swift exit.