Hollywood Musings
I came of age at the foot of the Hollywood Hills, where Orange Drive ended at Franklin Avenue.
When I looked out south from our apartment balcony, I could see the back of the fabled Chinese Theatre a block away on Hollywood Boulevard. In view just beyond that was the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, home of the first-ever Oscars ceremony in 1929.
From the east window of my bedroom, I looked out at the Magic Castle next door and could see the bell tower of the Hollywood United Methodist Church at Franklin and Highland and the intersection of Hollywood and Highland. Further down, the shiny black First Interstate Building at 6255 Sunset Boulevard, then also the home of Motown Records. I worked in the mailroom at Motown several years later.
At 14, my life had become a magical journey of discovery. I was given free rein to explore Hollywood with my twin brother.
We were already familiar with the lay of the land around Franklin and Orange because Dad managed The Magic Hotel (now the Magic Castle Hotel) right next door to our apartment building. He had been doing that since 1974. Read more about that HERE.
Brother Chris and I worked there for years.
Neither one of us could believe our good fortune when our mother agreed to let us stay with Dad permanently in 1977.
We had been coming to see Dad on our summer vacations after Mom moved us back to Miami. Before that, we lived in Crestline – a small burg in the San Bernardino Mountains near Lake Arrowhead.
We moved around like army brats and for a time were always the new kids: Miami to Buena Park to Crestline to Miami to, finally, Hollywood.
But Hollywood…
Much of the magic had to do with Dad, who instilled in me a sense of wonder.
By the time we lived with him permanently, he was well into his sixties.
But he never lost his enthusiasm, his grace, his sense of humor – his unbeatable charm.
When I was in my thirties, a coworker once told me I was “The Pan.”
While I wasn’t down with being compared to a satyr, I took her comment to mean I was ageless, like Peter Pan. She should see me now.
She had never met my father. If she had, she would have been blown away.
I remember visiting Hollywood with the family in 1967 or 1968. Dad had already relocated there from Miami.
Is it weird to say that Hollywood even smelled different? Maybe it was the lack of humidity…
I remember distinctly the aroma of the brush and foliage in Griffith Park – a kind of clean, dry sweetness that was new to me, not laden down with the heavy, moist air of Coconut Grove.
My mom moved us out to California in something like 1970 – my twin brother, niece Cathy and me.
We first lived in Buena Park, the home of Knott’s Berry Farm, with Mom’s cousin Floss. She had been living in a rustic little home off Beach Boulevard since the 1940s. There was an ancient spinning wheel in the front window.
Cathy was too little to go to school, but Chris and I finished out first grade at St. Pius V Catholic School.
This was the first example of being uprooted, a pattern of disjointedness that would continue until our high school years.
At this time, Dad lived in an apartment building called The Judy Lynn on Carlton Way. We visited frequently. Next door was a long old bungalow-style house with a red roof. Dad told me that it used to belong to Tom Mix. I didn’t know who the fuck that was.
Turns out, Mix was a famous cowboy actor from the silent movie days.
By that time, though, the house was rife with hippies.
What was that smell? Not the hippies I just mentioned, but the sweet smell I was talking about earlier. Gardenias? Jasmine? I’ll have to get to the bottom of that.
I’m enjoying setting down these memories. Thanks for coming with me on the journey.
Enjoy these posts? I’d love it if you would subscribe.
Roger Yale 
I could read your stories all day!
not only are they interesting, but they
help me remember my own youth.
Thanks, Rog
Please keep them coming ♥️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love you, Maria. Thank you!
LikeLike