Mr Tiny's Neighborhood Watch: The Haunted Houses of West Adams

Once home to the brightest stars in early-Hollywood's firmament (think Theda Bara, Fatty Arbuckle, Norma Talmadge, Buster Keaton), the area of Los Angeles known as West Adams, while full of historic charm, includes a veritable graveyard of decaying mansions and haunted houses.

As scared as I am of manufactured gore (see: every horror movie ever made), I am equally unafraid of the "supernatural."  Ghosts, spirits, and their ectoplasmic kin just don't bother me...I mean they literally do not bother me.  When the witching hour settles in and most guests have left the party, every friend I have is able to regale the remaining crowd with multiple ghostly encounters.  I, on the other hand, sit there quietly thinking, "You should have an electrician check your breaker box" or "Maybe you have a squirrel in the attic."  I have never had a spooky experience that couldn't be explained by an overactive imagination or the forgetful placement of keys.  The fact is, I'll have a ghost story when I actually see ghost.  Don't get me wrong, it's not that I am inviting a demonic possession or anything, but you can classify me as a supportive non-believer; I believe that you believe ghosts are real.  I am the guy that would happily take the opportunity to spend the night in a "haunted house," more afraid of roaches, wayward hobos, and spotty cell reception than visitors from beyond the grave.  Here is just a small, real estate sampler of West Adams' phantasmal finest.

Given that this house is regularly used for filming (most famously for the show, Six Feet Under, according to my brother), my guess is that the rooms have been thoroughly saged, exorcised, and whatever else superstitious Hollywood believes one must do to banish specters.  I'm not saying I wouldn't pee a little if the lights started flickering, but I would love to spend the night in a house with such enticing attic space .

While only one fearless cat remained on the porch, this house is in the running for world's-
biggest, feral-cat condo.  It is clear that someone - or maybe something - is sustaining the
herd, as the side porch is littered in styrofoam plates crusted over with bulk-buy cat food.

Living in Southern California, the land of one million single-story ranch homes, houses like this - even in its current condition - are awe inspiring.  To see a haunted mansion of this magnitude, we usually have to visit Disneyland.  The eerie grandeur of the neo-Classical architecture, highlighted by the seriously-peeling paint job, is done no favors by the rotting baby doll on the front porch???  I admit that if I had the chance to spend the night here I would probably go into shock - albeit of the anaphylactic variety (cat dander is practically deadly to me).

I love this house!  Like a long-forgotten lodge found in the most deeply-wooded area of my imaginary version of the Black Forest, this freaky fairy-tale house reminds of me the one belonging to Shelley Winter's in Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? (an early-'70s, Victorian retelling of Hansel & Gretel).  I would spend my night in this house searching for secret passageways and underground tunnels...and maybe hysterically sobbing in a corner (I told you that I have an overactive imagination)!

Without even setting foot inside, it is undeniable that these houses are creepy, kooky, mysterious, and spooky.  Given the all-together-ookiness of West Adams' many old mansions, it seems like a more apt spelling might be West Addams; any one of them could have easily stood in for television's coolest manor of the macabre.

The theme from The Addams Family

Do you have any haunted houses in your neighborhood?  Are you afraid of ghosts?  Do you have any scary stories that you tell in the dark?  Would you willingly spend the night in one of these houses?

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Pole-toberfest II: Return to Pierogiville

With a proper Polish princess as a distinguished member of the wacky tacky adventure team, the opportunities for cross-cultural exploration are both frequent and fun.  Getting restless remembering our "Doin' the Dozynki" exploits of last year, we excitedly donned our butter-stained pierogi bibs and headed for  Our Lady of the Bright Mount (Southern California's premiere Polish parish) for the 2014 Los Angeles Polish Festival.

Now we know why Warsaw is the capital city.

I've said it before but it shouldn't go unstated that, as a regular attendee of our local German club, card-holder of our members-only Asian grocery store, patron of the southland's two European marketplaces, and investigator into the local Dutch club, it is clear that I am in the midst of a chronic cultural-identity crisis!  The only thing my family had that tied us in any tiny way to our Yugoslavian ancestry was "Toshka," a mac-and-cheese/mashed potato hybrid dish that my great-aunt made on special occasions (I have found zero substantiation anywhere online to verify the authenticity of the more-than-likely-midwestern foodstuffs).  With every new dip into the Polish pool, however, I feel like I'm moving in the right easterly-European direction; now an old pro on the festival circuit, I knew that my mission was to find and document the three "F's."

FOOD
The line for pierogies was so long that I could only capture the first third in the picture.
Exhausted by the wait, we soon gave up on sampling much of the Polish cuisine -
except for my preferred prune-filled Polish pastry, the paczek (it doesn't look like
 much...actually it kind of looks like turd but it is really good).

FASHION
I believe this is what is referred to as the Polish Tuxedo.
Cynthia was quickly taking style notes for next year's festival.

FOLK DANCING
Without question, my favorite Polish dances are hip-hop, the tango, and the Zorba...
Wait, those aren't indigenous to Poland?  Well, it looks like some of these dancers were
experiencing a cultural identity crisis of their own.  Seriously, there was a Polish hip-hop
number with a routine that culminated in the king of Greek dances - it was AWESOME!

As much as I enjoyed our one-day excursion to Mother Polonia, I was even more excited by the festival venue.  On the grounds of an Edwardian-era estate, I had heard whispers that the beautiful house once belonged to a Hollywood movie star.  I figured that it must've been a star of Polish descent who deeded the enormous estate to the church upon his/her death.  After doing some investigating, I learned that, rather than Pola Negri or Theda Bara, the true owner of was one of Hollywood's most infamous legends.

Fatty Arbuckle lived here (a fourth F)!!!
Clad in high-fired terra cotta block, the Vienna Secessionist-style house was completed in 1910.
Unfortunately, the only access to the interior that we were granted was the basement bathroom/library (a brilliant, if completely un-photogenic, combination).  The terraced backyard has enough remaining details to have our wacky tacky imaginations running riot thinking about the amazing parties thrown here.

This adventure was definitely a "twofer" - Polish festival and Hollywood house hunt all in one!  I was thrilled to find that the fourth "F" of our festival experience stood for Fatty; sometimes it feels good to know that you're not the only fatty waddling around.  Neither fatty, Arbuckle nor Tiny, claims any Polish lineage, but His Holiness loves us just the same.  Dziekuje, PJP II...see you next year!

Our Lady of the Bright Mount Parish

3424 W Adams Blvd

Los Angeles, CA

(323)734-5249

polskaparafiala.org

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Holy Rollin': A Day on Mount Ecclesia

It's funny how certain facets of human philosophy can so completely evade one's consciousness until the door to enlightenment is opened just a crack.  Once even the tiniest glimmer of information is revealed, it then seems practically impossible to avoid the glaring light of related scholarship.

I recently completed reading a biography of L. Frank Baum, entitled Finding Oz.  The book chronicles the trajectory of Baum's famous Land of Oz by citing meaningful moments in his personal history.   Many of his novels' themes derive from the author's adult conversion to a metaphysical philosophy known as Theosophy.  Before reading the book, I don't think I had ever heard of Theosophy; in one sentence, it is the belief that God's wisdom "may be achieved through spiritual ecstasy" and "direct intuition."  My personal take on it is that Theosophy is a kind of well-intentioned, if far-out, combination of the best of Eastern and Western religious/philosophical precepts with a dash of the occult thrown in for good, mystical measure.

Now we don't often get into heavy discussions of religion and philosophy at wacky tacky, but on a recent drive to a family get-together, the strangeness of the bright-white, dodecagonal, domed building high atop a hill in Oceanside, CA led to a serendipitous meeting of philosophy, literature, architecture, and wacky tacky holy rollin'.

Like Dorothy being led to The Emerald City, we were drawn to the mysterious, mountaintop structure that we spied as we zoomed down our own sort of yellow-brick road.  Little did we know upon reaching our destination that we had risen to the top of Mount Ecclesia, the world headquarters of the Rosicrucian Fellowship.  I had heard the word "Rosicrucian" before but had no idea what it meant.  As it happens, the mystical branch of Christian philosophy is inexorably linked to Theosophy.  Based on ancient wisdom as interpreted by a 14th-Century, German philosopher, the 20th-Century incarnation of Rosicrucianism draws heavily upon the beliefs of theosophists, like L. Frank Baum.

Mr. Tiny trying very awkwardly to avoid disturbing "the healing energy field"...

Lest one think that the hippy movement began in the 1960s, Rosicrucians' strong embrace of pacifism, vegetarianism, and an earnest preparedness for the coming of the Age of Aquarius predates fringed vests and Hair by decades, if not centuries.  Self-branded as "An Association of Christain Mystics," the fellowship has a strong belief in healing through a legacy of secret, ancient truths as presented by founder, Max Heindel.

The sprawling, hill-top grounds includes a vegetarian cafeteria, meeting rooms, a
hotel, and several houses.  The crown jewel of the Rosicrucian compound is, of course,
the healing temple known as The Ecclesia. 

Added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1995, The Ecclesia is home to daily healing meetings.

Even had the doors been unlocked, I'm not so sure that we would've been allowed inside...but we always try.

With ties to a variety of secret societies and fraternal organizations (ahem,  Freemasons),
Rosicrucianism, a branch of "esoteric Christianity," employs much of the same ancient
Egyptian imagery, as seen here on the entrance to The Ecclesia.

Teeming with symbolism beyond my comprehension, the building has many
interesting features; my favorite was the atomic light fixture that I'm sure
has much more meaning than a simple a rooftop sputnik or lighthouse for
low-flying planes coming into the nearby air field.  I'm convinced that it is
some kind of "astral antenna."

Rosicrucianism seems a little bit spooky at first; really though, once most religions/philosophies are broken down into their most elemental parts, they all come across as a little spooky and hard-to-believe, don't they?  Esoteric Christianity, while difficult for me to fully grasp, is an area of philosophy with which I am pleased to have become acquainted.  At the very least it will up my game when I play Jeopardy with the TV.

Before reading Finding Oz, esoteric Christianity was not on my radar; post-read, it seems that I see Theosophy everywhere - but I'm not complaining.  I mean, who doesn't love a good medieval, Egyptian, Christian, occult, Masonic, hippy, astrological, conspiracy-laden philosophy that begins and ends with The Wizard of Oz?

I want to go all "astro projecto" as much as the next guy but I'm still not
one-hundred percent certain what this Rosicrucianism thing is all about; it seems
that Mr. Tiny and Rosicrucianism might always be a little "star-crossed." 

I'm not so sure that Mr. Tiny will be partaking of the Rosicrucian Kool-Aid any time soon, but I really do encourage and appreciate anyone's search for truth.  Should Rosicrucianism's basic tenets truly be self-improvement, altruism, and the pursuit of universal wisdom, well, then that's good enough for Mr. Tiny.  Anytime that "peace will guide the planet and love will steer the stars," we're ready to take a backseat to whomever is driving.  But maybe that's just me looking at the world through Rosicrucian-colored glasses.

"The Age of Aquarius" - The 5th Dimension

Mount Ecclesia & The Rosicrucian Fellowship Headquarters
2222 Mission Ave
Oceanside, CA
(760)757-6600

rosicrucian.com


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Post-Mortem Family Photos

I feel so lucky that my parent's home has sort of become the informal repository for a large measure of the family history archives.  Paging through innumerable albums and digging through boxes of letters, greeting cards, documents, and assorted ephemera provides me with an endless amount of well-intentioned time wasting.  It never fails that I brave their garage in order to find some useful tool and instead end up waist-deep in a genealogical avalanche of my own making - ours is less a family tree and more a family quicksand pit.

I find it all fascinating but take particular interest in the photos.  It is wonderful to see pictures of one's grandparents as school children.  It is hilarious to see one's parents as awkward teenagers.  It is in equal measure interesting and unsettling to stumble across a picture of an unknown and distant relative only to realize that he is the genetic explanation for one's crooked teeth and nose.  It is even more disturbing to discover a picture of one's great-great grandfather as he lie peacefully in his coffin with a spray of calla lilies trembling on the verge of their own demise.

Hiya, Gramps!  Not feeling too well, huh?

Even better than the photograph, is the fact that it was turned into a postcard - ostensibly
as a souvenir for the mourning friends and family who were unable to attend the funeral.

Is it better or worse do you think, the obviousness of his condition in this photograph rather than the slightly earlier photos of the Victorian-era bodies lovingly propped up into startlingly-lifelike positions and situations?  "Be damned cholera, this husband and wife loved to recite the works of Shakespeare by lamplight," they seem to say from beyond the grave.  It is all so delightfully ghastly.

I never considered my family particularly macabre but we grew up with several reminders of death around the house, including this little gem.

"At Rest"
This Victorian coffin plaque/casket plate continues to hang on the bath...er, restroom door.
I definitely come by my appreciation for the absurd honestly.

Do you have any family photos of this nature?  Do they spook you or intrigue you?  However you feel about post-mortem photos, we hope that you have a picture-perfect Halloween!

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

My Day on Monster Mountain

This week we'll be touching on some spookily-thematic material because, all things considered, Halloween is the wackiest, the tackiest holiday of them all!   Today, we offer you a monster story...

Once upon a time, high atop a hill in Kitakyushu, Japan, lived a monster.   The monster was so fierce that the townspeople lived in constant fear of the earthquakes and tsunamis caused by his fury. 

It was all a bit like "Night on Bald Mountain" from Fantasia.

Dominating Takatoyama (the mountain), the monster prevented direct access to the seaports that supported the local economy.

Honestly, if you were a monster, you'd probably want to keep this view for yourself too.

This four-eyed, two-headed, earthbound, chartreuse people eater terrorized the land for many years until one brave enough, namely the Buddha himself, was able to capture the monster inside a statue, sealing him in with a large nail in the back.

Today, a shrine stands at the top of the Takatoyama recognizing the great courage needed to battle the beast.

Visitors light incense and leave offerings in gratitude of the monster's internment.
We took a moment to inspect the nail just to make sure that it was still quite secure.

The giant mosaic makes the monster look slightly less than threatening,
but, ever the rabble-rouser, Mary tempted fate by acting like she was getting eaten. 

With the monster secured inside the statue, school children are once again free to roam the mountain and practice their best English "Hellos" with weird American tourists.   Is there a better way to live "Happily ever after?"
I think not.

THE END

Or is it???

Not quite.  Apparently Nami and Mary had developed some sort of crazy, monster appetite after visiting Takato "Monster Mountain" Yama so we headed to the local parfait shop.

At Classic Non 1982, the options were varied and enticing.
Mary decided on the chocolate-peanut butter parfait.

The desserts of Japan, usually inspired by the French tradition, were always beautiful and never especially expensive (desserts made with similar care and ingredients in Southern California would cost at least twice as much as their Japanese counterparts).

Nami (just one day before her wedding it should be noted), managed to put away Classic Non's signature parfait.
 Bigger than her head, it contained, cereal, cookie, meringue, brownie, cake, pudding, mousse,whipped cream, ice cream, sorbet, custard, and a small farm stand's worth of chopped fruit.
I was beginning to think that this dessert was the real "Monster Mountain."

Nami did such a good job that the resident pastry chef gave her the thumbs up!

I know many of the celebrations were happening this past weekend, but the big day is still a few days away and that's why we wish you a very wacky tacky and Happy Halloween!!!

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Bon-Bon's & Berdine's: Small Town Shopping

I've said it before but it bears repeating, until I visited West Virginia, I had no concept of small town living.  Driving down the two-lane Main Street into Mt. Hope, WV, it took me a moment of adjustment to realize that the immediate transition from charming homes to a few small shops and restaurants was all I was going to see before we had completely traversed it in its entirety and left the city (and I use that descriptive in its most casual denotation) limits.  In Mt. Hope (and many of its West Virginian ilk), "Main Street" isn't a colloquial reference to an old-timey downtown area; Main Street is all there is.  I'd heard of one-horse towns and one-light towns, but I had yet to experience a one-road town.

This particular one-road town had something special that required a return trip to down its Main Street, namely Bon-Bon's Confectionery & Hardware (est. 1920).

"Did someone say 'confectionery?'"

Our discovery of Bon-Bon's was purely accidental as we walked off lunch from a neighboring Italian restaurant.  Although it was early in the afternoon, the screen door (yes, the screen door) to Bon-Bon's was latched.  Asking a passerby if the store had permanently shuttered its doors (not an uncommon sight in this part of the country) and he replied that the store was open everyday but the hours depended entirely on the proprietress who usually closed up shop around noon.  After a few days and several cheery phone conversations, we went back to Mt. Hope to visit our favorite, small-town convenience store and its lovely owner.

After her husband's death, Mrs. Floyd Bonifacio has continued to run Bon-Bon's with help from her children.

Clearly, patrons continue to receive superior service and delicious treats.

Isn't that the sweetest sack of bread you've ever seen?!
Sunbeam Bakeries originated in Philadelphia and have used
 variations of this image since 1942.

Any Southerners want to elucidate on the mystery of "Creecy Greens?"
I've never heard of them and wasn't willing to have my first experience be one
from a can that looked like it could have been sitting on the shelf for decades.

A current view of Bon-Bon's
Mrs. Bonifacio showed us a vintage photograph of Bon-Bon's when it was operating
 exclusively as a soda fountain and candy shop.  The same checkerboard floor and marble
candy counter made it easy to see beyond the contemporary fixtures and fluorescent lighting.

Learning that the Bonifacio family also owned the Mt. Hope Theater (and
 was looking to sell), I, for one brief yet romantic moment entertained the
 notion of moving to Mt. Hope (a wonderfully optimistic name, don't you
think?) and taking over the theater and returning Bon-Bon's to its former glory.  

Even the old NCR was still hard at work.

I couldn't find an excuse not to buy everything lock, stock, and barrel!

A vintage soda shop and movie theater?!?!?!  In all sincerity, I couldn't think of a more perfect life...until I realized that West Virginia experiences a bizarre weather phenomenon called "Winter;"  That doesn't really work for Mr. Tiny.

I had to be satisfied with our Bon-Bon's loot.
The next day was Father's Day and as a "treet" for my brother-
in-law, a native of Hawaii who has developed a liking for that
 peculiarly-American taste sensation, we indulged him with a can
of spiced, luncheon ham.  Obviously, the mints are to get rid of
the awful taste... 

Like our encounter with Bon-Bon's, it seems that some things are simply meant to be.  Shortly before my trip, my mom showed me the back page of Country Living Magazine.  In a very brief, but impassioned article, Country Living shone its light on the pride of Harrisville, West Virginia, Berdine's Five & Dime.  The timing of the article and the charm of the accompanying photographs was perfect; the spirit of the owners and staff set the tone for the whole of my trip.

At 105 years old, Berdine's is widely recognized as America's oldest, and continuously-operated, five-and-dime stores in America.  Eat your heart out Woolworth's!!!

Located in the epicenter of Harrisville's bustling metropolis....oh, did I say "bustling metropolis?"
I meant to say, "Located in the quaint downtown of Harrisville's ultra-sleepy, yet charming country village,"
Berdine's is the beautiful evolution of that early-20th-Century American tradition, the five & dime.

It is a miracle that Berdine's still exists.  Firstly, its location is almost the exact definition of "the middle of nowhere."  Thinking that West virginia was a small state and everything must be a stone's throw from everywhere else, I was bound and determined to follow the editor of Country Living's advice; so I set out on the road to Berdine's.  Three and one half hours later I was lucky to find parking in one of Harrisville's five parking spaces.  Secondly, maintaining a tradition of genuine hospitality and quality inventory with a name that scoffs in the face of 21st Century inflation is a difficult endeavor.  Thirdly, as a true variety/five-and-dime store, Berdine's must stock a dizzying array of merchandise in hopes that shoppers are still interested in rattle snake eggs, beaded hairnets, primitive clayware jugs, and fly paper.

For all that it carries, Berdine's seems to take particular pride in its toy section.
Like the exploded sack of Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, Berdine's toy selection is
 vast and the store manager, Karen, is ever anxious to show off the best of the stellar collection.

One of these cowboys managed to make it home in my suitcase!

Tin toys abound and guests are encouraged to wind them up and watch them go.
In fact, my favorite part about Berdine's is the policy of allowing customers to explore every nook and cranny of the entire store.  Playing with the toys and receiving samples from the candy counter aren't just allowed, they're required!

Berdine's is much more than a toy store, however.  In just 1,500 square feet, it is a dime store, a novelty shop, a variety store, a gift shop, a general store, and housewares supplier.

I was even directed to the back room where Berdine's keeps a small collection
of vintage and antique housewares; add "antique store" to the ever-growing resume!

Despite its name, Berdine's Five & Dime is not selling everything for nickels and dimes but they do their level best to keep prices low and joy levels high.  If I lived in close proximity, it would unquestionably be my go-to destination for gifts, sundries, and everything in bewteen.  Honestly, where else can one find: 

Skeins and skeins of multi-hued yarn?

Corncob pipes?

Educated monkeys to perform your times tables homework?

Jadite rolling pins?

And everything else for which one could possibly dream, hope,
wish, and imagine under one beautifully-aged, pressed-tin ceiling?

If you can't take my word for it, then listen to the masked lady.
She says, "Berdine's is the only place to shop in Harrisville."

I would suggest that this is a humble truth rather than advertising puffery;
Berdine's really is one of the only places to shop in Harrisville, but it
is definitely worth the journey from near and far to sample a bit of old-
timey goodness!

I have fond memories of the five-and-dime in my home town that held out until about 1999.  Do you have any shops like these where you live?  Do you own a shop like this that you would like to feature on wacky tacky?  Please let us know; we'd love to hear from you!

Bon-Bon's Confectionery & Hardware

531 Main St.

Mt. Hope, WV

(304)877-3157

Open Daily (hours vary, call first)

Berdine's Five & Dime

106 N. Court St

Harrisville, WV

(304)643-2217

www.berdinesdimestore.com

Open M-Sat, 9am-5pm

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Editor's Note:  If you're ever in West Virginia and want to visit both of these locations, please keep in mind that they are about 170 miles apart (a roughly three-hour drive).