Senior Day at the Abandoned Zoo

There are benefits to getting old.  One, for instance, is that park rangers seldom hassle you when you find yourself sidling through a hole in a chain link fence to trespass in the cordoned-off animal enclosures of an abandoned zoo.

Wanting to go for a hike, my sister-in-law and I headed to Griffith Park.  Griffith Park is known for many things - the hiking trails, the eponymous Observatory, the carousel, the trains at Travel Town, and the world-class, if sometimes controversial, Los Angeles Zoo.  Long before The LA Zoo opened its gates in 1966, however, there was the original Griffith Park Zoo.  The "old zoo" opened in 1912 with a small collection of both exotic and domestic animals.

At the height of the Great Depression, the zoo got a makeover.
 Relief organizations built fantastic environments that, despite every effort to appear
the handiwork of Mother Nature, have a distinctly-Deco feeling about them.

In a move that is contrary to Los Angeles' typical modus operandi of "seek and
destroy," the eighty-year-old enclosures have not only been left standing, many
have also been left open to civilian exploration.

As we cave-hopped, we heard some noises coming from above and decided to follow the trail up-and-around the backside of the caves.  We were met with a chain-link fence behind which stood even more animal habitats - and cages.  Now the fence said "NO" but the gaping hole in the chain link said "YES," (it should be noted here that the rules of consent need not apply to abandoned zoos) so we climbed trough the fence to explore.

Do you ever find yourself in questionable circumstances only to be overcome by the thought, "This is how a horror movie starts," - like, we sneak into "abandoned" animal habitats only to become the animal attractions at some demented human zoo masterminded by Dr. Jane Goodall gone rogue.

Somehow it is not that hard to imagine...

It wasn't long into our exploration before we heard tires on the nearby path.  The sound of the tires was followed immediately by a searchlight, which seemed a wee bit excessive considering that it was about two hours until sunset.  Concealed by the animal habitat, we were such dorks that we looked at each other and wondered if they were looking for us.  Our question was quickly answered when a voice on a loud speaker ordered us out.  I've spent my whole life as a goody-two-shoes so I am pretty sure that I went into full Chunk mode, blubbering as I confessed to every childhood wrongdoing beginning at year one, before putting my hands up and slowly backing towards the fence.

Our hillside hideout

Maybe I overreacted.  I think the ranger was so surprised to see what looked like two responsible, adult citizens that he simply told us that we weren't allowed to be there, directing us to climb through the fence and move along.  He didn't even have time to remove the toothpick from his clenched teeth before he added, "If you can fit..."  I suppose fat-shaming me is just all in a day's work for a park ranger.

Perhaps I'll just stay in here.
As they say, "If the cave fits, wear it."

Actually, I think we looked so square and so sweaty that he was inclined to feel more sorry for us than upset with us.  Also, compared to the scores of young people he probably extracts from behind the fence every day, our activities were comparatively benign.  The odor of marijuana may have hung heavy in the much-graffitied enclosures littered with spray cans, but I think he could tell that the peri-middle-aged nerds in color-coordinated outfits with cameras hanging around their necks were probably up to anything but "no good."

It wasn't us, Mr. Ranger.

We got off so easy that I considered asking the park ranger if he would give the two trespassing oldsters a ride back to the car but my sister-in-law didn't think that was such a good idea.  She said that just because he had a badge didn't mean that it was safe to enter his vehicle and get transported to a secondary location.  Thanks, Sis, for a great hike and for reminding me about the perils of Ranger Danger!

"Pluto at the Zoo" (1942)

The Old Zoo at Griffith Park
Griffith Park Dr
Los Angeles, CA


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Going Cocoa-NUTS at The Cocoanut Grove!!!

Among the many drills (fire, earthquake, etc.) we were expected to perform in junior high school, there was one that always confounded the cognitive skills of my pathetically-literal, pubescent brain - the intruder drill (fortunately, those were the days before such drills became a frightening and practical necessity).  The drill went like this, teachers would turn out the lights and lockdown their classrooms, huddling students in the corner furthest from the door upon hearing the voice of an authority issue a public address, announcing that "Dr. Thompson" was wanted in the "Technology Building."  Um... didn't anybody know that no member of the faculty answered to the last name Thompson, no such building existed on our campus, and that among their various and questionable credentials, no PhD had ever been bestowed upon a member of our school's teaching staff.  In hindsight it became clearer that that was the big idea (only the most well-informed intruder would know that we were still watching film reels on projectors housed in a closet at the back of the library lorded over by Mrs. Middleton).

With no criminal pedigree, an obviously simple mind, and only the best of intentions, it never occurred to me that one day I might be the reason for a "Paging Dr. Thompson" sort of emergency...but more on that later.  This is our story of going to The Cocoanut Grove.

The Cocoanut Grove at the Ambassador Hotel - Los Angeles, CA
(Source)

Opened in 1921, The Cocoanut Grove at the Ambassador Hotel defined Hollywood glamour.  The decades-long epicenter of West Coast nightlife and two-time home of the Academy Award ceremonies, The Cocoanut Grove played host to anyone who was anyone in the heyday of Hollywood (see The Silver Screen Affair's post on The Cocoanut Grove here).  It is oft said that Joan Crawford and Carole Lombard went head-to-head in the weekly Charleston contests held on the famed dance floor.  Known not only for its flamboyant clientele, the club was equally recognized for its flamboyant decor.  Lavishly decorated in a fantasy pastiche of Moorish/Moroccan/Middle-Eastern themes, The Cocoanut Grove allowed guests to sup under life-size palm trees populated by the gleaming eyes of electrified monkeys.

A packed house!
Initially, The Cocoanut Grove was a small venue within the hotel.  Quickly gaining
popularity, the club was swiftly relocated to its permanent location in the hotel's grand ballroom.
(Source)

Luminaries of the political variety also made The Ambassador Hotel a stop along the campaign route.  Well-known as the site of Robert F. Kennedy's 1968 assassination, the Ambassador Hotel proved unable to outlive that legacy and the dramatic cultural shifts that marked the latter part of the 20th Century.  Officially closed in 1989, the Ambassador subsequently served as a location for filming and a relic of Holywood's golden age.  In 2005, to the dismay of preservationists, the property was sold to the Los Angeles Unified School District and slated as the location for the Robert F. Kennedy Community Schools.  Recognizing its significance to Hollywood and to US history, we decided that Emily's birthday was the ideal time for us to go back to school for a little education in old Hollywood.  Taking advantage of one of Los Angeles' altogether common sunny afternoons, the wacky tacky adventure team made our pilgrimage to The Cocoanut Grove.

Once looming large over Wilshire Boulevard, the former entrance to
the Ambassador is one of the last vestiges of the hotel's glory days.

A bit underwhelming, our self-guided tour yielded only a placard, some interesting tile work, a clock
integrated into the streamline facade, and the teachers' dining room (once the hotel coffee shop),

Having seen all that we thought we were going to see, we approached a pair of friendly maintenance men and asked them if they knew anything about the hotel's history.  They shared what little information they had and even opened the door to the coral-colored coffee shop so we could get a better peek.  Explaining that we were hoping to see more of The Cocoanut Grove, they directed us around the corner and up a flight of stairs; there we found the mecca of every classic-Hollywood nerd. 

Birthday wishes can come true!
Emily stands sentry at The Cocoanut Grove's iconic entrance.

Emily's birthday wish came even "truer" when Jesse tried one of the doors 

 and found it wonderfully ajar!  Never ones to shy away from the implied 

"Welcome in" of an unlocked door (of which I could find no information as to 

the identity of the more-human monkey face on the door), we humbly walked 

in the footsteps of our biggest cinematic idols.

This is the point where it must be stated that The Cocoanut Grove is not exactly The Cocoanut Grove.  Stipulated in the contract of the sale was the mandatory preservation of the Ambassador's landmark features, namely The Cocoanut Grove.  Shortly after renovations began, it was determined that the structure did not meet minimum earthquake safety standards.  Before much objection could be raised, ninety-percent or more of the original structure was razed.  The fact is that since 1921, the hotel and the nightclub had seen significant changes; but in LA we have to remind ourselves that there are principles still worth arguing.  Rebuilt in an approximation of The Cocoanut Grove's original style, the new structure retained just enough character to transport us to Hollywood, circa 1934.

As seen in the scrolled archways and fretwork pendants, minimal details of the original interior were honored.  
(Source/Source)

While The Cocoanut Grove is now a 582-seat theater, I could still
hear the champagne glasses clinking, the orchestra playing, and the
high-stakes deals being made.  Meanwhile, Emily was center stage
starring in her own production of Cocoanut Grove.

With the rest of us relegated to supporting players...
Cocoanut Grove (1938)
(Source)

Here is where our adventure turned us from sentimental sightseers into "Dr. Thompson-level" intruders.  Lost in our Hollywood reverie, we were snapped back into reality by the echo of deadbolts being locked.  In no time flat, we transformed from the elegant Fred MacMurray and Harriett Nelson (née Hilliard) into the Marx Brothers in a slapstick scramble for the doors - we were trapped!

We went from Cocoanut Grove to merely The Cocoanuts (1929)
(Source)

Luckily, one set of doors had yet to be locked and we promptly made our escape.  Prematurely congratulating ourselves for a stealthy exit, we came face to face with our maintenance-minded benefactors of before.  This time, however, their faces bore none of the happy, helpful quality we had come to know.  As if their newly stern countenances weren't clear enough direction, we were curtly invited to remove ourselves from the premises before we were reported as trespassers.  Before we could protest, they were reaching for their walkie-talkies.  We would have said, "We've been kicked out of nicer places than this," but the fact is we hadn't!  Our less-than-gracious dismissal notwithstanding, our Hollywood adventure left us feeling like honored guests at "Star Night at The Cocoanut Grove."

"Star Night at the Cocoanut Grove" (1934)

Have you ever been accused of a Dr. Thompson-style intrusion?  Have you ever peacefully trespassed for the sake of visiting an historic landmark?  Are you a Hollywood historian pining for the days of luxurious nightlife where orchestras played under the faux fronds of papier-mache palms repurposed from Valentino's The Sheik?  If you ever  find yourself driving down Wilshire and get a hankering for some history and a taste of the exotic, then stop in at Robert F. Kennedy Community Shools - just be sure to get a visitor pass at the office first.  Tell 'em Dr. Thompson sent you.

Robert F. Kennedy Community Schools 
(formerly Ambassador Hotel & The Cocoanut Grove)
701 S. Catalina St
Los Angeles, CA
(213)480-4500

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Hollywood House Hunting: What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?

There is a gene in my lineage that manifests itself in a physically-humiliating way upon unsuspecting generations of family members whenever it rears its recessive head - a solid yellow stripe right down the back.  Yes, for ages a super-strain of Scaredy Cat-ism has plagued members on the weakest branches of my family tree, not the least of which is Mr. Tiny.  I, in particular, do not like horror movies.  Psychological thrillers and mildly-spooky films are okay when strictly relegated to daytime viewing, but slasher/monster/nightmare-inducing movies are totally unacceptable (remind me sometime to tell you how I still have visions of a headless Christopher Lloyd lurking outside my bedroom window).  So saturated is my yellow streak that it took me until the dawn of my nineteenth year to get up the nerve to watch What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962).

"I've Written A Letter to Daddy" - Bette Davis from What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?

Now if that doesn't scare the bejeezus out of you, I don't know what will!!

Before there was Misery, there was What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, made all the more scary by the family dynamic.  I knew from the first viewing that it had become a film favorite.  Such a richly-disturbed character, Baby Jane Hudson is now a Halloween fixture; every year, for the last few years, I've had at least one friend dress up as Baby Jane complete with baby doll.  I, myself, have considered going as the mercenary heavy, Edwin Flagg, but it doesn't really translate well from film - a fat guy in a suit is just a fat guy in a suit.  Rather than focusing on the film's  costumery during this the spookiest of all seasons, I thought I'd instead search for the home where the sisters Hudson played out the ultimate in sibling rivalry.

Home of the Sisters Hudson - Hancock Park, CA

It is no wonder that location scouts for What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? sought a Hancock Park home for Jane and Blanche Hudson.  Hancock Park is exactly the kind of neighborhood about which California dreamers dream.  Terrific estates built at the height of old Hollywood's heyday are perfectly authentic to the homes that budding movie stars would have purchased with their studio contract riches.  But buyer beware; I've heard that homes in this neighborhood are often prone to "rats in the cellar!"

Aside from the addition of some tasteful awnings and a
trespassing freak, the Hudson home remains eerily unchanged.

Bette Davis as Jane Hudson with Victor Buono as Edwin Flagg
in a scene from What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?

Looking very much like a soundstage replication of the actual residence,
one can see that the iron gates and scrolled window screens original to the
home have been maintained on-set and off.

Have you ever seen What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? or the lackluster remake starring real-life sisters, Lynn and Vanessa Redgrave?  Rather than the Redgraves, I would have much preferred to see real-life sisters and bitter rivals, Olivia de Havilland and Joan Fontaine duke it out on screen (Team Joan all the way). Wouldn't that have been something?!!

Although it is difficult to imagine any two people
loathing each other more than Bette and Joan!
There's just something about those eyes...

I love What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, making this Hollywood House Hunt particularly meaningful.  Standing in front of this house, I couldn't help but consider the very real possibility that one of my siblings will hobble me, psychologically torture me, and keep me as a prisoner in my own home.  With two brothers and two sisters, the odds are decidedly against me...or maybe it's just my cowardly imagination.

"Bette Davis Eyes" - Kim Carnes

The Hudson Home from What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
172 S McCadden Pl
Los Angeles, CA


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny