wacky tacky Icons: Pancho Barnes

If it seems that a disproportionate number of wacky tacky icons are of the female persuasion, it is only because these women are always doing awesome things and inspiring us in ways that leave us yearning to adventure more, accomplish more, create more, and be more.  Such is the case with 20th-Century America's most exciting stunt woman, aviatrix, rancher, and entrepreneuse, Pancho Barnes.

Florence Lowe "Pancho" Barnes
July 14, 1901 - March 30, 1975
(Source) 

Born into Pasadena society, Barnes was a rebel from year one.  Failing out of school and running away to Mexico on horseback are but two of her more-tame adolescent escapades.  An inveterate prankster, she once left a suicide note for her private school roommate to find as Barnes lay prone on the floor covered in red ink.  The fact that she had a penchant for raunchy storytelling and salty language made her first marriage to a minister an unlikely one.  The union resulted in a child but a conventional life was not to be.  An experienced horsewoman, Barnes took jobs as trainer and stuntwoman in traveling rodeos and in film.  There is so much to be said for and about Pancho Barnes; but with it so eloquently and expertly stated here and here, for wacky tacky purposes, we'll just stick to a few highlights.

1928

Barnes befriends actor Ramon Navarro and introduces him 

to photographer George Hurrell, aiding the careers of both.

(Source)

1930
Barnes beats Amelia Earhart's air-speed record, taking
her plane, "Mystery Ship," upwards of 196 MPH.
(Source)

1931
Barnes founds the Associated Motion Picture Pilots,
a union representing stunt pilots in Hollywood.
(Source)

1935
Barnes moves from Los Angeles to the Antelope Valley, creating a working ranch 
with enough room to test the latest in jet fighters and other aeronautical advances.
(Source)

1946
Barnes turns her ranch into the Fly-Inn/Happy Bottom Riding Club,
a members only resort/dude ranch/social club/air field for celebrity
clientele and airmen from the local airfield.

(Source)

1953
Barnes' victory celebration (aided by pal, Chuck Yeager) over the US Air Force
 and their attempt to expand Edwards Air Force Base onto her property, is short-
lived when an unexplained fire ravages her entire compound, leaving her home-
less and near bankruptcy in Southern California's most parched territory.
(Source)

Southern California is not known for its hill country.  Consequently, our hillbilly population is small, dwelling mostly under the shady canopies of Big Bear's pine forests and perhaps cowering beneath the stuccoed toadstools of Santa's Village.  Instead, the majority of our societal misfits find refuge way out in the desert, creating a new breed of banjo-playing, redheaded step-children known as "desert rats."  It should come as little surprise then that I love the desert, taking any opportunity to explore its eerily-quiet, sunburned landscape and dreaming of the day I too can claim full-time rat status.  When I learned that Pancho Barnes' last home was still standing in the tiny desert community of Boron, CA, we loaded the wacky wagon with provisions and hit the 20-Mule-Team Trail to the home of both Borax and Barnes.

The Barnes Estate
Not exactly the Hollywood House Hunting to which we've become so accustomed.

After four failed marriages, the protracted legal battle with the US government over land rites, and the mystery fire that destroyed her entire resort, Barnes ended up broke but not broken in the tiny town of Boron, a factory mining town.  Feeling betrayed by some of her best clients, Barnes retreated into her modest home in the Mojave Desert.  Because the door to the house was wide open (read: nonexistent), we decided to show ourselves in.

Our self-guided tour began as we entered under the faltering, homemade, lean-to porch arrangement.  It became apparent that even though the four-room, stone house sits on some acreage, the years of dereliction (evidenced by boarded up windows, graffiti, and general decay), have left it uninhabitable...nothing a little of Mr. Tiny's magic couldn't fix.

It was much darker in the room than this picture would indicate.
There was some kind of cellar but as it appeared to be just a giant
pit, I adhered quite strictly to the rules of my horror movie training.
DON'T GO IN THE BASEMENT!!!

The remnants of the restroom painted a somewhat sunnier picture.

But even a boisterous desert dweller needs her privacy...

Because she was such fixture of the "high desert," many members of the community feel like they knew her personally.  In fact, many of them only really knew her by reputation alone, their anecdotes supported by the recitation of now-legendary stories told by older generations.  One person we met in town remembered Barnes as a "real character" citing that it was oft said that "she had a face like a bag of worms!!!" 

We felt like we were touching a part of aviation history when we found
the basin in which she washed her hands and her bag of worms face.

Within one hundred miles of Pasadena, Boron is somehow worlds away from the privileged upbringing and rakish lifestyle Barnes had always enjoyed.  In a town perpetually under the spell of the sandman, it appeared that Barnes would live out her remaining days in utter obscurity.  Her high-flying adventures, however, could be forgotten by neither her community nor her Happy Bottom cohorts.  In 1964, having been reintroduced to some of her old friends and colleagues, Barnes was was named the "First Citizen of Edwards Air Force Base" and scheduled regularly as a guest lecturer until her death in 1975.  Since 1980, November 7 has been dedicated as Pancho Barnes Day, marked by a yearly celebration at the USAF Test Pilot School at Edwards Air Force Base.

"Where's the party?"
(Source)

We choose to celebrate Pancho Barnes as an icon all year long because, unpretentious and a little naughty, she pioneered aviation, women's rights, and wacky tacky living without even trying!  It's great to know that Valerie Bertinelli will always be there to celebrate with us - and that's no sack of worms!!!

Pancho Barnes starring Valerie Bertinelli (1988)

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Hollywood House Hunting: Pee-Wee's Big Adventure

In the great scheme of things, an adventure to find one of our favorite houses from one of our favorite films seems positively puny when compared with the BIG adventure of the film's hero.  It might also seem highly unreasonable for a grown man to consider said house as holy ground.  When one considers that the house' primary, if fictional, resident was one Pee-Wee Herman (the original "eccentric man-child"), it all starts to make more sense.

Pee-Wee's House from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure (1985)
There are many subliminal (or overt) style cues/taste preferences I picked up from both Pee-Wee Herman and art director,
David L. Snyder - cowboys & indians, holiday decor, lawn art, space age travel, and symmetrical homes
of the 1920s.

Built in 1922, this delightfully-symmetrical house made Mr. Tiny jump for joy.
Even without its fire-engine-red paint job, yard full of statuary, and Water
Wiggle sprinkler system, this home would suit this eccentric man-child to a T!

Nestled between quite sizable Craftsman-style homes, the scale and current color of Mr. Herman's house make it a real standout in its lovely, South Pasadena neighborhood.  Having made no secret of the fact that my very favorite houses are those that resemble either a child's drawing or the sweet simplicity of a Mary Blair illustration, I could easily see myself feathering this particular nest.  I have never even seen the inside but I know that living in Pee-Wee Herman's house would make me feel like "the luckiest boy in the world."

With its red-tinted roof, picket fence, and twin peaks, Pee-Wee's house is a passable,
real-life stand-in for The Little House - even without the gingerbread trim.  

In taking this picture, I assured Mary that I was Pee-Wee and she was definitely Francis.
The neighbors, including Mr. Crowtray (I always thought he said "Crabtree"), were not buying it either.
Incidentally, this shot includes the window from which Mr. Crowtray communicated with Pee-Wee.

I am such a die-hard fan of everything Pee-Wee related that someone might be liable to call me "crazy," "a nerd," "an idiot."  To that person, I have only one thing to say, "I know you are but what am I?"

 Pee-Wee's house in action

Pee-Wee Herman's House
1848 Oxley St
South Pasadena, CA

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Hollywood House Hunting: Finding The Wonder Years

For Americans, November is a month dedicated to gratitude.  Veterans' Day offers us the chance to be grateful to members of our armed forces, recognizing them for the innumerable sacrifices associated with their service.  And while it is being ever more co-opted by greedy retailers, Thanksgiving is the holiday we have collectively consecrated for counting our blessings.  There is so much for which we at wacky tacky are grateful and one of those things is good, old-fashioned nostalgia.  Nostalgia is the very fuel for the wacky tacky fire and, in a way, this blog is my method of expressing my thanks.  

I've realized lately that I have aged to the point where I am starting to get nostalgic for my own youth.  This has created a weird paradigm because many of the programs I watched in my youth were themselves shows about nostalgia, not the least of which was The Wonder Years.  I find myself layered in compound nostalgia when recalling The Wonder Years because it was a show about family that we always watched together as a family.  Gathered around a hand-me-down television, I remember splitting my time between watching the show and watching my dad watch the show.  Of an age that would have made him a contemporary of Kevin Arnold, The Wonder Years allowed my dad the luxury of vicariously reliving some of the sweetest moments of his youth.  Rapt with nostalgia, I can still hear my folks humming along with the music and saying, "Oh, we had a stove just like that," and "We were the first on the block to get a color TV."  Is it absurd to think with a fair measure of confidence that my dad's inner monologue is voiced by Daniel Stern?

The Wonder Years (1988-1993)

We are lucky enough to have reels and reels of 

similarly-styled home movies shot by my grandpa.

For as much affinity as I have for the show, I will admit to never being fully satisfied with the outcome of The Wonder Years.  Call me corny, but *SPOILER ALERT*, Kevin and Winnie should have ended up together.  I am not the kind of person who really appreciates vagaries, loose ends, or complicated endings.  If you ever find yourself wondering what I value in my entertainment, you can be sure that it is pure, unadulterated fantasy.  Don't get me wrong; I'll allow my favorite shows to be riddled with conflict as long as the end sees everything tied up in a nice, neat, symmetrical bow.

As thankful as I am for the nostalgic storytelling of The Wonder Years, I do have a couple of gripes.  Jack should've softened and lived into old age so he could enjoy his grandchildren and celebrate the success of his wife. Wayne should've...well, Wayne did okay; taking over his old man's furniture business was probably as good as it was going to get for Wayne.  I think that life can be so scary, so unpredictable, so messy that, if just for one moment of make-believe, the promise of an Arnold-Cooper union would have made the world seem right.  I want what skeptics view as unattainable perfection; I can appreciate that it might seem naive, but I embrace the belief that if we aim for the moon and fail, at least we'll end up amongst the stars.

The Arnold family at home

At the very least, we'll end up amongst the homes of the stars.  In this case, the home of the Arnold family, nestled in the charming, suburban sprawl of Burbank, CA.  Included on our list of blessings-to-count is the fact that, more than twenty years after the show's finale, the Arnold home remains virtually unchanged.  From the white shutters, to the patchy front lawn, to the hedgerow, that edifice was so comforting in its familiarity that as we pulled up could almost hear Kevin asking Norma, "Hey mom, What's for dinner?"  We could almost see Winnie and Paul waving to us from the curb.

Cynthia giving us her very best Paul Pfeiffer
The roof has been replaced and a few windows have been updated, but number 516 is unmistakably Arnold.

Like many others, I'm fully aware that very rarely does life follow the escapist story lines of our dreams.  I can't say with any surety whether it happens slowly or in the blink of an eye, but I know how the magic veil of childhood innocence is lifted with age.  I know what it is like when, in an instant, life changes forever.  I know loss.  I suppose it is the harsh realities of life that make us more profoundly grateful for the moments of light, and laughter, and joy.  And while I feel like a late-bloomer still working through some of the challenges of finding my place in the world, I must remember to pause and give thanks for my story line thus far.  I must remember the blissful days of one imperfect family gathering to watch and relate to the struggles and triumphs of another imperfect family.  It is funny how something as simple as a television house can elicit such gratitude for my very own wonder years.

The Arnold Family Home

516 University Ave

Burbank, CA

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

Hollywood House Hunting: Norma Desmond's Seaside Retreat

Between The OC, The Real Housewives of Orange County, and the countless references from Angelenos about the horrors found behind the "Orange Curtain," Orange County, CA gets a bad rap for being vain, insipid, prejudice, and altogether too tan (I'm making it my ghostly-white mission to defeat that particular stereotype).  Unsure if this does anything to disprove the prevailing notion of Orange County, it must be said that the OC's beach communities were weekend getaways for Hollywood's greatest stars.  Bette Davis occupied multiple homes in Corona del Mar and Laguna Beach, while the "Duke," John Wayne, took up full-time residence in Newport Beach.  One day, as we motored around San Clemente, Orange County's southernmost beach town, we decided to pop in at the seaside retreat of one of Hollywood's earliest and most-enduring celebrities, Ms. Gloria Swanson.

The weekend home of Gloria Swanson (1926) - San Clemente, CA
I guess the stars really are "just like us;" there are few things
I love more than a 1920s, Spanish-style, California bungalow.

As charming as this bungalow may be, it hardly seemed a fitting home, even as a weekend hideaway, for a star the magnitude of Gloria Swanson.  I mean, here was Queen Kelly in a house that was well, apart from everything else, rather small. 

Perhaps Gloria didn't want a big house.
After all, the purpose of beach living is living on the beach.
A seaside retreat means suiting/booting up for hours of basking
in the glow of San Clemente's perpetually sunny shore.
(Source)

Maybe, I thought, the house was built to scale; it is well known that the diminutive star measured barely five-feet-tall.  Still, this house wasn't speaking to me - hearing that, Norma Desmond would have probably slapped me silly before uttering something about not needing to speak.  "We had faces!"  As a matter of fact, I was actually forced to do an about-face when we rounded the corner and I caught my first glimpse of the rest of the house.

Still modest by movie-star standards, this beautiful beach house
was definitely ready for its close-up (after closing up the garage door)!

In more than eight decades, San Clemente has changed dramatically, going from a sleepy, out-of-the-way beach town to a much, much larger, sleepy, out-of-the-way beach town.  Fortunately, precious little has changed about the appearance of old Gloria's getaway.  Set into the hillside and just a stone's throw from the crashing waves, the house looks nearly identical to the day it was built.

A vintage view of Casa Swanson

(Source)

The indoor/outdoor living, the smooth white stucco, the terra cotta roof, the steps lined in Spanish tile -  they're pure California, as indivisible from the coastal character of southern Orange County as Gloria Swanson from her character, Norma Desmond (at least in our minds).  Don't you love how access to the bedrooms is achieved via a covered walkway/gallery?  Don't you long for similar views of the Pacific Ocean and Santa Catalina Island from practically every room in your house?  Don't you desperately wish you lived in Orange County?!?!!  Okay, maybe I went a bit too far with that last one... but for the ability to frolic in the foam of San Clemente's azure surf and return home to Casa Swanson in its heyday, I'd happily acquiesce to wearing shorty-shorts and obeying creepy commands like...

"Turn around, darling.  Let me dry you."
Gloria Swanson as Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard with William Holden

Gloria Swanson's Seaside Retreat
418 Cazador Ln
San Clemente, CA


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Hollywood House Hunting: Taking the "Day Off"

"I heard that you were feeling ill -

Headache, fever, and a chill.

I came to help restore your pluck;

Cause I'm the nurse who likes to...(SLAM)!!!"

Like a lot of guys, I'm kind of a weakling when it comes to being sick.  I'll never make my illness anyone else's problem but I will be the first to shut the door, curl up in a ball, and refuse to emerge from my room until the last trace of phlegm has left the building.  Sick days are meant to be used and, as the old saying goes, "If you don't use 'em, you lose 'em."  Indeed, I have no compunction about taking the day off so as to avoid publicly suffering through the day, spreading my infectious germs hither and yon all over the workplace (Attention potential employers: please ignore this).  Honestly, if you think I look bad at full capacity, trust me when I say that you certainly don't want the vision of me in ill health haunting your dreams.  Yes, the best thing to do when one is under the weather is to stay home.  On the rare occasion when a "mental health day" is in order, I fully endorse the exploitation of that opportunity as well.  When there is adventure to be had, make like Ferris Bueller and take the day off!  And what better way to enjoy a day off than to see the house where Ferris lived?

"Bueller, Bueller, Bueller..."
The Bueller Home from Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)

Ferris Bueller's Day Off was kind of a cinematic anomaly in our house.  It was the first/only PG-13 movie we were allowed to see at a time when my parents took the "13" very seriously (I was well under thirteen when the film was released).  On a rare "date night," my parents actually saw the movie in the movie theater; so smitten were they by the last time Matthew Broderick exhibited any kind of onscreen charm, they made sure that, rather than continuously borrowing it from the library, we owned a copy of our very own.  With other movies (all other movies) my mom would launch her person in front of the screen like some kind of human shield/missile interceptor to protect us from questionable cinematic moments like passionate kissing, profane language, and even intimated intimacy.  I'll never forget a little library rental starring John Lithgow called Traveling Man.  Confused by the NR-rating, I think my mom earnestly believed that the dad from Harry and the Hendersons would never make a movie to challenge her parental guidelines.  That delusion was the exact reason she was just a few seconds too late to block the highly-motivating talents of a rather-buxom exotic dancer, working hard to motivate Lithgow and a conference room full of traveling salesmen.  I think my mom "lost her library card" after that incident.  With FBDO, she always remained in her seat; she must've figured that the references and words we understood weren't too bad and the rest went right over our little toe-heads.  After countless viewings, Ferris Bueller's Day Off is a venerated title around our house, oft watched and oft quoted.

Most guys liked Sloane (Mia Sara) but Jennifer Grey was feisty, and foul-mouthed!!!
The nose may change but she'll always be Jeanie/Shawna to me.

If I could never have Jeanie, there was always Grace (Edie McClurg) - GENIUS!!!

So impactful has this movie been on my life that I have spent many years chasing the dream.  Everywhere I go, I try to capture the Bueller mystique, starting at the Art Institute of Chicago.  Sent to the city on business several years ago, I made my work pals (a woman, another fellow, and me) pose like the famous statue, Portrait of Balzac (à la Ferris, Sloane, and Cameron).  In a very un-Ferris fashion, I was unsuccessful in my attempt when the one person willing to take our photo didn't understand what we were trying to do and then got distracted/hassled by an aggressive female docent.  Infuriated, all I could manage to say was, "What if you need a favor someday from Ferris Bueller? Then where will you be, huh?  You heartless wench!"

This could have been us!

Knowing the important place this movie occupies in my heart and mind, I felt it was finally time to go find the Bueller homestead.  While John Hughes' films are well-known for their Chicago setting, I luckily didn't have to travel quite so far.  Instead of suburban Chicago, the Bueller home is actually in Bixby Knolls, an historically-ritzy enclave of Long Beach, CA (who knew Ferris and Snoop Dogg were neighbors???).

The shutters are now blue, the trees have grown, but that portico
and hedge-framed circular driveway are unmistakably Bueller.

Confession time.  As much as I like to pretend I am a "righteous dude" like Ferris, in the imaginary recasting of the film, there is no question that I am Cameron.  I have my moments; I've been known to join a parade, dance and sing in public, enjoy the occasional ditch day, lie to my parents, and make my sister's life miserable, but I am really just a tightly-wound bundle of nerves, neuroses, and insecurities - think lump of coal/diamond.  I think that is why, nearly thirty years later, the film continues to resonate so deeply with me.  Quelling my anxieties, the film's message is to take chances, to enjoy life, to adventure, and to live in the moment (even if the moment is simply a short drive on your day off to see the outside of a stranger's house).  As Ferris says, "Life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop to look around once in a while, you could miss it."  And so I say to you, just "take a stand" and take the car...but don't kill the car.

The Ferris Bueller House

4160 Country Club Dr

Long Beach, CA

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Hollywood House Hunting: The Ennis & Sowden Houses

My father was a great builder of things - furniture, gates, a structure to house the pool equipment, theater scenery.  I, however, have done nothing to maintain his legacy.  Anything more advanced than an electric screwdriver is beyond my construction ken.  Hindsight graces me with the blessed guilt I feel for never apprenticing my dad, never absorbing his rich knowledge of the way things work.  As big a disappointment as I must be to my dad, Lloyd Wright must have been an equal source of genuine pride to his own father, Papa Frank Lloyd Wright.

Due to an extremely superficial knowledge of both architectural history and the location of Falling Water, I suppose that I've always associated Wright architecture strongly with locales east of the Rocky Mountains.  In spite of my ignorance, California (and the rest of the nation) shares equally in the wonder of America's most renowned architectural family.  Thankfully, two homes in Los Angeles, CA ensure that the adage "Like father, like son" will not die with Mr. Tiny.

The Ennis House (1924) - Los Angeles, CA

Built in the Mayan Revival style, Frank Lloyd Wright's Ennis House is as much a part of the Los Angeles landscape as the Chinese Theater or Griffith Park, in the foothills of which The Ennis House stands.  Thousands of textile blocks create an imposing hillside facade, reminiscent of many of the great architect's other works but with a little extra drama/adventure/whimsy that we'll call "The Hollywood Treatment."

Aren't these gates incredible?!!
 A definitive example of Wright's signature organic style, we always wish we could go beyond
those beautiful gates to explore the property and to get an uninterrupted view of the city.

The concrete "textile block" of The Ennis House has suffered over the years from dereliction and the elements.
Fortunately, the landmark structure has been undergoing a complete rehabilitation since its most recent sale in 2011.

The architecture and Wright-provenance alone are enough to make The Ennis House a classic sightseeing destination.  Although, movie buffs that we are, we can't escape our fascination with the home's cinematic history.

From House on Haunted Hill (1959) to Blade Runner (1982),
so many productions have used The Ennis House for location
shooting and for set inspiration, that the house has its very own 
IMDb page!
(Source/Source)

Timothy Dalton as Neville Sinclair and Paul Sorvino as Eddie Valentine in a scene from The Rocketeer (1991)
Incidentally, this is one of Mr. Tiny's all-time favorite movies; it's got everything -
nazis, mobsters, romance, action, adventure, old Hollywood, and even a zeppelin!!!
(Source)

Like a chip off the old, Mayan, concrete textile block, Lloyd Wright (FLW's eldest son) designed The Sowden House.  A miracle of modernism, the younger Wright created incredible depth and dimension with a combination of glass and textural block.  This house too not only carries with it the Wright cachet, but also the intrigue of Hollywoodland lore. 

The John Sowden House (1926) - Los Angeles, CA
The lush vegitation makes passersby on busy Franklin Avenue feel as if they've stumbled upon a lost Mayan temple.

Commissioned by a reputable artist in the 1920s, by the 1940s someone allegedly far more sinister inhabited the home's storied walls.  In 1947 Dr. George Hodel, a respected surgeon, became a key suspect in the grisly Black Dahlia murder.  While he went unprosecuted for the crime, the doctor's own son believes that Elizabeth Short was murdered and mutilated inside the house, by his father, before being abandoned by the roadside in Leimert Park.  Shrouded in conspiracy and legend, the case continues to inspire Hollywood storytellers.

A more savory entry in the history of the home is its role in The Aviator; although the well-known screen siren never lived there alone or with any of her three husbands (Mickey Rooney, Artie Shaw, Frank Sinatra), The Sowden House stood in for the glamorous Ava Gardner's (Kate Beckinsale) Hollywood manse in the Howard Hughes biopic. 

Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Beckinsale, and Martin Scorsese on the set of The Aviator (2004)
(Source)

I love both of these masterpieces of Wright architecture, as much for their Hollywood history as for their living proof that modernism was not solely a mid-century invention.  Moreover, I truly appreciate a son perpetuating his father's legacy; I hope that I can make things "Wright" by emulating my own father (if not in my ability to operate a hammer without removing my thumbnail).  If you are ever planning a self-guided architectural tour of Los Angeles, be sure to include The Ennis and Sowden Houses on your itinerary!


The Ennis Houses

2607 Glendower Ave
Los Angeles, CA

ennishouse.com



The Sowden House
5121 Franklin Ave
Los Angeles, CA

sowdenhouse.com


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Hollywood House Hunting: Double Indemnity

There are none so disillusioned as I after my first screening of the ultimate film-noir classic, Double Indemnity.

Double Indemnity (1944)

Having grown up with Fred MacMurray as the genial eccentric/teacher/scout-leader/father-figure featured in The Shaggy Dog, The Absent-Minded Professor, Bon Voyage!, Son of Flubber, Follow Me Boys, The Happiest Millionaire, and My Three Sons, I was totally unprepared to confront the murderous anti-hero of Billy Wilder's opus of sin and seduction, Double Indemnity.  How could Disney's all-American good guy have been so bad?!!

I knew and loved the brainy Professor Brainard NOT the nefarious Walter Neff!

It didn't take long for me to forget flubber and embrace old Fred as the flawed everyman strangled by his own lust, greed, and hubris - the film is pure genius!  Many years and many viewings later, Double Indemnity definitely ranks among my favorite movies of all time.  It is a wonder then that it took so long to go and find the Dietrichson residence, a true Hollywood Hills dream home!

"It was one of those California-Spanish houses everyone was nuts about ten or fifteen years ago; this one
must've cost somebody about thirty-thousand bucks...that is, if he ever finished paying for it." - Walter Neff

On a recent adventure day with the wacky tacky adventure team, we made sure to include the Double Indemnity house on our architectural tour.   In the film, the location is described as "near Los Feliz Boulevard" and technically it is; but after wending one's way along the narrow, winding roads to the top of the hill, the house feels a world apart from the lowlands.  With two movie buffs in the wacky wagon, an unwitting passerby might have thought we saw a spaceship landing - awestruck is an understatement.

The Dietrichson house then & now.
Aside from some slight changes in landscaping (and casting -
Fred to Emily), the house is very much as it was during filming.

The garage doors were wide open when we visited as there were several crews working at the house on that day.  We were definitely conflicted between respecting the fact that it was a private residence and wanting desperately to go on a self-guided tour of the property.  Luckily for the homeowners, the highly-professional workmen kept these wannabe trespassers at bay (no harm in asking, right?).

I like to think that this little balcony is where Phyllis Dietrichson
(Barbara Stanwyck) was sunbathing in nothing but that "honey of an anklet."

Are you a nut for old Hollywood?  Do you count yourself as a Fred fan?  Have you ever house hunted for film locales?  Are you an admirer of Double Indemnity?  Have you ever committed adultery, murder, and insurance fraud all at the same time?  Wait a minute...don't answer that!

The Double Indemnity House
6301 Quebec Dr
Los Angeles, CA


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny