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Alerted to its existence by a friend, last night we watched a video from a series called "Great Streets," from PBS. This one was Randy Newman doing Sunset Boulevard. It was only an hour long, but of course he had access to some places we couldn't get into, such as The Pink Palace, the old residence of Mickey Hargitay and Jayne Mansfield, with it's heart-shaped pool. It was originally owned by Rudy Vallee, and until recently by Engelbert Humperdinck. It's history now, torn down shortly after Randy Newman visited. Somebody paid $5,000,000 and tore it down. Such is life in Beverly Hills.
Randy cheated, he didn't walk it as he had promised, but if you're going to cheat, doing it in a cherry '60s Chevy convertible is the way to go. Another thing he had was a research department, so we learned some things about the street's history, and I noted a couple places I'd like to go back to. We'll probably do that after we finish, at the sea.
But before that we ventured into the heart of darkest Beverly Hills, like Martin Sheen in search of Marlon Brando.
We parked across the street from the
Beverly Hills Hotel, one of the
fancy places I did not stay in during my movie industry days. Always
wanted to; no one ever offered. But I did have lunch in the Polo
Lounge on my first business trip to Tinseltown. More about that in a
future episode. We started walking along Sunset, back toward West
Hollywood.
First thing you notice: Walls. Second thing you notice: More walls.
Walls and walls and walls ... and then an alleyway, neatly lined
with big trash cans. Wasn't Nick Nolte rummaging in one in the
opening scenes of
Down and Out in Beverly Hills?
Probably a very nice class of rubbish back there. Before long you
realize that back alleys is pretty much all you're going to see.
When I say walls, it's an oversimplification. Usually there is a
hedge, from 8 to 20 or more feet high. Behind that will be a
concrete block wall. Sometimes it's an ivy-covered wall. One place
had a giant hedge, a cyclone fence, and a board fence atop a
concrete block wall, all posted with signs reading "Bel Air Patrol.
Armed Response." I figure if the ravening, furious, hungry
proletariat come with tanks these people will be fucked. Otherwise,
they're ready for anything.
You don't realize it so much, driving through. You see a lot of
greenery, huge iron gates, and here and there a glimpse of a
gigantic pile of stone that someone is living in. You zip on by,
soon you're in
Pacific Palisades or going by
UCLA.
But when you walk it you are soon overwhelmed by the vast, cold,
snotty isolation of it all. These people have walled themselves in,
and walled you out. You are riff-raff, to be channeled through the
neighborhood as quickly as possible, seeing as little as possible.
Because you don't see anything. Even the gates, even the stout iron
barred fences are now all fitted with green canvas laced up tight.
Sure, I understand the need for privacy. Some of these people are
famous, and would be pestered to death without their walls. Even the
bland, ordinary millionaires don't want hordes of people standing
around gawking at their mansions. Neither would I, if I lived here.
But the funny thing ... the side streets, the broad, gently winding
avenues of BH aren't like this. They are open, mostly, and many
don't have a fence of any kind. But then, nobody is driving by,
either. These streets aren't on the way to anything. There is no
hustle and flow here, as there is on Sunset. I get the feeling that,
if possible, the neighborhood would like to put Sunset in a tunnel
so the residents wouldn't have to even think about the endless
stream of just any old types of junky cars that daily invade their
leafy nirvana.
I can prove they feel that way about busses. We walked a mile out
and a mile back. There was a bus stop at the beginning, and one at
the end. One mile between bus stops. Think about that. The only
people on those busses are either just passing through, in which
case they love it because they move faster ... or they have jobs
here. Maids, mostly, because gardeners have to have trucks for their
stuff. So they begin their day with a half a mile walk to the street
where their employer lives, and there's a good chance that could be
a mile or more up a very steep hill.
Lee told me this story
Bill Maher related. He admits he's
rich, doesn't apologize for it (and why should he? He earned it),
lives in a great place, has help. Every morning he sees these mostly
Hispanic women trudging through the hills where he lives. He says he
often stops and picks them up, gives them a ride. He sometimes asks
them if anyone else ever picks them up.
No, never. Just isn't done, old sport. Mustn't spoil them. One woman
actually told her maid that she was happy for her, getting all that
free cardiovascular exercise. The mind reels. This is certainly a
bitch who pays a lot of money at a gym or, more likely, for a
personal trainer ... to get the stuff this fortunate illegal Mexican
woman is getting for free! What could be more liberal than that?
I have sat on a lot of bus benches during our Sunset trek, resting
my feet, and I must tell you that the two in Beverly Hills are the
grungiest I've ever seen. They look like they were dumped there in
1922 and promptly forgotten. This is a town that can afford video
cameras monitoring every traffic light on the Boulevard, but won't
paint a bus bench. There is no shelter. Probably because it doesn't
rain much here, and a little fresh air and rain never hurt anybody,
anyway. Especially people who grew up working in the fields. They
probably enjoy getting wet, like a nice refreshing dip in the pool
...
So what I am saying here? What am I, a friggin' communist?
No. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, threw it away. It
just didn't work, and it never will.
But this isn't working, either. During our hour-and-a-half walk
though BH these people got a little richer than you did, pulled a
little more ahead of you. (I exclude any
multi-millionaires among my readers, if there are such.)
During the last year they pulled a lot ahead of you, and during the
four years before that ... well, they're so far ahead of you by now
you can't even see their dust. And they have every expectation of
doing even better in the years to come. The rich are getting richer,
the poor are getting poorer, the
gap is widening.
So I hate rich people, right? No, not all of them, any more than I
hate all lawyers (though I admit I can get a bit bombastic on both
subjects.) Some people were born rich. Can't blame them for that.
Many earned their wealth doing nothing with even a hint of moral
taint to it, and never asked for or lobbied for or paid for the
incredibly inequitable tax breaks they benefit from.
But there are
others who, if they are Christians,
would do well to remember what Jesus had to say about rich people,
camels, and the eyes of needles. (Matthew 19:24)
And if there is a heaven, I'd like to be able to stand beside the
Pearly Gates for just a little while (waiting for my bus taking me
somewhere else), and see the baffled expressions on the faces of a
lot of people from zip code 90210 as St. Peter's valet parking staff
tells them they'll have to drive their own Rolls-Royces through an
entrance ... only wide enough for a camel.
May 8, 2006