Dental work in Burbank, removing old silver filling, a worry about mercury. Dentist needed to scrape around near the nerve. Shots deep in the jaw. Anxiety. I asked for nitrous oxide and they’d procured it for me. Out of pocket and worth it. $50 a tank, the nurse said cheerfully. She sat by me while the Novocain took effect. Inhale inhale, that’s the way to check out. Zooming out, I screen the entire film of Anatole Litvak’s Mayerling in my head, the tragic romance, the doomed prince, the plot against the throne—thinking why my mother would have loved it so much. Danielle Darrieux’ face is perfect for 19th century angst.
When the dentist asks if I’m doing ok, I tell him I’m working on my next book. I’m thinking of people I love—my brother Larry. I don’t see him enough. I’m waiting for the words, “We’re done now.” I’m gripping the armrest and trying to relax. I’m remembering to breathe and wanting it to be over. According to the dentist, I kept murmuring “Nitrous in Gaza, Nitrous in Gaza.” I solved world peace.
From my nitrous oxide dental experience, I hurtle downtown via the 110 Arroyo Freeway to a mandatory session at Central Library with our “disaster expert” who explains how to evacuate the building in the case of a) an earthquake b) a fire c) a gas leak and d) a sarin attack. “Remember,” he says, “when the planes flew into the WTC, the whole building was twisted. So don’t count on using those doors to exit.”
I felt queasy. Slept 5 hours. Awoke to read about explorer Percy Fawcett in the living hell of the fecund Amazon, lianas choking trees, the competition for light, poison darts, children roasting on a spit, maggots in the flesh, mosquitos in the eyeballs.
LOUISE STEINMAN
AUGUST 14
1907
Am reading modern Japanese fiction. There are several Japanese book-stores in town, each an extremely interesting place….All these revelations of the Japanese mind and heart convince me anew of the childishness there is in forgetting that all races of men are brothers—that we all know the same struggles, the same hardships, the same loves and hates. O! that “the civilized world” would but believe this utterly and stop the unspeakable sin of War!
OLIVE PERCIVAL
1925
Dear Andrew:
…Sunday there was a quite gay party that began about the middle of the afternoon and progressed until deep into the night. It was one mess of novelists, poets, critics, et cetera, successful, good, bad great and small. I went to see one of the said novelists, Gordon Young, Tuesday afternoon in order to gratify his avid desire to exhibit his library, which is said to be the best of the kind on the coast.
It is really a marvellous collection of old and rare books—first folios of Shakespeare, Spenser, Chaucer, and hundreds of lesser men, but the real prize perhaps is a copy of Holinshed’s Chronicles imputed to be Shakespeare’s.
ROBERT PENN WARREN
1955
Lunch with Gore. I guess he’s still wondering what I think of Messiah, his novel. Well, I don’t. I’m bored and stuck fast. He asks quite often about my journal and talks apprehensively about the famous one Anais Nin is keeping—seventy volumes already!—in which he believes he figures most unfavorably. I believe he really thinks about “posterity” and its “verdict”—just like a nineteenth-century writer! And I don’t know whether to admire this, or feel touched by it, or just regard him as a conceited idiot.
CHRISTOPHER ISHERWOOD
1962
Sports
I like tennis
But never had no one to play tennis with me.
OCTAVIA M. BUTLER
1965
Every time a car with whites in it entered the area the word spread like lightning down the street:
“Here comes Whitey—Get him!”…
I believe the mobs would have moved into white neighborhoods, but it was getting late and many of them had to go to work Friday morning.
ROBERT RICHARDSON
AUGUST 15
1850
When the city has no work in which to employ the chain gang, the Recorder shall, by means of notices conspicuously posted, notify the public that such a number of prisoners will be auctioned off to the highest bidder for private service.
CITY COUNCIL MINUTES
1934
Here I sit, laughing and laughing. I have a secretary and a great big office and a lot of people bow when I pass, all of them hating my Dago guts—
I not only made these folks swallow that bilge-water but I did it to the tune of $1500, plus $250 a week for an indefinite period. Whoops! I never had so much money in the offing in my life; moreover, if my luck holds good I shall certainly bed Del Rio inside of four weeks. Even as a tiny tot behind the coal shed that woman was my objective, and once I sent her twenty-five cents for her picture. Ah, what an American idyll….
Here’s a good one on Erskine Caldwell. He is out here coining money hand over fist at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. The producers assigned him to the task of writing an original North Woods story. Caldwell is from the South, as you know. He was stumped. But he went to work and delivered a long script. He had no idea of what a “North Woods” story was about, so, on the last page of his script, the last line, he wrote in parenthesis, “(All of the above action takes place in the North Woods.)”
JOHN FANTE, to H. L. Mencken
1961
Some of the things that are going on made me sick….who is going to help the people?
CESAR CHAVEZ, to his mentor
AUGUST 16
1935
Jesus, I just this instant heard that Will Rogers was killed; I was doing an original script which I hoped to sell to Fox for him—
DON MARQUIS, to a friend
1945
I don’t like this damn place any better than I ever did. That is one Comfort: at least I cant be any sicker tomorrow for Mississippi than I was yesterday.
WILLIAM FAULKNER, to a friend
1952
One begins to scent the jealousies and disappointments and ambitions much as in the theatre, only rather more concentrated out here, like actors crossed with Anglo-Indian civil servants who have a perpetual chip on their shoulders!
JOHN GIELGUD, to his mother
AUGUST 17
1846
To the People of California…
The Territory of California now belongs to the United States, and will be governed, as soon as circumstances permit, by officers and laws similar to those by which other Territories of the United States are regulated and protected.
But, until the governor, the secretary, and council are appointed, and the various departments of the government are arranged…persons who, without special permission, are found with arms outside of their own houses, will be considered as enemies and will be shipped out of the country.
ROBERT F. STOCKTON
1938
Corinne phoned good-bye. Feel quite a gap. Don’t know what to think yet.
MARSHALL MCLUHAN
1946
If Howard Hughes intends to continue producing pictures like The Outlaw, his studio had better do something about research.
At any moment now I am expecting to walk into a theater to see Ulysses S. Grant attacking the Maginot Line, or Lydia Pinkham doing the Salome dance with the head of Senator Bilbo.
To anyone with the slightest knowledge of Western history, this most recent display of Western lore is painful, to say the least.
If I were a relative of either Pat Garrett or Doc Holliday, I’d sure sue somebody.
LOUIS L’AMOUR
AUGUST 18
1935
The papers this morning are filled with news and letters concerning Rogers. No one, not even a president, could command such space by dying, for Rogers has no enemy and politics does not bar anyone from speaking well of him. He is on the way to become a mythical character, but to me he
was a homely character, a rancher with the mind of a wit and a philosopher. I think of him sitting obscurely on the ground with the grooms while a polo game was going on. Even when playing he avoided notice as much as possible. He came usually in ranch clothing, a soft hat drawn low over his face. On a horse he was transformed. He rode lightly, gracefully, in cowboy style, and he played a superb game. He wore a red over shirt which showed his white sleeves to the elbow and my dim eyes were able to follow him. He was everywhere on the field, his voice ringing out in command. When his boys played with him, they were a host!
HAMLIN GARLAND
1936
Worked with Billy Wilder, who paces constantly, has over-extravagant ideas, but is stimulating. He has the blasé quality I have missed sadly in dear Frank Partos. He has humor—a kind of humor that sparks with mine.
CHARLES BRACKETT, on meeting his partner
1962
I like the Giants but I think the Dodgers best and I want to see the Yankees beaten. It don’t much matter who does the job.
LANGSTON HUGHES
AUGUST 19
1942
Life is going on much the same as usual here with occasional excursions into Hollywood—to concerts that [John] Barbirolli conducts at the Bowl, and to see odd people that are, have been, or may be useful to any of us. It is an extraordinary place—absolutely mad, and really horrible. I can’t really attempt to describe it, because it has no relation to any other place on earth. It actually isn’t a place by itself but a suburb of Los Angeles, which is the ugliest and most sprawling city on earth. The chief features of Hollywood are that the things that one worries about so much don’t matter a damn—money, time, distance, behaviour, clothes (especially for men). It is completely unreal….
One house we stayed in was built like a boat, with a moat round it,—in the middle of all the other houses—which anyhow are any and every style from a native-mud-hut to an Indian temple—via Pagoda & Spanish villas….
The driving is mad—I saw a wonderful little argument between 2 cars the one on the right wanting to go left, across the other which wouldn’t give way. After blowing its horn madly for about 1 minute (they were both travelling about 45 down a main Boulevard), it started to swerve madly about—like this [diagram] until finally it just barged into the side of the other, & there was an awful crash—just because neither would give way!
BENJAMIN BRITTEN, to his sister
1948
How I long to surrender! How easy it would be to convince myself of the plausibility of my parents’ life!
SUSAN SONTAG
AUGUST 20
1886
At 8 o’clock we await the train for Santa Monica, one of the finest resorts of the Pacific coast. The train is long and filled with passengers going to the coast to spend the day. We ride through continual orange groves and fruit orchards loaded with fruits of all kinds, oranges, figs, lemon, plums, olives, peaches and grapes, until we reach the little town of 1,000 inhabitants which lies upon the sandy bluffs around the horseshoe curve of the Pacific coast.
Here we find a happy place to spend a summer day. Along the coast is a village of tents which are homes for the hundreds that are spending the summer here. A long canopy built of boards extends along the shore, where, protected from the sun, we may sit and watch the many as they go in and out of the water….
Back of this awning are extensive bathing houses, where all kinds of baths can be secured. Hot, cold, salt, fresh, plunge, steam, or private. We secure our valuables, and avail ourselves of an ocean bath. The sea is rough, and as we are unused to jumping the waves, we hold to the rope while they carry us under, much to the amusement of those who are accustomed to the waters. Conscious of the fact that too much bathing is not well for those unused to the water, we secure dry clothes and sit upon the walk to watch the royal fun of the tent dwellers who swim in the splashing waves. It is now noon so we secure lunch, sold by the pound, and sit in the sand along the shore and gather the lengthy sea-weeds as they come drifting in, from which we secure the snarly roots for ornaments in our home, press a few of the long, jelly-like leaves for our collection….After supper we continue our wandering through the electric lighted streets, taking in all that is of interest in this city home of the invalid.
SUE A. SANDERS
1935
Hope he’s as good at that [portraiture] as he is at seaweed-ploughed fields sand erosions & cypressroots!
E. E. CUMMINGS on Edward Weston
AUGUST 21
1936
As I was dressing this morning, I realized as never before that this old body of mine must soon be delivered up to the flames. In the natural course of events, I shall cease to animate it. It has served me well for seventy-six years, but it is wearing out. To dwell on this side of life does no good but it would be foolish to ignore the inevitable. I would rather think of committing my body to the flame of a furnace than of surrendering it to the earth. We all know this change must come but we do not act upon this knowledge. We go on from hour to hour and day to day, as we should do, till the inevitable demand must be met. After all, the living—even the aged—are concerned with life, not death. To most of us life is worth living even at seventy-five.
HAMLIN GARLAND
2008
Un coyote, te lo juro, about three feet from me. Not running, not walking. Un poco como yo iba, ese southwestern ícono….
de cuando en cuando, their howls cut through, rise above the muffled roar de la 210E freeway extension. I can hear them after dark, when the winds change pero la rush hour traffic hasn’t died down del todo. Los high-pitched howls drift in, a mournful, choral overlay to the whoosh whoosh de la 210, por la ventanita de la master bathroom.
SUSANA CHÁVEZ-SILVERMAN
AUGUST 22
1859
San Pedro. The point—the beach—the hill!
RICHARD HENRY DANA
1934
It’s not very funny around here—but it is certainly worth seeing—I must be softening up through affection and easy living and the luxuries of the imperial bed chamber—because I find myself feeling about [Josef von Sternberg] and the Paramount lot like a small boy who’s just been sent to boarding school—still I’ve almost ticked off a week already—I’ve spilt the milk and now I’ve got to lap it up—so that’s that. But I don’t think I’ll be found in these parts soon again….
I’m in bed reading Chekhov’s letters and meditating on the ideas for a movie of Mr. Von S. I’m fed by phony Russian waiters who bring up phoney Russian food from the restaurant downstairs.
JOHN DOS PASSOS
AUGUST 23
1965
I really miss him as a person now—do you know what I mean, he’s not so much “The Baby” or “my baby” any more, he’s a real living part of me now, you know he’s Julian and everything and I can’t wait to see him, I miss him more than I’ve ever done before—I think it’s been a slow process my feeling like a real father! I hope all this is clear and understandable. I spend hours in dressing rooms and things thinking about the times I’ve wasted not being with him—and playing with him—you know I keep thinking of those stupid bastard times when I keep reading bloody newspapers and other shit whilst he’s in the room with me and I’ve decided it’s ALL WRONG!…
I’ll go now ’cause I’m bringing myself down thinking about what a thoughtless bastard I seem to be—and it’s only sort of three o’clock in the afternoon, and it seems the wrong time of day to feel so emotional—I really feel like crying—its stupid—and I’m choking up now as I’m writing—I don’t know what’s the matter with me—it’s not the tour that’s so different from other tours—I mean having lots of laughs (you know the type hee! hee!) but in between the laughs there is such a drop.
JOHN LENNON, to his wife Cynthia
AUGUST 24
1907
I feel rather blue tonight because a boy that I have known since he was a baby 20 years ago is dead; and because an old man that I like still more killed him. Procopio got a war-path rage on him yesterday and ran amuck after Amate…Poor old Amate did just right. The boy meant to kill him and was perfectly competent to kill 3 or 4 like him—even barring the boulder he had in his hands.
Procopio did beautifully for 36 hours—all day yesterday and all night last night (at least till 6:15 when I quit him this morning) and all day to-day; but at 5 to-night with his tossing around and getting up (the disadvantages of the neurotic type) he broke something and collapsed almost like the flickering out of a candle in the wind. I have a hole in me within an inch of the same place and with the same caliber of a ball, which made me grunt for a few days, but has stayed quiet for 25 years and doesn’t bother me at all. But the boy was even less patient than I am; and his troubles are over.
Dear Los Angeles Page 24
