He said he was not done with writing, but that the world did not give him time now. He was on his way to a writers’ conference.
ANAÏS NIN
SEPTEMBER 4
(the city’s traditionally observed birthday though no firsthand observers thought to record it)
1954
Those people treat writers like bootblacks. Worse.
NUNNALLY JOHNSON, to Fred Allen
1981
Not a big day. Met with Al Haig—the world is still exploding. The French ambassador to Beirut was gunned down by terrorists doing the Syrians’ work.
Met with Jim Watt. He’s taking a lot of abuse from environmental extremists but he’s absolutely right. People are ecology too and they can’t forage for food and live in caves.
Saw a film on Begin, a kind of character study. He’ll be here Wed.
Had a pleasant evening with a stack of horse and western magazines.
RONALD REAGAN
SEPTEMBER 5
1876
On arriving at the point of junction at Lang Station the entire working force of the road—some 4,000 strong—was seen drawn up in battle array. Swarms of Chinese and scores of teams and drivers formed a working display such as is seldom seen. The secret of rapid railroad building was apparent at a glance. The spot selected for the ceremony was on a broad and beautiful plain surrounded by undulating hills on the one side and the rugged peaks and deep gorges of the San Fernando mountains on the other. The scene was one worthy of the painter’s pencil, but by some strange oversight, no photographer was present and the picture presented will live only in the memories of those whose good fortune it was to be present….
After the cheering had subsided and the crowd had been induced to stand back a short distance, Gov. Downey introduced L. W. Thatcher to Col. Crocker as the public spirited jeweler who had manufactured the gold spike and silver hammer to be used in the ceremonies. Col. Crocker thanked him for his appropriate gift, and said the company would treasure them in its archives as souvenirs of the great event.
The spike is of solid San Gabriel gold, the same in size as ordinary railroad spikes; the hammer is of solid silver with a handle of orange wood. Taking the hammer in one hand and the spike in the other, Col. Crocker said, “Gentlemen of Los Angeles and San Francisco, it has been deemed best on this occasion that the last spike to be driven should be of gold, that most precious of metals, as indicative of the great wealth which will flow into the coffers of San Francisco and Los Angeles when this connection is made, and is no mean token of the importance of this grand artery of commerce which we are about to unite with this last spike. This wedding of Los Angeles with San Francisco is not a ceremony consecrated by the hands of wedlock, but by the bands of steel. The speaker hopes to live to see the time when these beautiful valleys through which we passed today will be filled with a happy and prosperous people, enjoying every facility for comfort, happiness and education. Gentlemen, I am no public speaker, but I can drive a spike!”
Los Angeles Star
1929
“El Pueblo” came of age between dawn and dusk on the 5th day of September, in the year of our Lord, 1876, and of the Independence of the United States of America, exactly the one-hundredth. At two o’clock in the afternoon, more or less, at a tiny settlement then and since known as Lang’s Station, sequestered in the depths of Soledad Cañon, Charles F. Crocker drove the golden spike that completed the Southern Pacific Railroad and gave to Los Angeles its first all-rail contact with the Atlantic Seaboard.
PHIL TOWNSEND HANNA
1939
It is 104 here today but the papers in this godawful hellhole proclaim “Angelenos Suffer No Discomfort.” That would be too bad. I hope the sons of bitches burn up.
JAMES THURBER, to the New Yorker office manager
SEPTEMBER 6
1847
I went on a gunning expedition to day and was galloping along with the rest of the officiers when my horse tripped and fell with me roling on and bruising me very much, breaking also a very handsome gun I had with me—One duck was the contents of my game bag when I got back to barracks—where I found letters from home—I laid myself down on the bed and though suffering much from pain caused by my fall read my letters with much pleasure
LIEUTENANT JOHN MCHENRY HOLLINGSWORTH
1927
A rather eventful day—Father went to a luncheon of the cast of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and sat with Charlotte Treadway, the leading lady. She wrote a message to me on his menu—Mary Frances, Just oceans of health, happiness, and success—Charlotte Treadway. Aha! She almost sent word that she’d be glad to hear from me. We’re all going to the last night of the play, as a last windup, and I may meet her….
Bob Ridgeway called tonight and, after talking for what seemed hours, asked me to go to the show tomorrow night. He’s a pathetic person. I think I like him—and I’m afraid he’s a little off about me. It won’t hurt him—but I hate to have him spend his hard-earned salary on a person who cares so little for him.
M.F.K. FISHER
1961
Last night, a mysteriously happy dream. Just wandering about in a landscape. How seldom my dreams are absolutely free, as this one was, from anxiety!
America to resume underground atom tests, after third Russian explosion.
Bye now.
CHRISTOPHER ISHERWOOD
SEPTEMBER 7
1940
The young writer here seldom understands his own nature. It is like some magic cow that chews and chews whatever is in sight. It drinks water, absorbs sun and air—it is a female organism. And then it gives milk, or milk is taken from it. The cow does not understand what made the milk; the artist seldom understands what made the artwork. But a certain passivity is germane to creation (call it creative repose, perhaps)….
Really, how much more important to me is this journal than the completion of a play or even two!
CLIFFORD ODETS
1956
In the press office of the NBC television studios, three busy gentlemen dropped their concerns with George Gobel and Queen for a Day and Wally Cox to come over and chatter animatedly about Iowa. “Tell me about Muscatine,” pleaded one balding executive who had cut short a conversation with Eddie Fisher when he learned there was somebody from Iowa on the premises.
“I know a guy who came from Davenport,” was the contribution of the former editor of the Los Angeles Mirror, “did you ever run into Dale Carroll?”
It’s funny. Everybody you meet tells you how marvelous it is to be in Los Angeles, but wants to hear all about the place he left to come here….
You don’t talk about smog in Los Angeles, unless you want to be put down as a boor and an undiplomatic agitator. The natives defend the weather as an act of faith, and woe unto the unwary who dares make a critical remark.
Even the newspaper weather reports sidestep the naughty word. A forecast will say, for instance, “Light eye irritation in central, foothill and San Gabriel Valley sections. But morning trash burning will be permitted.” This, translated, means that there will be a little smog, but not enough to prevent citizens from putting a match to the week’s accumulation of waste-paper.
SYLVIA STRUM BREMER
SEPTEMBER 8
1905
Don Juan died on Friday the 8th of September at 2:40 p.m. and was buried on Monday the 11th of September at Calvary cemetery in Los Angeles in the family vault.
DON JUAN BAUTISTA BANDINI’S SON, in his father’s diary
1934
We as a family were turned down for the Bel Air Bay Club because we were connected with the movies….The Fred Astaires were excluded at the same time, to Fred’s bitter shame, I understand.
CHARLES BRACKETT
SEPTEMBER 9
1847
I received letters a few days a
go from home informing me, that Edward had enlisted in Walker’s company on the 9 of February It was on the 17 April that I dreamed of his death I now fear very much that it is true.
LIEUTENANT JOHN MCHENRY HOLLINGSWORTH
1956
I sat down in a motel in Pasadena with the dog, cat and one child, while Cleo and the two girls moved in with my sister. I had kept my electric typewriter, and by the second day of residence, I was operating it as fast as the Lord gave me the strength to do.
DALTON TRUMBO, to two friends
SEPTEMBER 10
1935
I am deep in a short, swift novel of California that really has the stuff [You Play the Black and the Red Comes Up, which Knight published under the pseudonym Richard Hallas]. Every character in it is mad, miserably and futilely mad…insane. It truly reflects the country….
I believe I’ve mended, and I know nothing and no place and no studio and no man and no set of conditions could ever hurt me again in the place that the studio experience kicked me.
Meanwhile, I always have this typewriter, who looks at me open-faced each morning and loves me like my dog does.
ERIC KNIGHT, to a friend
1939
Signs of age increase. I lose my glasses. I forget names and dates. I get tired early. I lack initiative. Decisions are difficult. Interests weaken and grow fewer. Each day is just another twenty-four hours. Shaving, bathing, changing my shoes are burdens. My main concerns now are correspondence with my narrowing circle of friends. I still enjoy an hour or two at the polo game, and a few biographic films make me forget my perplexities and the Old World War.
HAMLIN GARLAND
2001
As I neared the top of the stairs on that last lap, a deceptively fresh-looking Bambi-type wearing designer-brand workout leggings and swinging a cornsilk ponytail in rhythm with the stride of her thighs caught sight of me just as I was about to pass her on the left. Not to be out-staired by someone so fashionably profane—admittedly, I’d left my Jean-Paul Gaultier leg warmers at home, natch—she increased her speed and began racing me. We reached the top of the stairs at precisely the same moment: I on the left, she on the right. Without so much as a dollop of hesitation, Kicking Screaming Gucci Little Piggy violated Etiquette Rule #7 and plowed into me on her way back down. Annoyed but preoccupied, I headed away from the stairs to walk off the workout. Piggy, however, annoyed and apparently off her meds, decided she wanted an apology:
“Excuse you!” she screamed in front of the twenty people standing at the top of the staircase…“That was rude!”
I immediately spit back in a mocking squeal-like voice, “That was woode!”
She looked quite cute in her Cynthia Rowley cashmere sweater, even as she yelped, “You should be sorry!”
Fighting every urge to walk over and nudge her Gucci ass slightly off balance and watch her tumble down 150 stairs, I point out, “You should stop eating twinkies!”
I didn’t know I could be so cruel. Please Lord forgive me.
HEATHER B. ARMSTRONG
SEPTEMBER 11
1952
We are now at the killing of Caesar, a very messy proceeding—the daggers spout mock blood which splashes over clothes and faces, and then they want to photograph the scene again from another angle and everyone has to wash and change and make up all over again, making endless delays on to the already tedious procedure.
The nicest Hollywood gag I have heard so far happened the other day, when the live pigeons were sitting patiently all day on the plinths and columns of the Forum. They are apparently clipped so that they can’t fly about, but one daring bird was bold enough to flutter to the pavement, where he was strutting about. The cowboy character who looks after the animals noticed him and went over and was heard to remark severely “Now get back up there. Go on, didn’t you hear me? Don’t you want to work tomorrow?”
JOHN GIELGUD, to his mother
SEPTEMBER 12
1904
Most of yesterday’s steamer party went to Pasadena to-day, stopping off at South Pasadena to see the Cawson Ostrich Farm. There, after examining the stock in the store of plumes, eggs and stuffed birds, and purchasing some as souvenirs of the visit, they entered the farm proper. The entrance is surrounded by palm trees, cactus gardens, roses in abundance, and well laid out walks, the whole combination making a beautiful garden. The tour of the farm itself was most interesting. There are about 250 of the dilapidated looking birds in the different corrals, and they seemed glad to have visitors call upon them, as they rushed to the fences and grinned pleasantly at their callers. It was necessary for the guides to warn the visitors all the time not to get too close, as the big fellows make a practice of grabbing at anything that glistens in the sun, and would as soon swallow a diamond stud or gold badge as a bite of apple or orange.
One of the guides supplied the party with oranges, and the way a whole orange would slide down that long neck excited the admiration of all. They could be watched going down the whole length until they finally disappeared. “Such a neck for cocktails or high balls!” was the general exclamation of envy from the male visitors.
Unnamed pilgrim, Knights Templar of Pennsylvania
1943
Sat. night a moon nearly full.
The unprecedented sex activity continues. The night that I don’t desecrate the little god all over again is exceptional….
I keep draining creative energies that don’t seem to build up again, been back on the gentleman caller lately, and it has turned into a comedy bordering on fantasy—And is probably an abortion. No urge too deep to create it. but all I desire in the world is to create something big and vital. If only I could make myself—find some groove that would permit it—Stop for a while and get fresh for a major work on Some strong theme. The blue devils eased off—only nip at my heels now and then.
TENNESSEE WILLIAMS
1993
Last week I was screaming at the top of my lungs, louder than I ever have, “I USED TO PLAY HANDBALL! I WAS IN THE FUCKING SCHOOL CHORUS!” It was so painful to remember who I used to be.
AMY ASBURY
2001
The day after the attacks, I was driving near my house when another driver abruptly pulled out of his driveway directly in front of me. I did not respond as I normally do, with cursing and exasperated hand gesturing. I simply braked, sighed and let him take the lead. At the next intersection, we pulled up to the stop sign abreast of each other. He was turning right, and I was continuing straight ahead.
We turned toward each other. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed, offering a penitent look. I nodded, mouthed “OK,” and drove off, wondering about the origins of the alien that suddenly inhabited my body.
ELLEN ALPERSTEIN
SEPTEMBER 13
1939
On to Hollywood, to see “Mutiny on the Bounty!” Again disappointed. Evening only. Advertisements said “Any Time.”…
Very tired—very melancholy—My life looks to me a long series of stupid failures—I’m too old now to expect Success—or Happiness or Comfort!
OLIVE PERCIVAL
1940
I’ve spent so much time doing work that I didn’t particularly want to do that what does one more year matter. They’ve let a certain writer here direct his own pictures and he has made such a go of it that there may be a different feeling about that soon. If I had that chance I would obtain my real goal in coming here in the first place.
F. SCOTT FITZGERALD, to Zelda
1962
Oliver Evans came to teach at San Fernando State College. Because the house is hard to find, we met at the supermarket. Strange meeting. He has no friends here so I set about introducing him….
…He had difficulty fusing academic people with his writer friends….the professors all sat on one couch in a row, and the writers on another couch
(Christopher Isherwood, Don Bachardy, Gavin Lambert, etc.). There was a comical barrier, almost visible.
ANAÏS NIN
SEPTEMBER 14
1910
I didn’t mean to cry today—I meant to show you how brave I could be,—but not to see your dear eyes—not to feel your lips against my throat—the intolerable pain I am to feel through endless months, came over me like a flood.
UNA KUSTER, to her future husband, Robinson Jeffers
1933
The dinner at the University Club was counted a great success and I think it was. The great dining room was filled with a handsomely dressed entirely urban throng and the speaking was interesting and not too long….
In a sense it was a welcoming dinner to a newly arrived citizen, for not many knew that I had built a home here. Some of the messages and letters spoke of regret of my leaving the East and I felt a pang of the same regret, but, after all, what would a few more years in New York avail? I had done my active work, my committee work, and am in a better situation to write here than there, and my chances for an added year or two are stronger….
Dear Los Angeles Page 26
