I was never even aware of this former theater during the time I was living in Los Angeles — nor of any stadium in the vicinity for which it might have been named.
Does anyone know the origin of the name? Interestingly enough, the theater’s auditorium is an early example of “stadium” seating (i.e., a steeply raked faux balcony section behind the main orchestra level). But that’s just a coincidence — isn’t it?
I agree to the extent the names are actually different. In the case of Teatro Orpheum vs. Orpheum Theater, the name in question is “Orpheum” — it’s the same! Ditto for all the other downtown examples cited.
stevebob
commented about
Mayanon
Mar 5, 2008 at 8:23 pm
The timeline with respect to triplexing and porn isn’t quite right, though.
Porno started at the Mayan well before 1977. Besides the examples already cited on this page, “Deep Throat” and “The Devil in Miss Jones” had a long run c. 1974 — in an undivided auditorium.
The Teatro Orpheum photo reminds me of when I used to frequent the place while studying at UCLA, sometimes with whomever I was able to corral for a trip downtown and some ambience that was far removed from Westwood Village. In particular, I recall seeing subtitled versions of Cabaret and Chinatown there.
I don’t think anyone here would be shocked to learn that there were rats in the Orpheum in those days (and probably in other Broadway theaters, too). One evening, while we were watching Cabaret from the center of the balcony, a large rat sauntered down the aisle toward my friends and me. They were such good sports about it! Almost spontaneously, we raised our legs simultaneously to put our feet on the seatbacks in front of us. The rat passed by without incident or further reaction on our part; I guess we were having too good a time to let such a minor intrusion spoil it.
In retrospect, our collective underreaction to the rat surprises me — but maybe it wasn’t such a big deal after all. I had no idea until recently that theaters could be lice-infested or that many an old cinema was locally known as the neighborhood “itch”; if I have to pick my poison when it comes to cinema vermin, I guess I would prefer rodents to lice.
Wow, thanks, Joe! I just knew there had to be neon. And that photo is of such high resolution that it can be highly magnified, too, to show some great details.
I haven’t seen very many pictures that show the Fifth Street Store’s (aka Walker’s, Milliron’s, Ohrbach’s) vertical sign — nice surprise there.
And how beautiful the street lamps were along Broadway then! I never understood why they were replaced with the plain ones (i.e., with the lights hanging in a downward position) by the 1960s, while that earlier, more ornate variety persisted for many years on other downtown streets.
Now that my curiosity about the Roxie’s auditorium has been satisfied (thanks to the LA Conservancy’s recent gallery of downtown theater pics), I’m wondering what the original marquee looked like. Surely the red plastic letters superimposed on white plastic boxes can’t predate the 1950s, but I can’t recall seeing any earlier pictures.
My comment was based on the obliteration of the historic elements of the Million Dollar’s lobby by the 1950s modernization that included installation of a false ceiling.
I believe the Hispanic church inherited this space in its modernized, “stripped” state; I haven’t seen any indication that they contributed to that condition. Did they?
The press coverage of the Million Dollar’s renovation includes this article at LA Downtown News Online (referenced under Openings/Closings today here at Cinema Treasures):
In an otherwise splendid introduction, I question the description of the renovated Paradise as “a Latino theatre and special events venue.” I don’t quite get that bit, except as relates to the predominant ethnicity of the Fordham neighborhood in which the Paradise is situated.
I haven’t seen anything in the events booked so far — or on the theater’s official website — that would justify describing the Paradise as a specifically Latino venue.
I didn’t realize until now that the style category can contain more than one term, as would be appropriate for stylistic melanges or situations where a building, auditorium and marquee are actually of differing styles. It’s especially useful for atmospheric theatres, too, in permitting a description of the specific atmospheric ambiance. (I just noticed that the Pacific 1-2-3 is listed as Atmospheric, Moorish, Renaissance Revival and Spanish Baroque!)
Unfortunately, a frustratingly large number of theaters are incorrectly designated “Style: Unknown.” While that term legitimately describes theaters that no longer exist and of which no one has any accurate recollection, it’s also become a catch-all for theatres that don’t fit any of the designated labels or are otherwise difficult to categorize.
The RKO Hillstreet, for example: “Style: Unknown” even though its twin, San Francisco’s Golden Gate, is described as Art Deco and Gothic Revival! (I’ve never seen pictures of the Golden Gate’s auditorium, but the Hillstreet’s seems rather Adamesque to me in its original form.) There’s enough photographic documentation of the Hillstreet â€"– and enough members like Joe Vogel with long memories! — that “Unknown” isn’t really appropriate. It’s certainly not useful for anyone browsing the database by style.
Or consider Westwood Village’s ill-fated Mann’s National. Obviously, its style isn’t “Unknown,” but no appellation like Mid-Century Modern (or the like) is available. “Unknown” seems to be chosen by default, for lack of a more suitable catch-all term like “Miscellaneous” or “Other.”
I have no idea how often people actually browse the Cinema Treasures database by style or other criteria. But, all things being equal and to the extent possible, it would be nice for the listings to be as accurate and complete as possible. In the case of the Paramount, I do think at the very least that East Indian should be added to Art Deco.
I never got to visit this theater, but — on the strength of the photos I’ve seen — describing its style as Art Deco is way off the mark.
Since it’s a convention to list a theater on Cinema Treasures by its current (or most recent) name, one would expect, by analogy, that a theater’s style would be the current or most recent one. Yet, while the Paramount-era marquees might be thought to have some element of art moderne, I don’t believe the original decor of the auditorium or public spaces was significantly altered.
But how should such a startlingly unique melange of pre-Columbian and East Asian elements be classified? Of the categories offered by Cinema Treasures, I’d go with East Indian or Oriental.
It’s a convention here at Cinema Treasures to list a theater by the name by which it’s currently, or was most recently, known. (Not everyone agrees with the sensibility of this policy; a post on the Loew’s Capitol page points out, for instance, that it was known simply as the Capitol for most of its life until the final few years.)
Consistency, though, would seem to suggest that this theater be listed here as “The State” and, secondarily, also known as “Loew’s State.” It passed into Metropolitan’s hands nearly 50 years ago, after all, and at that time all indications of the former association with Loew’s were removed. Signage from that point forward read “The State,” and — so far as I am aware — it became generally known thenceforth as “The State.”
While those who share our special interest know this theater was once Loew’s State, there are generations of people now who never knew it by that name and quite possibly never even heard it referred to as such.
Does the Los Angeles presently have 2,200 seats, or was that the number with which it opened?
My question relates to the original seating plan, in which individual blocks of seats were no more than five or six across. There were more aisles then! (I haven’t been inside since the early 1980s, but even at that time one could see where these original aisle doors had been sealed off from the lobby.)
Does anyone know when these “extra” aisles were filled in, and how the overall seating capacity was affected by that change? Were new seats merely added in the former aisle spaces, or were entire rows replaced?
I’ve always wondered about this — and some other chronological details concerning the Los Angeles, too, such as when the downstairs restaurant closed, when the prism device for displaying the movie in the downstairs lounge was removed, and when the neon strips in the aisle floors that once guided patrons to their seats stopped functioning.
I have a question about the Orpheum’s rooftop sign.
Was there originally another sign behind it — an identical rectangle spelling out “Orpheum” in cursive script, but facing the other direction?
Back in the 1970s, a single capital letter “O” was visible behind the now-restored west-facing sign. I never understood why only the letters “rpheum” would have been removed from this east-facing sign, but I’ve never seen a vintage photograph that confirmed that there were once two identical back-to-back signs, either.
Can anyone verify that there were two signs at one time, and whether they both spelled out the complete name “Orpheum”? If so, does anyone know when all the letters save the initial one were removed from the east-facing sign, and why?
It’s surreal and gut-wrenching to have witnessed the photographic documentation here of the destruction of the National. (I thank the contributors nonetheless for providing it.)
I attended UCLA from 1973 to 1977, and Westwood Village was, obviously, an extension of the campus. Because I relocated from Los Angeles in 1984, I didn’t get to witness — fortunately! — the decline of the Village in the ensuing years. It’s so hard to believe that restaurants like the Charthouse, Yesterdays, Alice’s and the Good Earth are a thing of the past, not to mention the wonderful variety of retail stores — especially for books and records — that made the Village such a great place to be, day or night.
In the realm of movie theaters, I was much more captivated at that time by the palaces of downtown L.A., Hollywood and Beverly Hills than the more modest venues of the Village. Nevertheless, the famous window promoting The Exorcist that was painted on the east-facing outside wall of the National was a thoroughly iconic presence during my freshman year, and my memory of the line around the block in the evening is still vivid. And having gained an appreciation for the mid-century modern esthetic over the years (finally!), the loss of the National is incredibly sad to me.
Thirty years ago, I prayed for the revival of the Broadway theater district. The collapse of mainstream retail outlets along Broadway and the sordid types of movies booked at places like the Los Angeles and the State during that era made this seem like a truly impossible dream. I would never in my wildest imagination have thought that plans for a real renaissance of the Broadway district would come to fruition at the same time that one of the largest and most modern venues in Westwood Village would be erased with hardly a tear shed except from movie palace geeks like us!
I recall the loss of the Carthay Circle and the destruction of the Stanley Warner (later Pacific) in Beverly Hills. I remember the pain of other demolitions, too: I hated it when the Richfield Building was taken down; when the magnificent Broadway Wilshire department store (formerly Coulter’s) was destroyed, it left a pit in my heart in addition to the pit at the corner of Wilshire and Hauser that’s still there 30 years later. For those who don’t care about such things, it all must seem a bit silly — but, truly, some things you never get used to!
(I found this gallery through the link in “Photos online of downtown Los Angeles theaters” in today’s Theater News on the Cinema Treasures home page.)
Wow! It’s much as I expected — certainly more restrained than the unrelentingly lavish art deco of the Hollywood Pantages or even the Wiltern, but quite lovely and quite impressive nonetheless. (It reminds me of the Fox Pomona, which I had the good fortune to see in a Last Remaining Seats event almost 30 years ago.)
The gallery has lots of pictures of most of the other downtown theaters, including many photos that I’d never seen before. Check it out!
Kudos to the LAC for posting this spectacular and comprehensive gallery, which contains a number of photos that I’d never seen before — including two auditorium shots of the Roxie. Now that’s not something you see every day!
Those updated marquees that Loews installed on the Kings and the Jersey in the late 1940s sure were ugly. I don’t mind the squareness so much as that mock-cursive typeface that spelled out the name of the theater. Eeeeew. We’re lucky that zoning restrictions on the Grand Concourse ruled out doing such a thing at Loews Paradise in the Bronx.
I think a lot of “contributors” here are frankly full of shit, and just can’t wait to seize upon somebody else’s words to criticize them and take issue with any detail that they don’t agree with.
If the shoe fits … wear it. And if I get banned from this site for keeping it real, so be it.
I noticed that no one has offered the correct pronunciation for this lovely neighborhood theater. So, for the benefit of folks not from L.A., it is “luh-MERT”. The name of the surrounding area is Leimert Park — roughly bounded by Crenshaw and Leimert Boulevards and Santa Barbara Avenue (now MLK Blvd.).
The Baldwin Hills Center at Crenshaw and Santa Barbara is quite noteworthy since it was the first suburban shopping mall to be developed in Southern California. It was originally anchored — on either side of Santa Barbara Avenue — by a May Company (somewhat reminiscent of the branch at Fairfax and Wilshire) and a Broadway department store (with a beautiful vertical blade sign similar to the one at The Broadway Pasadena on Colorado Boulevard).
But the most remarkable thing to my young, impressionable eyes was a wall clock inside The Broadway! The numbers were on three-dimensional cubes that projected from the face of the clock. It gave the illusion that you were looking at the clock straight-on from wherever you were on the shopping floor. Is it beyond the realm of possibility that this clock survived the conversion into Wal-Mart?
It would be tempting to excuse that wretched sign as a “Bronx thingâ€, as though patrons there wouldn’t be discerning enough to know or care or don’t deserve better. The truth, though, is that there’s a woeful lack of standards of good workmanship in New York City generally. I wonder if it’s the same in the rest of the country (or the world), or if it reflects the skills possessed (not!) by NYC’s current immigrant population compared to that of the past.
Let me be clear that I am NOT referring to rarefied projects where cost is no object. The superrich have access to quality materials and contractors who employ craftsmen who know what they are doing, just as they always have had. They have standards, and their standards are enforced. For regular folks, though, it’s a world of band-aid repairs and appallingly sloppy work. Your typical New York City apartment building handyman cannot paint a straight line and would paint right over electrical outlets rather than remove switchplate covers. To do otherwise is simply not in his ken.
When we recognize the splendid monuments of the past, we tend to acknowledge that the materials and workmanship of that era can’t be easily duplicated. You couldn’t ask for a more vivid example than that sign! For as much work as was apparently put into polishing the inside of the Paradise, that sign couldn’t even be reproduced with sunbeams that are symmetrical and spaced evenly.
As long as people don’t care or don’t notice or make excuses, these are the standards that will prevail. Not too many posters have taken issue with that ghastly sign; as one previous poster pleaded, “GIVE THEM A CHANCE.†It’s basically an enshrinement of mediocrity and incompetence, and it shouldn’t be acceptable â€" even in the Bronx. I’m hopeful that the Landmarks Commission will compel a re-redesign.
This will be my last post in this thread, and I hope that it is closed by the moderator. Thanks to Shade, it’s become a bitchfest pissing contest and there’s really no need to personalize differences in opinions the way I see happening.
Shade, I think you were way out of line in your glib, sarcastic criticism of my statements, as well as with your condescending use of ALL CAPS. Your suggestion that “garish-tacky-whorehouse” is a reflection of how I must see myself was just beyond the pale and obviously a personal insult, and that’s why I threw it right back at you.
I’m sure you’ll prolong this because you seem like someone who doesn’t like to be challenged and has to have the last word — so have at it. Blah blah blah.
I was never even aware of this former theater during the time I was living in Los Angeles — nor of any stadium in the vicinity for which it might have been named.
Does anyone know the origin of the name? Interestingly enough, the theater’s auditorium is an early example of “stadium” seating (i.e., a steeply raked faux balcony section behind the main orchestra level). But that’s just a coincidence — isn’t it?
I agree to the extent the names are actually different. In the case of Teatro Orpheum vs. Orpheum Theater, the name in question is “Orpheum” — it’s the same! Ditto for all the other downtown examples cited.
The timeline with respect to triplexing and porn isn’t quite right, though.
Porno started at the Mayan well before 1977. Besides the examples already cited on this page, “Deep Throat” and “The Devil in Miss Jones” had a long run c. 1974 — in an undivided auditorium.
The Teatro Orpheum photo reminds me of when I used to frequent the place while studying at UCLA, sometimes with whomever I was able to corral for a trip downtown and some ambience that was far removed from Westwood Village. In particular, I recall seeing subtitled versions of Cabaret and Chinatown there.
I don’t think anyone here would be shocked to learn that there were rats in the Orpheum in those days (and probably in other Broadway theaters, too). One evening, while we were watching Cabaret from the center of the balcony, a large rat sauntered down the aisle toward my friends and me. They were such good sports about it! Almost spontaneously, we raised our legs simultaneously to put our feet on the seatbacks in front of us. The rat passed by without incident or further reaction on our part; I guess we were having too good a time to let such a minor intrusion spoil it.
In retrospect, our collective underreaction to the rat surprises me — but maybe it wasn’t such a big deal after all. I had no idea until recently that theaters could be lice-infested or that many an old cinema was locally known as the neighborhood “itch”; if I have to pick my poison when it comes to cinema vermin, I guess I would prefer rodents to lice.
Wow, thanks, Joe! I just knew there had to be neon. And that photo is of such high resolution that it can be highly magnified, too, to show some great details.
I haven’t seen very many pictures that show the Fifth Street Store’s (aka Walker’s, Milliron’s, Ohrbach’s) vertical sign — nice surprise there.
And how beautiful the street lamps were along Broadway then! I never understood why they were replaced with the plain ones (i.e., with the lights hanging in a downward position) by the 1960s, while that earlier, more ornate variety persisted for many years on other downtown streets.
Now that my curiosity about the Roxie’s auditorium has been satisfied (thanks to the LA Conservancy’s recent gallery of downtown theater pics), I’m wondering what the original marquee looked like. Surely the red plastic letters superimposed on white plastic boxes can’t predate the 1950s, but I can’t recall seeing any earlier pictures.
My comment was based on the obliteration of the historic elements of the Million Dollar’s lobby by the 1950s modernization that included installation of a false ceiling.
I believe the Hispanic church inherited this space in its modernized, “stripped” state; I haven’t seen any indication that they contributed to that condition. Did they?
The press coverage of the Million Dollar’s renovation includes this article at LA Downtown News Online (referenced under Openings/Closings today here at Cinema Treasures):
View link
Unfortunately, the stripping of the historic lobby is erroneously blamed on the Hispanic church that occupied the space from 1993-1998.
In an otherwise splendid introduction, I question the description of the renovated Paradise as “a Latino theatre and special events venue.” I don’t quite get that bit, except as relates to the predominant ethnicity of the Fordham neighborhood in which the Paradise is situated.
I haven’t seen anything in the events booked so far — or on the theater’s official website — that would justify describing the Paradise as a specifically Latino venue.
The mysterious metal cylinders were located in the “hall of urinals,” too:
View link
This photo (from the California State Library collection) is of the men’s lavatory:
View link
Does anybody know what those cylindrical objects are on the floor along the wall? Spittoons, perhaps?
I didn’t realize until now that the style category can contain more than one term, as would be appropriate for stylistic melanges or situations where a building, auditorium and marquee are actually of differing styles. It’s especially useful for atmospheric theatres, too, in permitting a description of the specific atmospheric ambiance. (I just noticed that the Pacific 1-2-3 is listed as Atmospheric, Moorish, Renaissance Revival and Spanish Baroque!)
Unfortunately, a frustratingly large number of theaters are incorrectly designated “Style: Unknown.” While that term legitimately describes theaters that no longer exist and of which no one has any accurate recollection, it’s also become a catch-all for theatres that don’t fit any of the designated labels or are otherwise difficult to categorize.
The RKO Hillstreet, for example: “Style: Unknown” even though its twin, San Francisco’s Golden Gate, is described as Art Deco and Gothic Revival! (I’ve never seen pictures of the Golden Gate’s auditorium, but the Hillstreet’s seems rather Adamesque to me in its original form.) There’s enough photographic documentation of the Hillstreet â€"– and enough members like Joe Vogel with long memories! — that “Unknown” isn’t really appropriate. It’s certainly not useful for anyone browsing the database by style.
Or consider Westwood Village’s ill-fated Mann’s National. Obviously, its style isn’t “Unknown,” but no appellation like Mid-Century Modern (or the like) is available. “Unknown” seems to be chosen by default, for lack of a more suitable catch-all term like “Miscellaneous” or “Other.”
I have no idea how often people actually browse the Cinema Treasures database by style or other criteria. But, all things being equal and to the extent possible, it would be nice for the listings to be as accurate and complete as possible. In the case of the Paramount, I do think at the very least that East Indian should be added to Art Deco.
I never got to visit this theater, but — on the strength of the photos I’ve seen — describing its style as Art Deco is way off the mark.
Since it’s a convention to list a theater on Cinema Treasures by its current (or most recent) name, one would expect, by analogy, that a theater’s style would be the current or most recent one. Yet, while the Paramount-era marquees might be thought to have some element of art moderne, I don’t believe the original decor of the auditorium or public spaces was significantly altered.
But how should such a startlingly unique melange of pre-Columbian and East Asian elements be classified? Of the categories offered by Cinema Treasures, I’d go with East Indian or Oriental.
It’s a convention here at Cinema Treasures to list a theater by the name by which it’s currently, or was most recently, known. (Not everyone agrees with the sensibility of this policy; a post on the Loew’s Capitol page points out, for instance, that it was known simply as the Capitol for most of its life until the final few years.)
Consistency, though, would seem to suggest that this theater be listed here as “The State” and, secondarily, also known as “Loew’s State.” It passed into Metropolitan’s hands nearly 50 years ago, after all, and at that time all indications of the former association with Loew’s were removed. Signage from that point forward read “The State,” and — so far as I am aware — it became generally known thenceforth as “The State.”
While those who share our special interest know this theater was once Loew’s State, there are generations of people now who never knew it by that name and quite possibly never even heard it referred to as such.
Does the Los Angeles presently have 2,200 seats, or was that the number with which it opened?
My question relates to the original seating plan, in which individual blocks of seats were no more than five or six across. There were more aisles then! (I haven’t been inside since the early 1980s, but even at that time one could see where these original aisle doors had been sealed off from the lobby.)
Does anyone know when these “extra” aisles were filled in, and how the overall seating capacity was affected by that change? Were new seats merely added in the former aisle spaces, or were entire rows replaced?
I’ve always wondered about this — and some other chronological details concerning the Los Angeles, too, such as when the downstairs restaurant closed, when the prism device for displaying the movie in the downstairs lounge was removed, and when the neon strips in the aisle floors that once guided patrons to their seats stopped functioning.
I have a question about the Orpheum’s rooftop sign.
Was there originally another sign behind it — an identical rectangle spelling out “Orpheum” in cursive script, but facing the other direction?
Back in the 1970s, a single capital letter “O” was visible behind the now-restored west-facing sign. I never understood why only the letters “rpheum” would have been removed from this east-facing sign, but I’ve never seen a vintage photograph that confirmed that there were once two identical back-to-back signs, either.
Can anyone verify that there were two signs at one time, and whether they both spelled out the complete name “Orpheum”? If so, does anyone know when all the letters save the initial one were removed from the east-facing sign, and why?
It’s surreal and gut-wrenching to have witnessed the photographic documentation here of the destruction of the National. (I thank the contributors nonetheless for providing it.)
I attended UCLA from 1973 to 1977, and Westwood Village was, obviously, an extension of the campus. Because I relocated from Los Angeles in 1984, I didn’t get to witness — fortunately! — the decline of the Village in the ensuing years. It’s so hard to believe that restaurants like the Charthouse, Yesterdays, Alice’s and the Good Earth are a thing of the past, not to mention the wonderful variety of retail stores — especially for books and records — that made the Village such a great place to be, day or night.
In the realm of movie theaters, I was much more captivated at that time by the palaces of downtown L.A., Hollywood and Beverly Hills than the more modest venues of the Village. Nevertheless, the famous window promoting The Exorcist that was painted on the east-facing outside wall of the National was a thoroughly iconic presence during my freshman year, and my memory of the line around the block in the evening is still vivid. And having gained an appreciation for the mid-century modern esthetic over the years (finally!), the loss of the National is incredibly sad to me.
Thirty years ago, I prayed for the revival of the Broadway theater district. The collapse of mainstream retail outlets along Broadway and the sordid types of movies booked at places like the Los Angeles and the State during that era made this seem like a truly impossible dream. I would never in my wildest imagination have thought that plans for a real renaissance of the Broadway district would come to fruition at the same time that one of the largest and most modern venues in Westwood Village would be erased with hardly a tear shed except from movie palace geeks like us!
I recall the loss of the Carthay Circle and the destruction of the Stanley Warner (later Pacific) in Beverly Hills. I remember the pain of other demolitions, too: I hated it when the Richfield Building was taken down; when the magnificent Broadway Wilshire department store (formerly Coulter’s) was destroyed, it left a pit in my heart in addition to the pit at the corner of Wilshire and Hauser that’s still there 30 years later. For those who don’t care about such things, it all must seem a bit silly — but, truly, some things you never get used to!
Breaking news for those who wondered what the Roxie’s auditorium looks like! There are two interior shots here:
View link
(I found this gallery through the link in “Photos online of downtown Los Angeles theaters” in today’s Theater News on the Cinema Treasures home page.)
Wow! It’s much as I expected — certainly more restrained than the unrelentingly lavish art deco of the Hollywood Pantages or even the Wiltern, but quite lovely and quite impressive nonetheless. (It reminds me of the Fox Pomona, which I had the good fortune to see in a Last Remaining Seats event almost 30 years ago.)
The gallery has lots of pictures of most of the other downtown theaters, including many photos that I’d never seen before. Check it out!
Kudos to the LAC for posting this spectacular and comprehensive gallery, which contains a number of photos that I’d never seen before — including two auditorium shots of the Roxie. Now that’s not something you see every day!
Those updated marquees that Loews installed on the Kings and the Jersey in the late 1940s sure were ugly. I don’t mind the squareness so much as that mock-cursive typeface that spelled out the name of the theater. Eeeeew. We’re lucky that zoning restrictions on the Grand Concourse ruled out doing such a thing at Loews Paradise in the Bronx.
Patrick, I don’t think I care to make any additional comments, on this topic or any other, so why don’t you just block me completely.
I think a lot of “contributors” here are frankly full of shit, and just can’t wait to seize upon somebody else’s words to criticize them and take issue with any detail that they don’t agree with.
If the shoe fits … wear it. And if I get banned from this site for keeping it real, so be it.
I noticed that no one has offered the correct pronunciation for this lovely neighborhood theater. So, for the benefit of folks not from L.A., it is “luh-MERT”. The name of the surrounding area is Leimert Park — roughly bounded by Crenshaw and Leimert Boulevards and Santa Barbara Avenue (now MLK Blvd.).
The Baldwin Hills Center at Crenshaw and Santa Barbara is quite noteworthy since it was the first suburban shopping mall to be developed in Southern California. It was originally anchored — on either side of Santa Barbara Avenue — by a May Company (somewhat reminiscent of the branch at Fairfax and Wilshire) and a Broadway department store (with a beautiful vertical blade sign similar to the one at The Broadway Pasadena on Colorado Boulevard).
But the most remarkable thing to my young, impressionable eyes was a wall clock inside The Broadway! The numbers were on three-dimensional cubes that projected from the face of the clock. It gave the illusion that you were looking at the clock straight-on from wherever you were on the shopping floor. Is it beyond the realm of possibility that this clock survived the conversion into Wal-Mart?
It would be tempting to excuse that wretched sign as a “Bronx thingâ€, as though patrons there wouldn’t be discerning enough to know or care or don’t deserve better. The truth, though, is that there’s a woeful lack of standards of good workmanship in New York City generally. I wonder if it’s the same in the rest of the country (or the world), or if it reflects the skills possessed (not!) by NYC’s current immigrant population compared to that of the past.
Let me be clear that I am NOT referring to rarefied projects where cost is no object. The superrich have access to quality materials and contractors who employ craftsmen who know what they are doing, just as they always have had. They have standards, and their standards are enforced. For regular folks, though, it’s a world of band-aid repairs and appallingly sloppy work. Your typical New York City apartment building handyman cannot paint a straight line and would paint right over electrical outlets rather than remove switchplate covers. To do otherwise is simply not in his ken.
When we recognize the splendid monuments of the past, we tend to acknowledge that the materials and workmanship of that era can’t be easily duplicated. You couldn’t ask for a more vivid example than that sign! For as much work as was apparently put into polishing the inside of the Paradise, that sign couldn’t even be reproduced with sunbeams that are symmetrical and spaced evenly.
As long as people don’t care or don’t notice or make excuses, these are the standards that will prevail. Not too many posters have taken issue with that ghastly sign; as one previous poster pleaded, “GIVE THEM A CHANCE.†It’s basically an enshrinement of mediocrity and incompetence, and it shouldn’t be acceptable â€" even in the Bronx. I’m hopeful that the Landmarks Commission will compel a re-redesign.
This will be my last post in this thread, and I hope that it is closed by the moderator. Thanks to Shade, it’s become a bitchfest pissing contest and there’s really no need to personalize differences in opinions the way I see happening.
Shade, I think you were way out of line in your glib, sarcastic criticism of my statements, as well as with your condescending use of ALL CAPS. Your suggestion that “garish-tacky-whorehouse” is a reflection of how I must see myself was just beyond the pale and obviously a personal insult, and that’s why I threw it right back at you.
I’m sure you’ll prolong this because you seem like someone who doesn’t like to be challenged and has to have the last word — so have at it. Blah blah blah.