College fashions, IV

In 1969, The Times sent one of its best and most respected writers, Art Seidenbaum, on a tour of California college campuses: UCLA, USC, Stanford, UC Berkeley and someplace called San Fernando Valley State. The resulting series for West magazine was later published in Seidenbaum's book "Confrontation on Campus."

So in honor of all those who are taking their kids back to campus for the fall, here's Part 4 of Seidenbaum's "The Troubles With Students" in which he visits UC San Diego, where "It's pretty difficult to cure 18 years of mind screw." Put on your wire-rim glasses and burn your draft cards. The dress code is Army fatigues and beards for the men; serapes and tights for the women. And lots of revolutionary self-righteousness. Don't worry, man. It's cool. We're all pass/fail here.

Political prayers

Sept. 10-30, 1957
Los Angeles

I have only touched in passing on Arkansas Gov. Orville Faubus' fight to prevent the integration of Central High School in Little Rock. (Faubus called out the Arkansas National Guard to block federally ordered integration. In response to a request by Little Rock Mayor Woodrow Mann, President Eisenhower sent 1,000 troops from the 101st Airborne Division to maintain order).

But it is worth noting that the events in Little Rock weighed heavily on the congregations of Los Angeles, as reflected in this prayer, which was quoted in The Times:

Heavenly Father, we invoke thy blessing upon these beloved United States in an hour of grave domestic crisis. We pray divine guidance for the president, his counselors and advisers and for the governors and other officials of the several states. 

We pray that thou wilt implant racial harmony in the hearts of man, that no man may hate his brother in his heart or in his school, and that all men shall know that they are brothers, the children of one God. 

We pray for the speedy and just settlement of issues which assume the false doctrine of racial inequality. We pray that this just and loving resolution shall come with peace and not violence, with love and not force, and that right shall be established without recrimination or revenge.
 
This we pray, O Lord, for thou hast taught us since ancient days that in thy common fatherhood there can be no man-made distinctions introduced. May all men in these United States without regard to color or geographical distribution, repent before thee at this holy season the hatreds of the heart and make affirmation of the desire and the intent to work for a good future for all citizens of this land and of the world. 
 

And with that prayer, Rabbis Max Nussbaum and William Kramer of Hollywood's Temple Israel began the observance of Rosh Hashana, ushering in the year 5718.

Current events also figured in the prayer of Rabbi Edgar F. Magnin of Wilshire Boulevard Temple:

May it be a year of peace and not of war--not even a cold war. Somehow or other, by dint of intelligence or by some miracle coming from God Almighty, may the nations of the earth develop a greater spirit of cooperation. 

Let it be a year in which the trying problem of integration may resolve itself without bloodshed, strife, bitter words and the acid of hatred. 

May juvenile crime decrease and our youth appreciate the privilege of living in this great and beautiful country and avail themselves of its blessings. May the young be filled with loyalty to our country and devotion to the highest ideals. 

May religion spread its beneficent influence over our land and over the entire world. Let it come down like a bright and radiant beam of light into the hearts of men, women and children everywhere.

Magnin also presided over ceremonies at Home of Peace Memorial Park, 4334 Whittier Blvd., honoring the memories of those who had died in the past year.

 

He noted that Home of Peace was "the oldest Jewish burial ground in the city of Los Angeles, the resting place of the pioneer Jews of this great community. 

"Those who led in the creation of all things we as Jews enjoy today have been interred here. 

"Their memory lingers with us as a perpetual bequest. Every time we practice justice, every time we do what is good, we do it in the name and spirit of the great giver of the Ten Commandments. Thus Moses did not die, and cannot die, for his work and memory go on. 

"There are many ways of mourning one's loved ones besides shedding a tear and the best way is to carry out the ideals they believed in. Another is to share what we have with people who need our help, and to support good causes such as the arts, education and particularly religion. 

"Supporting a great religious institution and upholding the hands of its leaders is a more tender tribute than laying flowers on a grave."

Flashback: Yom Kippur as celebrated in 1947.

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College fashions, III

In 1969, The Times sent one of its best and most respected writers, Art Seidenbaum, on a tour of California college campuses: UCLA, USC, Stanford, UC Berkeley and someplace called San Fernando Valley State. The resulting series for West magazine was later published in Seidenbaum's book "Confrontation on Campus."

So in honor of all those who are taking their kids back to campus for the fall, here's Part 3 of Seidenbaum's "The Troubles With Students" in which he visits Pomona College, where "Due to a Lack of Interest, Tomorrow Has Been Canceled." Put on your wire-rim glasses and burn your draft cards. The dress code is Army fatigues and beards for the men; serapes and tights for the women. And lots of revolutionary self-righteousness. Don't worry, man. It's cool. We're all pass/fail here.

Hat squad III

 

Sept. 14, 1957
Los Angeles

Motorcycle Officer W.W. Wilhelm decided to put some teeth in fashion law and cited motorist Louise Squire for wearing a plastic mesh basket on her head. When stopped at Argyle and Franklin Avenues, Squire, of 8531 Wonderland Ave., insisted that whatever a woman has on her head is a hat.

Although it was unclear whether the basket interfered with Squire's vision, as Wilhelm said, it was apparently distracting other drivers and therefore impeding traffic.

 

Maybe I've lived in Los Angeles too long and become inured to the Hollywood eccentrics but look at her picture. Is her hat really all that terrible? A little unusual, perhaps, but the upturned brim makes it a bit sporty--for a plastic basket. As all Angelenos know, real nuts wrap their heads in tinfoil.

A search through the clips reveals that Squire had novel ideas about millinery. She once appeared in court wearing a hat made from a potholder and another time attended a hearing with her head bound in a turban of belting fabric.

 

Unfortunately, The Times failed to ask her about where she found the inspiration for her finery. And after a few run-ins with the police, she vanished from the public record.

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Matt Weinstock

Sept. 13, 1957

Every Friday after work, Roy Huerta, 38, drives to Tijuana and spends the weekend with his beloved family--his wife, Manuela, 32, and their three girls and two boys.

It is an unsatisfactory arrangement but it can't be helped.

Roy and Manuela met here in 1947 and were married. Their enforced separation dates to a black day in 1949 when they took a trip to Tijuana.

At the border on the way back, they were asked the usual questions. Roy had no trouble. He was born in Johnstown, Pa., served three years in the Army, including 18 months in New Guinea, the Philippines and Japan, and came to Los Angeles after his discharge.

Manuela, who was born in Zacatecas, Mexico, and speaks little English, panicked. She said she had never been in the United States, then said she had. She was detained and accused of having entered this country illegally.

A hearing was set and Manuela was notified, but she never mentioned it and didn't appear, compounding her guilt. She was convicted of perjury and forbidden under the McCarran Act to reenter this country.

And so for the last eight years Roy has made a weekly pilgrimage to Tijuana. He takes along groceries, clothes and gifts for the children.

During the week he lives in an apartment here with a brother. He works as a cook at the Bull and Bear Restaurant, 655 S. Spring St. In the three years he has been there, says the owner, Ridley Billick, who admires him greatly, Roy has missed only one day.

For a time, his eldest daughter, Gloria Jean, who will be 9 next month, attended school in L.A. but she became lonesome and rejoined the family in Tijuana.

Conscientious, disciplined Roy Huerta does not complain. But he has never stopped hoping that somewhere, somehow, the immigration laws may be modified or his case receive attention so that he may be reunited on a full-time basis with his family.

YOU MAY BE vaguely conscious that MGM is bringing out a picture titled "Raintree County" but I am dynamically aware of same. I happen to be sitting in the shade (fluorescent lighting shade, that is) of an 8-foot tree in a heavy 5-gallon tinfoil-covered can incongruously placed alongside my third-floor desk by persons unknown.

The job of hauling it there easily constitutes the most muscular press agentry of the year.

What kind of tree is it? A rain tree, of course.

TODAY MARKS the 10th anniversary of the Great Books Foundation, and representatives of the 52 study groups in the area will gather at 8:30 p.m. at Beverly Hills High to observe it.

The path to literary culture has not always been easy.

Not long ago a Pasadena group which had been meeting in a hall on Green Street arrived to discover the building locked. It had changed ownership and they had not been notified.

After a curbstone conference they went to the only available place nearby, a bar, and, Bibles in hand, went on with their assigned discussion, the Book of Job.

TODAY IS ALSO Downtown Felt Hat Day and a little lore goes with that too.

It is traced to Daniel Desmond, who opened the city's first men's hat shop at New Commercial and Los Angeles Streets prior to 1870. It was the forerunner of Desmonds, Inc.

Prior to that, hats, mostly toppers and bowlers, were sold in general stores.

Old Dan was quite a fellow. He organized the city's first band, was a member of the volunteer fire department and when business was slack strolled over to the city jail and chatted with the inmates.

 

Paul V. Coates--Confidential File

Sept. 13, 1957

The night was made for love, according to such perpetual sentimentalists as Lanny Ross.

But not according to me.

At my advanced age, the night was made for such prosaic chores as getting to the column you didn't write during the day.

Unobserved, you can sit around in your shorts, stare at the typewriter and sip hot milk until, touched by inspiration or desperation, you begin to write.

That was the depraved condition I was in at precisely 2:29 a.m. when suddenly the phone rang.

I flipped it from its cradle to my ear.

"Coates here," I informed briskly.

A rather unsteady voice mumbled, "Geez, I dialed an old British movie."

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Paul?" he inquired uncertainly.

"Right!"

"Well listen. I got a hot one for you."

"A hot one what?"

"A story, buddy," he explained. "Hot story."

I set aside my warm milk and fumbled for a pencil.

"Shoot," I snapped.

"What?"

"Shoot, buddy," I explained. "Let's have at it."

He cleared his throat and said:

"All right now, get this. It's an expose. I'm in Gardena."

"And you lose?" I suggested.

"I lose a little," he admitted. "But I'm not complaining. They take me on the emmis."

"Then what's the beef?"

He snorted into the phone. "What's the beef? I'll tell you what's the beef. You ready? Take this down."

The caller paused dramatically.

"They," he said, after a moment, "won't give me nothing to eat."

I shifted the phone to my other ear. The right one. It's my good one.

"And I'm willing to pay," my caller went on. "I don't want no charity from no one."

"They," he continued, "know that I had a drink."

"A few drinks," he added.

"A lotta drinks," he finally cried, "an' I am drunk. If I don't eat something soon I won't sober up."

He took a deep breath.

"What's what they want. They want me to get arrested for drunk driving."

"Why?" I asked.

"So I won't tell what I know," he replied.

"What do you know?" I asked.

"That they won't let me in their restaurant to get something to eat," he said patiently. "I been trying for a half of an hour. But every time I come up to the door, they tell me to go away."

He sighed.

"Listen, Paul. Send a photographer out."

"For what?"

"To take a picture of them not letting me in."

"Can't do it," I told him.

"Why not?"

"Can't take a picture of something that's not happening," I explained.

"I thought so," he said bitterly. "You're like all the rest. You write about the downtrodden. Then when someone calls you up with a problem you just give him a brush. A brush-off. A cold shoulder."

"You," he said accusingly, "are a phony."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," I said, "but..."

"You don't care what happens to me. If I don't get something to eat I'm going to be drunk, but nobody cares. You're just like all the rest. And I might as well be damned."

"Might as well," I agreed.

"Might as well what?" he challenged.

"Be damned."

"That does it!" he snapped. "I don't have to take profanity from anybody."

Then he hung up. I picked up my lukewarm milk, stared at the typewriter and tried to figure out what to write for today's column.

College fashions, II

In 1969, The Times sent one of its best and most respected writers, Art Seidenbaum, on a tour of California college campuses: UCLA, USC, Stanford, UC Berkeley and someplace called San Fernando Valley State. The resulting series for West magazine was later published in Seidenbaum's book "Confrontation on Campus."

So in honor of all those who are taking their kids back to campus for the fall, here's Part 2 of Seidenbaum's "The Troubles With Students" in which he visits what is now Cal State Northridge. Put on your wire-rim glasses and burn your draft cards. The dress code is Army fatigues and beards for the men; serapes and tights for the women. And lots of revolutionary self-righteousness. Don't worry, man. It's cool. We're all pass/fail here.

Hat squad

 

Sept. 13, 1957
Los Angeles

Remember the straw hat you bought back in May? Get rid of it, gentlemen, straw hat season is over! It's time to get back to felt in wide array of colors, from gray to blue-gray.

I must say, I always enjoy those rare occasions when I see a man in downtown Los Angeles dressed in a suit and hat, usually around 7th Street and Figueroa. There are men in L.A. who know how to wear a hat. I'm not one of them, but I do enjoy seeing other guys decked out. It's different than the people in vintage clothes you see at some of the L.A. Conservancy events. Those are costumes. These men really have the look.

And yes, I know "hat day" was strictly a strictly commercial event dreamed up by the merchants. In fact, Matt Weinstock will talk about it in a column later today.

 
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On the menu: domestic strife

 

Sept. 13, 1957
Los Angeles

Information on Gene Leonard Cornforth is a bit sketchy, but he certainly had interesting taste in women.

Take the first Mrs. Cornforth, Maureen. After she and Gene divorced, her boss at Hughes Aircraft, David L. Fohl, got her drunk at a Christmas party, kidnapped her and forced her to marry him in Ensenada.  When they got home, Fohl held her prisoner for 10 days before she could escape, according to testimony at her 1955 divorce hearing. 

But that was nothing compared to the second Mrs. Cornforth, Dona.

Dona and Gene were having a slight disagreement at their restaurant, the Golden Rooster, 2139 Westwood Blvd. Dona ended the fight by chasing Gene in the family car and finally ran him over in a vacant lot next to the restaurant.

Attendants from a nearby gas station jacked up the car and Gene was taken to Santa Monica Hospital in serious condition. Dona was charged with assault with a deadly weapon.

Unfortunately, The Times never followed up on the case so we don't know the ultimate disposition. Gene survived his injuries and according to California death records, died in 1989 at the age of 63.

This is what makes reading the Mirror so interesting. Notice that the headline writer has zeroed in on the fact that she is a blond. (Trust me, it's in the first paragraph of the story, otherwise known as the "lede").  Apparently, the reporter assumed her hair color somehow explained why she ran over her husband with a car, i.e. "You know blonds. Put them behind the wheel of a car and anything can happen."

Now look at her picture. I can't imagine how anyone would consider her a blond. Granted, the reproduction is hardly the best. But I mean--really! A blond?

And what did she tell the police? "Oops!" (More or less). "This is all a mistake. I just don't know how to drive very well." As Nathan Marsak would say: "OK, sister."

Dona and Maureen Cornforth (she went back to her previous married name after divorcing Fohl) vanished without a trace. The Golden Rooster was still in operation in 1977, as shown below, and was a great place to watch Monday Night Football, according to The Times.

 

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College fashions

In 1969, The Times sent one of its best and most respected writers, Art Seidenbaum, on a tour of California college campuses: UCLA, USC, Stanford, UC Berkeley and someplace called San Fernando Valley State. The resulting series for West magazine was later published in Seidenbaum's book "Confrontation on Campus."

So in honor of all those who are taking their kids back to campus for the fall, here's Part 1 of Seidenbaum's "The Troubles With Students." Put on your wire-rim glasses and burn your draft cards. The dress code is Army fatigues and beards for the men; serapes and tights for the women. And lots of revolutionary self-righteousness. Don't worry, man. It's cool. We're all pass/fail here.

Student body president, eh?

Flash forward to May 9, 1968:

"Education is the destruction of innocence"--graffiti at White Plaza on the Stanford campus, 1969.

Runaway

 

Sept. 12, 1957
Los Angeles

There's no telling what spooked Ben, but the horse was frightened and galloped toward Nordhoff Street and Tobias Avenue in what was then the rural San Fernando Valley.

The rider, Carol Goetzinger, 13, tried to control him, but Ben dashed into the intersection and was hit by a passing car with such force that the saddle was ripped from his back and landed on the hood.  Ervy Zeke Gill, 29, the driver of the Chevrolet that struck Ben, said he swerved but was unable to avoid hitting the animal.

Carol, 14931 Community St., Van Nuys, was taken to Valley Hospital for treatment of bruises and a broken leg. She sobbed when she was told that Ben, whom she had for six months, had died.

Did she ever ride again? Did her parents ever buy her another horse? It would be interesting to know.

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