Movie Union Rally Turns Violent, March 20, 1939

The Newsreel Theatre at 8th and Broadway, one way to get news before CNN.

A melee breaks out at the Hollywood American Legion Stadium over control of the Local 37 of the IATSE. In London, Britain seeks to enlist the U.S., France and the Soviets in an alliance against the Germany and Italy. And the Japanese ambassador to Berlin extends his government's congratulations upon Adolf Hitler's return to Germany after a tour of the conquered area. But in Moscow, the Italian Embassy hosts a grand ball with clowning and pranks by envoys in costumes. The Times' Gene Sherman takes a look at the story of one criminal. Katharine Hepburn doesn't need Hollywood; she's got a hit play in Boston with "Philadelphia Story," Hedda Hopper says. As a youngster, I always considered George Lichty's "Grin and Bear It" to be humorless smudges and scrawls.  But this panel shows he could actually draw.   The Cubs defeat the Pirates in an exhibition game at Wrigley Field. New term for the Pirates: "Smoky City stooges."

Nuestro Pueblo -- March 20, 1939

Found on EBay -- Batchelder Tile

A set of six Batchelder Mayan tiles has been listed on EBay. For whatever reason, I seem to see more of the Mayan pattern on EBay than anything else. Bidding starts at $9.99.

Matt Weinstock -- March 19, 1959

Diamond Discount? A businessman who last year brought four season tickets for the Dodger games decided not to repeat and has ignored several reminder letters. The other day he received a phone call from the Dodger ticket office. Was he going to renew? No. Why? Because of the price. "What about a discount? he asked bluntly. The ticket tycoon was horrified. In all his years in baseball, he said, he'd never heard of such a thing. "Well, think about it," was the response. "In my business if a man gave me an order for $1,500 in March, paid in advance, and didn't get delivery of all the goods until August or September I'd certainly give him a discount!" LIFE CAN BE real weird. A man I know drove his wife and another couple home from Las Vegas and briefly went over 100 m.p.h. The remarkable thing, it occurred to him, was that no one in the gay group was particularly concerned. The next day he was halted by a gendarme on Riverside Drive and given a valentine for going too slowly -- holding up traffic, the officer said. * * THE PLUMBING in Hank Howe's bathroom became stopped up and after an hour's cussing and sweating over a "plumber's friend" and coiled "snake" he removed the cause -- a Popsicle stick. He shouted for his son Danny, 3, and demanded angrily, "Do you know anything about this?" "Not me, Pop," Danny replied innocently. "I haven't been in here for about two months." * * SISSY STUFF Chemical warfare is no threat To those in our community With all the smog we've had for years We've built up an immunity -- JEFFREY RIMMER * * THE MAD JARGON of the electronics robots apparently is endless. A man testing a new computer was asked to make up his own specifications and feed them to the machine. He hastily compiled some data for a modernistic ash tray and, reports Missiles and Rockets magazine, inserted it. The computer digested his information in seconds and responded with the terse teletype reply, "Geometrically impossibl." Disconcerted, the man retorted, "At least I can spell 'impossible.' " * * A LEAFLET announcing a meeting at an East Side school at which a controversial bill in the Legislature would be discussed had the entrancing malaprop, "Learn about the factors involved in this political bug-of-war." Bugaboo, bugbear, tug of war -- what's the difference? * * DO DOGS DIG television? Yes, says Lorraine D'Essen of New York, who trains them and other animals for stage and TV. She's here with her greyhound Steverino, once Steve Allen's mascot, which appeared on the Jack Benny show last night. She always lets her other 9 or 10 dogs watch when one of them is on TV and swears that when the thespian of the moment returns home, he or she says, in dog language, "Well, did you see me?" And the others, always ganged up at the door, wag their tails and say, "You were great, kid." * * MISCELLANY -- On reaching the corner, the motorman of a P car on which Johnny O'Toole was riding called out, "First and Los Angeles! Parker's Hilton!" Another one, I'm told, sings out "Pitchess' Prison one block north!" as his car arrives at 1st and Broadway . . . Recommended listening: Pianist Freddie Gambrell playing "Stompin' at the Savoy" on his new album . . . Flash! A group of Hollywood beatniks have discovered a restaurant where the coffee is 8 cents a mug and tastes better . . . Ben Irwin muses, "No matter what you think about the Duncan case one thing is certain -- the butler didn't do it."

Paul Coates -- Confidential File, March 19, 1959

CONFIDENTIAL FILE Missing Bagpipes Recall Spirit of '75 The Berlin crisis notwithstanding, I've got a little international incident all my own with the British Empire. Specifically, it involves that portion of Her Majesty's acreage north of the playing field of Eaton and known, a shade too lyrically, as "Bonnie Scotland." As a small boy I was brainwashed by a strongly nationalistic grandmother who kept up a constant barrage of propaganda that that the Scots were a race apart, and a cut above all other people. She pointedly neglected to tell me that in our own immediate line of Scottish descent were three good-sized alcoholics, a great-uncle Alec who was considered a bit nutty by all his neighbors, and a cousin who deserted his wife to run amok with a barmaid from a Glasgow pub. Instead, she would rock me on her knee, and tell me over and over again the heroic, noble exploits of Robert the Bruce, who restored Scottish independence, Bonnie Prince Charlie, who fearlessly raised his father's standard at Glenfinnan, and Mary, Queen of Scots, who was so noble she didn't even blink an eye when they cut her head off.  After grandma's thorough indoctrination, I developed a sense of heritage out of all proportion to the facts. And, of course, when I finally visited Scotland last fall, I bought a set of bagpipes. I ordered them from a quaint, musty little shop in Edinburgh and paid cash after being assured in a rich burr that they would be in Los Angeles within two months. Then I continued my trip through Europe, ordering little knickknacks all along the way, Even a camel seat from a shifty-eyed Moroccan Arab whom I felt sure was in the slave trade on the side. Everything I ordered and paid for arrived. Everything -- except my bagpipes. The other day I casually mentioned this at cocktails to Mr. James MacLeod, information officer of the Los Angeles British Consulate. "Umm," he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "A bit embarrassing, I wonder if we shouldn't send through a communication. On an official level, that is." "It isn't necessary," I lied. "Not much money was involved." "Hardly a question of money, old man," he said briskly. "It's a matter of . . . " "Principle?" I suggested. "Precisely," he replied. He made a few notes. And, the next morning, he "rang me up," as we say. "MacLeod, here," he announced. "Have had a chat with the chaps at the consulate. They're quite disturbed about this ugly business. Feel as I do -- that we should handle it through proper channels." I didn't quite have the courage to ask him what "proper channels" would mean. But I can only imagine that a diplomatic pouch has already gone forth with a top-priority stamp to Her Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Mr.Selwyn Lloyd.  They Really Mean It "Sir," it probably reads, "I have the honor to bring to your attention an apparently distressing departure from the highest standards of probity on the part of our bagpipe industry. "An American journalist, Mr. Paul Coates, claims to have purchased a set of bagpipes in Edinburgh six months ago, and has not yet received delivery. He is making a rather nasty issue of this and has intimated that, if delivery is not effected forthwith, he has the influence to make this a matter of public knowledge. "I realize, sir, this might appear to be a matter of minor import. However, I am sure that any such charge which reflects on the integrity of the Empire deserves immediate consideration at the uppermost level." You hear that, dad? "Uppermost level." You know what that means? Macmillan! Actually, I hate to start a fuss. But we have to stand up for our rights. If we don't, they'll have us right back where they did in 1775.

In the Theaters -- March 19, 1949

Trouble Was His Business -- Raymond Chandler

Oct. 22, 1961: Although this pictorial feature wasn't specifically about Raymond Chandler, it uses a quote of his to describe Bunker Hill, which was vanishing. "In the tall rooms, haggard landladies bicker with shifty tenants. On the wide, cool front porches, reaching their cracked shoes into the sun at staring at nothing, with the old men with faces like lost battles."   --"The High Window," 1941

Jury Weighs Cleaver Killing; Renting the Coliseum, March 19, 1949

Walter Miller slashes his wrists, stabs himself and smashes his head into the backyard incinerator -- and lives. View Larger Map

The Times asks Andre Kostelanetz: Should Dmitri Shostakovich be allowed to visit the U.S.? Stravinsky says "No!" Above, the sordid murder case of Betty Ferreri and Vincent Charles Fauci, who are accused of killing her husband, Jerome. Although they lived in what The Times called a "fashionable Wilshire district mansion," 310 S. Lucerne, she worked as a carhop. They were acquitted. Bad news for Virginia McElhiney: She won't get the life insurance on late her husband, Everett, whom she poisoned with arsenic. The money will go to her former mother-in-law, Eva, a court rules. At left, a baffling suicide of a young UCLA student. "Moon Mullins," "Abbie An' Slats," "Ella Cinders" and "Li'l Abner." Classified ads are (or were) built backward, starting with the last page so the first page sometimes had leftover space for editorial content, like this, above. We took one column for stories and put a "house ad" in the second column.

Los Angeles' two pro football teams asked the Coliseum Commission to reduce their rent. The Rams and Dons paid 15% of their gross receipts while USC and UCLA paid 10%, The Times' Braven Dyer reported. The Dons, of the All American Football Conference, played in the Coliseum from 1946-49. "As every football fan well knows, the Rams and Dons have been having their troubles making both ends meet," Dyer wrote. "Maybe they're finally going to get a break. Every little bit helps, you know, when you've been on the losing end for so long." USC paid the most of the four teams, nearly $86,000. The Dons paid a little more than $67,000 and the Rams paid nearly $67,000. UCLA paid almost $52,000. --Keith Thursby

Coming Attractions -- Charles Mingus

On April 28, Zocalo and the city's Department of Cultural Affaris will host a panel on Charles Mingus. The forum will be held at 7:30 p.m. at Barnsdall Gallery Theatre. Make reservations here >>>

Found on EBay -- Pigeon Farm

Feb. 22, 1914: The flood waters of the Los Angeles River (no concrete channel in those days) leave half a million pigeons drowned or homeless!

Our ancestors in Los Angeles apparently found pigeons to be rare, exotic creatures. And they would pay money to see them. A photo labeled "Yorgason Pigeon Farm" has been listed on EBay. Bidding starts at $6.50. Above, death near the pigeon farm, Oct. 7, 1904.

Voices -- Natasha Richardson, 1963 - 2009

Note: The Daily Mirror went into the archives for this 1993 interview with Natasha Richardson, who was badly injured in a skiing accident.    Update: Richardson has died in New York. Must Be Something in the Genes Natasha Richardson--a specialist in off-center American roles--upholds the Redgrave family name in her rapturous Broadway debut January 24, 1993 By PETER MARKS, Peter Marks is a staff writer for Newsday NEW YORK -- Natasha Richardson is not, she insists, hiding behind her sunglasses. A case of conjunctivitis in her left eye, exacerbated by all the crying she is called on to do through the four acts of "Anna Christie," has driven her to this cliche of stardom, for which she expresses deep remorse. It seems, nonetheless, a perfectly fitting disguise, for Richardson, sitting smartly in the bar of the Algonquin Hotel in a smashing black miniskirt, sipping Perrier as her thick brown hair brushes her neck, could easily pass for a jaded glamourpuss. She certainly has the pedigree for it: star of artsy movies and highbrow television; offspring of one of the world's most famous theatrical clans; wife of a prominent British theater producer, Robert Fox, himself the member of a celebrated acting family. But there is no churlishness or egomania flashing on the corner couch by the doors to the Oak Room. There are only good manners and the appearance of humility. When Richardson is told what people are saying about her performance in the title role of the classic Eugene O'Neill play, she glances at her publicist from behind tinted frames, scrunches her shoulders and affects a look of pleasure mixed with terror. "It's anxiety-producing, but it's so thrilling to me," she says of her Broadway debut. "Now that I'm based here in New York and working in this city that I love, it just gives me a big kick. To be working on Broadway, it's--I know it's boring to say it, but it's an incredible experience." The experience has been all the more gratifying because of the reception the play is getting, a production that had its origin in the imagination of Richardson herself. The Roundabout Theater production, co-starring Liam Neeson and Rip Torn, opened this month to glowing notices for the direction, the ensemble--even the set--and especially for the 29-year-old Richardson, who, teamed with Neeson, was hailed as a revelation. Newsday described her performance as the tough-but-vulnerable Anna as "complicated and captivating," while the New York Times said the actress is giving "what may prove to be the performance of the season." The play has been extended at the Criterion Center through Feb. 28. "Anna Christie"--the story of a tormented young woman who, after a lost childhood in the upper Midwest, arrives in New York City for a reunion with her Swedish father (Torn) and a liaison with a strapping Irish sailor (Neeson)--is not one of O'Neill's most oft-performed works. It is both slighter and lighter than most of O'Neill, best known for darker plays like "Long Day's Journey Into Night." Richardson, however, knew it well, having played Anna two years ago in a well-received production at London's Young Vic. From virtually the day the run ended, she had been trying to remount the play, with a new cast, in New York. Richardson had been negotiating with various nonprofit theater companies to stage the play when, about a year ago, Todd Haimes, Roundabout's producing director, expressed an interest. "He said, 'I want to do it with you.' That was just fantastic," she says. "I will forever be in his debt." Neeson, who recently appeared in Woody Allen's "Husbands and Wives," had been Richardson's first choice to play Mat Burke, the lug who steals Anna's heart. "I think O'Neill wrote that part for Liam Neeson," she says. "I read the play three years ago. I just couldn't put it down," Richardson adds in her soft London accent. "I fell in love with Anna. Few parts are written for actresses with this sort of range. And it seems to be speaking to audiences here in a way that it didn't in London two years ago. I don't know if it's because the girl is from such a dysfunctional background--it has the ring of truth to it. I just feel for her--her anger and her loneliness and her pain. "You see Annas every day on the streets of New York, with nothing, and just desperately trying to survive, with everything she owns in two suitcases. And still, she makes the decision in the play to tell the truth. I admire her courage." It is the sort of quirky, complex role Richardson is turning into a specialty. Lately, in fact, she has made a career of playing fragile, off-center American women. Earlier this month, she starred with Maggie Smith in a highly acclaimed PBS production of Tennessee Williams' "Suddenly Last Summer"--yet another neglected minor classic--as Catharine Holly, the wild-eyed deb with the horrible secret (and the fabulous 15-minute soliloquy). Before that came other women on the edge--the kidnaped heiress in the film "Patty Hearst"; the rebellious handmaid in "The Handmaid's Tale." Aside from a knack for regional American accents--she talks fluent Minnesota for "Anna" and New Orleans for "Suddenly"--Richardson's affinity for a culture other than her own appears to perpetuate a family pattern. While her parentage is resolutely English, neither of her parents fit in well in English society. Her father, the late film director Tony Richardson, always hated England, she says, living for years in self-imposed exile in Los Angeles until his death from AIDS-related causes last year. Her mother, actress Vanessa Redgrave, has an even more complex relationship with the mother country, having spent most of her life in political fringe groups at war with the Establishment. For the daughter of one of the greatest stage actresses of her generation, classical roles would be almost a birthright. (Natasha's sister, Joely, has also followed her mother into the family business.) But though Richardson trained at the prestigious Central School of Speech and Drama in London, she says that she did not do a lot of Moliere or Shakespeare as a student, and that she has no burning desire to perform a definitive Medea. "I don't have 10 roles in the classical repertoire I want to play," she says. It may have been an act of rebellion. At one time, in fact, Richardson bristled at the inevitable comparisons to her mother. Physically, she is a more delicate version of Redgrave, the powerful, angular features softened and refined, but with the same graceful neck and piercing eyes. Artistically, she has been successfully carving out her own identity, which seems to have given her more self-assurance. She expresses regret now at not having worked with her father but appears open to working with her mother, given the right opportunity. "To be honest, I've shied away from working with my family. You're so sensitive to the charge of nepotism." Eight years ago, she says, she had her first and only experience in working with Redgrave. Richardson was playing Nina in a production of "The Seagull" in England, when her mother replaced Samantha Eggar in the role of Madame Arkadina. Having a legend for a mother is one thing, but facing her onstage night after night is quite another. It was "scary," she recalls. "The first day, I was suddenly aware that I'm on the stage with this overwhelming actress. It made me want to run and hide." Although she inherited her parents' love of performance, Richardson seems not to have absorbed either her father's loathing of England or her mother's political extremism. In person, she has none of the gritty edginess she projects onstage. But she has assumed the role of the outsider nonetheless. "Do I think of myself as English?" she asks, mulling the question as she flicks the ash off her cigarette. "I don't feel very English. I don't. There are things that I love about Europe, but I find with American people there is an energy and an enthusiasm you don't find in Europe. I respond to that." Sitting in the Algonquin stirs old memories for the actress, who fell in love with New York on her first visit here, with her father, at the age of 14. "The first time I came to New York, I stayed in this hotel with him," she says, surveying the famously dowdy lobby. "For me, growing older and spending a lot of time here, the rose-tinted glasses came off, and I saw all the dirt, the grime. But coming here is still heady for me. It gives me a lot of energy and hope." Richardson liked the city so much that two years ago, she bought an apartment in Manhattan, with a view of Central Park. Although she says she makes her home here, it's not a place where she spends months on end--except during the run of the play. For her, Manhattan remains not quite real, a bit of a playground. You know this is the case when she explains that she does not even mind paying her electric bill. She feels in sync with the city, and now that her play is a hit on Broadway, she believes that she has conquered another hurdle. What comes next is not clear. "I am thinking about 'Anna Christie' at the moment," she says, adding that maybe she will do another film, though she has no particular deals in the works. Despite the problems with her eye, things seem to be looking up for Richardson. "I've got a lot to do," she says, swirling her Perrier. "I just want to work."

Matt Weinstock -- March 18, 1959

Victims of Suburbia A young man named Steve asks if I can dig up a live hermit he can interview during Easter vacation for his B-11 American literature class at Hamilton High. I regret to report failure. An honest-to-goodness hermit is hard to find. I checked a few places and came up with nothing. There are, of course, countless men and women who live alone and dislike it, and imagine they are hermits. But they don't qualify. They go to the grocery store and see people. The dictionary defines a hermit as "a person who retires from society and lives in solitude." I am sure there are a few so-called hermits living in isolated canyons and hillsides, away from it all, but I doubt they're authentic, either. Incidentally, this kind of life is becoming more difficult all the time with the freeways reaching into nooks, crannies andbosky dells.  IN FACT, it appears the hermit business is shot. Come to think of it a hermit would probably be subpoenaed by the Un-American Activities Committee for renouncing the blessings of civilization. So you see, Steve, you've got too much going against you. And it would be useless to ask any self-respecting hermit who might read this to come forward. Part of the hermit game is not to read anything and to want no part of intruders, especially interviewers. Ever think of interviewing an Easter Bunny, Steve? * * IT'S LATER than you think. Les and Lucy Wagner phoned their daughter Georgia in Los Altos Sunday and her husband said she wasn't there, she was out Christmas shopping. "Christmas shopping? Sunday?" Les exclaimed. "Why not? It's March, isn't it?" * * SMALL CONSOLATION If the bombs get cleaner and cleaner And testing continues its course If the Russians get meaner and meaner I'll be an immaculate corpse. -- PEARL ROWE * * IN A LETTER, Doris Hellman's sister, now on a slow tour of Europe, writes that she went to a fancy reception and ball in Hamburg, Germany; attended by many important political leaders and nobility, and overheard a dowager in this conversational tidbit: "So I told him -- don't go to war!" * * UP AT Stanford, Cameron Shipp relates, they're telling about a scientist who went to Cape Canaveral to launch a rocket. It fizzed momentarily, then died without getting off the pad, and the scientist returned toPalo Alto disconsolate.  "Don't worry, it could have been worse," president Wallace Sterling soothed. "Worse? How could it have been worse? It not only didn't go into orbit, it didn't even rise?" "Suppose it had risen five feet," Sterling said softly, "and then gone into orbit?" Man, would that have created consternation on the Santa Ana Freeway at 5 p.m. * * PUBLIC AT LARGE -- Frank Barron has a solution for the West Berlin crisis. Make it the 51st state. We need one on that side . . . Harry Cimring knows a man who is having engraved on his St. Christopher's medal, "Not good over 65 m.p.h." . . . Of Boris Pasternak's ejection from the Soviet writers' union AlHine remarked to Caskie Stinnett: "They bartered their birthright for a pot of message."  * * AT RANDOM -- The magic word among actors these days is residuals -- checks they receive for repeat runs of old pictures on TV, usually without knowing about them. "It's like stealing," one says . . . That wasn't Khrushchev at 2nd and Spring, it was John Grover. Friends said he'd look like Nikita if he got a close haircut. He did and he does . . . Oops, Mischa Elman is 68, not in his 80s, as stated here . . . The same issue of a La Mirada paper had a bank worker's death notice and an ad for a replacement.