L.A. Weekend

This past weekend Jenny and I shared a drive to Los Angeles, catching up on conversation while we visited some cool sites. L.A. has always been a tricky destination for us: far enough away to be a hassle, congested enough to evoke dread. Yet there's so much to see and do that I can never stay away for too long. What follows is a basic trip summary - no literary pretenses here. Just a reminder of some places worthy of recollection.

Jantzen "Diving Girl" sign on Route 66

For lodging I usually aim for Pasadena's Saga Motor Hotel, or maybe the Safari Inn in Burbank. This time we tried Jerry's Motel, a 10-room relic in Filipinotown. Sketchy neighborhood aside, Jerry's was well worth the $75 nightly rate for a clean room and amazingly close proximity to downtown. After settling in we headed to West Hollywood to check out the neon signs of Santa Monica and Sunset boulevards (aided by a handy map produced in collaboration with the Museum of Neon Art). The highlight was a glowing Jantzen Diving Girl and the googie glory of a Mel's Drive-In.

Mel's Drive In, 8585 West Sunset Blvd

Following a tasty meal at Baby Blues BBQ, we dropped in to Tiki-Ti, one of the best old school polynesian-pop relics in the country. Jenny, a dedicated teetotaler, kindly tolerated the place, even when I insisted on ordering a Blood and Sand. Actually, she kind of enjoyed that part. The drink is a real spectacle, with patrons yelling, "Toro! Toro! Toro!," while Mike Sr. pours a frightening volume of tequila over an orange-flavored concoction and mechanical toy bulls rampage the bar pushing empty glasses with their horns. That pretty much wrapped the night up for me.

Jenny on the Ferris wheel, Santa Monica Pier

Saturday called for us to sleep in for the first time in weeks, which meant that breakfast became brunch, a perfect time to visit Clifton's Brookdale Cafeteria. Clifford Clinton designed this Depression-era gem to transport diners to the Santa Cruz mountains - transforming a potentially pedestrian meal (yes, they serve Salisbury Steak) into a vacation for urban-dwellers. Today's visitors queue to stack individually priced items on plastic trays while kids salivate at the prospect of getting a toy when they clean their plates.

Deco Delight in downtown L.A.

Afterward, Jenny and I strolled down Broadway in search of art deco and street art. The highlight was Jenny's discovery of Banksy's Parking. We also made our way to a median where I took some photos of the Bonaventure Hotel, that infamous West Coast capital of late- and post-modern architecture.

"The city bristles with malice" - Mike Davis

We then motored to the Santa Monica Pier, where we strolled and chatted - sometimes stopping to watch contortionists and magic acts. We even found one of those fellows who will paint someone's name on a grain of rice. Jenny made sure we picked up this special souvenir for Vienna. Of course we also shared a ride on the Ferris wheel, hanging below a friendly sky to gaze upon the city. Every once in a while I found myself checking the news on my phone - the U.S. had just launched a missile attack on Libya - and I felt the inevitable dislocation of being in two places at once.

Contortionist at the Santa Monica Pier 

Dinner called us to Culver City and Jenny's first visit to Johnnie's Pastrami, a cash-only joint with working jukeboxes and sublimely fatty sandwiches. From there we navigated clogged roads to catch Rango at ArcLight Hollywood - a pricy but impressively upscale way to see a movie. We figured on wrapping up our evening with a quick photo in North Hollywood; I just had to capture the creepy Clown Liquor store at night. Then - would you believe it? - I caught a glimpse of tiki torches. Turns out we were driving by new place meant to evoke the classic Polynesian vibe: Tiki-No (for North Hollywood). Definitely worth a stop.

Creepy clown sells you alcohol

After another leisurely night's sleep we awoke to pouring rain. At once our Sunday plans began to melt away, especially since the L.A. Marathon was snagging traffic all over town. Originally we'd hoped to visit the La Brea Tar Pits, one of those tourist traps that had infected our imaginations since we were kids watching Bugs Bunny. But once we confirmed that many of the exhibits are indeed outside - again, this was no drizzle; it was a deluge - we opted to reschedule that part of our trip. So we wrapped our weekend up at Burbank's Smoke House, packing away a decadent brunch buffet. Then at last, stuffed and exhausted, we began the long trip back north.

(Photographs by Andrew Wood)

Jimmy's

I shot this image on Saturday night after a (mostly) double-feature at San Jose's Capital Drive-In Theater. It's hard to imagine a better place for a post-flick cup of coffee.

Also, can you spot Jenny in the left window?

(Photograph by Andrew Wood)

Dingbat Architecture

Updated! Scroll down for links to recent pix...

One of the delights of living in California is the proliferation of moderne architectural styles available to the casual historian.

The Golden State is, after all, home of the future - at least, it was.

So there's plenty of deco and streamlined styling to be photographed around here. And for postwar buffs, lots of international style too.

For a while now, I've been fascinated by an offshoot of the international style: Dingbat architecture. I thought I'd share an example and a little background.

Dingbat is built for a car-centric society, designed for the automotive gaze. It's also cheap and seemingly ubiquitous in the sunbelt.

The quintessential 50s or 60s-era dingbat is a "shoe box" building - say, an eight unit apartment built on narrow supports upon a parking area. The stucco facades are typically painted in a bland color, presenting large rectangular planes. Sometimes the doorway will be aligned with some faux-rock, suggesting a midcentury googie influence. But the building is generally pretty boring.

That's where the dingbat comes in. A "dingbat" is a typesetting ornament - kind of like a "special character" on your keyboard. It might be a star or a check mark or a pointing finger (remember those from nineteenth century broadsides?). On paper, they're pretty small. But on a dingbat building, they're huge, large enough to fill some of that empty space. Dingbat buildings therefore include ornaments such as diamonds or amoebas or - the moderne fantasy - atomic symbols.

Along with the the ornament, dingbat buildings often feature a name or a number, sometimes both, is some fancy script. The name provides some personality for the otherwise nondescript building, something arty like "Elysian Apts" or "Royal Arms." The number refers to street number. It's almost always a large set of digits, some set at jaunty angles. But sometimes the street number is spelled out. After all, everything is classier if it's spelled out, right?

Los Angeles is the world capital of dingbat architecture, and I hope to set up a shoot sometime in the next few months. In the meantime, I wait for blue skies and free time to investigate the dingbat buildings closer to home.

May 27, 2009 follow-up: Check out photos from my early-summer L.A. Dingbat Tour. I merely scratched the surface, but I managed to find some awesome examples.

• L.A. Dingbats - Part 1 (an afternoon visit to the land of Sputniks and Starbursts)

• L.A. Dingbats - Part 2 (a foggy morning visit to Tiki Apartments on Redondo Beach)

• L.A. Dingbats - Part 3 (featuring The Hauser - the most iconic Dingbat that I've seen thus far)

January 7, 2010 follow-up: Here's an addition to the Dingbat Tour.

• L.A. Dingbats - Part 4 (more amazing Dingbats, including some goofy names)

• My Favorite Dingbat (there may be a better one, but this is tops for me)

(Photograph by Andrew Wood - Location: 230 E. San Salvador St., San José, CA)

Omnitopia Index

Awaiting the author index (currently under production by Hampton Press), I've gone through the page proofs one more time - and yes, I managed to find a couple more typos.

Along the way, I've been reviewing the subject index, which took a couple of weeks for me to construct. I had to smile after finding a few entries that are unlikely to appear in other books.

Examples:

Apple, Reality distortion field, 178-179
Armpit of America (See Battle Mountain, NV)
Cellphonies, 2
Googie, 145
Honkey tubes, 123
No-tell motels, 114, 127
Office Space, 6, 183
Soul-patch poseurs, 2
Winchester Mystery House, 145, 146
Zombies, 101, 131, 146-148, 166

The book is scheduled for release in January. I'll keep you posted.

Safeway Googie

Think of this as a placeholder post for some forthcoming work I want to do, photographing googie shopping centers.

I grew up in the land of Publix, back when they had those bold V-arrow signs at the entrance, practically daring you to ride past the door.

South Beach Miami still has one of those glorious sites, but most of the rest of the Publix where I grew up have been dulled into submission, their googie accents homogenized and muted to oblivion.

So I was particularly delighted to spot this Safeway in Portland. Not like a publix, of course, but this Safeway is pure googie: streamlined swoops and plate-glass, a building set to fly.

I borrowed my daughter's camera, one not notable for its night-time shooting capabilities, and snapped a few shots.



(Photographs by Andrew Wood)

From Deco to Googie

Christopher Wigren wrote an article in the Hartford Courant that does a pretty good job of explaining 30s- and 40s-era art deco architecture, noting its transition from the jazz-age decorative school to the Depression-era streamlined school.

I particularly appreciate Wilgren's description of the Moderne style. He describes buildings that "typically have strong horizontal lines, both in their massing and in bands of ornament or long, ribbon-like windows that reinforce that overall shape. Corners are frequently rounded off to emphasize the horizontal movement by carrying it smoothly around the building. Glass block is a favorite material, and sometimes there is a suggestion of nautical or aerodynamic styling."

The article illustrates its terms with references to deco-architecture found in Hartford, Connecticut, but the general theme of the piece is useful to the beginning student of the style, regardless of location. In honor of Wigren's piece, I thought I'd upload some matchbook covers from my collection that illustrate the streamline moderne aspects he noted: horizontal lines, nautical theming, relatively simple ornament, and an evocation of futurism and progress.

Incidentally, I've also found an article by Richard Foss in Los Angeles City Beat that describes that city's particular transformation of the Moderne sensibility into googie, a reflection and response to the international style that itself flowed from the modern (if not the "moderne") period. Foss quotes architect Victor Newlove who explains, "We embraced the international style, with lots of glass and modern materials. We wanted the screens, the walls, the artwork to be part of the dining experience. There’s no cultural anchor. Look at the Norms coffee shops that had a roof like a flying wing. It was evocative of an age, the age of speed."

Happily, a number of preservationists and entrepreneurs agree that some life may yet be left in a style that once signified tomorrow.

Learn More

Deseret News, Modernism brought radical new look

Wildwood Motels

(Starlux Boutique Hotel Photo by Jenny Wood)

Anne McDonough writes in The Washington Post about the efforts by preservation groups to save the New Jersey Wildwoods' googie motels.

They're just a few of the styles known as doo-wop, the '50s and '60s throwback look that was once all the rage in the Wildwoods of New Jersey. But because of changing aesthetics and demand for shorefront condos, more than 100 of the old-time motels have met the wrecking ball in the past few years, according to the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

She correctly uses the term "doo-wop," which is what local boosters call that 50s and 60s-era convergence of sharp angles, amoeboid shapes, glowing neon, and space-age iconography, but I just can't take the term seriously.

It reminds me of those cheesy Time-Life music informercials where they dig up some ancient pop fossil, stick him in a nouveau-neon "diner," and use him to sell overpriced CD collections ("original songs by the original artists!"). That kind of "doo-wop" pitch -- malt shops, poodle skirts, and '57 Chevys -- aims for a much different demographic than folks like me who just love the architecture. But regardless of what you call it, mid-century Wildwood is a treasure worth saving.

On our most recent visit, we stayed at the Starlux Boutique Hotel, which offers lava lamps and a reading room filled with books on googie, doo-wop, and populux design. We found that it's best to get reservations early; rooms fill up fast. And don't be surprised that the price for lodging in this oceanfront town can get a little steep. But the vibe is fun and the staff is friendly. We'll be back soon.

Learn More

Motel Americana: New Jersey motels

Wildwood Doo Wop: an "online catalog of hundreds of motels and other "Doo Wop Spots" around The Wildwoods"

Woodland Shoppers Paradise: Modernaire Motel

Modernaire Motel

Some of my favorite architectural styles are the types that tastemakers tend to mock. Real connoisseurs concentrate on flying buttresses or classical proportions or complex curvilinear forms. Readers of this blog know I prefer tackier stuff, the kinds of designs and executions dismissed by experts as cheap, disposable, and populist. To illustrate, let me tell you about one of my favorite types of design, a mid-century style called googie. Sometimes called Populuxe or Doo Wop, googie achieved some manner of prominence in the 1950s and 1960s as a playful celebration of otherwise mundane environments such as diners, motels, and bowling alleys. Googie took its name from a Los Angeles coffee shop built in 1949 (long ago razed), but the term eventually became associated with any design that can be labeled “the Flintstones meet the Jetsons.”

Googie is a variant of “moderne,” a stylized implementation of artificial materials, sweeping angles or curves, gravity-defying masses, plate glass, and “dingbat” accessories such as sputniks, starbursts, and atomic symbols. That’s the Jetsons half. Googie adds a Flintstones vibe with the addition of primitive or organic motifs into the structure: amoeba shapes, tiki idols, faux stone facades, and the like. Created in an era of fear and fascination with both technological innovation and psychoanalytical analysis, googie integrates science and superstition, optimism and fear, in a playful and accessible manner. Without the self-conscious posing of postmodern architecture that would follow in the 1980s, googie was a fad that was easily dismissed--until it was missed.

While today's epicenter for googie design is Wildwood, New Jersey, the style took root in southern California places like Anaheim and sites like the now-demolished Modernaire Motel, which opened to accomodate tourists visiting Disneyland. Take a look at the close-up from the postcard shown above. Notice the oversized arrow on the sign, designed to suck motorists off the road and onto the property. Look at the stone-like finish of the office, covering an otherwise utilitarian enclosure. Notice the fields of glass, made possible through structural innovations that enabled the removal of weight-bearing elements from the building’s exterior. It’s just a motel, of course, but it’s also a manifestation of “space age” America.

Learn more:

Alan Hess, Googie redux: Ultramodern Roadside Architecture

Thomas Hine, Populuxe: From tailfins and TV dinners to Barbie Dolls and fallout shelters

Also, visit my website, Motel Moderne, to see more images of early- to mid-century motels that embraced the "moderne" style.