Thirty Years Ago
Larry Remer’s first fundraiser for his weekly newspaper, Newsline, held in the stately Mission Hills home of Janed Casady, rallied 150 fellow liberals at $12.50 each. The ticket price paid for a chance to mingle with politician Tom Hayden and satirist Jules Feiffer.
— PRESS PASSES: “PAPER BUOYS,” Paul Krueger, March 23, 1978
Twenty-Five Years Ago
Jack Orr was shaking Roger Hedgecock’s hand, offering strategy and counsel even before the final votes were tallied in last week’s mayoral primary. And Orr, the campaign consultant who directed Bill Cleator’s third-place finish, predicts a Hedgecock victory in the May 3 run-off against Democrat Maureen O’Connor.
— “THE INSIDE STORY,” Paul Krueger, March 24, 1983
Twenty Years Ago
Sometime during the last year, at a motel somewhere in San Diego, a group of young men allowed themselves to be filmed naked while masturbating. Each was responding to an advertisement in a sex tabloid seeking male models for consideration as actors in sexually explicit films.
Seabag Productions filed a fictitious business statement at the county courthouse on March 1. That statement shows Seabag as a one-man operation run by Hillcrest resident and downtown porn-store owner Rick Ford.
Ford’s mail-order business has earned a reputation for producing and distributing sexually explicit films featuring sailors and Marines engaging in homosexual acts, as well as other gay-oriented entertainment. According to police sources, Ford’s suspected use of military personnel in his films resulted in a recent — but inconclusive — investigation of Seabag by the Naval Investigative Service.
— CITY LIGHTS: “LOOKING INTO SEABAG,” Bob McPhail, March 24, 1988
Fifteen Years Ago
I remember killing the heart out of summer afternoons, drinking soda and holding leisurely conversations about riding, helmets, accidents, former Sheriff Duffy, and the mechanical differences and similarities between Harleys and Japanese bikes with other riders waiting for an oil change or a brake adjustment. The service area could get pretty crowded, so recently Helm decided there’s only room for himself and partner Lee Crocker in “the bay.” Still, bikers waiting for service mill around on the sidewalk and curb along Illinois Street, though not today, as torrential rains continue to turn city streets into rushing gullies.
— “HOG LUV,” John Brizzolara, March 25, 1993
Ten Years Ago
When we talked recently by telephone, Mr. [T. Coraghessan] Boyle was at home in Santa Barbara. His house is not far from the house where much of Riven Rock’s action takes place.
I cooed and carried on about how much I always love Boyle’s high-pitched, extravagant language. I asked him how he got his ear tuned to hear in this way.
I said that the only other American writer that seemed to use language as extravagantly and musically as Boyle does was the late Stanley Elkin.
Boyle replied rapturously, “Oh, Stanley Elkin is one of my heroes. He could spin out metaphors better than anyone around except maybe John Updike.”
— READING: “RIVEN ROCK,” Judith Moore, March 26, 1998
Five Years Ago
I have been going to open houses for some time now. I do not go looking for a place to move; I rarely visit places I could never afford. I do not go for decorating ideas; I will not be replacing my mishmash of slowly acquired piecemeal furniture anytime soon. I go because I like to look. There is undoubtedly a measure of curiosity, and there is plenty of nostalgia involved. People say they miss the seasons back East; I miss the blocks of modestly priced two-story houses full of wood floors and double-hung windows and high ceilings and gorgeous woodwork. All these things meant “house” to me, and I like to walk about in such places, see echoes of my old home in “old” California Craftsmans and Spanish-style manses.
— “DOMESTIC SPY,” Matthew Lickona, March 20, 2003