UNINTERESTING NONENTITIES

It's Friday the 13th. I'm not superstitious. Bad luck can find us on any day when we least expect it.

Would a black cat have bad luck if he walked under a ladder?

Change of subject

Today I'm going to bore you with a haphazard collection of uninteresting nonentities.

This wooden box belonged to my paternal grandmother, which she had in Hungary. I've had it since I was about twelve, and I keep some of my treasures in it. The old wooden mirror above is from Italy.

In that wooden box is my very first photo, taken by my father. Not exactly attractive.

What's this?

It's  my senior class photo. I was sixteen.

I was fifty in this photo. Any resemblance to my first photo?

These were my baby shoes, well preserved.

These were my boots when I lived in Texas. I always wore them in my house, because there were scorpions on the floor.

A wooden pencil box that my paternal grandfather brought from Hungary.

When I was 18 or 19, I always wore an old Army jacket that I got from the Army Surplus store on Main St. in Los Angeles. I sewed these patches onto it.

Match books, anybody?

The Green Cafe was one of my favorite hangouts. My "very close companion" Phil always went there with me. He was the ex-con, who was in prison for robbery and attempted murder. Unbelievably handsome

 Lots of celebrities went to the Green Cafe.....unfortunately the place no longer exists. It's now a store that sells wine.

Remember when I said I was caught in a midnight raid in the notorious Drake Theater? Here's a match book that I still have.

Those were my reckless years. I existed in danger and cherished it.

A certificate nominating me to be a member of the American Film Institute. This is because of the numerous articles I published in movie magazines. I have an entire box of them, most of which I had forgotten.

Samples from Movie Collector's World and Classic Images.

Dracula: In the Beginning

I was nineteen when I started writing for Classic Images, a very popular movie magazine back then.

The cover featuring my article about silent star Ramon Novarro, who was in the 1925 epic film Ben-Hur. My name is in tiny print on lower right.

A few of the many letters that I have from celebrities. Photo from Shelley Winters, after I met her. The blue envelope is from Olivia de Havilland (when she lived in Paris). The pink envelope is from Joan Rivers. She was really nice in person. Other letters from Jimmy Stewart, George Burns, can't remember all.....

Onto art....

I still have all the pen and ink things when I was 19 or 20.

This is the very first picture I drew in ink.

And another treasure:

This is the very first oil painting I did when I was eleven years old (yes, 11).

 I did many oil paintings, but most of them are lost.

I have dozens and dozens of ticket stubs from operas and ballets that I saw in the Los Angeles Music Center.

Can you believe the very best tickets in the Founder's Circle was only $12.50  back then? The cheapest in the balcony were $3.50.

That envelope is from the famous Brown Derby restaurant in Hollywood.

I have a LOT more of my treasures to share, but this post is long enough.

What's this?

My new ring, a tangerine sapphire. It looks much better in real. I'm holding the phone in my clumsy left hand to take these photos.

Holy Crap!

Don't forget my (old) poetry books, still available on Amazon and other places. 

And my book for children

That's enough for now

Jon, ❤️  almost fascinating

I finally tried to correct the MANY spelling errors!

HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD MYSTERY HOUSE

    

  When I was a reckless youth roaming the midnight streets of Hollywood there were many places on the Boulevard that thoroughly intrigued me. One was the dilapidated old wooden Victorian house that belonged to the mysterious Janes Sisters.

Located on 6541 Hollywood Boulevard, it was way up on the dreary west end, away from the centralized touristy glitz. I used to love walking past it late at night because it looked exactly like a haunted Halloween house. It seemed so completely out of place on the Boulevard, a curious relic stubbornly remaining from a by-gone era.

A few dim lights glowed eerily from the windows, and every once in a while one of the ancient sisters would peak out from behind curtains and glare at me. It was almost as though I could actually feel her annoyance. Annoying them was never my intention. I was merely fascinated.

I had heard a few sketchy stories about the sisters and their peculiarities. I'd even heard that the house was haunted. I didn't learn the truth until many years later. 

The only resident "ghosts" were the four siblings who lived there for many decades: Mabel, Mary, Carrie, and Donald Janes. By the time I became fascinated with the house, Mary and Donald were deceased. Only Carrie and Mabel remained.

The Janes House as it looks in recent years -

a far cry from the creepy haunted house that I remember.

  The house was built in 1902. Herman and Mary Janes lived there - along with their four children (the aforementioned Carrie, Mabel, Mary, and Donald). In 1911, the women of the household opened a school in the house. It was known as the Misses Janes School of Hollywood. Their pupils included the children of such celebrities as Charlie Chaplin, Douglas Fairbanks, Wallace Beery, and film producer Jesse Lasky.

After Mr. and Mrs. Janes died, the school fell upon hard times. It closed in 1926, but the four Janes siblings continued living in the house. Donald opened a gas station in the front yard, known as Janes Auto Service.

Rare interior photos

By 1964 part of the property was converted into a parking lot. That same year, Carrie's husband died (she was the only sibling who had married). Within a decade, the house fell into decay. A handyman was hired to look after the property. The two remaining sisters, Carrie and Mabel, never ventured outside.

After Mabel died in 1978, Carrie moved into the kitchen and slept in a makeshift window box bed. Carrie is the one who would peer out the window at me. In 1982 Carrie was moved to a nursing home in the valley, where she died the following year at the age of 94.

Fortunately the Janes House didn't suffer the fate of demolition, like so many other historic Hollywood buildings. It was purchased in 1985. The new owners had the entire house moved to the back lot, away from the street. After extensive renovations it was used as a Visitor Center, then it became a restaurant called Memphis, and later a nightclub. So far as I know, it's now a 1920's style speakeasy.(written in 2015)

Although the radical transformation of the house has served varied - and mostly unsuccessful - purposes, it is at least securely preserved for posterity. The Janes sisters would certainly be amazed - and perhaps pleased.

The house is almost unrecognizable from when I knew it. It somehow looks smaller and benign, rather than like the foreboding, decaying oddity that it once was.

Here's an interesting fact:
The Janes House inspired author Harry Farrell to write a novel entitled Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? It later became a 1962 hit movie (and a cult classic) starring Bette Davis and Joan Crawford.

The name of the main character in the book, Baby Jane Hudson, was derived from the surname of the Janes sisters - and the name of a nearby street, Hudson Avenue.

Only in Hollywood.     

                                    

copyright 2015, J. Varga

 

Note:

This is an old post and one of my favorites. I'm rehashing it for those who have never read it.

Cheers, Jon

Of course there will be doubtful and sour people - - scanning histories, praying fervently for errors so they can nail me to a cross and pierce my side.

Remember - - I was there.

You weren't.

I just found out that 6541 W. Hollywood Boulevard is no longer a valid street number. It was valid in 1911.  😵  😾 Many innacuracies abound. It was never near 1727 Hudson , and Hudson and Hlywd. Blvd. do not come to a genuine corner.

The photo on Google which was supposedly taken in 1973, was DEFINITELY taken several years later. The house wasn't moved away from the street until 1985. I know this for an absolute fact. I was familiar with the house in the 70s, and at that time it was in its original place, near the street (Hllywd. Blvd.)

NEW BEGINNING

Here is my new back yard on a sunny November day

The forest begins on my property

 

This new blog is a continuation of my previous blog, Lone Star Concerto. I thought it best to separate Texas from Tennessee.



I did it. I finally made it from there to here. From the barren wastelands of west Texas to the lush wilds of the Tennessee mountains. I never thought it would happen. Truly. I was prepared to die in Texas. The enormous amount of troubles that I had there rendered my existence into a living death. My soul was extracted, my heart ripped out. And my will to live waned.

In all fairness, I can't blame Texas exclusively. Bad things happen everywhere. I can only speak from my own personal Texas experience. Trouble began happening to me the moment I got there and never stopped. The entire concept of the Lone Star State was in direct contrast to my nature, and - although I adapted to it - my faux cowboy existence was a sham.

Many details of my Texas years have been documented in Lone Star Concerto. I have no desire to rehash them now.

Every effort to leave Texas was thwarted and I had long given up hope.

And then.......

a small miracle suddenly occurred. After being on the market for four agonizing years, my Texas house finally sold. I only got a small fraction of what the place was worth. The three greedy, incompetent realtors received much more than their fair share. The buyers got one helluva deal. I lost money Big Time.

But I was finally free.......and the high price was worth it.

I chose to move to Tennessee because I wanted a complete change in my life. I have no illusions about paradise, perfection, or eternal happiness. But I have relatives here and some friends. I craved for new adventures in a lush, rural environment.

The process of moving always takes longer than expected, with unexpected detours along the way. When I initially made an offer on my new home, the owner was out of town. The realtor didn't get back to me with an answer for over two weeks. Life is slower in rural areas. Offer accepted!

The buying process went smoothly. I paid cash. Now I'm broke but relieved. And happy. I and my three cats had been staying with my cousin Nancy for over a month. She was an absolute saint and extremely helpful.
Anybody who could endure me and three cats for an entire month must be of the heavenly realm.

I moved into my new place on Thanksgiving Day. Due to an address mix up and the hectic holidays, my furniture won't be delivered until January. Since I can survive more easily without furniture than without the Internet, I bought a laptop to ease my withdrawal pangs. It's much more annoying to use than my desktop computer, but I'm getting used to it.

Spare us the verbosity, Jon, and cut to the chase. Where the hell are you exactly, and how do you like it?

Well, Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Texas anymore.

I was desperately craving peace and solitude in a deliciously rural environment, and.....well.....

Old Chinese Proverb:
Be careful what you wish for.......

I'm in the mountains, in the wilderness, in a remote area fifteen miles from town. Completely isolated, in the company of silence and at the mercy of Mother Nature.

Here's a view from the window, in the

room where I'm writing this. It's a bedroom

but I'm planning to make it my office.

 

I'm situated on two acres of a steep slope of a mountain. From my front windows I have a view of another nearby mist-covered mountain peak. My back yard is on the edge of a forest. There are hilly meadows nestled on either side of my property, inhabited by cows and horses. Birds and wildlife are abundant.

 

 

 

 At night I hear the screech of owls, the howl of coyotes and wild dogs, the sound of unknown creatures rustling through branches and dead leaves. Occasionally, I hear the crisp crack of hunter's rifles - reverberating sharply through the canyons.

 

There is wind here - but it's not like the brutal, foul, endlessly torturous winds of west Texas.

These are mountain winds - fresh, pure,

invigorating, blowing high through the treetops like a magical carillon. All the sounds of nature echo here, through canyons and branches of trees - resonating with the intricacy of a fugue improvised by Mother Nature.

My impressions are effusive but apt. I am more than impressed by these surroundings. I am astonished.

Icicles hanging from nearby cliffs

The photos are all from my cell phone
and are of poor resolution.


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