In case you missed it. No big deal.

Bryan Styble

I just wrote a rather long (too long) post and suddenly the machine
froze on me and I had to shut it off. The mouse would not work. It
pissed me off. You're lucky I don't have Campbell's forearms.

I have 4 of the only 5 editions of the mag that came out in 1977.
The ones I have are not the ones I bought that year. They came
from the publisher herself. Now they are every bit as beat up and
worn down as the ones they replaced. Yellow and thin, tattered, but
with all pages intact. Two covers are missing. I am not a collector.
Far from it. I am a minimalist. But I keep those mags in a plastic
container in a box, rarely ever drag them out because I don’t get
much company.

But when I had a small apartment in Hollywood Ca a lot of people
from the poolroom would stop by after hours to continue drinking.
The mags were always on the coffee table. They loved the pictures.
Lots of gory (and funny) pics. But I was more into the text. I told
them the writing was intended as humor even though the stories
were true. Most believed otherwise. This is the type of humor you
either get or you don’t.

Well one day a few months after the rag stopped publication I
called the phone number on the inside of the front page and got
the publisher herself. I told her I loved the rag. She said she was
going to send me 5 new ones. Those are the ones I have now. But
they don’t look new. I told her about the guys stopping over and not
thinking the writing was intended humor. But to make it official I had
to ask her, “Were you guys trying to be funny when you wrote those
articles?” Her response: “Are you kidding me? We were on the floor
every day.” I loved that response. I typed some of the articles right
off the mag - too much work - and am sending a shortie that reads
like a poem. The first 3 or 4 pages of every edition were devoted to
a section called, “Our Violent World”, all short articles. That’s where
this one is coming from. I have 3 or 4 on file. When I have the time
I might type more shorties into it. Anyway, here’s the one that I
think reads like a poem………………….Hope you like it……

////////////////////////////////////

“4,000 Year-Old Death Trap.”

“The Pyramid of Cheops is 479 feet tall. It takes hundreds of arduous
steps to climb up it’s steep granite face to the to p - but only one fatal
mis-step to come hurtling down again, mangling one’s body and flaying
one’s skin against the abrasive surface of the ancient stone.
Christine Daw, a 26 year old Scottish tourist, was adventurous enough
to make it to the top, but the trip back down proved deadly. One little
slip was all that was needed to send her plummeting downward, clattering
and bouncing, breaking bones, ripping away clothing, then skin, then flesh,
until she finally came to rest in the desert below, a formless heap of
battered tissue.”

Big Mongo................

I still have 4 of the 5 only editions to have ever come out. They cost
$1.00 at the time. I'm not looking to buy, just curious - so I pumped
the mags name into the search bar and some are selling for $50 and
$60 a crack. I would not sell mine. Unless I were somehow able to
have the stories typed out along with the pics xeroxed. That would
probably cost a lot too. I love the mags but they have been sitting
in a plastic cover in a small U-Haul box for several years and I only
go when I want to type on out to send to someone. Thanks for the
post.

Appreciate your detailed re-cap, Thomas.

And don't fret much about the cyber-glitch that caused you to apparently have to re-do your work; that sort of thing happens to ol' cyber-inept me often, and I hope it doesn't frustrate you as much as it usually does me.

As I onetime small mag publisher/editor myself [Zimmerman Blues, 1975-79], I can tell you I'm all but certain that lady editor/publisher you phoned up was highly flattered by your contacting her; many people surely appreciated her work, but she probably didn't hear it often enough to balance all the night-and-day effort she had to put in to get the rag into her readership's hands. One personal call from you was probably more important to her than dozens of her subscribers scribbling some keep-up-the-fine-work note along with the subscription cheques.

I'm sure you brightened her day, just as you and so many other posters augment the goings-on herein with your recollections. (And in the process, you reminded me of the two periods [1980-81 and 1990-91*] I lived in L.A's storied Hollywood district, that second tenure breaking my oft-said Mar Vista gag that I "hoped to die before ever setting foot again east of the San Diego Freeway"; Hollywood's hip and always will be for sure, but let's face it, it sure ain't West L.A. (which I moved back to in 1991 before departing L...A. forever to start hosting commercial newstalk radio all around The Lower 48 for the next 25 years). Oh, and which "poolroom" were you referring to? The misnomer-named Hollywood Athletic Club, I'm guessing?

So: thanks a heap for reminding me of the good ol' days, Thomas! And try to think an appreciative thought about our 1776-2023 war dead this Memorial Day.

BRYAN STYBLE/Florida
==================* First, in the top floor of a still-standing but woefully aging house on Willoughby at Gower, in the shadow of the tall walls shrouding the Paramount Studios backlot...but then a decade hence my second Hollywood go-round was in a fancy high-rise up the hill on Whitley Avenue north of Hollywood Blvd.., with the famed Capitol Records Tower** towering to the east just outside my bedroom window.
** Which notwithstanding the architect's widely-reported intent, sure doesn't much resemble (at least to my eye) a stack of LPs on a spindled-turntable***.
*** But that legendary building IS where a certain Nobel Lit laureate a decade ago recorded all three of his so-called "Sinatra trilogy" albums, three earnest yet woefully--and quite uncharacteristically!--ill-advised collections of tunes, a serious bump in the road for his (or anyone's) recording career. Not to mention proof positive that showbiz in general and musical art in particular are often hugely about understanding what your "lane(s)" is/are, and staying within it/them.

radioacti...@gmail.com wrote:

> Appreciate your detailed re-cap, Thomas.

> So: thanks a heap for reminding me of the good ol' days, Thomas! And try to think an appreciative thought about our 1776-2023 war dead this Memorial Day.

> * First, in the top floor of a still-standing but woefully aging house on Willoughby at Gower, in the shadow of the tall walls shrouding the Paramount Studios backlot...but then a decade hence my second Hollywood go-round was in a fancy high-rise up the hill on Whitley Avenue north of Hollywood Blvd., with the famed Capitol Records Tower** towering to the east just outside my bedroom window.
> ** Which notwithstanding the architect's widely-reported intent, sure doesn't much resemble (at least to my eye) a stack of LPs on a spindled-turntable***.
> *** But that legendary building IS where a certain Nobel Lit laureate a decade ago recorded all three of his so-called "Sinatra trilogy" albums, three earnest yet woefully--and quite uncharacteristically!--ill-advised collections of tunes, a serious bump in the road for his (or anyone's) recording career. Not to mention proof positive that showbiz in general and musical art in particular are often hugely about understanding what your "lane(s)" is/are, and staying within it/them.

I lived in Hollywood from 68 to 91. My area was the Yucca Flats between
Franklin and Hollywood. I lived in and moved from many apartment, but
I never moved very far. Unlike you I was a denizen of old Hollywood and
saw anything west of LaBrea - ok, Fairfax - as something I did not like. The
part of Hollywood I lived in was in decay. But it was a sweet decay. Not
a real ghetto yet, but in the making. I got there at just the right time. Did
a lot of drinking and smoking. My main poolroom was The Penthouse
which was located on Wilcox in the same tiny strip mall as the Pla-boy
Liquor Store where I worked on and off for 10 years. Later in my 30s I
got the cab job and would walk home late night about 3 or 4 miles. One
early morning homeward bound I looked up one of the hills bordering
Hollywood Blvd and decided to take one. I vowed to make it two blocks
the following day. In time I was all over those hills. There is probably not
a street in the Hollywood Hills I have not walked on. I never loved walking,
but I forced it, and I did love it in the hills, especially late at night in the arid
air with all kinds of great smells coming alive - honey suckle, lilacs, and
skunks. I like the smell of skunks (from a distance). Same with horse manure.
I still take walks but they are majorly forced and getting tougher all the time
due to my love affair with the mattress since I started getting the $800 per
month age related SSI checks. By the way, even if I didn't live in every
apartment building in Hollywood, especially my own small area - Vine
to Highland - but I have been in almost all of them as living there and
hanging out at the poolroom there were lots of guys living in lots of
different apartment buildings. Whitley Hill. A lung buster. Nice up
top - Whitely Hills they call it. The streets are so small and windy that
in some spots there were steps leading from one street up to another.
There was one spot in Hollywood I loved to walk - Camrose Ave. - that
had an outdoor elevator for people living in the small area. Anyone
could use it. Thanks for the posts. I usually don't force my stuff on
people, but my first response to you got buried in a hurry by other posts
and I thought maybe you missed it. That's why I sent it again.

Oh, by the way, I know what you mean about making the lady publisher
feel good. She made me feel good too. But yes, even famous people
love being recognized. I never shied away from them. I saw lots of
known people in Hollywood, didn't mean much to me. One time I was
walking down the Blvd and saw Phil Silvers and two other guys coming
my way. Right after they passed me I yelled, "Yo Phil, sweetheart", and
Silvers whipped his head around to see me pointing at him in a "Gotcha!"
way. He loved it, I could tell. Another time I saw Timothy Leary on the
Blvd and pulled the same maneuver: "Yo, Tim, sweetheart", and his head
whipped around too. He also loved it. And so did I.

radioacti...@gmail.com wrote:

> So: thanks a heap for reminding me of the good ol' days, Thomas! And try to think an appreciative thought about our 1776-2023 war dead this Memorial Day.

Probably not going to happen but won't argue about it. Maybe their involvement
all conflicts served some purpose, then again maybe not. I don't know. And I am
not a big fan of written history anyway. I am not on the war path against military
people. I've known a few good ones. But by and large I believe today's all volunteer
military consists mainly of nut cases of all sorts. Probably better to have them in
uniform than on our streets. But one day their tour of duty ends and they return
home - usually to cop or security guard positions - even after claiming PTSD. I
just once wish I could hear someone with a voice tell it like it is, that most of
these guys had PTSD long before they enlisted - and now on top of it the cops
are anxious to get them on their crew. Well, I said I wouldn't argue about it then
launched into an impromptu spiel - and for that I apologize. But is the apology
sincere, that is the question. I myself do not know the answer.