Save the 76 Ball!


We, the undersigned, as consumers with an abiding fondness for the striking, historic and uniquely Californian blue and orange ball-shaped Union 76 logo, be it on tall metal poles or car antennae (since 1967), hereby call on ConocoPhillips to reconsider their alteration of the 115-year-old brand, to cease replacing spherical blue and orange 76 balls at gas stations with flattened blue and red disks, and to restore the beloved spheres to the poles where they belong.

If ConocoPhillips does not demonstrate greater respect for the the history and goodwill associated with the blue and orange 76 ball, we will be taking our business to other gas sellers. This petition is being launched on January 31, six days after ConocoPhillips posted fourth quarterly earnings of $3.7 Billion, and we call for a sincere response to our concerns before the announcement of their next second quarterly earnings.

To sign the petition, click here.
To buy various antenna balls (but not for Union 76), click here.
or get vintage 76 antenna balls here.

Middy’s Big Adventure

January 30, 1947
Venice

“Here, kitty kitty!” was the song of Millwood Avenue as the neighborhood joined in urging pussycat Middy to alight from her perch, 75 feet up in a palm near her home at number 750.

After six days, Middy’s mistress Mrs. Don Bowser was at her wit’s end, her throat raw and neck sore from craning. Although the fire department declined to assist, Boy Scouts from Venice Troop 75 milled around looking helpful. And perhaps the sight of all those little boys so plump and perfect for scratching did compel Middy to move, for suddenly the recalcitrant cat crashed down through the dry fronds, claws out and howling, and landed on the concrete below.

A neighbor reported that Middy had drunk a little milk, and would be examined by a vet because she’d shown signs of internal bleeding.

Did You Want A Fingertip With That Beer?

January 29, 1947
San Pedro

Daniel Baccarat, 50-year-old liquor store proprietor until recently serving customers at 211 W. Ninth Street is on the run after City Health Inspectors discovered that the possibly infectious leper was working with the public. An attorney who called the Health Department to inquire if a warrant had been issued for Baccarat’s arrest rang off the line when asked if he represented the man or knew where he was hiding.

Baccarat first received treatment at the National Leprosarium in Carville, Louisiana in 1928, and in 1931 was discharged as an arrested case. But four years later, San Francisco physicians discovered his disease had recurred and he was forced into hospital treatment. When he volunteered to return to Carville, Baccarat was freed… and somehow turned up in San Pedro twelve years later.

If found, Baccarat will be taken to General Hospital to be examined by Leon Griest, Chief Quarantine Officer of the City Health Department, but he can only be shipped back to Louisiana if he agrees to go.

The Hotfoot That Slipped Through The Cracks

January 17, 1947
Downtown

Gentle readers,

In the excitement of leading the Crime Bus tour, we inadvertently neglected to blog one of the stories that, when first reading the 1947 papers with an eye to writing a book ten years ago, made it obvious that I’d stumbled onto a very interesting shadow L.A. And so we bring you, twelve days late, The Hotfoot That Slipped Through The Cracks.

Thomas Gant, 40, and Thurman Dawson, 27, were prank pals–acquaintances who took great pleasure in torturing each other with increasingly annoying shenanigans. For the past week their activities had been constant and aggressive, with the agonies of the hotfoot featuring prominently in each man’s arsenal.

And so might it have continued, until all the shoes both owned were singed, but still wearable, had Dawson not been inspired to add a squirt of lighter fluid to yesterday’s performance. Gant said, “Enough already” (after he shrieked like a girl), and sought the aid of the homicide cops near City Hall. They looked at his scorched shoe, laughed and wished him well in his endeavors.

Furious, Gant strode back to the hotel where he and Dawson lived, at 236 E. Second Street, and retrieved a gun. From there, he went to the cafe at 245 E. Second and found Dawson at his afternoon meal. Gant shot Dawson in the gut, killing him, and awaited the arrival of the homicide cops, who obliged by taking him more seriously this time around.
Medium Image

Zip Guns Aren’t Just For Kids

January 28, 1947
Santa Monica

Jack Gillette, 68-year-old aircraft worker, was called into Judge Thurlow T. Taft’s courtroom today to answer a charge of firing, without provocation, a miniature gun of his own manufacture at the lower body of Venice cabbie Jack Stewart, 29. The bullet, half the size of a .22, left a nasty bruise on the younger man’s hip. Gillette declared that he had merely wanted to see if his invention worked. Judge Taft looked over the seven teeny guns that police had seized and set bail for the incorrigible oldster at $1000.

The Party’s Over

January 27, 1947
Hollywood Hills

Harry Babasin, 25, was just sitting down to a chess game with William Haller, 24, when all heck broke loose. Sixteen State and L.A.P.D. Narcotics officers busted into the large home at 5751 Tuxedo Terrace and placed the whole joint under arrest. In addition to Babasin, a member of Benny Goodman’s band, and Haller, late of Freddie Slack’s outfit, this included Nelson Shelledy, 28, formerly of Charlie Barnett’s orchestra, and Haller’s lady friend Mrs. Bonaline Stewart, 30, a secretary.

Siezed in the raid was $500 worth of primo gage (aka maryjuana), of which Mrs. Stewart groused, “I’m just a victim of circumstance. I went there on a date with Bill Haller. I was downstairs when I heard all the commotion. What will my boss think, and my family?”

They’ll think that you’re an older woman who hangs around jazzbos, doll. And we at 47project think you’re a-okay!

A Harborside Mystery

January 26, 1947Terminal Island

Grizzled mariners are baffled by the mysterious development of a perfect lover’s knot in the anchor chain of the Navy oiler U.S.S. Caliente. When anchor was dropped in 9 fathoms of water, the chain hung perfectly straight–but when they went to move her into dry dock, the knot made it impossible to weigh anchor.

Sailors cut the knot with torches and moved the ship on her way. The mermaids giggled, and the gremlins guffawed.

Young Lovers in Albuquerque

January 25, 1947
Albuquerque, N.M.

Actor Dean Jagger, 42, proposed to his lady friend Gloria Joan Ling, 24, a Fortune mag staffer. She said yes.

Oh, joyful day! But when the Santa Monica registry office refused to issue a marriage license due to the bride’s Chinese heritage, the couple had to roam as far east as Albuquerque, where a call from director King Vidor succeeded in urging clerk May Cleghorn to stay open late to issue the Jagger-Ling license. A handy justice of the peace performed the ceremony in the lobby of the Bernalillo County Clerk’s office, and the happy kids were free to return to Tinseltown, married in the eyes of God and Albuquerque, but outsiders in their home.


See Dean Jagger and Robert Mitchum in 1947’s
Pursued.

Welcome, L.A. Times readers

It was our pleasure to host the Times’ intrepid Cindy Chang on our Dahlia Day Crime Bus tour to sites macabre and fascinating. Her story is a terrific snapshot of the mood of the tour and our aims in writing the blog and dragging folks around the city.

We were thrilled to discover we could sell out two full sized tour busses with only minimal publicity on this and other blogs, and in the L.A. Alternative, and are already planning future Crime Bus and Crime Walk outings to introduce more retro gore hounds to the forgotten weirdness of our city. So sign up for the mailing list* if you’d like to be informed when reservations open for the next tour, and check out this podcast, a sampling of the Dahlia Day route. But be warned: there’s a lot of humor, but it is not for the squeamish.

yours in darkest noir (with a cherry on top),
Kim

*AOL’s browser does not recognize the sign up page. Please use another browser to join.

A Woman’s Home Is A Dentist’s Castle

January 24, 1947
West Hollywood

Two days after Eviction Day at the fabulous Mount Kalmia Castle, fancy flophouse at 8311 Sunset Blvd., the 38 hapless lodgers of ex-Follies star “Queen” Patricia Noblesse Hogan continue to hustle for new homes. Back in February, the grand, turreted residence overlooking the Sunset Strip was sold to dentist Manuel H. Haig at auction for $83,000, but Her Majesty had nimbly ignored every order to quit the premises.

Until four days ago, that is, when the Sheriff arrived with a twelve-hour notice to vacate, which was the first any of the tenants–from the $300 a month suite men to the gals who shared the basement barracks for $85/per–heard about the sale. 29 hours after the deadline, moving vans still crawled up and down the hill like ants, bearing away segments of the Queen’s $300,000 trousseau, while the tenants sat glumly on hastily-packed trunks awaiting taxi cabs to who-knew-where. And on the driveway, Tootsie Berry, Hogan’s daughter, tried to calm her boxers Major and Colonel. Tootsie wasn’t worried; the Queen would always land on her feet.