As is the case with much if not most of West Hollywood, any structure tainted with the workingman’s touch has been thoroughly scrubbed and redesigned. Automatic Beverage became a fabric shop in the 60s and then received a full gutting and cosmetic makeover in 1999. The facade is now extra fancy-shmancy, so as to fit in with the regal neighborhood shops, which specialize in fancy, catering as they do to the shmancy.
We here at 1947project know that you have many fine news sources to turn to in this great city. We thank you again for your trust in us.
I hope Bill Baker and pals appreciate the effort it took for their robbers to dress like police officers. Y’know, people just don’t put that sort of thought into their robbery outfits anymore, and we at 47p applaud these lucre-lifting louts for respecting their prey enough to put on a good show. (As Larry has pointed out in a previous post, you didn’t need a black-and-white to pull off convincing cop masquerade.) Perhaps, post Hallowe’en, these gents still had a few days’ rental on the outfits and figured they’d put ‘em to good use-besides, 2g’s in 47, adjusted via the consumer price index, would equal $16,484 today-not bad for a night’s work.
And looky here, a reappearance of the William Mead Homes, last seen on 47project July 8 as a corner near the Rosenda Mondragon dump.
Here’s the doorway where Bresciani blasted States the Launderer through the screen. The screen is gone, of course, having been replaced by a steel security door. Had Wm. Mead had those then, States might have fared better.
In 1947 he landed a bit part in Call Northside 777 but by ’51 was soundly blacklisted and didn’t see the business end of a camera again ‘til the early 60s.
After having stirred the masses, he ended up as chauffeur for Jonathan and Jennifer Hart. Like to think he was cogitating on proletarian uprising as he tooled the bosses around. On the other hand, had he become a starveling of slumber? Those Rolls seats are pretty cushy, y’know.
The house in question:
Uh, humble digs there, comrade.
Here’s where that traitorous poisoness Lucy Nolan got what was coming to her-
(What do we notice about the houses on this street? They’ve been stucco’d-or “texture coated†as the man on the radio ad says, and will continue to say until he hangs from piano wire in the town square-and therefore there’s no paint around the ‘hood. No fume-crazed suburbanites drubbing family and friends. Man, I wish kids still built plastic models. Not a hint of mayhem or disorientation on this block. Made me want to push a shopping cart full of whippets and butyl through the streets-the first one is free-then they’ll have to pay for the paint thinner and scotch-guard and white-out and felt tip markers-what am I going on about? Sorry. Am building a ’64 Aurora Dr. Jekyll kit and the Testers is really getting on top of me.)
And now, I am going to inundate you with photos of Mayo Elementary. Trust me, it will do you good.
And last, but not least-
-the cafeteria! Yes, the cafeteria (no finer original 30s industrial tile floor in all of Los Angeles), scene of Peal and Berman’s “crime.â€
Peale is a NUTRITION SUPERVISOR, for the goodness’ sake. I think she knows what she’s doing. And I’ll thank you not to denigrate our brave fighting men again.
Granada Hills backyard, 1950:
But in the Granada Hills frontyard of 1950-
For where in 1947 Granada Hills looked like this:
It now looks an awful lot more like this.
If we can reintroduce the wolf to Yellowstone, I say we can reintroduce the bear to Granada Hills.
And today:
Over 40% of this baby was devoted to public spaces, lounges, lobbies-plenty of good Saturday night kid-smackin’ room. I mean, look at it. Who wouldn’t want to be scarred for life in such opulent surroundings?
As for the King residence on Whitley, where we can only assume more terrors were bestowed liberally – 
They had an apartment in Leland “Sunset Tower†Bryant’s 1928 Fontenoy building. Note, if you will, the angelic, cherubic child above the entry. The child whose peaceful countenance mocked Sheppard, father of screaming tot. 
The ILGWU started out well enough, when it was a collection of Hebraic ex-Wobblies, and gangsters like Rothstein worked to resolve strikes. After a spell Lepke Buchalter and his ilk were raking off dues and extorting employers, and once the union was no longer about wages and benefits, well, in comes the jar full of stinkification. Little matter. In time most production would go oversees-but not without Los Angeles gaining the honor of developing the largest number of sweatshops in America (in your face, 7th Avenue!).
The co-op, market, novelty and typewriter shop are now a beauty salon, bakery, auto stereo and tuxedo place, and any hint of transoms has disappeared (transoms having gone the way of typewriter shops) but the building maintains an incredibly sexy streamlined aluminum band of canopy across its façade:
-there are 5,000+ garment trade businesses in Los Angeles-and you think buying from American Apparel will alleviate you from the inherent disservice you do to humanity by being alive? Think again.
