I lived in the fourth house down from the left:
This house was built for the foreman that managed the field I worked in 70 years later. It had, under many years of paint, mahogany baseboards, ceiling trim (10ft. ceiling), doors and fireplace mantle. Also, if you notice they built the house for the SoCal weather, hence the steeply sloped roof so the snow will slide off.
It was freezing in the (SoCal) winter and ungodly hot in the summer. It had no closet space to speak of, just enough to hang your Sunday suit and a few other things, jackets hung in the entryway.
I loved that place. I could walk to the store at any hour, even though it was in the middle of the Diamond Street gang territory, because, while they didn't know me, they knew I worked for the oil company that had a well on their friends house property. Our trucks were never bothered, and our sites never graffiti'ed, outside of occasional outsider gangs "pissing on the wall".
The best thing about the house was the parlor. It was small, about 8 x 10, but it had a 10 foot ceiling. It was lathe and plaster and I had a new upright piano and lots of time. The acoustics were great for playing for yourself as the whole room filled and seem to direct the sound right back to you without echo.
The few years I lived there were worth every dollar my parents spent on piano lessons.
The few years I lived there were worth every minute.
Update: Just wanted to mention that I was single when I lived there, I moved out and into the suburbs of "Beautiful Downtown Burbank" because I was ready to get married and Downtown Central L.A. was not the place to convince a lady you're worth a shit.
Also, the picture was taken from the derrick of a well I worked on. The derrick was long gone, and it was a bitty D6 beam unit, but still there and pumping away for over 90 years.
No comments:
Post a Comment