It's odd but I didn't quite know what to expect from Los Angeles. Las Vegas was instantly recognizable to me; I'd seen the Strip in countless films and television programs. It looked pretty much as I expected it would. The first time I visited New York, I had the same reaction: This is it! Manhattan! Just like in all those movies!

Not so with Los Angeles. Aside from a couple of familiar landmarks, the Hollywood sign, say, or the Hollywood Bowl, nothing I came across really rang a bell with me. And yet, it all did, in a way.

Originally, I had hoped to spend a week here and really see the city but, alas, I find I'm a little bit behind schedule. So, I tried to squeeze as much into three or four days as I could. My first evening in town, I donned the best threads I have with me and pretended I belonged in the bar of the very swanky Beverly Hills hotel, The Peninsula, where my buddy, Patrushka, is employed. I guess I managed to be presentable; no one looked askance. In fact, everyone was exceedingly gracious. It's a lesson I learned long ago: the well-to-do are accorded a great deal of respect and courtesy. That's why it's especially inexcusable when one of the privileged makes an ass of him- or herself, abusing a waiter, bellboy or other such server. These people get such kid glove treatment in their day-to-day lives, they should be the happiest people on earth. Of course, the truth is, they are often miserable and there's a lesson there for all of us, isn't there, boys and girls?

Anyway, after rubbing elbows with the big shots, it was a late night snack at a very loud joint called L.A-style diner. I had the sauteed tofu burrito (they were out of mashed yeast) and it was every bit as delicious as it sounds. We were barraged with piped-in rap music that featured exceptionally offensive lyrics (and I'm no prude) yet managed to enjoy ourselves in spite of it.

The next evening, it was sushi and a movie. The Hairdresser's Wife was the film, Patrice Lecont's first offering since his wonderful Monsieur Hire a couple of years ago. It's a funny, insightful, oddly erotic little film; I heartily recommend it.

On Monday morn, I had an appointment about which I was very excited. When I was a kid, 11 or 12, I read two magazines regularly, MAD Magazine and Famous Monsters of Filmland. FM was a light-hearted and loving look at the classic horror and sci-fi films of yesteryear and it also kept its readers up to date on any current releases in those genres. It contained puns a-plenty, most concocted by its editor-in-chief and guiding spirit, Forrest J. Ackerman. Forry had loved these films since he was a lad and knew how to entertain a new generation of youngsters who also loved ghouls, goblins, and things that go bump in the night.

Famous Monsters is no more but not so Forry. He's still alive and kicking, as busy as ever, it seems. I had heard that he occasionally opened his home to fans, so that they could enjoy his vast collection of memorabilia. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I looked him up in the white pages and gave him a call.

After hearing his pun-filled answering machine message (he hasn't lost his touch), I began to explain who I was and why I was calling, hoping he'd return my call and grant me a visit. While I was speaking, he picked up the phone, asked me a bit about myself, and before I knew it, I had an appointment for 11 o'clock this a.m.

He lives in the Hollywood Hills, near Griffith Park, in a nice house with a great view. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he left me alone to wander through his collection. He owns the ring and cape Bela Lugosi wore in Dracula, the claw that became detached from The Thing in the course of that picture, numerous life masks of famous horror stars, Lon Chaney's makeup kit, the initial model of the Ymir from 20 Million Miles to Earth, a mask from Invasion of the Saucermen and much, much more. Forry was a gracious, if busy, host, willing to answer my questions when they arose. It was a kick to meet Mr. Ackerman, someone who was an integral part of my youth. We posed for a picture together, chatted a bit more and I was on my way. Before I left, Forry provided me directions to my next stop which was right there in his neighborhood.

It's an old home a little further up in the hills called the Ennis-Brown House. Why did I want to see the house? Because it has a great view overlooking Hollywood? It does, but that's not why. Because it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright? Nope. Wright did design the house, but there's a better reason. No, I wanted to visit the Ennis-Brown house because it was featured in the William Castle classic, The House on Haunted Hill. Now, that's a reason to go see a house.

Next, I hit Hollywood Boulevard: Mann's Chinese Theatre (where I stood in Groucho's cement footsteps), the Frederick's of Hollywood Bra Museum (Madonna's has been missing since the riots, there's a $1000 reward for its return), the Max Factor Make-up Studio and Museum (worth a visit). I also caught a peek at the apartments where William Holden lived in Sunset Boulevard and drove by Charlie Chaplin's old studios (they now house A&M Records) on La Brea.

That night Patrushka, her friend Suzanne, and I feasted on Thai food (the larb was excellent) and attended a showing of A League of Their Own at a really cool '60s theatre, the Cinerama Dome. I liked the theatre but was disappointed in the film.

Continue on the American Odyssey.
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