Lost Opportunities.


I once wrote about The McKinley Home for Boys (1920-1960) which stood on the present day land of Fashion Square in Sherman Oaks. It was torn down when the Ventura Freeway plowed through.The powers that be (bankers, developers, councilmen) decreed a shopping center to be the the only economically viable usage for that land.

What we have now, is a martian landscape of disconnected large buildings which themselves are nearing the end of their life form. The shopping mall is a fading attraction, but what might replace it?

At Riverside and Hazeltine there is an enormous project to excavate the property around the former Sunkist office building, an early 1970s brutalist structure that swam in a sea of asphalt and whose redeeming qualities were fully grown fir trees which have now been completely wiped off the landscape. The name “Sunkist” was a cruel joke referring to orange groves in the San Fernando Valley that were long ago destroyed. The inverted pyramidal office will remain in the heart of the new apartment community, now renamed “Citrus Commons” and again, real estate wins, and the community loses, except to get more “luxury” units nobody without parental inheritance or assistance can afford.

In the archives of the USC Libraries are these remarkable 1932 black and white photographs of the intersection of Riverside and Woodman when they were just rural roads in the middle of ranch lands. To the right of one of the images are benches and what might be the playing fields for The McKinley Home for Boys. Photographer was Dick Whittington.

The air was clean. Traffic was non-existent. The landscape was a tabula rasa for dreamers.

What do we have today, 90 years later?

The corner of Riverside and Woodman is four corners of disconnected “architecture.”

The NW is a late 1960s office tower in gold panels with an adjoining parking lot. Each floor of the sealed windows, mid-century “skyscraper” has unusable balconies, unaccessible from any office, just protruding forms signifying nothing, a decorative embellishment to make the tower fancier.

NE is the Spanish colonial high school Notre Dame with its good looking students from good families and good homes destined for good jobs and good colleges and good times.

SW is the ugliest shopping center in the San Fernando Valley with a covering of asphalt, outdated giraffe light posts on concrete posts, and a smattering of cheap and unnecessary stores: Bank of America, Pet Smart, Sports Authority and Ross. A parade of oversized vehicles with tinted windows and distracted drivers, and oversized people in black leggings; shoplifters, bank robbers, angry women, vapers and hucksters, actors and influencers, aggrieved SUVs, nearly deceased elderly drivers; pours in and out, all day, in the 100 degree heat, honking and pushing their way into a parking space.

SE is a 76 gas station, the kind that always has the highest per gallon price in the city, and several large billboards.

Everything else at this intersection is all about getting on or off the 101 freeway. Nobody would walk here willingly: burned by the sun, threatened by speeding cars, buffeted by air pollution and visual discordance.

What would this area look like if there had been a plan put in place for development with coherent architecture, walkable streets, trees, etc? Why do we think that mediocrity, ugliness, and environmental destruction are the best we can hope for?

Speaking of God at Fashion Square.


Zaaz
Zaaz

Up on the second floor, a muscular, middle-aged salesman with high Charles Bronson cheekbones and slicked back hair stood in his Zaaz exercise shop waiting for customers who would get on a machine, plunk down two grand and vibrate their bodies into athletic form.

His name was Eddie. He was born, Italian-American in East Cleveland, OH. I met him many months ago and we stopped again to speak today at Fashion Square in Sherman Oaks.

I may have been walking around the mall in a catatonic state of Zyrtec. Tired, not going anywhere in particular, I had just browsed Apple laptops, tried on Hugo Boss jackets and was gliding on the second level of the mall like a cloudy whisper of oceanic fog.

Empty, adrift, morose, I was swimming in circles, unmoored from the sea of purpose and ready to be hooked by Zaaz.

Eddie noticed my dourness and asked how things were going. And then he spoke of his own spiritual self-affirmations, his belief in the Lord Savior Jesus Christ, of good things ahead. And he asked me what I believed in.

I told him I was born and raised a Jew, Bar Mitzvahed but not a believer. So he stepped up on the machine, an exercise pulpit palpitating with electric vibrations, and from above he spoke down to me, a congregant, about my heritage, of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; and of Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, Joseph and Mary and God. He talked of shalom, and peace, and evil in the world, his formidable biceps holding tight to the handles and shaking with impulse and motion.

Still moving on the whole body vibration machine, he revealed his own doubts, his down days when he had no money, his deflated acting career. He spoke of his intimacy with Jesus, the touch of God, the God who had once been a man and died on the cross to save the world and return it reborn.

He got off the machine. And stood down on the marble floor, feet planted firmly, looking at me, man-to-man, eye-to-eye as a mall choo-choo train chugged and whistled past.

He then wrapped up his short sermon with a quote from Proverbs 2:7:

“He will keep the salvation of the righteous, and protect them that walk in simplicity.”

We shook hands in earnest. And I walked from J Christ to J Crew in search of my next ministrations.