Saying goodbye to Hollywood, Christmas of 1983


I moved to Los Angeles right after I got my degree at ASU, which I finished up at the end of 1982 (although officially my diploma says 1983, because that's when the graduating ceremonies are held). But by June of 1983 I was long-gone, and living in Hollywood.

Like most college grads, I had done absolutely no research on where I would work, and I just had a vague notion that I wanted to work in "the big city", which to me was Los Angeles. I had a degree in graphic design, and I figured that the best place to look for a place to work would be at an advertising agency, and I knew that advertising agencies were in two places: Madison Avenue in New York, and Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. And since I had absolutely no interest in moving to New York, I tried to get myself an apartment as close to Wilshire Boulevard as I could. And that's how I ended up in Hollywood, I just drove there, and found an apartment that seemed relatively cheap, the Argyle Apartments.

For those of you who know a bit of Hollywood history, you know that by the 1920s the housing shortage in LA was already reaching a crisis level. Hollywood big-wigs, like Cecil B. DeMille, needed places for his cast of thousands to live, and apartment complexes started to be built in profusion. The complex where I lived went back to that time, but only part of it. The back part was beautiful Hollywood 1920s, and the front part had been added many years later, and wasn't Hollywood glamorous, or even very nice. But it was relatively cheap.

So, if you follow me here, I shared the complex with people who were living in luxury, while I was cooped up in one of the "ticky-tacky" add-ons that were built over the parking lot. And since I loved to hang out in the courtyard, I met the neighbors. I had no job, so the most important thing for me was to just hang on, and spend as little money as possible, not even burning gas in my car!


In addition to the many elderly people who had lived there, like "forever", there was a resident celebrity, named Madolyn Smith. If you've never heard of her, it's not surprising, as even her most famous role, as John Travolta's girlfriend (no, the other one), is something that most people have no memory of. I'd never even seen "Urban Cowboy" so I had no idea who she was, but that was her claim to fame.

Madolyn lived with her boyfriend, an aspiring actor and one of the most handsome men I'd ever seen in real life (yes, people in Hollywood are amazingly beautiful!), and I saw them quite often. They lent me a little tiny black-and-white TV, I remember. I have no memory of his name, but he was always going to auditions, and when he wasn't, he was like me, hanging around the complex, waiting for a phone call. We once went and ran around Lake Hollywood, where a lot of people went jogging. He was also very fit.

But the most memorable thing about living at the Argyle Apartments was the Christmas party, which I shyly attended. I really don't remember much about it, other than my trying to blend into the wall in the background, until Madolyn came over to me to wish me a Merry Christmas, and give me a hug. Please remember that I was really just a kid from Minneapolis, and we don't hug there. So I shot a nervous glance over to her boyfriend and just stood there, like a dummy. And Madolyn said, "Awwww... he won't hug me!" I hadn't realized what a Hollywood faux pas I'd made until that exact moment. They left, and I felt terrible.

So on my way back to my apartment I stopped at theirs, knocked on the door, and asked for an autograph, which is still one of my most cherished possessions, and warmest memories. They forgave me for being a clumsy idiot, and I learned an important Hollywood lesson that Christmas.

I think I need a hug.

By the way, everyone said goodbye to me at that party, as right afterwards I moved away to Santa Barbara.
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