Photos of the s.w. corner of the Sunset Strip, at Palm Ave/Holloway, circa 1951 (middle and bottom). The photos show that the fabulous BOOK SOUP is situated directly next to what once was the location of L.A. mob boss MICKEY COHEN‘s notorious men’s shop, Michael’s Exclusive Haberdashery. Cohen’s other “businesses,” Courtley’s jewelry store (Johnny Stompanato was a partner), and his tailor shop (Cohen’s personal tailor, Albert Pignola’s name appears on the corner facade) are to the east (left). The later photo (at top) shows the location its incarnation as a head shop and pool hall beginning in the late 60s. A large brick multi-story office building now occupies the site.
Larry Harnisch’s always great DAILY MIRROR blog has even more significance for me today. My book, MICKEY COHEN: The Life and Crimes of L.A. Notorious Mobster is featured.
Dateline: Los Angeles.
By convicting Conrad Murray, MD., I’m convinced the jury reached a just verdict in the Michael Jackson manslaughter case. Malfeasance, mistakes, or plain ineptitude by callous medical professionals resulting in deaths — and that includes “care” by MDs, down the chain to those barely licensed — is extremely common and usually motivated by incompetence and/or greed. Unfortunately, these cases are rarely prosecuted (laws protect medical practitioners, they protect each other, and, in this case, the events occurred in an isolated home environment with no oversight). Michael Jackson’s family and the LA County DA should receive kudos for the vigilante pursuit of this corrupt, reckless physician. The great tragedy is that Michael Jackson is dead – Dr. Murray may have been in a conspiracy with his meal-ticket, mega-star patient – but he is alive; a culpable co-conspirator who was heavily remunerated.It’s frustrating but because of over-crowding in the state prison system, due to lack of funding, early releases for non-violent offenders like Murray are the norm. He will probably receive a very short prison stay, probation, possibly home monitoring, and hopefully the loss of his medical license.
The historic home to poets and hell-raisers has closed its doors: No More Artists Will Live Or Die Here. On my first trip to Manhattan, sans parents, out of curiosity I stayed there for a few days. It was not for me. I had already met Andy Warhol in L.A. and was a new person on the scene. Presumably curious, Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe came to meet me at the Chelsea. I must have left quite an impression: I never saw them again!