Bobcats and Camellias and Two Great Houses
One recent morning I saw a bobcat. A bobcat! At 10 am! A bobcat crossed my path, on Valentine’s Day, at 10 am, on one of the busier curves in the Hollywood Dell.
It’s not a sight I’m accustomed to at this hour, in this spot. Obviously, we all know the hills are populated with coyotes, deer, rabbits, and the occasional regal mountain lion. Often you’ll see people excited to have had a glimpse of P-22 (happy birthday to you, pal) only to be dismissed by others reviewing the footage “oh that’s just a bobcat.” But it’s a humbling thrill, to brush with the wildlife. To me these creature sightings always feel heavy with meaning, an omen that isn’t negatively ominous, an augury.
Bobcat Spiritual Meaning ~ helps to perceive what is hidden in plain sight…
Bobcat appears for you to reveal to you a new spiritual power… it is the great and mystical power of perceiving what is hidden in plain sight. This power is the ability to see beyond what the eyes can see, to open to a subtle sensory field of awareness. Bobcat spirit animal has mastered this ability, sharing his medicine, he will teach you the ways to tap into your inner senses to look for what is hidden, hidden messages, meaning and intentions around you.
Listening quietly to the messages on the winds, the long tufts of hair on the Bobcat’s ears help him to perceive the secrets of the terrain, the secrets of others. https://www.universeofsymbolism.com/bobcat-symbolism.html
Even before the bobcat, I’ve found myself mesmerized like never before by the camellias this year. Perhaps it’s being more aware of sacred geometry, looking for the naturally occurring patterns, but the camellia is a perfectly measured blossom.
Here are two great pieces on the history of the camellia in Southern California, both related to the magnificent camellias at Descanso Gardens
https://www.kcet.org/shows/lost-la/reconsidering-the-camellia
https://www.kcet.org/history-society/camellias-and-commies-in-las-tabloid-age
February-April in Los Angeles is the best time of the year. It’s smugly warmer than the rest of the country, and the flowers have started to blossom, jasmine beckoning from around the curve, a siren scent. The hills are a bright green from the winter rains, nothing is yet brown and flammable, and it’s just like walking through paradise.
Recently I attended an estate sale in Whitley Heights for a beautiful triplex from 1921 that was demolished for a luxury building of six units. Is it criminal from an aesthetic and historic perspective? Absolutely. But while I was there, in a box of discarded photography magazines from the ’60s, VHS tapes and DVDs from the ’80s and ’90s, I found these-
Two copies of World Theosophy from 1931 and 1932! World Theosophy was published right here in Beachwood Canyon, was edited by Marie Hotchener and published by Henry Hotchener, who we discussed in the first newsletter.
But that’s enough mystical sentiment, let me give you a long story about two houses connected by one jerk to make up for my silence.
Let’s start with this beauty in Whitley Heights.
Ok, so this one was built in 1922, and in 1923 made headlines when Bruce McCaskill brutally and savagely beat his wife Frances on the front porch with golf clubs in front of 50 neighbors on New Year’s Day after a party. Frances had supposedly kissed actor Robert Gollmers. She wanted to press charges (this wasn’t her first time on the wrong side of the big game hunter/movie director’s bad side). Her mother, a wealthy Boston matriarch, threatened to cut her out of the will if she took him back. But she dropped the charges on January 21.
By 1924, the McCaskills were living elsewhere (we’ll get to that) and this house was occupied by Erle P. Barker, who was a vice president of the illustrious Barker Brothers department stores (and before you are impressed by Erle’s ambition, note his name- his father was Charles Barker, head of the Barker empire).
This house gets a lot of attention for a photo of Jean Harlow skipping down the stairs, and is often mistaken for her home. Her voice coach, Samuel Kayser, was the owner in 1933.
Now let’s get back to Bruce-in addition to being a terrible husband, he also dabbled in real estate and film. I can’t see how you stay in a house after the neighborhood watches you break your wife’s hip, so he relocated over to this property.
This was built in 1925 (unclear where the McCaskills were living between 1924–1925) by Charles Grolle for McCaskill. Charles Grolle was primarily an artist, he worked with the fine arts studio Judson Studios, which is the oldest family-run stained glass firm in the country, but he dabbled in architecture and did a few houses in our area. Bruce was terrible, but he had great taste in houses.
In 1925, Bruce joined Marion Mack films as assistant director (Cecil B. DeMille was the director, naturally), but two houses proved to be too much, so he started putting out (rather frantic, in my opinion) ads trying to sell the Whitley Heights house. In 1927, he joined the board of the Catalina Sea Pictures, which was a production company strictly focused on making films about the “thrilling yarns of the sea” (ok, niche, sure). The McCaskills eventually divorced after having two daughters and moved out of here.
Now, the next occupants were also a bad luck pair. This area was widely disrupted by the creation of the 101 freeway. Whitley Heights was cut right down the middle and several people lost their homes. If you had the means, you could relocate your house elsewhere but that was rare. Walter Beemer and his wife Clara lived at 6053 Yucca, right in the demolition path in 1948. The Beemers were former vaudevillians, they were deft at juggling (groan) and were thrilled to move over here and find a new home and start a new life. Sadly their peace was short-lived, and in 1950, their new home was struck by fire. The roof collapsed and several rooms were destroyed. However, they managed to rebuild (ah, the resilience of circus folk). They stayed through the end of the ’50s.
In 1959, this was home to Hollywood architect Bruce Smith. Now, we keep finding the intersection of architects and art lovers in Hollywood (Peter Harnden being another), and Bruce was no exception. He hosted an exhibit for actress Babe London’s art, and screened her old comedies here. Rolf Richard Flinga exhibited his art and sculptures here a few years later.
More creativity rolled in in the ’70s when dancer Carl Jablonsky moved in. Carl was a former acrobat and lifelong dancer who moved into choreography, and he choreographed all the big tv specials in the 70s: 1973 Academy Awards, 1974 Emmys, Bob Hope’s 75th birthday.
An interesting note is that this house is next to our beloved Monastery of the Angels, and the idea of all the creativity and resilience coexisting with the devotion there is a nice image. Plus, the Monastery didn’t come in until the ’30s, and I like to think their energy shooed away that nasty McCaskill.
I suppose I could/should acknowledge that I haven’t written in a while, that I’ve fallen into the cycle of having too many long stories and not sure which ones to tell you, that there’s always so much more to learn, but that’s my own issue, and an excuse. In my defense, however, there’s been so much happening. I’ve spent the last few weeks talking with families of former residents of houses we’ve discussed, who have found me, and they’ve filled in and fleshed out the lives for me, and we’ve traded- their stories for my silence- and I treasure that trust and keep my promise. What I can tell you is that each time I’ve had these conversations I have been spectacularly moved. It’s astonishing, truly, how many people I’ve met doing this, and I’m in perpetual awe and wonder of the incredible lives that we walk amongst with nonchalant ignorance. One of my secret shames is the fact that I can’t keep any plant alive (hence my wide-eyed gushing over flowers)…but I can talk about the ghosts of the hills, and the spirits in our mystical corner of the hills. I suppose my goal is to change that ignorance of our immediate ancestors, and keep my eyes open, see what the bobcat was trying to show me.
All photos by Cahuenga Past, unless otherwise noted. Please note these are all private homes. We do not disturb nor do we discuss current residents.