Obit: Nick Lenin Conn

Nick Conn, long-time Venice resident, died at his home at 224 San Juan Avenue on Tuesday Evening, November 13, 2012.  Born Nicolai Lenin Conn on February 22, 1925 in Ann Arbor, Michigan, he was the middle son of three, his older brother, Karl Marx Conn, born in 1920 and Anatole France Conn born in 1926.

His parents were Russian Jewish immigrants to the United States from the Ukraine via Winnipeg, Canada.  Both were prolific readers and saw education as of paramount importance.  His mother, Dina Conn, also a Venice resident from the early 1950s to her death in 1969, was self-taught and spoke five languages.  His father, William Conn, was a Communist involved in Syndicalism.  After moving from Canada, William remained an illegal immigrant never obtaining citizenship from the United States.  He started as a mechanical engineering student in Canada, becoming a tool and die maker in the United States and then a union organizer for the United Auto Workers.   In the late 1930s, he was arrested for organizing during a strike in Michigan and spent several years at Steilacoom Federal Penitentiary where he earned a bachelor’s degree.

In the late 1920s, the two separated and Dina took her three sons to New York where she had family and friends.   Nick grew up there attending secondary and high school and joining the Science Club and learning photography.  After the outbreak of World War II, he joined the army and ultimately participated in the invasion of Normandy.

After the war, Dina and the three boys tried Florida for a short period and then in the late 1940s they made their way to the Southern California coast joining millions of others in search for a sunny life near the sea.  They began living on the southwest corner of Ocean Avenue and Venice Boulevard in two small houses. The boys were attending college and enjoying a vibrant social life.  Nick began going to law school and completed West Los Angeles College of Law.

He spent most of his professional life as an insurance investigator and adjustor with the firm of Michael Wishengrad & Staff in the San Fernando Valley.  The work as an investigator provided him with enjoyable autonomy and the opportunity to travel throughout Southern California, especially in Los Angeles County.

All three of the brothers shared a great enthusiasm for sailing and owned a number of boats over the years.   Throughout his life, Nick relished his sailing trips with family and friends in the Florida Keys and along the Western Continental Coast.  After he retired from his career in insurance, he continued his interest in sailing and became an instructor with the U.S. Power Squadron, a non-profit organization dedicated to boat education and safety. Through this activity he met and retained many friends.  He loved to quote the Water Rat from Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows saying:

“Believe me, my young friend, there is NOTHING – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.”

His enduring interests were in law, science and politics and reading was his lifelong abiding passion.   He volunteered at the Venice Library in their literacy project for a number of years.  His compassion for others, particularly those less fortunate than he, was well known in Venice and many people over the years have been the recipients of his generosity and kindness.   He never forgot his parents’ teachings regarding equality and fairness.

His interest in the Venice Community lasted throughout his life and he participated in many efforts to retain autonomy from the pressures of the City of Los Angeles.  Nick lived in Venice for over 60 years, except for a short period when he purchased a home in Mar Vista.  He married and had three children and five grandchildren.

He believed in the fundamental importance of civic participation and voted at every single election leaving the stickers he received on his front door in a growing list as a statement of pride. We could all do well to emulate him.

Tina Morehead – January 27, 2013

Bud Van Osdall, Long Time Venice Resident, Dies in His RV

By Peggy Lee Kennedy

He was discovered deceased in his Sportsman camper behind the Talking Stick Café in Venice around 10:30 am Friday June 15.  The LAPD said he was just a transient, which is not true.  Bud lived in Venice for more than 30 years.  He was no more a transient than anyone else is on this planet and it is wrong to classify people like that – as if they have no worth.

Bud was the name all of his friends knew him by, but he was born Myron Van Osdall Jr. He was aVietnam combat veteran. He graduated from San Diego State and worked with computers when they took up a whole room. He also drove cab for 5 years in Los Angeles.

I was told that he was coughing the night before he died and he had been complaining of stomach pains.  One of the people who employed Bud doing odd jobs had been calling him for days with no answer. Sad that he died like that in his motor home without calling anyone for help or going to the doctor.  May be he was too sick.

 His miniature pincher,named Dog, is now in the pound for 30 days so that some next of kin Bud had not spoken to for twenty years has a chance to claim her before she can be adopted. There is already a taker to adopt her so it seems cruel to poor Dog to make her stay in jail for 30 days after her friend died.

Bud had lots of friends, besides Dog, and I was one of them.  I really got to know him over ten years ago when Bud and his long time friend, Douglas Waters, would park in the Rose Ave parking lot in their Winnebago motor home.  Douglas was a World War II veteran and an accomplished pianist. Sadly, he died of a heart attack a few years ago.  And once upon a time there were three of them:Bud, Douglas, and John. Douglas and John Jenkins met in 1966. Bud came along in the late 70’s or early 80’s. After losing housing in the Venice canals, they lived in an old truck with a tree house and a trailer pulled from behind. Bud was in the tree house, Douglas and John in the trailer.

After John became terminally ill, they all (Douglas, John andBud) moved into Lincoln Place apartments with the help of Carol Tantau and St. Josephs. John passed away six weeks after they moved in, but Douglas and Bud lived there for 12 more years until forced into a buy-out.  That is when they bought Bertram, the Winnebago. Bud and Douglas lived in Bertram for years together.  I believe after Douglas passed away, Bud just never felt right.

Bud did odd jobs in Venice, including at Big Bill’s and Just Tantau. Years ago Bud and Douglas used to make special origami boxes with recycled magazines that Just Tantau used for gift boxes and people still remember those boxes.  Lilly, from JustTantau, recently gave Bud some extra cash so he could buy a remote control helicopter, which he said he always wanted. He flew it at Penmar Park until he got it stuck on a roof. He had to sort of break in so he could climb up to get it, but the helicopter  broke when he was getting down.  Bud said that flying the helicopter at Penmar Park gave him the opportunity to reconnect with some old friends from his past and it was good.

There will be a memorial held for Bud and Douglas at theTalking Stick Sunday, July 8 at 12:30pm. Carol Tantau said she will give box making lessons in memory of Douglas. b

The Life and Death of Mikey

By Ian Dean

With the rising popularity and constant shifting of this tiny beach side community, countless faces drift in and out. Many are forgettable, few are truly memorable, some are people who you  know by face but lose track of the moment they leave eye shot. A grimy little oasis, ever morphing and changing to the trends and flow of time. The pulse of the town is captured in countless movies and TV shows, mentioned in songs and reported through countless art communities. It is where the wealthy and cool come to play, eat and live, where the poor come to create and bargain and where the world comes to see the ever going freak show that is Ocean Front Walk.

Though times have changed and many people have come and gone, there was one man who through it all grew up and saw all these changes, and yet somehow remained unchanged and unaffected by the trappings of local fame.

In an era before Venice was the “hip” place to be, but rather a place many avoided, when surfing was considered the pass time of the lazy and worthless, when punk rock was in its adolescence, and you could see 5 bands for 2 dollars at a vomit soaked venue, there was a young man who did it all, lived it all and loved it all.

This man was Michael Lee Samuelson.

Born on March 8 1963, the details of Mikey’s early years are not the focal point of this story, mainly because with the exception of his adoring mother, and to a degree his over demanding-father, Mikey did not have what one would call the “loving family.”

Mikey was adopted and had very little connection to his extended family. As he got older and his parents passed away, that extended family showed very little interest involving him in their lives.

That is where this story drifts off to Mikey’s true family…. Venice Beach itself. The random assortment of eclectic people that called Venice Beach home were his family, and there were many of them.

The bums, the junkies, the snow birds, the bikers, the punks, the skaters, the gang bangers, the small shop owners, all were his brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles. The limitless young homeless kids that came in and out who were runaways and orphans were his children who he was incredibly protective of, and always made sure that they had eaten or that no one was taking advantage of them. The beach itself was his mother, lover, best friend and Achilles heel all in one.

Venice was more than just a place to hang out for Mikey, it was a beacon of comfort even in adverse times of alcoholism and drug addiction, severe loneliness and depression. It was a place of safety and where the saying “where everybody knows your name” could not apply any more so than if Mikey were Abbot Kinney himself. To meet Mikey was an experience all on its own and to KNOW him was always an adventure, seeing how his penchant for trouble making and overall patriotic anarchism (yes, there IS such a thing) took hold of any event in which he was involved.

From The Sidewalk Cafe to SxT Tattoo, The Trading Post Liquor, to the first Streets of Venice skate shop and even the now non-existent Hi Dee Ho Comics and the Westminster Pagodas  … EVERYONE, one way or another knew Mikey.

Countless young men and women and even small children in town know him as “Uncle Mikey”, others know him as “Punk Rock Mikey” when he sang with punk rock Karaoke band “ToneDeaf”, and close friends and acquaintances know him as “Wrecking Ball”. All of them accurate, all of them meaningful, all of them given with love and respect. But how does one properly define in such a short column a man who was so many things to so many people? The reality is I can’t… nothing I write will ever truly do the man justice, nor properly convey just how unique of a person Mikey was… but I can damn well try.

One would not think through his gruff exterior that there was a very lonely man despite being loved by so many people, and due to this loneliness he constantly put himself out there as an emotional anchor for anyone else. He became the person he wished to know, he became the person he wanted to look after him, but to everyone else.

He was a father to the fatherless, a friend to the friendless, a protector to the defenseless, a voice to the voiceless and was always willing to hear the shit on your plate even though he had loads on his.

Mikey battled alcoholism and drug use for years, but managed to go for years at a time not drinking or using anything… but even when he was, he still went to meetings and supported others, even if he could not stay clean. Recovery for him seemed less about not using but rather making sure others were not alone or had to face it by themselves.

In late March of 2012, just a few weeks after his 49th birthday, Mikey was raced to Harbor UCLA Medical where he would spend the next month in intensive care for the battle of his life.

Years of drinking and drug abuse, mixed with his punk rock lifestyle, had caught up with him. His body was shutting down. While in intensive care, the countless doctors that treated him mentioned multiple times that chances of Mikey living or leaving that hospital were close to none. This, however, had no effect on him, and slowly but surely, he became more and more stable, bashing through every medical obstacle like the wrecking ball he was named for.

While in the Hospital, there was a benefit held for him at Danny’s Deli put together by Mikey’s close friend and band member of Tone Deaf, Masao Miyashiro, in an amazingly short 12 hour time frame. In one night over 1500 dollars was generated for Mikey’s expenses, and many old and new friends got together to support and honor their friend. Emotions were high, but morale and love for Mikey was at an all time high.

Day by day, he got better, they took him off the breathing machines and he soon was taking liquids and then solid foods. He was talking and walking before anyone could even believe it.

But the truth was the long term damage had been already been done and it seemed Mikey pulled through all that because he wanted to die on his own terms, and not in a hospital bed.

He had always been a fighter and refused to leave this life unless it was his choice in the matter. As one friend, Dan Clements, stated “coming out of that hospital was his final victory lap”.

While in the hospital, Mikey, had a slew of visitors coming from all over to possibly say their last goodbyes. The nursing staff actually became frustrated at the hordes coming to visit because no one wanted to “wait their turn” when it was so uncertain what the outcome would be. People started completely disregarding the rules and walked past security without even a forethought.

Mikey was eventually released and taken home, a miracle in his own right, but tired, as the experience had clearly aged him in just a few weeks. He went along with his daily life, but now everything seemed slower, quieter, and he still did not feel well. He could be seen walking around accompanied by various friends, and having lunch or a Shirley Temple at Danny’s Deli or Sidewalk Cafe. It was very clear though that the way Mikey had lived for the past 48 years was over.. it had been a good run but now it was only a matter of time. Mikey lost his battle on May 29.

On June 23 at 9 am there was a paddle out service for him at the Pier at the end of Washington Blvd and, then another service at 7 pm at the Skate Park, followed by a memorial party at the Gas Station just off Pacific. At both services, stories and memories of Mikey were shared and the reminder voiced that everyone was connected because of one man.

People who knew each other for decades and people who did not know each other at all mingled together to celebrate a person who in this small blink of an eye we call life, managed to bind so many people to one another simply because they loved him.

The aftershock and the lack of accepting of his death is still there and probably always will be. Some people are angry… some just can’t believe he’s gone. As one of his many nephews, Tripple Jenkins stated recently while at Danny’s Deli, “I keep expecting for him to walk in that door and say, ‘Hey Maaaaan, whats goin on?’. Others, such as Damion Palmer, who has known Mikey for 30 years, comments on how it is a reminder that “we’re all gettin old, and watching your friends drop makes you put things in perspective”. Whatever the emotion may be outright, the reality that everyone is already missing him is showing as people shuffle along Ocean Front Walk and realize never again will they see him sitting on a bar stool at Sidewalk Cafe, or riding that ugly orange beach cruiser with the bent frame and ringing the stupid cheeseburger shaped bell that he got such a kick out of.

On a more personal note, I myself last spoke to him on the afternoon of May 28th at around 2pm. I called him to wish him a happy Memorial Day, and asked if he wanted me to come pick him up so he could spend it at the beach. He replied with a soft spoken “No, I think I’m going to take a nap.” How little then did I realize how foreshadowing that statement was.  I then told him if he changed his mind to give me a call and I’d call him tomorrow. I wished him well, told him I loved him. He replied with “Talk to ya later, little brother.” That was the last time I spoke to him.

Michael Samuelson is survived by his family… us, Venice Beach. His brothers, aunts and uncles, his sisters, his nieces and nephews, and children.  The little boy who was adopted that ended up adopting a whole beach side community.

To end this, I want to quote Mikey on something he said in his hospital bed a few days before he was discharged: “Despite everything that’s going on, if I had to do it all again, I would. I lived my life my way and did it how I wanted to do it.”

How many of us can truly say that?

And will we be able to when it’s our turn?

I want to give a special thanks and recognize all the people who helped, donated their time, energy or were just there every single day Mikey was in that hospital, including, Katie Sullivan, Theresa Viselli, Jessica Hawkins, Toni Giuliano, Masao Miyashiro, Daryl Lee, Damion Palmer, Big Seven, Palar Brown

To all who helped with the charity items for the auction: ToneDeaf, Danny’s Deli, SxTx Tattoo, Streets of Venice, DogTown Skates, Maui and sons, Venice Originals, Sidewalk cafe, and countless others

And most importantly, Thank you to the Harbor UCLA medical center Nurses and Doctors for putting up with all of us and bringing Mikey back to us for a little bit longer.

Ray Bradbury – Martian and Venetian: Gone with the Transit of Venus

By Jim Smith

On June 5, I was peering through Chuck Bloomquist’s telescope in his front yard as a tiny black dot – actually the size of the Earth – slowly made its way across the yellow-gold caldron we call the Sun.

At the same time, a few miles away, a 91-year-old man who had taken us to Venus, Mars and other worlds in his books was breathing his last. He had traveled across universes solely by the power of his mind. Now he was giving us one more amazing tale by hopping on Venus as it flew across the Sun. Only Ray Bradbury would think of such an appropriate way to make his exit.

Ray Bradbury was a novelist who wrote like a poet. His powers of description could transport the reader to Mars, Venus or to Venice, circa 1947.

He will long be known to the world as the author of The Martian Chronicles, Fahrenheit 451, The Illustrated Man, Dandelion Wine, and Something Wicked This Way Comes, among other books of Science Fiction and Fantasy.

Venetians will ever be grateful for his masterful description of a decrepit Venice of the late 1940s in the novel, Death Is A Lonely Business. This is a Venice that nobody comes to visit and where the fog rolls in every day and it rains a lot in the autumn that he describes.

It rained a lot on Venus, too, at least in a short story Bradbury wrote in Venice (probably while it was raining):

The rain continued. It was a hard rain, a perpetual rain, a sweating and steaming rain; it was a mizzle, a downpour, a fountain, a whipping at the eyes, an undertow at the ankles; it was a rain to drown all rains and the memory of rains. It came by the pound and the ton, it hacked at the jungle and cut the trees like scissors and shaved the grass and tunneled the soil and molted the bushes. It shrank men’s hands into the hands of wrinkled apes; it rained a solid glassy rain, and it never stopped.  –The Long Rain, 1950

That is how Ray Bradbury wrote. His powers of description were unmatched through 500 published works. He wrote every day, and still had time to carefully study the world around him. “If there were three of me, I could keep us all busy,” he once said.

In Venice, the young Bradbury was a self-described maniac, a true Venetian possessed by an enthusiasm for life.

“Venice is full of old people,” says Bradbury’s unnamed protagonist in Death Is A Lonely Business. They were old enough to have enjoyed the halcyon days earlier in the century when Venice was perhaps the most exciting place on the west coast. It is as if they had partied on the Titanic, but by the time Bradbury arrived they were clinging to rafts for dear life.

It is this atmosphere that is the foundation of Bradbury’s murder mystery where lonely people are put out of their misery by an unknown murderer. While this murderer was running rampant in Venice and in Bunker Hill, another community soon to be “renewed,” old Venice was experiencing its own death as Abbot Kinney’s Windward Pier and Amusement Park fell before an L.A. wrecking crew.

The Pier had been a center of Venice since its founding in 1905. Its rides, midway, movie theater and performance areas had set Venice apart from staid old Los Angeles.

The L.A. city fathers hated the libertine atmosphere of Venice and its Pier. When the Kinney Company filed routine paperwork after World War II for the renewal of its lease of the Pier (which Abbot Kinney had built), it was denied. The Kinney heirs had no clout downtown and could not save this part of Abbot Kinney’s dream. The destruction is portrayed in gruesome detail by Bradbury. Venice sank further into the fog.

This is the gloomy atmosphere that Orson Wells portrayed a couple of years later when he decided that Venice would make the perfect stand-in for Tijuana in the film, Touch of Evil.

It was also the perfect cover for the Beats, who were hiding out from 1950s mainstream America. It led Lawrence Lipton to call Venice, the “slum by the sea.” By the late ‘50s Venice had sunk even lower as more than half the great old buildings on Ocean Front Walk and Windward Avenue, including the imposing St. Mark’s Hotel, at Windward and Ocean Front Walk, were toppled by order of L.A. Code Enforcers.

I encountered what was left of this Venice when I arrived in 1968. An empty Boardwalk, cheap rooms, a pervading sense of poverty and decay. I loved it.

Bradbury had arrived in Venice with his family in 1942. They had taken up residence at 662 Venice Blvd. It was at this location that he began work on The Martian Chronicles, which is really a series of vignettes stuck together as a novel. Until recently, the family home had survived, and even sported a plaque announcing its literary greatness. In 2008, the historic home was bulldozed in a barbaric display of callousness to make room for an upscale art gallery.

Delores Hanney of the Venice Historical Society, who interviewed Bradbury, believes that at some point he moved into an apartment closer to the beach. In the novel – which is accurate in all other descriptions about Venice – the protagonist lived in a $30 a month room, across the street from a gas station and between the beach and the canals (A free Beachhead will be awarded the first person to identify this location.).

What else did Bradbury write while he lived in Venice? Probably a lot of short stories, like The Long Rain, which he attempted to sell to magazines. Some of them may have found their way into The Illustrated Man and other books. He was probably already thinking about Fahrenheit 451, which was published in 1953.

Bradbury left Venice in 1950 or ‘51. Venice of his day could accommodate a struggling writer, but having an author who was becoming a household name might have caused the stampede to the beach to start years earlier than it did.

Bradbury did not forget Venice. He returned frequently to bike or walk around his old home town. In later years, he spoke at the Abbot Kinney Venice Library under the auspices of the Venice Historical Society.

He wrote Death Is A Lonely Business in 1985. By then the circus wagons had been pulled out of the canals, the oil wells had given way to high-priced condos in the Peninsula, the Red Cars had stopped running, and those wonderful fogs had become infrequent.

Bradbury loved the Red Cars, and trains in general. He often took trains instead of flying. The man who traveled to other worlds in his imagination never learned how to drive a car. In low-income Venice of the 1940s, when he was growing up, it was a luxury most people could not afford. Besides, there was the wonderful Red Car system that would take you anywhere under the mountains. In Venice, then as now, one could quickly walk or bike anywhere.

In Death Is A Lonely Business, Bradbury’s alter ego says he wants to live forever. Ninety-one years is not forever, but it’s more than most people get. Even so, Ray Bradbury does have a shot at immortality through his books, which are as fresh and exciting as the day they were written.

For more about Ray Bradbury, see a 1963 film biography of Ray Bradbury, including shots of Venice: http://bit.ly/NJwFTq

A new short film based on Bradbury’s Kaleidoscope is currently making the rounds of theaters and film festivals. It was the Grand Prize Winner in the 2012 New Media Film Festival.  

Ray Bradbury and the Free Monorail System

Ray Bradbury may have had his head in the sky for The Martian Chronicles and other amaz- ing stories set on other worlds and dimensions, but he knew a good thing here on Earth when he saw it.

In the early Sixties, the Alweg Monorail Company offered to build a 41.8-mile long trans- portation system free of charge. It would have included two lines extending east and west of downtown Los Angeles, and a third running through the Valley to downtown. Standard Oil (now Chevron) became active in lobbying against the plan. Only a few years earlier, Standard, Gen- eral Motors, Firestone Tire and others had bought up and derailed L.A.’s Red Car system, and nu- merous other urban railway companies through- out the country.

The Los Angeles Board of Supervisions quickly rejected the Alweg offer, over Bradbury’s strenuous objections. He recalled being thrown out of the meeting for making “impolite noises.”

The entire system would have cost $123 mil- lion to build ($740 million in today’s dollars), which Alweg would have been reimbursed for out of fare receipts. The company said it would consider more miles of the system if the County wanted it. The Alweg plan can be viewed at http://bit.ly/MvuWlV.

The towers for the tracks, and the tracks themselves, would have been built in a factory and assembled on the spot like a giant erector set. Since it would run down the center of existing streets the system could have been built and op- erating within months, not years. At the time of its proposal, Alweg had already built the Disney- land and Seattle monorails, both of which are still in service.

In contract, the “Subway to the Sea” began with a projected cost of $4 billion. The estimate has already increased to $9 billion and that is only as far as Westwood. Getting to the Sea will cost billions more. Bradbury objected to this waste of time and money, as well, stating that with the pleasant climate in Southern Califormia, monorails made more sense that subways.

Instead of $9 billion for a 10-mile long sub- way, we could have had, or still could have, 549 miles of monorails. That would give us a transit system approaching the coverage of the old Red Car lines, which the city and county ripped up. By the way, the subway won’t be completed until 2036. Bradbury must have been livid.

See more about the Solid Gold Subway at: http://bit.ly/ObL8Ko

–Jim Smith 

Venice Artist Diane Butler

• Memorial Tribute: Venice Artist Diane Butler – Mary Getlein
• Song: There’s a ghost at every corner – Diane Buter
• Poem: To Diane Butler – Suzanne Verdal
• Poem: My Humble Ode to Diane – Tina Catalina Corcoran
• Poem: For Diane – Mary Getlein

————————————————-

By Mary Getlein

The Venice community lost a valuable member when Diane Butler, 59, died on February 11. She died from an aneurysm and two strokes.

Diane was a central figure in the struggles of the homeless and RV dwellers in Venice. She was a community activist, artist, singer and drummer in Ibrahim’s Drum Orchestra.

Diane and Ibrahim were instrumental in the Venice art scene, with their bi-annual Solstice gatherings, called The Circle of Color. It was held at Sponto Gallery, from 2001 to 2009. Diane participated in all 93 weekly Venice Peace Walks down Ocean Front Walk after the invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq.

Ibrahim organized a celebration of Diane’s life on February 19th. A big shrine dedicated to Diane was erected by people who knew her. There were lots of candles, teddy bears, flowers and paintings. People left offerings all through the day. It was a wonderful send-off for Diane – many old friends showed up and played amazing music for Diane, and for us.

The music was great and lots of people danced. Diane always encouraged people to dance with her. Throughout the afternoon, people would spontaneously shout Diane’s name. Diane’s mother, Virginia, and Ibrahim’s father, Daniel, sat in special chairs in the drum circle. Daniel Butler talked about how Diane was up in Heaven, hanging out with his wife. Many people talked of Diane’s warmth and generosity. She gave of her time and her heart. She was a wonderful artist, singer, activist, mother, wife, daughter and friend.

Diane is survived by her husband, Ibrahim Butler; her mother, Virginia Ruffolo; her daughter, Lani Ware; son-in-law, Caan Hamlet.

 ————

Song by Diane Butler

 

There’s a ghost on every corner

 

As I walk through this town 

In the softness on the night

There’s a ghost on every corner

calling out my name

Telling me that is where, I belong

 

(Chorus) There’s a ghost in every corner

Calling out my name

There’s a ghost on every corner

Calling out my name

Telling me that this is where I belong

Telling me that this is where I belong

 

My name is written on the sidewalk

My tears have spilled onto the ground 

Friends call out to me

That long since passed away

Filling the nite air with the mysteries

of life

 

(Repeat Chorus)

 

My spirit rests in every tree

I’m a mermaid in the sea

a child on the shore

a dancer in the sand

Flying with the gulls 

drifting overhead.

 

———–

To Diane Butler

Oh Diane!

I’ve seen the unraveling

Of your heart’s desire

For Peace …

Not just for you

But all of Earth’s inhabitants.

The undue stress

Left you undone.

By the L.A.P.D.,

By the sins of Babylon.

For some, this is a culture.

But now your paintbrush

Sings lighter

Across the canvas

Testimonies to

The Venice Dance.

I said Goodbye,

And saw your angel

Hover over

Our smiles and tears.

Sleep sweetly, my Sister.

With much love,

-Suzanne Verdal

———–

My Humble Ode To Diane

“Mary” said it ALL:

     (…alive and NOT well …)

     In Paradise…

Now — It hurts like hell –

A hole, in the heart–

     Of Paradise…

(Oh, Diane — Oh, Diane)

So OUT THERE — for ALL –

To see, Know, Love, BE, 

     In Paradise…

“Give Me Liberty” or “Give Me Freedom”

     “Give Me Life After Death”

       Where The Pain Meets The Sea — In Paradise…

 

With Deep Love, 

–Tina Catalina Corcoran

 

————

 

For Diane

 

Diane

you made me laugh, so much

we both saw the crazy humor

in all the madness

all around us 

you were so magical

you know you are – not were

you –

I can see you dancing

in the clouds

adding a little more pink to the sunset

the Blessed sunset of Venice

I’d go down there and sit

and all my friends came by

all the spirits of Venice

are here –

That’s a secret –

don’t tell anyone

anyway, we all know who’s 

supposed to know

Philomene certainly did –

watch the flickering films of Venice

you will see scraps of

wizards, witches, healers, artists,

clowns, magicians, and musicians

we need all we can get

plus the endless sea of humanity

that descends every weekend

and drives the residents crazy.

Diane –

I love you!

Thank you for sharing yourself with me

you taught me so much

your big wide open smile

that embraced everybody.

Babies – you love babies

baby birds, baby humans, dogs

seagulls, pigeons, especially pigeons –

gypsy music in your soul

the same relentless thing that drives

any artist –

you have to do it –

it’s not a choice –

it’s a gift that’s been given to you

and you gotta play with it –

so –

you embrace holy poverty as well as any monk

but your poverty

was backed by drums and drummers

dancers drawn to the drums

dance, dance, dance – 

how cool is that?

there were no dry eyes in the orchestra –

they played their hearts our at your memorial

we danced – like crazy gypsies!!!

The old and the young, all the homeless of Venice

and the housed of Venice

came too –

your smile embraced everyone –

you are our dancing flower-child

This old Black man was drunk

and this guy was buggin’ him –

and he said:

“Go away, don’t bother me –

I lost my home girl today and

I’m hurting.”

That’s how I feel –

she is going home to a golden pure place

that she’s been dreaming of for years

and put down in her paintings –

enter the world of Diane’s art –

beautiful wishes of mothers, children,

Martin Luther King, Native Americans –

angels, birds, people – all floating by, in Diane’s world.

Anyway –

you are my home girl and

I miss you with an ache –

but I know

you’re home, just like you were home here.

This is your home,

Venice, CA 90291 – 

and you will always be here

dancing all around us, 

that smile that appears and disappears –

that will be you, Diane –

telling us to get up off our butts –

and DANCE!!!

Thank you for your example

of a Beautiful heart, soul and mind

and the Best Friend anyone could have –

She loved you with a direct love –

a direct line to your heart –

She was so encouraging –

never a discouraging word –

that was Diane –

She was – she is – she always will be.

Love, Mary.

–Mary Getlein

 

Scott Wannberg Memorial

Scott Wannberg was laid to rest at Beyond Baroque, on September 17. The memorial was planned by S.A. Griffin and his wife, Linda. Many poets of Venice and Los Angeles came to to pay their respects. Scott was a much loved poet, hungry for experience of every kind. Scott loved poetry, other poets, music of all kinds and movies. He was a movie maven, who could tell you the first, second and third director on any film.

Scott’s main job in his life, besides being a poet, was working at Dutton’s Bookstore in Westwood. He was a pillar at Dutton’s and could discuss any book with you that came up. Many people said that Scott WAS Dutton’s.

Scott was a “bigger than life” man with endless heart, courage and creativity. His poems just “gushed out of him like a river flowing,” said Dana Dirlam. She was a close friend of Scott’s and one of her fondest memories was driving him and Franceye to poetry readings around L.A. They were always excited to go hear new work from their poet friends.

One of Scott’s major influences was the work of John Prine. He also loved The Grateful Dead. With S.A. Griffin, Mike Bruner, Doug Knott and Mike M. Mollet, Scott formed the “Carma Bums” and traveled around the U.S.. putting on poetry events wherever they went. Scott never drove a car, but he would take endless buses to get to poetry events.

He was generous with his talent and his friendships. He was always encouraging to new poets.

Scott moved to Florence, Oregon three years ago to be closer to his family. When he got there, he went right to work at creating a poetry community. He kept in touch with L.A. poets through email, Facebook and phone calls.

The memorial service was concluded by S.A. Griffin reciting Scott’s poem, “No Regrets” and sprinkling his ashes on the sidewalk and bushes of Beyond Baroque. Whoever wanted to could have a handful of Scott’s ashes, to pray over, before tossing them to the sky. The crowd was moved to tears at this and most are still stunned at Scott’s passing. Scott was 58 years old when he died.

–Mary Getlein

In Memory of Jane Elliot

By Diane Butler

We lost one of our finest women Venetians this summer, although when you see her husband soulmate, Alex, you glimpse the twinkle of her eyes in the magical twinkle of his eyes. The last years of her life were spent having romantic morning breakfasts at the Fig Tree Café, and handholding walks to the ocean. They flashed their beautiful smiles and Jane gave her famous thumbs up sign to passers-by. They were true examples of living life in the moment.

Jane reached out and encouraged many people to find the best in themselves. I know, I was one of those people whose life changed for the better by knowing her. It was wise to listen to her pearls of wisdom, which she gave freely to people. Jane told Ibrahim that she envisioned a new renaissance of the arts in Venice and encouraged artists to hang in there. She had the true vision for the Spirit of Venice.

One of my fondest memories is of Jane writing a tribute to King Sonny Zorro when he died. She didn’t know him intimately, but she was touched by everyone’s love for him. She went to great lengths to learn about him from those who were close to him. An accomplished author, she captured his spirit with her words. She joined a small group of women who laughed and cried at a small ceremony by the ocean, where we set his dreadlocks to sea. She knew Sonny’s spirit in the end.

Every time I see a silver-headed couple walking hand in hand to the ocean, I’ll think of Jane and Alex, for this is the kind of Love we are all looking for. We are so glad that Alex rests in the comfort of their beautiful family. Jane was an accomplished artist and author of several books. Jane will forever be part of the Spirit of Venice.

Scott Wannberg – Feb. 20, 1953 – Aug. 19, 2011

Scott Wannberg, a graduate of Venice High School, became one of the best-known poets in Southern California prior to moving to Florence, Oregon, in 2008.

He was a founder of the poetic touring group, the carma bums, which also included Mike Bruner, Doug Knott, S.A. Griffin and Mike M. Mollet.

He was known to thousands of readers as the face of Dutton’s Bookstore. His job there allowed him to pursue his calling, which was a non-stop stream of poetry.

Rip Rense, a classmate at Venice High said, according to the Associated Press, that Wannberg was “speaking poetry.” “You couldn’t shut him up. It was a stream-of-consciousness kind of Chick Hearn-meets-Charles Bukowski narrative about friends and current events…” His prolific poetry ultimately filled 10 books.

A memorial will be held at Beyond Baroque on Sept. 17. See the Beachhead Calendar for details.

——————-

Carma Bums

riding that old cadillac highway
with captain griffin

By Scott Wannberg

we were so called poets
dancers of some strange rhythm
making ornery lovely noise in the vortex
did your parents ever regale you with their vortex myths?
we are definitely so called humans
plying the cadillac highway trade
unleashing our ooga booga upon an unsuspecting public
under the stars of taos in 89
we all went shirtless
as the insurmountable bobbo staron led us
we tried not to cringe
we tried to lick the magic stamp and put it on the envelope of time and space
i was shotgun mingo
singing john prine with the howling flora and fauna
no radio lived in the caddy
our vocation was to make up our own play station
before ipods came marching down the super technical byway
we were on our own impressionistic continual random play
long before the 2 jakes
a very inferior sequel to a great film
there were the 2 mikes
and the 1 doug
bruner mollett knott
prospectors of verbal and visual gold
bonzo sometimes rode in our hearts
and sparky’s grandfather houndstooth
flamenco dancers exercised in our bone marrow
i am a wayfaring wordsmith road
heading in any direction you can handle
anarchy’s common-law intimate other
raiding midnight ice boxes of consciousness
we are so called art forms
splashing peculiar colors
across uneasy easels called the world
a carma bum might be a toothless reprobate
or a stunning virile used book written in magic
in between, a lot of tunes made their precarious way
onto the inner ear dancefloor of our time here
which will only end when the proverbial fat lady
loses the right to sing
did your parents ever regale you with their proverbial fat ladies
and their never ending biography?
i rode shotgun with griffin
the new world lay at our feet
the rules of the road keep renaming themselves
the weather claims it can behave
i am an active verb
slumming with cantankerous adjectives
i am the old soft shoe
trying to remember which foot i supposedly call home
we are poets and tinkers and mad men and mad women
bank presidents grovel at our feet
cops look the other way when we smoke metaphors
we were much too animated for walt disney to manage
riding that old cadillac highway with captain griffin
is one exercise workout program
that the whole family can endure together
sometimes you get static in your reception
sometimes the wheaties don’t make you feel strong
it’s just another endless game of golf at times
but then that last hole in one
opens up an all night place for you to play
and that poetry you swore you never really knew
breaks out all over your skin
the unknown world at your door
claims it’s going to be around a spell
you’re going to name it with your art,baby
it might be brutal,it might be tender
but your art will ride the killer wave
without falling into the sea
your art will be riding in a cadillac
that never really runs out of gas
it’s the story of the world as i was told it
by all talking dogs and their creative writing teachers and editors
it’s your own personal story
behind the wheel
i’m riding shotgun with you
maybe i’ll be singing john prine
maybe i’ll be singing you
yeah,that’s it for sure
i’ll be singing me
through singing you
this burst is for my brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers
in the lingo process express
we be mad, we be gentle
we be broken, we stumble home whole
we come with stories and poems and song
we are your origin and your departure gate
yeah, that’s it, for sure
i’m learning your tunes
as i take sparky for a much needed walk
through no man’s land
through armageddon
through point of no return
sparky pisses on lack of imagination
he begins to sing john prine
i hear a cadillac in the distance
naming the new highway
of our heart’s ability to retain memory

Tisha Bedrosian, First President of the Grass Roots Venice Neighborhood Council

By Jim Smith

No one worked harder than Tisha Bedrosian to create a neighborhood council in Venice. And no one had a more controversial term, or resigned before it was over.

The 50-year-old Bedrosian died July 19 of cancer. She had ceased to be an active player in Venice politics in 2004. However, from 2000 to 2004 she worked tirelessly to build the neighborhood council. It was one of the first councils to be certified by the city.

Current leaders of the neighborhood council could learn something from her drive and organizing ability. She told Betsy Goldman of the Venice Vanguard in 2004 that there were 200 volunteers in the group. It was also reported that the email list included more than 900 contacts. Meetings frequently were attended by 100 to 200 or more residents.

In spite of a cheery beginning, the neighborhood council was beset by infighting, which some blamed on Bedrosian. One officer of the GRVNC was quoted in the Beachhead in 2003 as stating that “Tisha’s style was divide and conquer, not consensus building.”

Bedrosian aligned herself with the Rose Avenue Working Group led by Rick Feibusch. The group focused on getting the homeless off Rose Avenue, and went after merchants who sold to them. It ultimately succeeded in convincing the landlady of the St. Joseph’s homeless drop-in center at Rose and 4th Street to evict the group.

Divisions were not long in coming at the neighborhood council. In November 2002, a motion to elect board members by Instant Runoff (IRV) passed overwhelming. In the ensuring weeks opposition emerged to the election process, which guarantees that the winner in an election has a majority, not just a plurality. Bedrosian called a special meeting at the Venice Foursquare Church in December to reconsider the motion, an unheard of step at that time. After a rancorous debate, a vote was taken which resulted in a tie, at one hundred votes pro and con. Bedrosian, who was chairing the meeting, then voted to break the tie by voting against IRV.

Many of those attending were incensed, not just at the loss of IRV but by what they considered the high-handed reconsideration and conduct of the meeting. A short time later Venice Progressives, a new organization, was formed to contest the upcoming elections. Bedrosian’s allies quickly formed their own group variously called “Grvnics” (groovnics) or “Team Venice.”

In the first election of the neighborhood council, June 13, 2002,, Bedrosian ran unopposed and won 416 of the 621 votes casts. Her groovnic allies won 11 additional seats on the 21-member board. Venice Progressives contested 12 seats and won eight and tied one.

In the election held one year later, in which half the seats were up for reelection, Venice Progressives won a clear majority on the Board.

Bedrosian and two others, John Caldwell and Chris Williams, resigned their seats before the new board was seated. Lincoln Place Tenant Association President Sheila Bernard replaced Bedrosian as president.

After her meteoric rise and fall, Bedrosian was seldom seen at neighborhood council meetings or other public events in Venice.