While I was digging info up on the last blog entry, it came to mind that there were a few similarities shared between my GGF and myself. I was always interested in communications, ham radios, phones etc. In 1961, I convinced my grandfather to send me to school to study electronics. I enrolled at RCA Institutes in Los Angeles. There were always ads in magazines, extolling the opportunities in the trades of tomorrow. As it turned out, I think the school was really a bit of a scam; sort of like “Trump University” It was located on the sixth floor of the Pacific Electric Building at 6th and Main in downtown Los Angeles. The ground floor was the central bus depot so it was a convenient location even in those first few weeks when I was staying with my aunt up in La Crescenta. Still, it took about an hour to get into LA each morning. Classes started early, like 7:00 AM and we were done by 1:00 PM. There was only about seven of us in the classes so we’d meet for coffee at Cole’s before class and often had lunch there later too. They served the best beef dip!
This photo is from an earlier time; looks like mid 40s. The large opening on the right by the USO sign is where the busses came out. The view would be looking north along Main Street with 6th by the bus. Streetcars were still in service when I was living there.
We always had plenty of homework so it wasn’t long before all that travel time was seen as a waste. I needed to find a place to live that was closer to school. On July 1, 1961, I moved into The Kipling Residence Club on 3rd Street between Vermont and Western.
The Kipling is a story in itself. Some day I might write about my time in residence there. The Kipling was once known as a “Gentlemen’s Hotel” which meant it catered to traveling sales people who needed a local base for extended periods; weeks or even months. The hotel had six stories and was serviced by one of those rickety old elevators with a folding gate. The building was U-shaped, with a center patio area for recreation; with table tennis, BBQs, and regular guest parties. In 1961 I rented a room with private bath, bed/sitting room, phone, through the switchboard, and breakfast and supper five days a week, served by waiters in the dining room. The price for all this, was a staggering $112.00/month. Wait staff and desk clerks usually shared rooms, but paid zero for the package; a great deal for those on a strict budget. For me, it was convenient and fun. I usually got a ride downtown the mornings and after classes I walked a block down to 7th Street where I took the streetcar home. It stopped right in front of the Kipling.
The Kipling of my day was home to an eclectic group of residents. There were students and salesmen, nurses and mechanics, musicians and wannabe movie stars. There were old-timers like Doc Fry, who’s hacking cough was such a delight at supper, and old Mrs Eccles, who at 83, was waiting to die while seated in the only comfortable chair in the lobby! She never missed a chance to wag a bony finger as tempting young people passed by, or the sound level was decibel too high in the TV room.
So, Mrs Eccles was the oldest guest at The Kipling” and yours truly, at the tender age of 15 was the youngest, which brings me, in a round-about way, to the point of this post. It struck me that back in 1861 my GGF, William Leyland Hunter, at 16, was the youngest guest living at The Black Swan in London, far from his home and family. He was soon to embark on a journey that would take him to the other end of the world, to China, where he had nobody and couldn’t read or speak the language!
Almost 100 years to the day later, in 1961, I would also be the youngest guest, living in a hotel in Los Angeles. I’m sure Mrs Eccles still holds the “oldest guest” honors and my own record as “youngest guest” probably still remains unbroken.
So, I wonder how the conversation might go, should GGF Hunter and I be able to trade tales over a pint or two? One thing’s for sure, my life was a whole lot easier and safer than his. I could easily head back to the safety of home turf for the $29 price of a Greyhound Bus ticket. WLH would need to endure over 3 months aboard a sailing ship being tossed around by some of the most dangerous seas on earth.
Lastly, if I don’t do anything too crazy, I’ll be 80 this year! WLH died just shy of his 50th birthday! He was around for a good time, not a long time!