Not much else to say… Photo by Mr. Rollers.

Jack Wrangler, the Beverly Hills-born porn superstar, has died. He was 62. The reported cause of death was from complications from emphysema.

Although he performed in both gay and straight adult films, he was always open about his homosexuality and considered a hero of the Gay Liberation movement.

Born into a Hollywood film industry family, he first worked in early Christian television before studying theater in college.  After stints  bartending and go-go dancing at West Hollywood gay bars, he went on to achieve icon status in 1970s gay porn.  In the early ’80s he switched to starring in straight porn, eventually leaving porn altogether to marry Margaret Whiting, the film actress and singer (known for her hit, “That Old Black Magic,”) and began producing her cabaret shows.

The first Wrangler film I recall seeing, as an impressionable, newly-out gay youth, was Kansas City Trucking Co., made in 1976. With its hyper-masculine performers and the athletic abandon with which they threw themselves into their work, KCTC is  credited with setting the standard for all-male gay porn.

Photo: courtesy of TLA Releasing

This came to my inbox.

If anyone knows who took this photo, please let me know in the comments

John Leech, the founder of the Onyx Cafe in Silverlake/Los Feliz/Echo Park and beloved patron of the arts and truth in general has passed away.

It apparently happened around Monday or Tuesday March 17th or 18th and has been confirmed by the County Coroner. He apparently has no family but he has a trust and its executors have been notified. There is a votive memorial in front of the former location of the Onyx on Vermont Avenue (now Cafe Figaro) in Los Feliz. Initial planning for a fitting memorial to John has begun. More on that soon.

John was one of the rarest things in this world: a genuine philosophical Bohemian in the very best sense of the word who created an austere unpretentious Cafe which was, by his design, a magical safe zone for artists, musicians, poets, scientists, intellectuals and outsiders of all stripes…

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I just heard this, and don’t know what else to say except… shit. Lux died this morning from a pre-existing heart condition, he was 62. I met him a few times through friends and he was incredibly cool, and there’s no arguing how important The Cramps are. He’ll very truly be missed. From MTV.com:

Born Erick Lee Purkhiser, Interior started the Cramps in 1972 with guitarist Poison Ivy (born Kristy Wallace, later his wife) — whom, as legend has it, he picked up as a hitchhiker in California. By 1975, they had moved to New York, where they became an integral part of the burgeoning punk scene surrounding CBGBs.

Their music differed from most of the scene’s other acts in that it was heavily steeped in camp, with Interior’s lyrics frequently drawing from schlocky B-movies, sexual kink and deceptively clever puns. (J.H. Sasfy’s liner notes to their debut EP memorably noted: “The Cramps don’t pummel and you won’t pogo. They ooze; you’ll throb.”) Sonically, the band drew from blues and rockabilly, and a key element of their sound was the trashy, dueling guitars of Poison Ivy and Bryan Gregory (and later Kid Congo Powers), played with maximal scuzz and minimal drumming.

Because of that — not to mention Interior’s deranged, Iggy Pop-inspired onstage antics and deep, sexualized singing voice (which one reviewer described as “the psychosexual werewolf/ Elvis hybrid from hell”) — the Cramps are often cited as pioneers of “psychobilly” and “horror rock,” and can count bands like the Black Lips, the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, the Reverend Horton Heat, the Horrors and even the White Stripes as their musical progeny.

If you were lucky enough, you got to know Glenn Goldman, owner and mastermind behind the notorious Book Soup on Sunset.

We were all shocked to learn that Glenn passed away on the afternoon of January the 3rd, 2009, after a battle with pancreatic cancer.

A memorial for Glenn is being held at the store this Friday, the 16th of January, at 7pm. Show up and see what all the fuss is about. This is absolutely the best bookstore in this city (and many others), and Glenn will be sorely, sorely missed.

Book Soup
8818 Sunset Blvd.
W. Hollywood CA 90069

Sad news is rippling through Santa Monica today, as residents hear that City Council member, former Mayor, architect, and popular local figure Herb Katz has died after a long illness.   Herb was involved in public service in Santa Monica for decades, serving twice as Mayor Pro Tempore, once as Mayor, and twice as a member of the Santa Monica City Council, a post he held until his death.  He was also the president of RTK Architects, which was responsible for numerous projects around the Los Angeles area, including Playa Vista Studios, Granada Hills Elementary School, and various office buildings, car dealerships, and retail establishments.  He never let illness slow him down.

Herb could just as likely be seen at Santa Monica’s Joslyn Park with his dogs as at a public event.  I have fond memories of spending the day with him in June 2007 at the Eames Case Study House in Pacific Palisades, to celebrate the 100th birthday of Charles Eames.

I don’t know any details yet about a memorial service, but I know the outpouring will be huge for this beloved man.  Condolences to his wife Brenda and to his family.

Just this past weekend at a stop at Glendale’s Red Carpet Liquor during the LA Grand Crew Beer Ride I was talking about Leon Cigars. The topic came up because in addition to the bottle of beer and wine purchased, I succumbed to the urge for a stogie and entered RCL’s humidor vault emerging with a $10 La Perla that I looked forward to enjoying later. A fellow beer rider noticed my purchase and I told him this would probably do, but it was no hand-rolled Leon cigar — and easily three times the price. What’s a Leon cigar he asked, and I told him all about the place.

I first discovered Gilberto Leon’s shoebox of a cigar shop on 6th Street just west of Western Avenue back in the mid-’90s when I worked in the old building on the northeast corner of that intersection. Having never before smoked a real cigar I walked in one lunch hour and exited a few no-nonsense minutes later with his recommendations for a noob: a couple of his No. 1 cigars, and they were so enjoyable that I became  a semi-regular customer for the remainder of my time working there.

Later when I moved on to a job in Pasadena and after that the L.A. Zoo, I rarely found myself back in Koreatown over the years except in passing. And though I’d make it a point to cruise by his shop on those occasions, it seemed I was greeted by a CLOSED sign enough times to wonder if the elderly gent had moved on, either to retirement or the great beyond.

It was some three more years (after moving from Sherman Oaks to Silver Lake in 2003), that  I finally chanced along 6th one rainy day in 2006 and was surprised to find it open for business and Gilberto at his familiar place behind the counter. I eagerly scored a pair of his No. 1s, but any thrill I expressed at finding him still rolling along was lost either in translation or the pungent aroma that filled the place.

Photo of Gilberto Leon borrowed from this marvelous 2002 photo
essay about him found at www.latinamericanstudies.org.

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Bettie Page died last night of pneumonia in Los Angeles. She was 85. The fetish pin-up model, who gained notoriety in the 1950s, was Playboy’s 13th centerfold in January 1955, its second year of publication.

Time Magazine, hailing her as “the Garbo of bondage movies,” said in her obituary today:

There are a dozen books about her, and a half-dozen movies, including the 2006 biopic, The Notorious Bettie Page, starring Gretchen Mol. Not to mention a bunch of tribute songs, countless websites and, almost always, more than a thousand products for sale on eBay.

photo: AFP/Getty Images

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn, burn, burn like fabulous roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’” -Jack Kerouac

I agonized over how to write this, primarily because I knew the subject; she meant many things to me. Other folks around town have written it up already, but I really wanted to “do it justice”–not to mention the whole subject really threw me for an emotional loop–and so I lagged. But my personal baggage should not come between this post and whomever out there who may need to read it, so I’ve tossed my half-completed Notepad drafts into the recycle bin and have just come here, to the wordpress page, to compose this on the fly.

Los Angeles is full of a special breed of amazing women, inspired women, women who wear their damage like red dresses and with whom you fall impossibly in love. These women blaze a trail through the city, equally torn between their dreams and their demons. They’re artists, and in turn they inspire art; despite their sadness, they shine. You’d think with all the beauty that ripples out from them, they could see some sort of way through, but their lives accelerate too fast, and close in on them, and the beauty happens less and the desperation happens more.

I wish I could seize every one of these women by the shoulders and force her to grab onto peace, onto serenity, like a buoy in a sea. To hang on, and to slow down, and to change; to stop burning out so fast like a flare shot off into the night sky, falling fast and guttering, the sparkle turning, too fast, to ashes.

This is the story of Rikki Madrigal, whom I knew towards the end of her life. I did not know her well. When I knew her, I was pretty lost & sad as well.

If I knew her today I would never let her walk away from me the way I did the last time I saw her.

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The homeless man the devils burned to death on 3rd Street Thursday night wasn’t the one I’d thought after reading about it in the LA Times. The one I’d thought had been so unfathomably murdered was still alive and in his usual vicinity of 4th and Vermont pushing a cart by the Shatto Lanes bowling alley  when I biked past him this morning. He was wearing his big coat and dark glasses with a closely cropped beard still the same unnatural color so incongruous to the rest of him that it makes me think he might dye it with shoe polish.

I was micro-fractionally relieved that he wasn’t dead, but the dread was still there as I pedaled up Vermont to 3rd and west a block and a half to the makeshift shrine that had been erected by area residents in the wake of such horror.

When I arrived, a few women stood solemnly before the assemblage of countless candles and flowers and plush toys beneath the pictures and letters taped to the glass window of the shuttered clinic where he’d been attacked.

The first letter I read was signed by Victor Martinez:

“I just most of all want you to know that I love you and hope you are having a fun and peaceful vacation up there in heaven.”

On pink paper festooned with hand-drawn hearts, Michelle Castillo wrote, “We will miss you so much. You are a good man. I am safe when I am near you.”

Another printed out in a large font read, “You were a beautiful and harmless man. No matter what state you were in, your crystal blue eyes shined through all of it and through them we saw your innocense, your honesty and your calm. We saw something in you that many of us will never access within ourselves.”

John’s relatives have posted some biographical information (transcribed after the jump; along with a link to the Flickr photoset I snapped of the memorial this morning):

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LA Times reports that House Peters Jr who played “Mr Clean” a Proctor & Gambles cleaner from the 1950′s forward has passed.  Folksy, silly commercials from back in the day.  RIP Mr Peters, you may have had an acting career that spanned decades but we’ll always remember Mr Clean best.  The jingle still rings through my head:

‘”Mr. Clean gets rid of dirt and grime and grease in just a minute.

Mr. Clean can clean your whole house and everything that’s in it.

Mr. Clean, Mr. Clean, Mr. Clean!”

CNN reported he was 83 and died of cancer. I haven’t even looked much further for specifics because it’s just sad. My impression of the man was that he was a good human being, full of integrity and loyalty and passion. And a pretty good actor too.  I am sorry to see that light extinguished.

From ABC7:

On Monday, Sept. 15, we are sad to report the death of our good friend.

For nearly 30 years, Elmer Dills showed us the best restaurants California had to offer. He developed his vast knowledge of food and wine during his first career as an officer with the Central Intelligence Agency traveling to Europe and the Middle East for more than 20 years, assigned to entertain heads of state and other VIPs.

Leaving the diplomatic service after more than 20 years, Elmer Dills joined KABC Talk Radio where he has hosted a talk show dealing with wining, dining and travel. Then as a regular on KABC-TV’s “Eyewitness News,” Elmer reported on restaurants with particular emphasis on small, inexpensive, unusual restaurants where “value” is the key word. Many restaurants built their reputations on Elmer’s reviews and Elmer put his own special touch on each report. [full story]

I’ve been battling a cold all weekend, so I’m just now finding out that one of my favorite authors, David Foster Wallace, was found dead in his Claremont home on Friday night, apparently a victim of suicide. Wallace was a nimble writer that bounced easily between essay, novel and short fiction, and is likely most well known for his epic tome of a novel, Infinite Jest, a serious contender for the top of my Best Book Ever Written list. To my shame, I never knew he lived so close, but he’d been teaching creative writing at Pomona College since ’02.

Photo by Flickr user Steve Rhodes, used under CC license.

LA Central Library’s Aloud Lecture Series’ topic tonight is, “Los Angeles Without the Los Angeles Times?”

The knife sharpening discussion will be moderated by Los Angeles mag’s Kit Rachlis and include, among others, Kevin Roderick, Pulitzer-winning former Times staffer Joel Sappell, Villaraigosa’s chief of staff Robin Kramer and a Times editor the LAT site designates as TBD. To be dumped?

The online edition listing mentions “dead tree journalism,” public trust, community responsibility, blahblah and piles on rhetorical questions like: When is a newspaper not like a pair of sneakers?

Keeping the synergy going, Gawker kindly points to Reflections of a Newsosaur’s helpful gesture of doing the math for LAT’s owner, Tribune/Sam Zell:

… The writeoff, which was effective as of the end of June but announced in an earnings release issued today, means the company’s value has dropped $640,518,500 per month on Sam’s watch – or some $20 million per day.

Tonight, 7 PM; Los Angeles Central Library 630 W. 5th St. Downtown LA; free.