When I was 10 or 12, my grandparents took me to “Around the World in 80 Days” at the Carthay Circle. This was an era that will not be seen again. I was a goggle-eyed kid, amazed at everything. Everyone wore wore suits and hats. The women’s hats had netting that extended in front of their eyes. Bright red beads were stuck randomly in the netting. I tried to imagine what it was like to look through that.
They wore furs with snarling animal heads still attached. The carpeting seemed a foot thick. Massive chandeliers adorned the ceilings. An usher in a sharp uniform led us to our seats.
That was my only visit. In a few years, I left LA. In the mid-80s I returned to LA and asked around about the Carthay Circle. Most people had never heard of it. I worked in an undistinguished office building near Wilshire and San Vicente. There was something familiar about the area. I noticed the name Carthay here and there. An elderly lady took regular walks by my office building. One day, I stopped her. “Was the Carthay Circle Theatre around here?” I asked. “This is where it was,” she replied. “They knocked it down to put up this building.” “That’s a shame,” I said. “It was losing money,” she said, “so they tore it down.”
I bought a photo of the theatre and posted it at my desk. “What’s that?” co-workers would ask. “That’s the Carthay Circle Theatre. It used to be on this site. They replaced it with the building we’re in now.” There were shrugs, blank looks, never an expression of dismay or disappointment. A great landmark is as easily discarded as a pair of worn-out shoes.
I’m not positive, but I think the Strand appears briefly in the background in a scene from Cameron Crowe’s movie “Almost Famous.”
When I was 10 or 12, my grandparents took me to “Around the World in 80 Days” at the Carthay Circle. This was an era that will not be seen again. I was a goggle-eyed kid, amazed at everything. Everyone wore wore suits and hats. The women’s hats had netting that extended in front of their eyes. Bright red beads were stuck randomly in the netting. I tried to imagine what it was like to look through that.
They wore furs with snarling animal heads still attached. The carpeting seemed a foot thick. Massive chandeliers adorned the ceilings. An usher in a sharp uniform led us to our seats.
That was my only visit. In a few years, I left LA. In the mid-80s I returned to LA and asked around about the Carthay Circle. Most people had never heard of it. I worked in an undistinguished office building near Wilshire and San Vicente. There was something familiar about the area. I noticed the name Carthay here and there. An elderly lady took regular walks by my office building. One day, I stopped her. “Was the Carthay Circle Theatre around here?” I asked. “This is where it was,” she replied. “They knocked it down to put up this building.” “That’s a shame,” I said. “It was losing money,” she said, “so they tore it down.”
I bought a photo of the theatre and posted it at my desk. “What’s that?” co-workers would ask. “That’s the Carthay Circle Theatre. It used to be on this site. They replaced it with the building we’re in now.” There were shrugs, blank looks, never an expression of dismay or disappointment. A great landmark is as easily discarded as a pair of worn-out shoes.