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<title type="text">[sic]</title>
<subtitle type="text">theblogofwillcampbell</subtitle>
<updated>2025-03-03T20:44:59Z</updated>
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<entry>
<author>
<name>Will</name>
<uri>http://www.wildbell.com</uri>
</author>
<title type="html"><![CDATA[The Life of Col. James Ward Eddy — A Timeline]]></title>
<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.wildbell.com/2025/03/03/the-life-of-col-james-ward-eddy-a-timeline/" />
<id>http://www.wildbell.com/?p=11822</id>
<updated>2025-03-03T20:44:59Z</updated>
<published>2025-03-03T20:44:59Z</published>
<category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Uncategorized" />
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[James Ward Eddy (1832-1916) 1832 – Born May 30 in Java, New York; the son of John Eddy and Caroline Ward. 1850 – Educated at Genesee Wesleyan Seminary and Genesee College in Lima, New York; becomes a school teacher. 1853 – Moves to Illinois. 1855 – Studies law and is admitted to the bar in … <a href="http://www.wildbell.com/2025/03/03/the-life-of-col-james-ward-eddy-a-timeline/" class="more-link">Read more "The Life of Col. James Ward Eddy — A Timeline"</a>]]></summary>
<content type="html" xml:base="http://www.wildbell.com/2025/03/03/the-life-of-col-james-ward-eddy-a-timeline/"><![CDATA[
James Ward Eddy (1832-1916)
1832 – Born May 30 in Java, New York; the son of John Eddy and Caroline Ward.
1850 – Educated at Genesee Wesleyan Seminary and Genesee College in Lima, New York; becomes a school teacher.
1853 – Moves to Illinois.
1855 – Studies law and is admitted to the bar in Chicago, Illinois; begins practicing law in Batavia, Illinois, serves on the Board of Education and the Board of Supervisors, and subsequently becomes friends with fellow Illinois lawyer Abraham Lincoln.
1857 – Marries Isabelle A. Worsley Feb. 19 in Kane County, Illinois.
1858 – Daughter Carrie born.
1861 – In Washington, DC, on April 14, at the invitation of the Attorney General to discuss a federal judgeship in New Mexico he enlists in and serves with the Frontier Guard, as one of 116 citizen soldiers charged with protecting the nation’s Capitol, the White House and President Abraham Lincoln during the chaotic first few weeks of the Civil War.
1865 – Becomes one of the officers of the Illinois & Fox River Railroad.
1866 – As a member of the House Legislature from Kane County, he obtains a charter for the Millington Canal & Water Power Company.
1867 – Elected as a member of the Illinois House of Representatives.
1868 – Son George is born.
1869 – Speaks at the Reunion of the 124th Illinois Regiment held in Batavia, as reported in the October 2 issue of the Sacramento Daily Union.
1871 – Elected a state senator in Illinois.
1881 – Relocates to Arizona; becomes president of the Arizona Mineral Belt Railroad and commences construction of a rail connection from the southern part of the state to the existing Atchinson, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway in the north.
1883 – Halted from a lack of funding, the Arizona Mineral Belt Railroad is never completed and the company is dissolved.
1891 – Son George dies in Arizona at 23, reportedly from consumption (tuberculosis).
1896 – Moves to California in March from which he surveys the first transmission line for water power from the Kern River to Los Angeles; in October, his wife Isabelle dies.
1901 – Upon his proposal receiving city approval in May, he constructs Angels Flight, an inclined funicular railway in Los Angeles beginning in August; it is completed in four months and opens to great acclaim and success December 31.
1902 – Marries Jane Martha Fisher, October 23, in Los Angeles County.
1903 – Named in December as president of the Griffith Park Railway; his project to build a funicular there as part of a proposed development to the park is ultimately abandoned when Henry Huntington breaks an agreement to build a connecting Los Angeles Railway Company line from the city into the park.
1905 – Completely rebuilds Angels Flight with newly designed cars running on elevated trestles, establishing a uniform 33-degree grade; financially backs the construction/completion of the Hill Crest Inn, a five-story, 47-unit apartment building on Olive Street immediately next door to Angels Flight.
1907 – An August 24 Los Angeles Express feature is printed exploring his time with the Frontier Guard in 1861.
1910 – Remodels Angels Flight’s arch and station house in the Beaux Arts style.
1912 – Sells Angels Flight and retires, moving to a home he has built in Eagle Rock, a community northeast of downtown Los Angeles where he then serves as vice-president of the California Children’s Home, president of the Los Angeles Orthopedic Hospital, and as a member of the Chamber of Commerce.
1913 – His wife Jane dies in March.
1915 – A June 3 article in the Eagle Rock Sentinel reports him speaking at an event honoring Decoration Day (now Memorial Day) about his time in Washington, DC, during the outbreak of the Civil War.
1916 – Eddy dies in April at his home in Eagle Rock. He, his two wives, daughter and son are interred at the Eddy Family plot within Hollywood Memorial Park (now Hollywood Forever Cemetery).
]]></content>
</entry>
<entry>
<author>
<name>Will</name>
<uri>http://www.wildbell.com</uri>
</author>
<title type="html"><![CDATA[Hair To Remind You]]></title>
<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.wildbell.com/2025/01/13/hair-to-remind-you/" />
<id>http://www.wildbell.com/?p=11813</id>
<updated>2025-01-13T22:21:49Z</updated>
<published>2025-01-13T22:13:58Z</published>
<category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Uncategorized" />
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[As someone who has endured and emerged from injuries sustained due to life-threatening, blunt-force trauma, the physical and psychological wounds heal in time, but nagging reminders remain. In my case thirty years after and for the rest of my life. On the evening of July 6, 1994, I was heading home to Van Nuys from … <a href="http://www.wildbell.com/2025/01/13/hair-to-remind-you/" class="more-link">Read more "Hair To Remind You"</a>]]></summary>
<content type="html" xml:base="http://www.wildbell.com/2025/01/13/hair-to-remind-you/"><![CDATA[
As someone who has endured and emerged from injuries sustained due to life-threatening, blunt-force trauma, the physical and psychological wounds heal in time, but nagging reminders remain. In my case thirty years after and for the rest of my life. 
On the evening of July 6, 1994, I was heading home to Van Nuys from Hollywood on my Kawasaki 1000CSR to meet my then-girlfriend Christina to go see the late showing of “Forrest Gump,” which opened that day. Heading westbound on Burbank Boulevard between Woodman and the street I lived on, I was traveling about 40mph when the driver of a white Ford Taurus sedan without checking behind him pulled out from the curb to make a u-turn about 40 feet in front of me. I had zero time to react, T-boned the driver-side door and basically went head first through the driver-side window and up into the door frame.
I was wearing a full-faced helmet,but it didn’t prevent my face from sustaining the bulk of the injuries. My nose was crushed. Front teeth top and bottom were either sheared off or broken. My upper jaw was fractured, my right eyelid torn off and my right eye partially avulsed. And I was concussed.
I won’t go into the aftermath other than to say the next thing I knew I was on my feet in the middle of the street, my face a waterfall of blood thinking I was going to suffocate because I couldn’t breath — at least I couldn’t through the mess that moments ago been my perfectly function nose until I distinctly heard a voice saying “Breath through your mouth.” I’m not sure if it was the voice of someone at the scene or a voice inside my head, but it did the trick.
Paramedics and police arrived soon after and I was transported to Sherman Oaks Hospital where the long and painful process of putting me back together again began.
I ultimately ended up in the care of an cosmetic eye doctor named Stein. Based in Santa Monica. His plan was to take a patch of skin from behind my right ear and use it to recreate my right eyelid. And the surgery worked, except for one little problem that recurs oh about every six months or so. See, the section of skin he harvested from my right ear and rigged onto what remained of my right eyelid came fully equipped with a couple of still-functioning hair follicles, and those hairs grow, eventually after a few month getting to a length where they curl down and wreak frustrating havoc on my right eye.
Now in the grand scheme of things, it should be no big deal, right? In a perfect world I’d just monitor it and when the hairs get to be about an eighth or quarter-inch I’d just grab the tweezers and pluck ’em. Well, that’s all well and good, but number one and two they grow right on the edge of the eyelid and they’re damn stubborn to pull. When I do, literally the eyelid comes with the hair until finally the follicle gives. And when it does release it does so with an annoying pinching pain. Worse, is when I go to pull it and because my grip on it is poor instead of getting it out root and all I instead break a small part off.
So by and large, it’s literally “out of sight, out of mind,” or at least “out of eye, out of mind.” Then, when I know it’s back in all its irritating glory I’ll often spend a week or two just rubbing it up out of my eye until I finally give up, dig around for it until I get it firmly between my index finger and thumb with the best grip I can muster and pull — not quickly, but sloooooowly to ensure it all comes out in the end.
Then it starts all over again.
It’s both a biannual pain in the ass and a biannual reminder of that horrible night — a byproduct more than 30 yeasrs and counting that has been, is, and will be a part of my life.
Below, at three-quarters of an inch is the most recent culprit:
<figure class="wp-block-gallery has-nested-images columns-default is-cropped wp-block-gallery-1 is-layout-flex wp-block-gallery-is-layout-flex">
<figure class="wp-block-image size-large"><img fetchpriority="high" decoding="async" width="550" height="413" data-id="11815" src="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/hair2-550x413.jpg" alt="" class="wp-image-11815" srcset="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/hair2-550x413.jpg 550w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/hair2-300x225.jpg 300w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/hair2-2000x1500.jpg 2000w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/hair2.jpg 2016w" sizes="(max-width: 550px) 100vw, 550px" /></figure>
<figure class="wp-block-image size-large"><img decoding="async" width="550" height="462" data-id="11814" src="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/hair1-550x462.jpg" alt="" class="wp-image-11814" srcset="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/hair1-550x462.jpg 550w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/hair1-300x252.jpg 300w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/hair1.jpg 1431w" sizes="(max-width: 550px) 100vw, 550px" /></figure>
</figure>
]]></content>
</entry>
<entry>
<author>
<name>Will</name>
<uri>http://www.wildbell.com</uri>
</author>
<title type="html"><![CDATA[This Could Have Changed Everything]]></title>
<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/12/24/this-could-have-changed-everything/" />
<id>http://www.wildbell.com/?p=11800</id>
<updated>2024-12-25T14:27:08Z</updated>
<published>2024-12-24T18:27:46Z</published>
<category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="downtown" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="history" />
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[In May of 2023 I had the honor of participating in a program at Central Library celebrating the 191st birthday of Angels Flight’s builder Col. J.W. Eddy. For my part I dug around whatever digital newspaper archives I could access and came up with a bunch of old stories about the funicular as well as … <a href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/12/24/this-could-have-changed-everything/" class="more-link">Read more "This Could Have Changed Everything"</a>]]></summary>
<content type="html" xml:base="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/12/24/this-could-have-changed-everything/"><![CDATA[
In May of 2023 I had the honor of participating in a program at Central Library celebrating the 191st birthday of Angels Flight’s builder Col. J.W. Eddy. For my part I dug around whatever digital newspaper archives I could access and came up with a bunch of old stories about the funicular as well as Eddy that I then shared chronologically to the attendees.
One of the most curiousity-inducing pieces I found was an editorial brief published unsigned and without a headline in the October 15, 1905, issue of the Los Angeles Herald that took Eddy to task for a letter he published “complaining” about a proposal to build the Central Library atop Bunker Hill.
<figure class="wp-block-image alignright size-large"><img decoding="async" width="550" height="330" src="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/lib3-550x330.jpg" alt="" class="wp-image-11801" srcset="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/lib3-550x330.jpg 550w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/lib3-300x180.jpg 300w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/lib3-2000x1200.jpg 2000w" sizes="(max-width: 550px) 100vw, 550px" /><figcaption class="wp-element-caption">From the Los Angeles Herald, October 15, 1905.</figcaption></figure>
I had never known that Bunker Hill, specifically the intersection of 3rd and Hill streets, was a location being considered for the flagship branch of the Los Angeles Public Library. I had long known that downtown’s Central Park (later Pershing Square) had been a frontrunner site until community backlash against losing that open space led to that option being withdrawn. I had long just figured the 5th & Flower streets location was the result of that.
What made the editorial brief so frustrating was that in my further searches I could find no letter published by Eddy, and thus no context or counterpoint to what the Herald was objecting, because I’m one of those increasingly rare birds who wants to examine both points of view before coming to a conclusion. Instead, all I had was this one-sided rebuttal to Eddy’s reported concern that a planned library elevator would somehow compete with his railway, which struck me as a weird and petty battle to pick.
Fast-forward to December 2024 and like a pre-Christmas miracle I not only found the Eddy letter in question printed October 13, 1905, but the article that spawned it, published October 8, 1905, both in the Los Angeles Times (no wonder the Herald rather conveniently left its competitor’s name out of that brief). 
<figure class="wp-block-image alignleft size-full is-resized"><a href="http://www.wildbell.com/?attachment_id=11802" target="_blank" rel=" noreferrer noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="429" height="980" src="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/lib1.jpg" alt="" class="wp-image-11802" style="width:243px;height:auto" srcset="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/lib1.jpg 429w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/lib1-131x300.jpg 131w" sizes="(max-width: 429px) 100vw, 429px" /></a></figure>
Headlined “Lofty Site For Library,” over subheads “Eminence at Top of Angels’ Flight Suggested” and “Commanding Position for a Noble Building,” the article comes off as supporting what to that point was suggestion and offers that an “elevator might be built at the side of the Third-street tunnel without interfering with the tunnel, as an approach to the building from the lower level.”
I could see Eddy having a problem with that concept since an elevator from the tunnel would potentially impact his railway, but funny thing: he doesn’t rail (pardon the pun) on that point. Instead he agrees the location is ideal, but his primary issue is the proposed condemnation of all four corners of Olive and 3rd streets as that would include the obliteration of Angels Flight, an objective that he states would prove impossible given he’s only four years into a 30-year franchise.
<figure class="wp-block-image alignright size-large is-resized"><a href="http://www.wildbell.com/?attachment_id=11803" target="_blank" rel=" noreferrer noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="272" height="1024" src="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/lib2-272x1024.jpg" alt="" class="wp-image-11803" style="width:184px;height:auto" srcset="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/lib2-272x1024.jpg 272w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/lib2-80x300.jpg 80w" sizes="(max-width: 272px) 100vw, 272px" /></a><figcaption class="wp-element-caption">Click image for full-size image.</figcaption></figure>
His solution is for the library to pursue the properties adjacent Angels Flight to the south, namely the Crocker Mansion and the building down slope from that to Clay Street. He even recommends the placement of an elevator inside the building at a Clay Street entrance, allowing Library patrons the option of either walking up to it from Hill Street or taking Angels Flight all the way up to Olive Street and entering from there.
In short, that Herald brief is misinterpretive, misinformed bullshit. Eddy wasn’t “complaining” either about the elevator or the choice of Bunker Hill as the library’s home. His objection had to do with any proposal that would destroy his business. The nerve of that guy.
Ultimately, it was all moot. Four years later the new Elks lodge ended up being completed at the location next door to Angels Flight that Eddy wanted the library to go, and the Central Library down at 5th and Flower Streets. The fact that it took 21 more years for the library to be built, makes me wonder why so long, but that’s a mystery for some additional archive diggery and perhaps another post.
It may have only been a gleam in some library boosters’ eyes, but learning that Bunker Hill was being considered makes me a bit wistful at what might have been or what might have been changed. From the Times article: “Those making this suggestion point out that a library on this commanding spot would be as picturesque as a castle on the Rhine, and the talk of the country.”
So true. Can you imagine looking up from Hill Street and 3rd today? If the library was there, there’s a good chance Angels Flight would not only still be in its original location, but it never would have been shut down.
I’m not fool enough to think change wouldn’t have inevitably come to Bunker Hill in the form of redevelopment, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility to imagine that Bunker Hill would have been a harder place to wipe entirely away had such a jewel been set upon its crown.
I

]]></content>
</entry>
<entry>
<author>
<name>Will</name>
<uri>http://www.wildbell.com</uri>
</author>
<title type="html"><![CDATA[Col. J.W. Eddy and the “Frontier Guard” In His Own Words]]></title>
<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/10/28/col-j-w-eddy-and-the-frontier-guard-in-his-own-words/" />
<id>http://www.wildbell.com/?p=11784</id>
<updated>2024-10-28T22:17:16Z</updated>
<published>2024-10-28T21:44:55Z</published>
<category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Uncategorized" />
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[Forty years before he became the visionary builder of downtown Los Angeles’ Angels Flight funicular, James Ward Eddy found himself in the nation’s capital when the Civil War began and on the front lines vastly outnumbered protecting the capital and the president. Found via two sources within the archives of newspapers.com’s archives, reprinted and transcribed … <a href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/10/28/col-j-w-eddy-and-the-frontier-guard-in-his-own-words/" class="more-link">Read more "Col. J.W. Eddy and the “Frontier Guard” In His Own Words"</a>]]></summary>
<content type="html" xml:base="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/10/28/col-j-w-eddy-and-the-frontier-guard-in-his-own-words/"><![CDATA[
Forty years before he became the visionary builder of downtown Los Angeles’ Angels Flight funicular, James Ward Eddy found himself in the nation’s capital when the Civil War began and on the front lines vastly outnumbered protecting the capital and the president.
Found via two sources within the archives of newspapers.com’s archives, reprinted and transcribed below: 
<figure class="wp-block-image alignleft size-large is-resized"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="550" height="792" src="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Los_Angeles_Evening_Express_1907_08_24_5-550x792.jpg" alt="" class="wp-image-11785" style="width:500px;height:auto" srcset="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Los_Angeles_Evening_Express_1907_08_24_5-550x792.jpg 550w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Los_Angeles_Evening_Express_1907_08_24_5-208x300.jpg 208w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Los_Angeles_Evening_Express_1907_08_24_5-2000x2881.jpg 2000w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Los_Angeles_Evening_Express_1907_08_24_5-scaled.jpg 1777w" sizes="(max-width: 550px) 100vw, 550px" /><figcaption class="wp-element-caption">Front page of the June 3, 1915 edition of the Eagle Rock Sentinel.</figcaption></figure>
August 24, 1907 edition of the Los Angeles Express
SERVED WITH FRONTIER GUARD
J.W. Eddy of Los Angeles Recalls Exciting Times When He Aided the Defense of the Capital and of Lincoln
After reading in the Express of the endeavors of Dr. T.D. Bancroft to compile a history and roster of the “Frontier Guard,” who did such heroic service in scaring the confederates away from Washington during the early days of the Civil War, J.W. Eddy, well-known because of his connection with the Angels Flight, has volunteered information that may be of some assistance to Dr. Bancroft.
“I was in Washington in April 1861, having gone there from Batavia, Ill.,” said Mr. Eddy. “Attorney-General Bates had just offered me the federal judgeship in New Mexico, Kansas had just been admitted to the Union and the capital was filled with Kansans, many of whom I knew.
“It was April 14, I believe, that Fort Sumter was fired upon, and the Kansans, with Senator James H. Lane as their leader, held a meeting to decide how to protect the capital. They formed a company and elected Jim Lane captain. They tendered their services to President Lincoln, who invited them to camp in the east room of the White House.
“Another meeting was held the next night to form another company, of which Judge Tipton of Wisconsin was elected captain. The two companies were combined into a battalion which was called the ‘Frontier Guard.” Cassius M. Clay became the major.
“Although not part of the regular government troops, the battalion was given arms by the government and it set to work to guard the capital at night and to attend to its regular business during the day.
“One night we devoted to the war department, another to the Potomac Bridge, and another to Anacostia Bridge and others to various parts of the city. When we guarded the Anacostia Bridge, Cassius M. Clay personally was in command as it was rumored that an invasion was to be attempted.
“As there were only 110 of us, we would have had little chance with a rebel horde, but we made much noise and the confederates heard that we were thousands where we were only tens.
Lincoln called for 75,000 volunteers and the Sixth Massachusetts was the first to start for Washington. At Baltimore it was assaulted and all communication was cut off from Washington. Then, while we watched and waited, we heard that the Seventh New York was coming by way of the sea, but until its actual arrival we had no communication with the world.
“For many days I watched for the approach of the Seventh from the top of a building, with my eyes ever-gazing down the Potomac. Finally it came and when the boys swept down Pennsylvania Avenue they looked to us like ten times their number, which was only 1,000.
“After that more and more troops came, until within two weeks, not less than 15,000 were in the city. The the “Frontier Guards” tendered their resignation to Lincoln, saying that as the troops had arrived, there was nothing left for the guards to do.
“Our resignation was accepted by the president, who invited us to the east room of the White House, where he shook hands with each, thanked us for what we had done and wished us Godspeed.
“Our discharges were signed by Senator Lane and contained also the facsimile signatures of Lincoln and Secretary of War Cameron. I unfortunately lost mine, which has been a source of great regret to me. The reason for Lane signing them all was that Clay probably was away at the time.
“One night I was stationed on Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House, where I was told to leave my arms when I was relieved at midnight. I went to the east room to do this, and, being, tired, I threw myself down upon a sofa there. It probably was more or less a presumptuous action.
“In the morning, hwever, I awoke to find my coveredby the army overcoat of General Hunter, then in command of the United States Army.
“Soon after being mustered out of the “Frontier Guards,” I returned to Batavia, where I spoke at a public meeting  that was held in my honor.

<figure class="wp-block-image alignleft size-large"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="550" height="812" src="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Eagle_Rock_Sentinel_1915_06_03_1-550x812.jpg" alt="" class="wp-image-11786" srcset="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Eagle_Rock_Sentinel_1915_06_03_1-550x812.jpg 550w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Eagle_Rock_Sentinel_1915_06_03_1-203x300.jpg 203w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Eagle_Rock_Sentinel_1915_06_03_1-2000x2953.jpg 2000w, http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Eagle_Rock_Sentinel_1915_06_03_1-scaled.jpg 1734w" sizes="(max-width: 550px) 100vw, 550px" /></figure>
June 3, 1915 edition of the Eagle Rock Sentinel
BEAUTIFUL UNION MEMORIAL SERVICE
Col. J.W. Eddy Gives a Fine Reminiscent Address on Lincoln
A beautiful tribute was paid to the old soldiers, the great Emancipation and to Col. Eddy at the union memorial services held last Sunday evening in the Presbytarian Church. The building was attractively decorated with large flags and flowers of like color. The church was packed with the old soldiers, with personal friends of the chief speaker and with members of the different churches.
At 7:45 the services began with the pastor, Dr. Creswell, in charge. An opening hymn was followed by a fervent prayer by Dr. Martin Post. The scripture lesson was read by Rev. Mr. Connaway. The choir sang an anthem, “O Come Let Us Worship,” with Mrs. C.G. Steward singing the solo obligato parts. A brief by happy tale was made by Dr. Creswell on the coming together of the churches on this occasion, and urged unity of spirit and action among Christian people.
An attractive feature of the evening was the reading of Lincoln’s Gettysburg speech by Mrs. Blonda Banks Colborn.
After the singing of a hymn anthem, “God of Our Fathers,” by the choir, and the introduction of the speaker, a happy incident happened. At the suggestion of Dr. Creswell, a Chataqua Salute was given in honor of Col. Eddy who was 83 years old Sunday.
[Ed. note: The Chautauqua Salute, originated by Bishop Vincent in 1877 at the Chautauqua Institute in New York State, when he suddenly realized that a deaf-mute lecturer could not hear the applause of the thousands in attendance. Vincent suggested that the audience wave white handkerchiefs, an activity since known as “the blooming of the white lilies.”]
It was an intensely interesting address. It was unusually so because Col. Eddy gave whant no orator every had or could give, the personal experiences and observations of himself in Washington during the first month of the rebellion. With his usual good tact, he did not tray to make a patriotic address. He gave a brief reference to Lincoln’s nomination and election to the presidency and of the trip to Washington. The speaker then told of his going to that city and calling on the president and there meeting Senator Grimes of Iowa and Senator John Sherman of Ohio. He was there at the time word came of the firing on Fort Sumter; was one of the first 150 to enlist in a company hurriedly formed to act as personal bodyguard to the president and do some skirmish work in Washington. He told of seeing the Secretary of the Treasury open the bids for the first war loan and the exultant cry that came from the assembled crowd. He told of the announcement of the coming of troops from Massachusetts and New York. Those were the days known in Washington as “shut-in days,” when all communication with the rest of the country was practically shut off.
Col. Eddy’s address was intensely interesting and instructive and those who failed to attend this service were the losers thereby.
AND THERE’S A BOOK ON THE SUBJECT
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Until reading that 1907 article I had never heard the term “Frontier Guard.” Based on the 1915 article, I’d just presumed Eddy had enlisted in the army. So of course I googled the term, which led me to a glowing review of a 2016 book on the largely forgotten subject by James P. Muehlberger: “The 116: The True Story of Abraham Lincoln’s Lost Guard.”

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</entry>
<entry>
<author>
<name>Will</name>
<uri>http://www.wildbell.com</uri>
</author>
<title type="html"><![CDATA[Inside The Station House: March 2, 2024]]></title>
<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/03/03/inside-the-station-house-march-2-2024/" />
<id>http://www.wildbell.com/?p=11764</id>
<updated>2024-03-04T00:30:09Z</updated>
<published>2024-03-04T00:13:26Z</published>
<category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="landmarks" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="los angeles" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="machines" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="mass transit" />
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</entry>
<entry>
<author>
<name>Will</name>
<uri>http://www.wildbell.com</uri>
</author>
<title type="html"><![CDATA[A Cup That Sums Things Up]]></title>
<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/03/01/a-cup-that-sums-things-up/" />
<id>http://www.wildbell.com/?p=11757</id>
<updated>2024-03-01T23:21:49Z</updated>
<published>2024-03-01T23:21:49Z</published>
<category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Uncategorized" />
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[This cup belonged to my daughter. It was part of a “The Little Mermaid” set that included a matching plate, bowl, fork, knife and spoon given her as a gift when she a few years old. I can’t remember what for, if it was her birthday or Christmas. I can’t remember exactly when, sometime in … <a href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/03/01/a-cup-that-sums-things-up/" class="more-link">Read more "A Cup That Sums Things Up"</a>]]></summary>
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This cup belonged to my daughter. It was part of a “The Little Mermaid” set that included a matching plate, bowl, fork, knife and spoon given her as a gift when she a few years old. I can’t remember what for, if it was her birthday or Christmas. I can’t remember exactly when, sometime in the early 1990s. I’ve kept it all this time.
Couldn’t keep her. She’s going to be 35 this year. Whoa: She’s 10 years old than I was when she was born. I haven’t seen her for going on eight years. The last communication was around the holidays. She was living out in San Bernardino and I texted her to let her know I had some Christmas gifts for Aiden. Aiden is her son, thus my grandson. I think at the time he was about the same age as Kate was when I got her that cup.
She texted back that she was coming to visit her mom in the valley. I asked her if she could swing by on the way, but she found that inconvenient. I texted back that I found her lack of convenience lacking in consideration. And off she went on a text tirade, making it plain how little I rated in her book, holidays or any time.
Bridge burned, I texted her back “I hear you loud and clear,” and that was that. Seriously: I immediately deleted her phone from my contacts and promptly brought Aiden’s gifts — nothing major, several Lego sets — to my company’s potluck party and gift exchange where they ended up in the grateful possession of our receptionist who said her five-year-old would love them. Sad that that was more fulfilling than giving them to my grandson, but telling.
Lest you get the impression that Kate and I in our respective triggers combined in the spur of that upset moment to push a perfectly healthy father-daughter relationship off an infinity cliff, that is most definitely not the case. In many ways we were destined for the estrangement that has since endured. I’ll spare you the gory details of a long-form timeline, but her mother and I split in January 1990 when Kate was four months old and since that liberation spent every opportunity both to deny me my parental rights and to poison Kate against me. In 1993, after putting up with my ex’s bullshit of picking and choosing when I could see Kate — and always in her joyless presence — I finally had my day in family court and won, so to speak, if you call a father being awarded alternating weekends and two-weeks every summer, winning. But from there I did my best against a stacked deck and forces aligned against me — borne of an inate desire to be a father that was not the abandoning deadbeat mine had been. Picking her up on Fridays, having her back on Sundays, in that short time between I tried my best to be both a good person, a good friend and a good parent. I succeeded. Mostly.
Which finally brings us back to the cup, which I have kept all these years 30-odd years because it symbolizes so much about Kate and me. See, in the picture above, it looks intact though well worn. But if I filled it with a liquid the leaky reality would quickly be revealed. Look at the video and you’ll see close-up the myriadcracks, which resulted from a shameful episode where I was not a good person, a good friend or a good parent.
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It was bedtime. Beginning in 1995 I lived in a one-bedroom apartment in Encino. This was probably a year or so after I’d moved in. Kate slept on the sofabed in the living room. As was part of the ritual, I would tuck her in with an array of stuffed animals and a sippy cup of apple juice on the side table next to the bed. Only this time she asked if she could have her juice in her Little Mermaid cup. I agreed but I asked her to be very careful so as not to spill it. I read her a story, got a hug and a kiss on the cheek and said goodnight.
Not more than a few minutes later from my bed, I heard a clunk and a gasp and rolled my eyes knowing she spilled it, knocked it off the endtable and the juice went all over the carpeting. I tromped in angry and glaring, picked the cup up from the floor and hurled it — I didn’t mean too so hard — into the dining room where it hit a table leg and shattered spectacularly, pieces everywhere. It was the last thing I should’ve done. I turned back to Kate who curled up on the bed looked so tiny beneath me and I saw the tears welling up in her eyes, yet instead of kneeling down beside her and apologizing, I stormed off to the kitchen for the paper towels and cleaner and to mask my embarassment and stormed back, where I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed at the stain furiously for several minutes until my arms ached, after which I sat back stared into her frightened eyes and only then tried to minimize the damage by calling myself a poopy doofus for getting so mad. That got the eyes to soften. Then I stood up, turned my back and told her to give my butt a whomp for being such a big blue meany. She didn’t so I pushed my hip out further and told her to go on. She landed a tap and giggled and I wondered aloud if that was a butt whomp or if a butterfly had landed on me. The second one was harder and the laugh louder. I urged her to deliver one more and the third was a solid hit to which I howled in mock pain and then smothered her in a hug and kissed to the top of her head. Then I got her some fresh juice in her sippy cup told her I loved her and that I’d see her in the morning.
But my work wasn’t done. It became immensely important to me to return that cup to her in one piece and have it for her the next morning, not under any pretense that it never was broken, but rather both as an act of penance and one of healing. Waiting about 30 minutes, I tiptoed past her into the dining room with a flashlight and searched every inch for any shards, slivers, chunks and pieces of her now disintegrated cup. Once I was pretty confident I had them all, I returned to my bedroom with some glue and for the next hour or so put the cup back together. Did a pretty good job, too, if I do say so myself.
When I woke up the next morning I set it on the end table next to her sippy cup with a Post-It note on which I’d drawn a heart then I went into the kitchen to start her usual breakfast of mini-pancakes, bacon and eggs. She soon appeared at the kitchen with the cup in her tiny hands and asked to have something to drink in it. I told her that even though I had put it back together it would leak if we poured anything into it. She nodded and climbed up onto a dining room chair. At breakfast I told her how sorry I was to have gotten so angry. I promised her it wouldn’t happen again. It never did.
Time passed and we had great times and experiences, it was a joy to watch her grow from a child to a young lady, but eventually I had to make the very difficult decision to remove myself from Kate’s life — for both mine and her well-being. Kate was increasingly being pressured by her mom to make me the bad guy. So much so that an incident in the year 2000 foretold a frustrating future.
Kate and I were at a park kicking a ball back and forth until Kate started being a bit of a butthead and was kicking it far from where I wasn’t. After the fourth time and third warning to stop I simply quit putting up with it, got the ball told her it was time to go home and walked back to my truck. She didn’t follow, instead going and hiding in one of the bathrooms until I came back and found her. That was exaggerated into a complaint of child abandonment made to the Department of Children and Family Services and a couple weeks later I found myself interrogated by a social worker to determine if a crime had been committed. When I confronted Kate’s mom she didn’t deny making the call, but when I asked why didn’t she call me first and find out what had actually happened, she said she wasn’t interested in that.
I saw that such attacks were only going to continue and get worse both to my potential detriment and to Kate’s so I elected to retire from what had become an unwinnable battle. It was unfair for us to be deprived of each other, but to me it was more unfair to leave Kate in a position where she was stuck having a mother so jealous and possessive who’d get upset if Kate told her what fun she’d had with me so instead to keep her mom happy she’d manufacture tales.
Kate tried that with me several times, confessing to me that her mom locked in her room without food or left her home alone for days. The difference was that instead of feeding off that negativity and running with it for selfish nefarious purposes I would say to Kate let’s call your mom and see what she has to say about that. It was funny — and sad — to watch her backpedal so fast. It didn’t take long for Kate to figure out she didn’t have to play that wretched game with me. Too bad she was forced to keep playing it with her mom.
Nine years passed punctuated with occasional email exchanges consisting of me holding out an olive branch and being interested in reconnecting together and her flaming back with amazingly angry, insulting and appropriately teenaged responses, until we finally reconnected in 2010 and agreed to meet for lunch. It went better than I’d expected and we began a series of informal get-togethers and hang-outs that graduated to invites to school performances and even her high school graduation. I even gifted her with my wife’s old car and taught her how to operate a manual transmission. It was a period of greater communication and connection through which I got a deeper perspective of what her life was like and the troubles she endured growing up and she got insight into what I went through and the decisions I made. We seemed to be succeeding at breaking down the barriers between us and instead building a platform of trust upon which to grow the relationship we were never allowed to culivate.
Seemed to be.
Then came the bombshell blindside announcement via email that she had given birth to Aiden (fathered I later learned by some young punk who was almost immediately eliminated from Kate’s or his child’s life), and I was brought back down a couple steps on the reality ladder that I was still well outside the circle of those she felt warranted that type of inclsuion in her life. In the interest of continuing to move forward together I kept any grumblings about that mum and I saw her and Aiden a few times in the ensuing years, staying connected mainly via email, texts and social media.
Just prior to the last time we’d texted I made the mistake of loaning Kate a couple hundred dollars, I think she needed it for school costs, but who knows. I called it a mistake because amounts that small to family members — especially those who don’t really give a damn about you — are better off just being given. That way there’s no repayment plan for them to inevitably fail to make, which is what happened in Kate’s case. I mention that minor monetary matter because I have no doubt it factored into how easily I deleted Kate from my life when she showed herself to be someone for who detouring for a dad visit at Christmas was too much bother. See, I’m just petty and vindictive enough to have been tapping out “I read you loud and clear” while thinking something along the lines of “Wait, you won’t repay my loan AND won’t make time to come get Christmas gifts from your father for his grandson!?”
Before this spirals down into more pettiness, let me rise up and circle back to the cup that I see as a righteous symbol of indefatigable hope. I keep it still not because it represents a past episode of momentary failure, but because it now represents a future that could include my daughter in my life. In short, that which is dashed against a dining room table leg can be reassembled. That which is broken can be repaired. Be it a cup or a relationship.
For Kate’s entire life, I have endeavored to be a part of it and I continue to be open to being her partner in it. Even when she has slammed the door hardest and angriest against me, or I against her, I never lock it. It is always there ready to be opened. But the knock on it has to come from her. The turning hand on the knob must be Kate’s. The point is not if she will ever do it. The point is the opportunity will be there for as long as I am here. 
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</entry>
<entry>
<author>
<name>Will</name>
<uri>http://www.wildbell.com</uri>
</author>
<title type="html"><![CDATA[February 25, 2024: Kayaking Death Valley’s Badwater Basin aka “Lake Manly”]]></title>
<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/02/28/february-25-2024-kayaking-death-valleys-badwater-basin-aka-lake-manly/" />
<id>http://www.wildbell.com/?p=11755</id>
<updated>2024-02-28T23:20:55Z</updated>
<published>2024-02-28T23:20:55Z</published>
<category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="adventure" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="awesome" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="daytrip" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Defining Moments" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="travel" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Adventure" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Bucket List" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Death Valley" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Kayaking" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Lake Manly" />
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[]]></summary>
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</entry>
<entry>
<author>
<name>Will</name>
<uri>http://www.wildbell.com</uri>
</author>
<title type="html"><![CDATA[Inside Angels Flight Station House: The Morning “Shiftkicker” and More…]]></title>
<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/01/21/inside-angels-flight-station-house-the-morning-shiftkicker-and-more/" />
<id>http://www.wildbell.com/?p=11749</id>
<updated>2024-01-21T15:25:37Z</updated>
<published>2024-01-21T15:24:07Z</published>
<category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="history" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="landmarks" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="los angeles" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="mass transit" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="nostalgia" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="slice of life" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="work" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="angels flight" />
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[At or near their outsets, I usually like to get my shifts at Angels Flight energized up and into cruise control with a musical selection that I’ve dubbed the “morning shiftkicker,” and sometimes I record it. In this case there is that rather unique musical selection (starts with my intro at about the 14:00 mark … <a href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/01/21/inside-angels-flight-station-house-the-morning-shiftkicker-and-more/" class="more-link">Read more "Inside Angels Flight Station House: The Morning “Shiftkicker” and More…"</a>]]></summary>
<content type="html" xml:base="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/01/21/inside-angels-flight-station-house-the-morning-shiftkicker-and-more/"><![CDATA[
At or near their outsets, I usually like to get my shifts at Angels Flight energized up and into cruise control with a musical selection that I’ve dubbed the “morning shiftkicker,” and sometimes I record it.
In this case there is that rather unique musical selection (starts with my intro at about the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAzQseXYimU&t=840s">14:00</a> mark for you skippers; far from my usual rousing classical or rock composition) and more, initially involving some of my first passengers of the day, including a family who upon arrival mentioned the son was doing a Boy Scout project involving the historic railway.
Of course that was enough to get me going imparting shards of its background. I think they all appreciated the information — I know I certainly enjoyed providing it.
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</entry>
<entry>
<author>
<name>Will</name>
<uri>http://www.wildbell.com</uri>
</author>
<title type="html"><![CDATA[Come Ride With Me: New Year’s Day 2024]]></title>
<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/01/02/come-ride-with-me-new-years-day-2024/" />
<id>http://www.wildbell.com/?p=11744</id>
<updated>2024-01-02T18:25:37Z</updated>
<published>2024-01-02T18:25:37Z</published>
<category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="biking" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="bicycling" /><category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="New Year's Day" />
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[I’m never so much interested in staying up late in an increasingly inebriated state to celebrate the end of an old annum so much as I am interested in getting up and out fresh at the dawn of the new one to get it off to a right and proper start. It’s a perfect day … <a href="http://www.wildbell.com/2024/01/02/come-ride-with-me-new-years-day-2024/" class="more-link">Read more "Come Ride With Me: New Year’s Day 2024"</a>]]></summary>
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I’m never so much interested in staying up late in an increasingly inebriated state to celebrate the end of an old annum so much as I am interested in getting up and out fresh at the dawn of the new one to get it off to a right and proper start.
It’s a perfect day for a bike ride, especially given the beautiful weather coupled with how peaceful and wide open the Los Angeles I’m pedaling through is as the majority of its residents are either still sleeping or trying to shake off hangovers rather than seizing the day. 
Today’s two-hour and 25.6 mile route starts at about 7AM and is sweetly soundtracked by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCP9H5LR5ilO0pjD8c-JwUKQ">@ClassicalKUSC</a>‘s “Great Escape” stream as I pedal from Silver Lake to Los Feliz Village and up into Griffith Park then down the other side to the Los Angeles River downstream along the Glendale Narrows section through Elysian Valley and Frogtown to the end of the bike path, then to downtown via Chinatown before coming back home to Silver Lake via Echo Park.
Whether you come along with me for a little bit or the whole ride, thanks for watching.

For your skip-around pleasure I’ve approximately time-marked various locations, areas, encounters and incidents below:
Sunset Boulevard — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=180s">03:00</a> Los Feliz Village — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=460s">07:40</a> Griffith Park — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=930s">15:30</a> Vista del Valle Trailhead — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=1135s">18:55</a> Cedar Grove — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=1305s">21:45</a> Helipad — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=1590s">26:30</a> Hawk Encounter: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=1870s">31:10</a> Wife Texts Me — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=1915s">31:55</a> Coyote Encounter: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=2325s">38:45</a> Intersection of Vista del Valle and Mt. Hollywood Drive — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=2740s">45:40</a> Jack ‘O Lantern Mosaic Tile — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=2910s">48:30</a> Gray Squirrel Encounter — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=3010s">50:10</a> Down the “Roller Coaster” — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=3410s">56:50</a> Passing Traveltown — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=3510s">58:30</a> Los Angeles River — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=3720s">1:02:00</a> Stop To Change Camera Battery — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=4160s">1:09:20</a> Colorado Boulevard Tunnel — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=4190s">1:09:50</a> Baum Bicycle Bridge — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=4485s">1:14:45</a> Elysian Valley/Frogtown– <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=4680s">1:18:00</a> Beautiful Flowering Wall — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=5360s">1:29:20</a> Passing Lincoln Heights Jail — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=5530s">1:32:10</a> Crossing Buena Vista Viaduct — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=5640s">1:34:00</a> Slaloming North Broadway — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=5725s">1:35:25</a> Chinatown — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=5780s">1:36:20</a> Downtown — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=5925s">1:38:45</a> 2nd Street Tunnel — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=6075s">1:41:15</a> Favorite Tunnel Street Art — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=6170s">1:42:50</a> Cesar E. Chavez Boulevard through Echo Park — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=6520s">1:48:40</a> Slaloming Sunset Boulevard — <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2OiGOn6UR0&t=6925s">1:55:25</a>
Garmin Route Map Link: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/redirect?event=video_description&redir_token=QUFFLUhqbmo3b1BxRE9TaTVJRW1hdmE5bHpaQ1Rob3BmUXxBQ3Jtc0tsNG96UDBqZkNJNGdDdUFLdm1BbEJKNTlQWUgtd1ZEQUNURTFJV2cyRkZzVDUwOXQ2MnEyaTV6TDQyck5kNnVscThveElCX3Y4NWk4ZmNSWm12eHBJazNtQTNYYlFoRE1zT3lWVjZwblFGNWoxMjJ4QQ&q=http%3A%2F%2Ftinyurl.com%2F4nhxbbjk&v=a2OiGOn6UR0" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">http://tinyurl.com/4nhxbbjk</a>
]]></content>
</entry>
<entry>
<author>
<name>Will</name>
<uri>http://www.wildbell.com</uri>
</author>
<title type="html"><![CDATA[Cryin’ O’Neal]]></title>
<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.wildbell.com/2023/12/09/cryin-oneal/" />
<id>http://www.wildbell.com/?p=11740</id>
<updated>2023-12-09T16:43:20Z</updated>
<published>2023-12-09T16:43:20Z</published>
<category scheme="http://www.wildbell.com" term="Uncategorized" />
<summary type="html"><![CDATA[With news of his passing, here is my Ryan O’Neal story. In early 1982 I was a senior in high school and a stock clerk at the glorious long-gone Hunters Books on Rodeo Drive. I worked in the basement with a merry band of misfits young and not-so. We called it the dungeon, lovingly. Celebrity … <a href="http://www.wildbell.com/2023/12/09/cryin-oneal/" class="more-link">Read more "Cryin’ O’Neal"</a>]]></summary>
<content type="html" xml:base="http://www.wildbell.com/2023/12/09/cryin-oneal/"><![CDATA[

With news of his passing, here is my Ryan O’Neal story. 
<figure class="wp-block-image alignleft size-large"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="550" height="550" src="http://www.wildbell.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/Screenshot-2023-12-09-at-08-25-09-Will-Campbell-@saturdaystationagent-•-Instagram-photos-and-videos-550x550.png" alt="" class="wp-image-11741"/></figure>
In early 1982 I was a senior in high school and a stock clerk at the glorious long-gone Hunters Books on Rodeo Drive. I worked in the basement with a merry band of misfits young and not-so. We called it the dungeon, lovingly. Celebrity visits were relatively common given the store’s location, and when word got down to the dungeon that Farrah Fawcett was on the main floor, we dropped whatever we were doing and had bounded up the spiral metal staircase in a matter of seconds.
Like something out of a cartoon we piled up and peaked around the side of the door frame and indeed, there she was at the register, radiant and magnificent. The most beautiful woman in my world. She noticed us and let go with one of those million megawatt smiles. 
The fellow she was with wasn’t anywhere near as pleased. In fact, he was downright angry. Glared at us as if we had no right. When his piercing gaze didn’t send us scurrying, he called out “Get a good look fellas, that’s as close as you’re gonna get.” That drew a disapproving glance from Farrah that wiped away her smile. 
“What an asshole,” I said under my breath but apparently not far deep enough. 
“What? What did you say, punk?”
“I said –.” Before I could finish the sentence, the dungeon master — I mean our supervisor, Barry — had yanked me away from the door and pushed me back toward the stairs, telling us all to quit harassing the customers and to get back to work. Reluctantly I went followed by the others with O’Neal going on loudly about how I’d better get out of his sight or he’d kick my ass.
Imagine being a grown-ass man that possessive of a treasure as to be so spontaneously jealous of an 18-year-old punk and his crew just wanting to behold her.
Rest in peace, Ryan O’Neal. We were both right: that was as close as I would get to Farrah. And you were an asshole.
]]></content>
</entry>
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