L.A. In Mourning - Thank You, Kobe Bryant

I was already super homesick for L.A. yesterday morning, doing a lot of thinking about what to do about where I live, and how I can best care for my Mom. I was checking out the U.S. Pond Hockey Championships yesterday morning on Lake Nokomis, and then went home to warm up. I looked at my social medias and saw a post from Michael Franti saying "R.I.P. Kobe Bryant" ... and I just started saying "no, no, No, No. NO!", while frantically Googling to see if this horrible thought could possibly be true. And then the horror of learning that not only was it true, but that his beloved daughter Gianna (Gigi) was with him on board the doomed helicopter that took their lives, and the lives seven of their friends. That's when the tears came. Not just tears ... they were sobs. There is some small comfort that they were together in their last moments, because you could see just how much they loved each other in their faces, and I hope that gave them peace at the end. But I also think about his little ones, that will grow up to never really know their awesome Dad. I lost my Dad at four, so I know that this will affect them all of their lives. This tragedy has many ripple effects.

Unless you've lived in Los Angeles, there is now way you can understand how very much Kobe Bryant has meant to the city. I moved there in 1995, and Kobe began his career with the Los Angeles Lakers in 1996. I saw him play in that city for his entire career, and the joy he brought to every Angeleno - so much joy, so many times - cannot be overstated. The championships ... I think I'm still bruised from some of the hogpile hugs we would share when Kobe would once again play the hero.

I had a boyfriend in the early years of Bryant's career that was an absolute basketball fanatic. Like, he definitely cared more about every NBA player than he ever did about me, which is sad - but true. Because of that, and like many girlfriends before me, I learned everything. I could talk stats, I knew all the nicknames and where they played college ball. I could ace any quiz you gave me ... but the Lakers were my team. I loved them always, because they came from Minneapolis, and moved West - just like me. They were my late Dad's team (and watched them play at the Minneapolis Armory). They wore the same colors as my Minnesota Vikings. And no one wore them better than Kobe - all twenty years that he was active in the NBA. Los Angeles will never be the same.

Watching the terrible news yesterday with tears streaming down my face, I have never felt a bigger yearning for L.A. I knew what it must feel like there. I knew everyone was all hyped for the Grammys - and how quickly that didn't seem to matter at all anymore in the arena that Kobe truly built. I kept thinking the words, "Thank you". Thank you to Kobe Bryant for all of the exciting, fantastic moments he brought to the city. I didn't know him personally, but I felt like I did. We all did. Even if you rooted against him, you had to respect how high he soared above everyone else. My heart keeps breaking all over again when I think about Vanessa, Natalia, Bianka, and Capri Bryant ... how devastated they are, but also how they will forever be in the arms of all of Los Angeles. As Kobe and Gianna will be forever in our hearts and memories.

It's still hard to believe it's true ... and I wish I could take all of L.A. into my arms in a healing embrace right now. Please know that I'm thinking of, and loving you all. Rest in Peace, Kobe, Gianna, The Altobelli's, The Chesters, Coach Mauser, and Pilot Ara Zobayan. You will not be forgotten. I wish so much that I could be at tomorrow's Lakers game at Staples. I am in spirit. Hold your loved ones close - anything can happen, any day.

Once again, THANK YOU, KOBE!

*Photos are off the web, and the illustration at top is by artist Glen Infante.

In Loving Memory Of Solomon - The Snake Man Of Venice

The awful and hard to believe news that our friend Solomon (born Willie Lee Turner) had died on August 17th, 2019 reached me in Minnesota, where I've been helping to take care of my Mom all summer. If possible, it instantly made me miss Venice even more than I have been. I quickly called Solomon's longtime girlfriend, Greta Cobar, to find out that yes, this awful news was true. She didn't have any details yet, but it was - shockingly - true. Shockingly because Solomon was a man who really seemed invincible.

Solomon spoke truth to power up there on his ladder, holding his snakes for all the passersby on the Boardwalk, but it was never really about the snakes to me. It was about using your voice to engage with others and stimulate important conversation. This got him into trouble with the cops all the time, but Solomon didn't really seem to care all that much. Every time I saw him, I felt better afterward. His "Hey, CJ, how are you doin'?" was always asked with true interest, straight in my eyes. He was something else, the likes of which we'll never see again in Venice ... and another iconic member of our community is gone. I SO deeply regret that I never got to do my own story on Solomon - a solemn reminder that you just never know how long we'll have people and places, and the best time for enjoying them is NOW.

There was a tear-jerking memorial held on Sunday at Beyond Baroque (that I watched on Facebook Live - thanks, Logan Mote!) that I felt SO sad not to be at with everyone sharing their Solomon memories. There is also a special issue of the Free Venice Beachhead out now around Venice, and it includes the beautiful article below written by Greta for her Solomon.

Solomon, my friend ... Venice will never ever forget you. Rest easy, my Brother.


King Solomon, the Venice Snake Man, quickly departed from this world on Saturday, August 17. His passing brought shock and sorrow to so very many in Venice and beyond. On the morning of August 17 Solomon played basketball in Venice, and then performed the Snake Show at his usual spot, on Ocean Front Walk and Windward. After that he went to Burton Chace Park for the Leela James concert. Before the concert started he collapsed out of the blue, the paramedics were called, and he was transported to UCLA Medical Center in the Marina, where he was pronounced dead on arrival at 6:47pm. The results of the autopsy are deferred for three months because of down-town testing back-log, and an official cause of death has not been released.  


The Venice plaza between the flagpoles will never be the same without the Snake Show that he performed there for the past eighteen years. The tourists took pictures, and those millions of pictures are now all over the world and on the internet. All locals knew him, and most faces would sketch a smile at the sight of him. After a quick verbal ex-change, the passer-by would leave feeling uplifted by Solomon’s trademark words of encouragement and the compliments that he was so generous with. He was born on March 29, 1961, on Hope Street, in downtown Los Angeles, and his real name was Willie Lee Turner. His parents had come from Oklahoma, and his ancestry was African-American, Native American and French Creole. The memorable parts of his childhood were the times he rode his bicycle (on some occasions, a horse!) from Watts, where he grew up, to the bike trail in Manhattan, Hermosa and King Harbor. Back then he was one of the very few Black kids to ride in that area, and the white kids would try to harass him. He and his parents also spent time around bonfires on the sand of Santa Monica beach. Two tragic events happened to him while he was in his 20s, which made him question the righteousness of this world and whether he wanted to be part of it in a traditional sense. The first one was the death of his mother, Arnita Turner, when she was in her early 40s, which he blamed on the pills that the doctors were giving her for high blood pressure. It was common for experimental drugs to be tested on Black people without their knowledge. The second was his first daughter’s, whom he named after his mother, contamination with meningitis in the hospital when she was an infant, which made her severely mentally and physically disabled. He blamed that on the hospital using dirty needles. 

He tried working regular jobs, but had a hard time being controlled by the system. He even en-rolled in the Coast Guard, from which he got an honorary discharge because he didn’t want them to pull out his wisdom teeth. That was a wise decision! Venice didn’t come onto his radar until the late1980s. And after that he was never the same, much like Venice will never be the same without him. He started calling himself Solomon and be-came The King, King Solomon. Back in those days Venice allowed and encouraged people to break out of the mold and express their authentic selves, and he truly was The King. 

At first he sold T-shirts with socially conscious messages on the Boardwalk, such as Love Sees No Color. In the 1990s he spent years being a full-time dad for his baby daughter Jasmine, as well as his oldest son, David. At this time he also spent more time concentrating on making art and music, two hobbies that he enjoyed and practiced throughout his life. He took photographs and created beautiful collages with his own photographs, cut-outs from newspapers and magazines, and found objects. His artwork carried strong political/social messages of justice, freedom and equality. Creating music was a constant part of his life, and he loved singing and playing the flute, guitar, drums, ukulele, banjo and any other instrument he could get his hands on. In 2001 he was jogging along the ocean in Venice, and in alignment with the flagpoles at the end of Windward, on the wet sand, he found a rubber snake that had washed ashore. He picked it up, and was playing with it on Ocean Front Walk, by the flagpoles. A Haitian historian visiting Venice walked by and said: “Hey, I have a snake just like that, I got it at a garage sale.” Solomon thought, “Ya, right.” A few days later the guy came back and gave him the second snake. They both had “Made in China 1989” written on them. He started playing with both snakes, with his eyes closed, and when he opened his eyes, there were a bunch of people watching him, mesmerized by his presence. And that is when the idea of doing the Snake Show came to him. 

Betty White, of the famous Elton and Betty White Show that was taking place on the Boardwalk at that time, told him: “Take off your clothes, you’ll make more dough!”. He found a wooden ladder abandoned on Venice and Lincoln, and started performing between the flagpoles, on Windward and Ocean Front Walk, in alignment with where the snakes came to him. And that is the story of how the famous Snake Show got started. His mastery of making the snakes look real (they weren’t!) combined with his incredible balancing and yogi poses on the ladder, his physical beauty, his kind and wise words, made the show a hit. It was original, different, out of the blue, unexpected and unique. It was what Venice was all about, what people came to Venice for. The sight of systemic police injustice trans-formed Solomon’s calm, composed and thoughtful demeanor into outrage, and he was not afraid to speak out against it. That resulted in constant police harassment and numerous arrests on bogus charges. A Black man speaking truth to power in the most crowded part of Venice did not fit in with the restrictions of the system that we live under. If his family and friends would not have intervened with private attorneys and tens of thousands in bail money, the cops’ efforts to keep him locked up would have been successful. This is the real story of being a Black non-conformist man in America. 

When the lottery system of allocating freshly painted boxed spots on the Boardwalk to the performers and artists was instituted in 2005, he was one of a few, if not the only one, who refused to be part of it. Through all his struggles, Solomon re-fused to compromise his conviction that freedom of speech is a right, not a lottery prize. In 2015, when the cops succeeded in banning him from the Boardwalk for a year as a plea deal on a totally bogus charge, he moved to Santa Monica and started performing there, at the top of the pier. In January of this year he came back to Venice and continued doing his show in the original spot, to the delight of locals and tourists alike. Aside from his show and with his clothes on, he was a big part of the Venice community, ever-present at rallies, community meetings, gatherings, local hang-out spots and the basketball courts. He had more friends than anyone else I know. People loved his perseverance, strength, beauty and optimism. He often said that he lived by miracles, and encouraged the rest of us to believe in miracles as well.

I personally met Solomon on my first day after moving to Venice in October of 2004. Dr. John introduced me to him at a table outside of Cafe Collage, which at the time was the local hang-out spot. We started dating just a few weeks later, and continued, on and off, until now. The time I spent with him was by far the highlight of my life so far, and he inspired me to be the person that I am today. From riding bikes to decorating bikes, to buying and restoring my own VW bus, to my local activism and the work I did for the Beachhead, to making my own collages and paintings, to the way I carry my-self and deal with others, my philosophy of life and my expanded horizons, all that and more has his mark on it. He’s had the biggest influence on my life, was my best friend, my passion, my source of strength and happiness. 

On August 17 I drove to Malibu and parked in a ranch, on the grass, under a big tree. I was sup-posed to get out and listen to live music, but I was overwhelmed by sorrow and spent hours in the car sobbing. I longed to be connected with him and repeatedly tried calling, but his phone was off. A deep, unprecedented and overwhelming need to hold his hand took over me. The urge was so strong that I held my two hands together and pretended that one of them was his. I held them really tight for quite a while, while tears were uncontrollably streaming down my face. It was at this exact time that he was going through his transition into the next form of energy. I didn’t know it at that time. The following day I scolded myself for being so needy, but when I found out about his passing I realized that he needed me to hold his hand during his transition just as much as I did, and I am honored to have been connected with him like that. Venice lost one of its greatests, and it will never be the same without him. We can find solace in our fortune to have known him, to have enjoyed his presence, to have been blessed by him. He truly was larger than life. 

Solomon is survived by his five children Arnita Turner, David Turner, Joshua Turner, Elisha Turner, and Jasmine Turner; his step-daughter Crystal Spradley; his sister Cassie Turner; his former long-term partner Jill Horowitz-Groeschel, Jasmines’s mother; and Eva Marie Svensson, Joshua’s and El-isha’s mother. A memorial for Solomon will be held on Sun-day, September 1, 5-8pm, at Beyond Baroque, 681 Venice Blvd. May he rest in power, love and peace. May he know that he was deeply loved and is now just as deeply missed.  
- By Greta Cobar

Venice Remembers Nipsey Hussle

The world lost a good one in Nipsey Hussle, and Los Angeles is in mourning as he is laid to rest today after a big Memorial at Staples Center, followed by a 25 mile procession through the city.

Venice had its own memorial on the Graffiti Walls, as someone tagged "RIP NIP" there in solidarity with the rest of L.A. Yet another senseless death because of guns and hatred, made worse by the fact that Hussle was a guy trying to make things better for his community, and the world.

He will not be forgotten. RIP NIP!

Venice Loses Ed Moses

Two days after an opening of new works at the Runway Gallery next to Hal's in Playa Vista, Venice is mourning the loss of legendary artist, Ed Moses. I regret that I missed that opening, and the chance to celebrate this founding member of the "Cool School" of art one more time.

                                                                                                                 Portrait: Kwaku Alston

There was a massive Moses At 90 retrospective featuring decades of Moses' art a couple of years ago at Bergamot Station that was packed to the rafters, as everyone marveled at how very prolific Moses was, even at 91 years old.

The L.A. Times ran a comprehensive article on the life and career of Moses yesterday that will tell you everything you need to know about his history, but all of Venice will miss just seeing him around with that ever-present twinkle in his eye. A notorious flirt, one could always count on Moses for a good bon mot or story. The old Hal's was always good for a Moses sighting, as he held court there often - usually under one of his massive pieces that the main wall was always reserved for. I remember him saying at an anniversary celebration for Hal's at Electric Lodge that "Hal's has B+ food, which I like, because I can always get a table." Everyone cracked up, mainly because Moses would never have a problem getting a table at Hal's - or anywhere.

His loss has left a gaping hole in the art world, and in Venice, but the beautiful thing is that his wonderful work will live on forever.

Deepest sympathy and love to all who loved Mr. Ed Moses. He was one of a kind.

Last Call For Abbot's Habit!

Today is the very last day of Abbot's Habit being open on the corner of Abbot Kinney and California in Venice. That was hard to type.

My Mom and I were just in there having one last coffee, exchanging hugs, and generally not wanting to leave. Not wanting it to really be over. Not wanting to accept that our beloved local hang is closing its doors for good.

Gentrification, man. We all lament it, but it just keeps on happening. People keep raising rents, selling out to the highest bidder, and making it harder and harder for genuine lovers of Venice to stay in both business and in residence. The big picture seems to have been lost in a haze of money and greed that has been changing our town for the way less cool for a while now. Venice is losing its edge daily.

I got choked up several times while sitting in there listening to the regulars exchange stories, and wonder where they'll hang out now. For anyone that was a Habit habitué, places like Intellegentsia or wherever just don't cut it. You want to be where locals are, not where hipsters think is cool. Where will the corner guys hang now that the Habit is gone? Like Stanley Behrens wrote on a goodbye poster hanging up there today, "This was my favorite corner." Ugh, I'm choking up again.

Change happens, we know, we know. But the astonishing rate of turnover on Abbot Kinney, and the lack of vision it is accompanied by, is just downright sad - and wrong. Driving out everything that made Venice special will only make it boring ... the same as everywhere else. Generic. Who wants that?!

We finished our coffees (there was hardly any food left for sale after an intense morning of folks wanting their one last bagel special, etc...), shared more hugs, and will be heading back over there in a little bit to pop some bottles of thanks and one final finalé with Nina. With for sure some more tears.

Thank you for everything over the years, Abbot's Habit. You will live forever in our wonderful memories.

Last call!!!

R.I. P. Abbot's Habit!!!

Remembering Chris Cornell ...

Today I was going to write a post about the fun Moods Of Norway party for Syttende Mai last night ... but then I woke up and heard the news that Chris Cornell was found dead. Right now I'm listening to all the Chris Cornell songs that I've loved over the years, and really can't wrap my head around that jarring news ... that we had lost this musical legend to suicide last night in Detroit. No. I just can't believe it. Right now he's singing a cover of Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You" ... and he's right. We will.

I loved Chris Cornell from the first time I heard his majestic voice singing with Soundgarden (the best band name ever) on a bootleg of Ultramega OK. Then came Louder Than Love, and then I saw what he looked like, and I was done. Madly in love. When Badmotorfinger came out and I heard "Outshined" and its perfect lyric, "I'm looking California, and feeling Minnesota", I thought sure the man was singing directly to me. I finally got to see Cornell sing live at Lollapalooza in 1992, and it nearly ruined me. I was crazy about him ... like friends would give me special magazines with him on the cover for my birthday. It was a well known crush.

I worked on the movie Feeling Minnesota that shot in Minnesota and starred Keanu Reeves, and I wore my Carhartt crew jacket with that logo around for years because it had that Soundgarden connection to it. I was a dork about Chris Cornell, ok? I remember hearing that when he cut off his trademark long curls, he had sent them in an envelope to his wife at the time, Susan Silver. I thought it was the most romantic thing ever, and loved him even more.

Then it came time to make the move, and both look and feel California. I made the move to Los Angeles, to go after my own dreams. I saw Soundgarden's last show at Universal Amphitheater (gone now too), touring for Down On The Upside, and it was transcendent. We couldn't believe they were breaking up when they were so awesome. Cornell then went solo, and his first solo album Euphoria Morning meant the world to me. My brother, Paul and I went to see his solo show at The Wiltern, and a kind security guy saw the adoration on my face, and escorted us down to two empty seats in like the third row. At one point, during a solo version of "Black Hole Sun" (one of my all time favorite songs ever), Cornell pointed right at Paul and I, and I think we both actually swooned. He was one of the guys that other guys wanted to be, and girls just wanted. It was a moment we both still remember.

Time marched on, friendships were made, and my world grew. I became friends with Tom Morello from Rage Against The Machine, and then Rage also broke up. Then one day Tom told me that they were forming a new band called Audioslave with Chris Cornell as the singer! No. WAY! I got an advance copy, unmixed and raw, of the self-titled Audioslave album, and I'm pretty much still sore from the dance party rager we had in Venice when we blasted that thing for the first time. The helicopter opening of "Cochise" and Cornell's vocals coming in ... it was POWERFUL. It was EXCITING. It was the best.

We saw many Audioslave shows, from out on Hollywood Boulevard in front of the Jimmy Kimmel show to the Long Beach Arena, all excellent and the best times ever. I was always way too timid about approaching Cornell, thinking I wouldn't hold it together, because it was CHRIS CORNELL. Tom had a party at his house one day and I was in the kitchen putting some dip in the oven, and was bent over with my butt out. Someone walked behind me and said, "Excuse me", and I turned around to see Chris Cornell smiling. He said, "Hi, I'm Chris" ... and I don't even think I even said anything back, maybe "Hi" - I was definitely fazed. By this time, he had a new French wife, and she was there too, so that was pretty much that, I never got to really flirt. I remember being disappointed that he was (always) wearing a Van Dutch tank top ... it just didn't seem like a thing for a grunge icon to wear, you know? Especially all the time. That, and his second solo album, seemed just cheesy. I never thought I'd think that! He'd lost a little of his luster to me, but he was still Chris Cornell, with the Stradivarius of all rock voices.

Then one day, Cornell left Audioslave, never even telling them why. After praising Tom as "his angel that had saved him" from the stage during a show. After a historic show in Cuba. No warning, just gone. That tainted him further for me, as Tom was a good friend, and I felt deserved better than that. I went on tour with Tom for his solo "Justice Tour" as The Nightwatchman. Cornell's ex-wife, Susan, was along on the tour, as one of the only other women along. I got a nearly fatal spider bite in New Orleans, and by the time I dealt with it in Boston, it was really bad. Susan was there for me. She was and is a wonderful, exceptional woman, and I couldn't believe how cold Cornell now appeared to be toward her and their daughter, Lily. I remember - especially today - how I stood next to Susan as Shooter Jennings sang the Cornell lyrics on Audioslave's "I Am The Highway", and tears filled her eyes. I felt her pain that day, and I feel it again today. Susan returned my email of deepest sympathy today, saying, "It is the words of kindness and support that get us through this darkest hour." That is always true ... It's just such an incredible loss - and once again, so unnecessary. No one knows what someone is going through inside, and it's so important just to love everyone WHILE we have them ... not in retrospect.

I saw Soundgarden at The Wiltern in 2013 with Perry Farrell and his wife, Etty. By now, I'd been on tour with Jane's Addiction the previous Summer, and had become good friends with the Farrells. Perry knew that Etty and I LOVED some Chris Cornell, and hooked it up, even though they didn't seem to be particularly close. There had long been rumors that "Jesus Christ Pose" was about Perry (in that one famous picture posing on a bed), and that didn't really sit well. We entered The Wiltern in a cool VIP way that you drive under the theater and park below. We had seats in the balcony, and the show was great, of course, but there seemed to be a little lounge act schtick in Cornell's stage banter. It was hard to have thoughts of him that were anything less than adulatory, but ... we left early. I regret that today, for sure. (The show was filmed for The Artist's Den, so I did see it all back home).

I last saw Chris Cornell singing on stage this past January at the Anti-Inaugural Ball thrown by the Prophets Of Rage on Inauguration Day. He was a special surprise guest, and when he came out to the opening chords of "Cochise" ... the place literally went crazy. I went crazy.

It looked as though all had been forgiven, and all the Audioslave guys were together on stage again, hugging, smiling, and most importantly ROCKING. It seemed like Cornell had found a new peace, with his wife and children, and even Soundgarden back together and touring again. Then last night he ended the Soundgarden show in Detroit with a song not on the set list, a cover of Zeppelin's "In My Time Of Dying". It looks like this was a planned exit ... that no one can even begin to understand or believe. It's too awful. It's too massive. It's simply heartbreaking.

There have been some massive losses in music in recent times, and I cried this morning when I heard the cover of Cornell singing Prince's "Nothing Compares 2 U". Nothing will ever compare to either of these musical angels.

Thank you for your life and music, Chris. You and your songs will never be forgotten. I'm so sorry for your pain. Rock in Peace.

A Prince Memorial Party In The Canals

Last Friday was the one year anniversary of the death of our beloved Prince. Minneapolis people feel the loss harder than anyone, and those of us who live in California feel extra homesick when we see all of our hometown people gathering to celebrate the life of the once in a lifetime musical genius that was Prince. So we have our own gatherings.

This year the tribute party was held at the home of our friends, Danielle and Rick, who live in the Venice Canals. Danielle went to my same high school (Go Richfield Spartans!) but we met right here in Venice at the beach. That was a happy day, especially because Danielle feels the same way that I do about Prince.

We had to school her Aussie husband Rick a bit about him, but now he totally gets it. Has the shirt.

Last year we sat on her couch sobbing and watching the hometown news together in total disbelief. This year, we're still sad, but it was more of a party. And Danielle finally got her wish to dress up like Apollonia.

Everyone got the memo and was either in purple or something Prince related.

I wore the shirt I got at last fall's Prince Tribute show in St. Paul, that gave me my hometown collective mourning moment that I needed. Even Danielle's little puppy Lexi was in her Prince shirt. Feeling it.

The soundtrack was all Prince, of course. At one point, Danielle got our attention and asked for a moment of silence while we listened to "Purple Rain" - the signature number that always gets you crying again.

When the opening notes began, we turned around and Rick had rigged up a thing with pvc pipe and a drill and a hose and all of a sudden we had a sheet of purple rain across the entire front of the patio! It was awesome.

Neighbors would row past in the canals and take pictures, and at one point the sound from Danielle's speaker went out and we could hear "Purple Rain" playing from other houses around the canals! The familiar chords rang out across the water, and it felt like the entire world was sharing our memories of this legendary entertainer from our hometown of Minneapolis. It was special, and made us feel a little bit closer.

We sang and shared Prince stories late into the night (sorry canal neighbors!), and everyone vowed that it must be an annual event each April 21st. This way, we'll keep the music of Prince alive forever. And one of these years I'll be back at First Avenue dancing with everyone there all night long. Let's Go Crazy!

It's really still hard to believe. Thanks to Danielle and Rick for a great party, and to everyone playing the music for making it easier.

Farewell To A True Gentleman - Retelling A Leonard Cohen Tale

In Loving Memory of Mr. Cohen:

From 2011.

There is nothing I will be ever be able to write cooler than this, now, but maybe ever. If you know me, you know I love Leonard Cohen. LOVE Leonard Cohen. So imagine my damn struck dumb surprise when I was physically reading his stunningly gorgeous book of poetry and line drawings, Book Of Longing - super random, but the thing is so beautiful and meaningful to me that I get chills thinking back upon it now - and WHILST reading it, in walks Mr. Leonard Cohen to my physical human space. I felt light-headedly strange (in a good Doors kind of strange), but in an unexpectedly shakily, floored kind of way. I said to the living persona of artistic heights standing in front of me, on little Abbot Kinney Boulevard, "Mr. Cohen, This is crazy but look what I'm reading!" (And I struggled with bothering him even with that - not at ALL my style, but I had to, ala Kris Kristofferson life moments) "I think I conjured you up!". He looked me dead in the eye and said, "You did." And then proceeded to sign my book - without me asking - in the same lettering that features in the treasure of a book.



All I can say, All I can know, is that life is crazy, and deeply meaningful, and beyond what we let ourselves imagine. But than we do. And it happens.

Imagine if we could harness that for the good of the whole. I do. All the time.

In Venice, or wherever you are, let yourself believe in dreams coming true. All the time.




*Photo of my special treasure book by Jennifer Everhart

Farewell To Gregory Westbrook

I just heard the sad news that a friend to many in Venice, Gregory Westbrook, died last night. I don't know any details, but I know people are sad and upset. I thought it would be nice to re-post the story I did about Greg and his Westbrook Maker hats that really kicked off the whole artisan hat trend here in town, and around the world. Peace and sincere sympathy to his family and friends, and love from Venice.
                                                                               ###

You've seen the guys (and some cool ladies too) walking around Abbot Kinney with their Westbrook Maker hats on ... LEGIT hats, custom made for the head they're on. Bringing back old time quality, with personal attention to every last detail, Westbrook Maker is quietly starting a revolution against sameness and throw-away consumerism, right here in Venice.

Gregory Westbrook and Nick Fouquet operate their hat shop underground in a parking garage on Abbot Kinney - for now. The cage is stuffed with hat forms and mannequin heads, ribbon, thread, sewing machines, and the mostly beaver fur felt that will become a hat of a lifetime. Many lifetimes, rather, as they are built not only to last, but to be handed down for generations.

Hatters (as they like to be called) Westbrook and Fouquet shared a love of quality, timeless fashion, hats in particular. "I grew up on the rodeo circuit, raised by wild Indians,", said Westbrook, who is as creative with his tall tales as he is with his hats. In truth, he grew up in Florida and New York before finding his way west to California (like the beavers "who started the Westward Expansion." Westbrook is full of useful information). His dad always wore proper hats, and would pass them on to Greg. He would restore and re-shape them and make them his own, as "If you have an interest or a passion for something, you just know how to put it together." He got a degree in photography, and then worked at Billy Martin, which taught him a lot about men's fashion and what clients really were looking for.

He also found that he would often be disappointed in the quality of the hats he liked, especially for how much they would cost. So he decided to make his own, after apprenticing with a master hatter in Utah. He made 6 hats on that guy's equipment, and got so many compliments wearing them (and people bought them off his head), that he decided to make more.

Fouquet, Westbrook's partner, and a "Professional Adventurer," grew up in New York and Paris and loved design, wanting his own brand ever since he was a little kid. He always wanted to be different with what he wore, and wanted to make custom things that no one else would have. Fouquet worked at Mr. Freedom in Los Angeles, honing his design sense, and discovered a common love of quality and hats with Westbrook when they became friends.

They started making their hats, and wearing them, and within a year they had international wholesale business. I recently visited their hat shop and watched how the whole process goes down.

Assisted by their apprentice, Mikey Soto (born and raised in Venice, where the high school's baseball field is named for his Grandfather, Ralph Soto) and their finisher/sewer, Rebecca Ross, the hatters crank The Clash and Cash (..."And Elvis ... and Bob Dylan ... And The Doors ...") as they create the most beautiful hats imaginable for their discerning clientele of rock and movie stars, hipsters and high-rollers, nabobs and neighbors. Though, as Westbrook said, "I'd rather make hats for the regular 9-5, 40 hour a week guys who just want their money's worth."

Their money's worth is an investment, as your custom hat base price is $400 - $800, but it's an investment for life. The gorgeous hats (wait list times for yours are currently 4-6 weeks, as "the longer they're on the blocks, the better they are") are not made of out disposable materials that will wind up in a landfill, they are made out of the finest possible of everything, built for longevity and value, that will stand up to the test of time. These are heirloom pieces, meant to be handed down, generation to generation. Classic Americana work wear, made the way it was done over 100 years ago. Westbrook explained, "The only thing different now is that we have electricity to run the machines. That's it."

Westbrook and Fouquet love what they do, and are happy they have happy customers, which is making their business grow like crazy. They're in Henry Duarte, and Bergdorf Goodman, Shelter Hats and Deus Ex Machina. They've been featured in GQ, Vogue, and the Best of L.A. edition of Angeleno. They're all over fashion blogs and are "big in Japan" - a sure sign you've made it internationally. So much so that they're out-growing their little spot in the parking garage. They need to get a store-front, and would love to stay in Venice, and keep shipping out their hats in their excellent new made-in-Venice boxes.

Both guys lament the loss of edge and grittiness in Venice, where "Even the surf and skate culture is gentrified now ... If we're not careful, you're looking at just another Promenade here, " but are doing their part to keep it real and clearly unique down here, a place that is "supposed to be about leaders, not followers", Westbrook stated profoundly and correctly.

So they enjoy our cleaner air, living close to work, riding bikes around and embracing what's left of the neighborhood feel, like walking over to Abbot's Habit for breaks and shooting the breeze with the locals, many of whom are now proudly sporting a Westbrook Maker on their heads.

Nodding our heads along to Willie Nelson, Westbrook looked into the future and told me, "One day someone will have one of my hats that their Granddad gave them." To which Mikey Soto chimed in, "And then he's gonna be my intern!"

I love these guys. I love their hats. Support your local community and "Come get a hat!"

Westbrook Maker will style you out by appointment and can be reached via their website at www.Westbrookmaker.com.