JOINED at the hip

Why do I imagine these four ladies moving in unison, joined at the hip, baby steps? No matter where they went it was step, step, step. Over to the edge to look over the cliff? Step, step, step. Perhaps they took their act on the road. Let's call them the Hip-sisters. Then again...have there ever been siamese quads?


Click on image to see it larger.

If none of the above is true it just means there were four close friends with really bad taste in clothes.

New and POSSIBLY MOST BORING BLOG EVER

I have a new blog called Tattered and Lost: Traveling with Charlie. I am being honest when I say it may be the most boring blog ever. It will last no longer than one year and consists solely of photos of a man named Charlie. That's it. I'm not kidding. I warned you...boring. Each week there will be two photos posted of Charlie in some location in the United States. Well, that's not completely true because he did visit Canada so we'll all need a passport for those shots. Charlie stands and Charlie sits. In a few cases Charlie dances. Pretty basic really. So tell your friends who think blogging is a waste of time to check out Tattered and Lost: Traveling with Charlie. They'll be able to look you straight in the eye and say, "I told you so."

CUBA, 1933

Blurred, but still stylish.

In the back of a car in CUBA, 1933

Click on either image to see them larger.

PALAISLEL UNION RESTAURANT

In keeping with this weeks theme image at Sepia Saturday I give you some patrons and staff at an old restaurant. These folks do not appear to be having the same level of fun as in the Sepia image, perhaps because the alcohol is not yet flowing.



I have no idea where this restaurant stood, I'm not even sure of its name. It appears to be Palaislel Union with Cosmopolitan Exchange next door. I have not been able to find anything about the restaurant or the exchange. I can say the image was purchased in Eureka, California.

They are an interesting mix of characters. The fellow with the crease looks like he might have been a butcher, but no, that is just damage to the image running down his white robe, not blood. And the fellow to the left of him looks like he might have been just as comfortable on a riverboat as on shore. I think the fellow on the right, second in, is probably looking at the lads in the Sepia image and wondering how he can get there.


Click on either image to see them larger.

Pushing LUMBER

All along the Pacific Northwest we live with the history of the lumber industry, present and past. I have no identification as to where this shot was taken, but it could be at a number of ports from Northern California on up to the border with Canada and beyond.




Click on either image to see it larger.

Once upon a time there was A BOXER NAMED MARCUS VASQUEZ

You'd think that starting with "Once upon a time..." I'd have a fairytale to tell. No, just an old picture of a lightweight boxer named Marcus Vasquez wearing an apron. Seriously, I have no idea what is going on or how this photo eventually ended up in my hands.

"To a Swell Kid Marcus Vasquez.

From your manager Ben Marcus"

Marcus Vasquez appears to have fought his first professional bout on Dec. 21, 1948 against Cadilla Clemmons at the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles. He won the fight. From then on he fought around Southern California, up to San Jose on March 22, 1949, over to Arizona for several fights, even down to Chihuahua, Mexico on Feb. 8, 1950; he lost that fight to Al Lopez.

According to the online information I've found, Marcus had 17 wins, 19 losses, and 7 draws with a total of 197 rounds fought. The last fight listed was on July 7, 1952 to Maxie Docusen in San Antonio, Texas. Marcus lost and is listed as TKO.

So, was this the end of Marcus Vasquez as a fighter? I cannot find any other information about him.

As to the fellow on the left, his manager, Ben Marcus, I cannot find anything about him other than he worked in the Los Angeles area.

I don't know, but my mind spins when I look at this shot with the inscription and I'm sucked into the world of Raymond Chandler and this little scrap of paper is evidence in a murder. I can't say truthfully anything one way or the other. It is what it is and it will forever be a mystery unless some person with knowledge of the world of boxing in Los Angeles in the late '40s to early '50s steps forward to fill in the missing pieces to the story.

For now, I'm riding in my old Buick on a warm summer night along Sunset, hoping I can run a few red lights without getting caught as I try to make my way to a mysterious meeting in Los Feliz. It began with this photo stuffed inside my morning paper with a note that read, "9:40, Jerry's, Los Feliz. Come alone."

Turning my back on LAST YEAR