December 2007 Archives

You know how New York City drops a ball to mark New Year's, right? And you may know that the past couple of years, Orange County has dropped a giant orange ball.

We don't have a Times Square, true. But we could drop something in Chaffey Town Square at Victoria Gardens, as good a focal point as any.

But what should we drop? Any ideas, readers?

Reader Dave Null of Claremont writes:

"I know that you are always looking for unusual stories. I am a distance student in the MBA (Masters in Business Administration) program at Blekinge Tekniska Högskola in Sweden.

"I am a retired professor from Cal Poly Pomona and already have PhD, JD and LLM degrees, but I am now a finance and administrative officer for the Civil Air Patrol, the Auxiliary of the U.S. Air Force, so I need some more training in accounting and management."

The problem with taking university classes in Sweden from California is you miss out on those famous Swedish meatballs and stewardesses.

Responding to my piece on Mathis Brothers (400,000 square feet) and Bass Pro Shops (200,000 square feet), Bob Rockenbach of Colton writes:

"Have you seen the current size of Chaparral Motorsports in San Bernardino lately? That place never stops growing ... the current retail space is around 150,000 square feet with another 350,000 square feet currently being utilized for service, storage, and future expansion!"

Ah yes, future expansion. For when 150,000 square feet starts feeling claustrophobic.

The late Evelyn Hollinger authored "La Verne, the Story of the People Who Made a Difference," a 1987 tome that tracked the area's history back 150 years, to 1837. Born in Chino in 1912, she lived in La Verne from 1954. A photo of Hollinger accompanying the introduction depicts her dressed in white and astride a bicycle. The piece's title calls her "La Verne's bike-riding historian."

I recently received an e-mail from reader Greg Ryman of La Verne about Hollinger, whom he and his wife befriended a few years prior to her death:

"She was a wonderful person and since I've always loved history she provided a wealth of information on our city. She lived at Hillcrest and ran the now-defunct Hillcrest Book Store out of a very tiny and rundown building. When she passed it was a sad day.

"The city of La Verne honored her a while after her death by dedicating a stone with a brass plaque naming the small redwood forest on the grounds of Las Flores Park (adjacent to the La Verne/University of La Verne pool) in her honor.

"A couple of times a month my wife and I would always walk by this small forest and say hi to Evelyn. Recently we noticed that one of more of our fine citizens decided to pry a large piece of the plaque off, broke it, and finally succeeded in pulling it completely off, bolts and all."

Ryman, who attached a photo of the plaque-less rock, ended his Dec. 1 note by wondering if a mention in my column might prompt city leaders to replace the plaque.

Well, nothing so drastic as a mention in my column -- talk about bringing out the heavy artillery -- was necessary.

Ryman phoned on Christmas Eve to say he had taken another walk through the park and, lo and behold, "our city replaced the plaque." How about that?

Kudos to whomever is responsible. And if you're walking through the park, look for the plaque and reflect for a moment about one of La Verne's leading lights, the bike-ridin', history-writin' Evelyn Hollinger.

This nice note arrived late last month from reader Lyn Williams and I've been remiss in not sharing it. What I appreciated most about it is that someone who thought I was kidding myself in seeing potential in downtown Pomona changed her tune after visiting. Here's what she had to say:

"I am writing in regards to your column entitled 'Brokers Sell Optimism in Pomona' that appeared in Wednesday’s 11-21-07 edition of the Daily Bulletin.

"As always, thank you for your entertaining column, and thank you for your time and consideration."

Wasn't that nice? She even toasted me. Thank you, Lyn. I think downtown Pomona is worth our attention, and I'm pleased you now agree. Onward to greatness in P-town!

The Tenderloin, 2080 Foothill Blvd. (at B), La Verne.

In an L-shaped shopping center, the Tenderloin, at the northern end, is easily visible to motorists. I've seen it for years and wondered if it was a bar, a restaurant or what. The unfortunate connotation with San Francisco's seedy Tenderloin District made me wonder about the place.

As it happens, it's a steakhouse. I dropped in for lunch Saturday.

The interior is decorated in Old West style, with several large paintings of Western scenes, and Tiffany-style light fixtures. The lighting is on the dim side. The menu prices are on the moderate side.

I had a steak sandwich with fries ($10.79) plus a side salad. The sandwich came with grilled onions, lettuce and tomatoes, on sourdough bread. It was messy but pretty good. The fries and salad were OK.

Service was indifferent. My waitress wore a quilted winter coat over her uniform. Management ought to turn up the thermostat. She also left me without utensils or napkins, which I had to fetch from another table.

The Tenderloin attracts an older crowd. A father had three young boys at the booth next to mine, but everyone else was in their 50s or older. On the other side of me, a couple in their 70s may have run out of things to say to each other. They read paperbacks silently during their lunch.

From the Marx Brothers' "A Night at the Opera" (1935), as Otis B. Driftwood (Groucho) and Fiorello (Chico) go over the terms of a lengthy contract:

CHICO: Hey, wait, wait. What does this say here, this thing here?

GROUCHO: Oh, that? Oh, that's the usual clause, that's in every contract. That just says, uh, it says, uh, if any of the parties participating in this contract are shown not to be in their right mind, the entire agreement is automatically nullified.

CHICO: Well, I don't know...

GROUCHO: It's all right. That's, that's in every contract. That's, that's what they call a sanity clause.

CHICO: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! You can't fool me. There ain't no Sanity Clause!

You can watch the scene here.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

(P.S. Yours truly has the next few days off, but columns have been prepared in advance to run in my absence; ditto with daily blog entries. Continue posting comments, but because I have to approve them before they're published, don't be surprised when they don't pop up for a few days; I won't be near a computer most of that time.)

Referring to my comment in a recent column about "stuffed animals" at Rancho Cucamonga's Bass Pro Shops, longtime reader Mel Leets writes:

"Animals are now mounted on mannequins using the hot glue system to tailor-fit the skin to the type of animal mannequin. About the only thing they stuff anymore are turkeys."

Correction noted by this turkey.

(Always nice to hear from Mel, by the way. He's been commenting on my columns longer than just about anybody.)

This week's restaurant is Sammy's Burger (note lack of plural), 765 W. Holt Blvd. (at San Antonio), Ontario.

Sammy's is a stone's throw from Grinder Haven, which is an occasional stop for me, but I'd never tried Sammy's. It's in a long, narrow building on a long, narrow lot, fronted by an old-school sign reading "Burgers" (the top appears to have been removed) that is almost hidden by neighboring signs. Blink and you miss the place.

According to research by the Ontario Library's Joanne Boyajian, 765 W. Holt, previously a home, in 1969 was reborn as Burger Lane Drive-In with "drive thru service and inside seating," to quote the phone book. It was also the Burger Lane main office, with a second location at 1715 W. Holt in Pomona. By 1975, the name was Jerry's Burgers; in 1980, it was A 'n N Burgers; in 1990, it became Sammy's, its name for the past 18 years.

It's seen better days, but Sammy's was moderately busy when I went in for lunch Friday. They have the usual array of burgers, a dozen hot sandwiches, plus burritos, teriyaki and basic breakfasts. I got the hamburger, fries and soda special, which was $4.09 with tax. My food was cooked fresh and delivered after five or 10 minutes.

The fries were crisp and better than average; I finished them, which is rare for me. The burger came on a soft bun with Thousand Island, lettuce, tomato, pickles and chopped onions. Tasty and filling.

The takeout menu brags "Best Burger in Town." It's a respectable hamburger and certainly a contender for the best in Ontario. A blog reader says Sammy's has a good pastrami burger. The menu's most expensive hamburger is the $4.25 Sammy Burger. I don't know what it is, but it must be big, since it's pricier than the double cheeseburger.

Sammy's is Korean-owned and the back of the menu charmingly explains how to introduce yourself in Korean or speak several "useful expressions." I'll have to practice before I try "How are you doing?": "Eo-Tteo-K'e-Ji-Nae-Sae-Yo?"

Tonight you can see Ontario bluesman John Harrelson at The Press in Claremont, no cover charge. (Actually, you can see John Harrelson at The Press plenty of nights, seated at the bar, for no cover charge, but tonight he'll be on stage performing. Capeesh?)

Harrelson, the subject of a column of mine a couple of years back, always puts on a fun show. As he promotes it in his e-mail announcement of the show: "Hear true stories about people you know -- See the 'candle trick.'"

Ah, yes, the candle trick. What Harrelson does is finish his first set with some crowd-pleasing antics on guitar. He plays behind his head. He plays behind his back. And he lays his guitar on the nearest table, using a candle holder as a capo to play slide guitar. It must be seen to be believed.

In fact, you can see it on YouTube right here.

That's John Harrelson and His Fantastic Band at The Press, 129 Harvard Ave., Claremont, starting at 10 p.m.

Here's a note from reader Sharon Williams in response to Sunday's column on the Claremont Village Expansion, and with a holiday theme yet:

"Dear Mr. Allen,

"Sharon Williams, Parent and PFA Member."

Looks like the real Claremont is alive and well, its heart, shall we say, expansive.

One of the local blogs I read is produced by a woman who calls herself the Goddess of Pomona.

She's not especially political, but her Pomona-centric posts are easy reading and illuminating. Her themes include Lincoln Park loiterers, gardening, children's programs at the library, her husband's fight against mice in their house, the La Brea Bakery bread situation at Stater Bros. and her young son, whom she calls Mr. Big. She sometimes notices the same things around town that I notice, and sometimes notices things that pass me by.

We've exchanged a few friendly notes but haven't met, and I don't know anything about her other than her writing.

Toward the end of Monday's Pomona council meeting, the man next to me got my attention on behalf of the woman seated at the far end of the row. She met my gaze and swept her arm regally before her. I looked blankly. She swept her arm again. Suddenly things were clear.

It was the Goddess!

She was in jeans, not a toga, and she carried a purse and a bottle of water, not a basket of fruit. We chatted after the meeting. She wouldn't give her name, even for conversation purposes, but that's all right. I asked where Mr. Big was. Checking the clock, she said he was probably in bed.

Just think, a Goddess with a blog. If you live in Pomona, check it out sometime.

For a recent column on Ontario's Yangtze Restaurant, I needed to know when the Ritz Theater, Yangtze's longtime neighbor, burned down. The indefatigable Joanne Boyajian of the Ontario City Library's Model Colony History Room found the date and more. Why not share the research here? It'll bring back memories or fill in some gaps in history.

The theater began as the California (in 1933, according to my own files), showed B movies compared to the classier fare at the Granada and became the Ritz on June 22, 1961.

Its last all-ages movie was "Dr. Zhivago," which ran for weeks. Then, circa 1967-68, the theater went X-rated, much to the consternation of the community. The Ritz burned on Friday, April 27, 1979. The Daily Report quoted the Rev. Clarence G. Eigenhuis, past of the First Foursquare Church in Ontario, as calling the fire an "answer to prayer." (I've been told people gathered to cheer.)

The fire was initially thought to be of suspicious origin, but arson was ruled out as no clues were found, the Progress Bulletin reported. Investigators concluded the fire was accidental and was due to an electrical short circuit in the balcony.

If you have memories of the California or Ritz theaters, post away below.

You may have read that Laura Huxley, the widow of "Brave New World" author Aldous Huxley, died Thursday at age 96. I haven't met many people who get big-newspaper obits, but she was one.

Circa 1996, when I was scribbling for the Victor Valley Daily Press, Huxley visited a plot of dirt in Hesperia where an Iranian-born architect was experimenting with building earthen houses, a company, or compound, he called Cal-Earth. I was summoned to the place to meet the visiting celebrity.

Huxley would have been about 85 then, and it was a little astonishing that she had outlived her husband by more than three decades. She was trim, lively, curious, enthusiastic, mildly eccentric in her interests and a visionary spirit. She told me she and her husband had loved the desert, where he, or maybe they, had once tried to establish a Utopian community.

Other than that, the interview is kind of a blur. I can't blame LSD, as the Huxleys could, just the passage of time.

The details would be in the story, but the story, which I clipped, is in a box at home, stashed under about eight other boxes, all wedged in a corner behind two shelving units. After weighing the time and effort versus the payoff, I decided to let the box stay there.

Eating leftover Chinese today from Pasadena, I got the following fortune in the spare cookie put in my take-home bag:

"You are active, full of ideas, and have a generous nature."

Wow. Wrong on all three counts!

Last summer I got an e-mail from Bill Ruh, the Montclair councilman, who in response to my Seven Wonders of the Inland Valley column expounded nostalgically about "things that aren't here anymore." I'll share that in a column, or maybe a blog entry, sometime soon.

I just found Bill's followup note involving the old days of new cars. Here it is:

"In Pomona the Chrysler dealer -- I believe W.R. Shadoff -- used to have a large sign which lit up
with the names of all the brands he sold - Chrysler, Imperial and Plymouth. If memory serves there used to be a large podium and a new car would be placed on top. The podium rotated (slowly to be sure).

"Whenever a neighbor would purchase a new car, the entire street came over to take a look. It was an event. Today when one purchases a new car it's a rather pedestrian event."

Wasn't that great? Thank you, Bill.

Had dinner last Sunday night in Santa Monica at Border Grill, a fine-dining Mexican restaurant on Fourth Street, a block over from the Promenade. The restaurant is owned by the duo who call themselves the Too Hot Tamales, Mary Sue Milliken and Susan Feniger, who have cookbooks, cooking shows and such.

I bring this up because Feniger (ta-da!) attended Pitzer College in Claremont. Yes, there are local angles everywhere, even in Santa Monica.

Nearby are a West Elm Furniture and a Le Pain Quotidien, but (ahem) you can find those in Rancho Cucamonga and Claremont, so why bother? Border Grill, though, was unique and well worth the money.

The meal capped an evening that began with "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly," one of the best movies I've seen in 2007. If it makes its way to Claremont's Laemmle, consider going.

Today's entry could be called "The Day Ike Turner Almost Played Pomona." It happened like this.

In March 2004, Turner was booked to play the Yesteryears nightclub in downtown Pomona. Seeing his name on a poster in the club window was a real sight. I didn't go, I think because none of my friends could be persuaded to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Famer given how he'd treated Tina, even if he was also responsible for "Rocket 88," often called the first rock and roll record.

In a column later in the year, I mentioned Turner as being one of the few Hall of Famers to have played Pomona. A musician in one of that evening's warmup acts then informed me Turner was a no-show.

"He let 'em know a few days ahead of time he wouldn't be there and that he'd cashed the check," the musician told me.

I thought I'd better confirm the item before running with it, so I called the club owner. He was reluctant to say anything negative about Turner, noting correctly that most of the early blues and rock musicians were treated shabbily by record companies and promoters and cheated out of their earnings.

At this point I realized I wouldn't get an anecdote, a funny comment or, at this rate, even confirmation. So, thinking fast, I came up with an approach I'm still rather proud of.

"How about this," I said. "If I write in the newspaper that Ike Turner was paid in advance and didn't show up, would I be wrong?"

No, you wouldn't, he admitted.

Whew. That settled, I went with the Ike Turner story. Turner, as you may have heard, died Wednesday at age 76. Wherever his troubled spirit is supposed to go, may it show up.

Barring a natural disaster, or for that matter an unnatural disaster, Sunday's column will be about Claremont's downtown Village Expansion, which is mostly open for business.

Unlike Victoria Gardens, say, which opened all at once, Claremont's expanded downtown has rolled out over a period of weeks, a store here, a restaurant there, with walkways and streets opening as construction ends. Which may be why you don't know the Expansion is open, because there was no big splash.

Just curious: Have you been, and if so, what are your impressions?

Islamorada Fish Co., 7777 Victoria Garden Lane (at I-15), Rancho Cucamonga.

Islamorada is the in-store restaurant at the huntin', fishin' and campin' paradise, Bass Pro Shops in Rancho Cucamonga's Victoria Gardens, as mentioned in today's column. While writing that piece, incidentally, my spellcheck suggested that I replace "Islamorada" with "slumlords"; I declined.

You can access the restaurant from the parking lot or from the store. On Monday about 7:30, the dining room was said to be full, so a friend and I ate in the lounge, where they have full service. Even the bar is impressive, with a lot of wood, an aquatic motif and, behind the bar, an aquarium some six feet high that wrapped around the bar. It made for a great view.

A duo performed until about 7:45, a woman singing and a man on keyboards. First full number we heard: "I Will Survive." I pretended the lyrics were being sung from the point of view of a tenacious fish or defiant deer.

The server brought out a small loaf of tasty, sugar-topped bread. The cajun pineapple tilapia came lightly blackened, with a sort of chutney on top. I liked it. The grilled scallops were even better. The rice was OK, the fries were above average and the vegetables slightly mushy. Service was attentive.

Overall, a better meal than expected, or even necessary. While not as good as Market Broiler in Ontario or Kings Fish House at the other end of Victoria Gardens, I'd go back.

Touring neighborhoods to see Christmas lights isn't my idea of entertainment, although I know a lot of people like that sort of thing. I'm not a Christmas-lights kind of guy, whether my own or anybody else's. I don't even put up a tree.

But an opportunity presented itself to see Thoroughbred Lane in Rancho Cucamonga the other night, courtesy of a Christmas party a couple of blocks from the street, and it was high time I checked out perhaps the valley's most decorated street.

A bunch of us walked Thoroughbred on foot, which I highly recommend, for pollution as well as exercise and aesthetic reasons. You're smart starting at the west, by the way, as traffic from the east, on Sapphire, is ridiculous.

So how were the lights?

Well, once past the letdown that only years of hype can engender, I had to admit the street's decorations were pretty impressive. A tropical-themed front yard, which included a sign reading "Happy Hula Days," was my favorite. Plenty of people went to a lot of effort and, fossil-fuel consumption aside, the effect is quite nice.

Although I was also impressed by the rare houses that did nothing, or nothing beyond a banner by the front door or a bow on a tree. In that neighborhood, that takes nerve.

Around the same time, Phil Godwin of Chino Hills e-mailed with another tip:

"If you want to see the coolest decorated house, go to Chino. South of Philadelphia on Monte Vista, the third house from the corner on the east side of the street. Park where you can see the whole front of the house. Tune your radio to 90.3 FM. The house must have 6 bazillion lights; they all blink in time to the music on the radio. There are three or four songs, all different. The owner went to a lot of trouble for this one. Really a neat visual."

I'll try to check it out, and you lights-fanciers can too.

Comment with any other must-see stops below.

From Pomona Police Chief Joe Romero's op-ed piece the other day:

"What is heard and seen in the Council Chambers establishes the public face of Pomona. Bashing, backbiting and loutish behavior should not be our reputation. If this type of behavior is accepted openly, rest assured that it has been allowed to creep into the everyday dealings that occur behind closed doors and in the hallways of City Hall."

Sounds like I need to expand my City Council coverage to include offices and hallways.

I checked my voice mail after lunch the other day and found a message from none other than Xavier Alvarez. My favorite fibber said he'd like to comment on the spat between Pomona Mayor Norma Torres and Police Chief Joe Romero.

Obviously I wasted little time in calling back. When you see gold lying in the streets, you don't question it, you just grab a shovel.

Alvarez said the chief is doing "an excellent job" and has his full support. As for the mayor?

"I've got to call her Norma Torres, not 'the mayor,' " Alvarez explained. "I can't give anyone a title when they don't deserve the title."

Yes, water board director-turned-defendant Xavier Alvarez was getting on his high horse about an elected official who doesn't deserve their job. This was getting better and better.

Alvarez continued criticizing Torres, who recently withdrew her own endorsement of him. He added charitably: "We don't really blame her because she's got an IQ lower than gravity."

So there you have it: a ringing endorsement of Joe Romero by Xavier Alvarez. I hope the chief forgives me.

Most of the press release stuff e-mailed to me I delete without even reading, since it's not relevant to me or what I do (whatever that is). But this subject line the other day caught my eye: "How Come We Haven't Elected A Bald President Since Ike?"

The e-mail begins:

"We seem to readily accept baldness among actors, musicians and sports figures, but haven’t elected a bald President for more than 50 years (Dwight Eisenhower). Now it remains to be seen if the most prominently balding of the current candidates – Rudy Guillani [sic] – makes the cut.

"How about a story – lighthearted or serious – looking at the connection between leadership and balding, whether in the White House or in just about any other public environment?"

From there the pitch was to interview a hair transplant surgeon on the Westside about patients' psychological motivation for hair replacement. Um, I'll pass. Great beginning, though. Darnit, why not a bald president?

But I'm still not voting for Giuliani.

Back in October, a photographer set up a portable photo booth outside the Claremont Library and took photos of anyone willing to step inside.

The result is 214 photos, blown up and displayed in an unlikely place: outside a parking garage.

The 72-foot long installation faces a plaza leading into the Claremont Packinghouse. The B&W images show people against a white backdrop. Every person who stepped into the booth is represented.

Some smile, some look serious. Some clown. One covers his face with his hands. There are individuals, couples, whole families. One woman holds a bakery bag. A man, apparently a parking enforcement officer, clutches a ticket book.

I happened upon the exhibit as it was being installed and returned Monday for a look at the whole thing.

One element that struck me is how diverse the people are. Diverse in ages, from infants to seniors, and diverse in ethnicity, moreso than one might expect in Claremont.

Spend a few minutes taking in the photos and you can’t help but be fascinated, and moved, by the humanity on display. I'm not sure I can explain why, but I get misty-eyed when I saw the portraits, and whenever I think of them too. There's just a vulnerability, a playfulness, a serenity to the people in these candid photos, and seeing so many of them in one place has a powerful, humbling impact.

I think the photos are worthwhile even if you don't live in Claremont, but living there does add a new element. These are our friends and neighbors, and you’re bound to see someone you know represented, even if it’s just someone you’ve seen around the Village but can’t place.

One familiar face is the white-bearded Ray Collins, a founding member of the Mothers of Invention, who can often be seen wandering the Village. (Collins has declined my interview requests, by the way, but we’ve had many friendly chats on various streetcorners.)

The photographer was Christopher Irion and his installation was commissioned by the Claremont Museum of Art, which is inside the Packinghouse.

“We want to bring the museum out of these four walls. We want to put art where the people are,” William Moreno, the executive director, told me.

The display will be up at least until Jan. 1. Highly recommended.

CLOSED JULY 2010

This week's restaurant: So Fresh Salads and More, 1 N. Indian Hill Blvd., Suite 103 (at 1st), Claremont.

So Fresh looks like a franchise, as does the Pita Pit next door, but both are homegrown Claremont operations. (Update: I'm told Pita Pit really is a franchise. So Fresh is local, though.)

Pita Pit seems like a popular lunch spot, especially with the college crowd. I had a gyro there a while back and have to say it didn't meet my expectations of a gyro. The sandwich maker -- it's like Subway or Quizno's, where someone asks if you want each individual condiment -- was ready to put all sorts of questionable items on my gyro. But that's not really their fault. It's not a Greek restaurant, it's a place that sells wraps, albeit ones in pita bread rather than tortillas.

So Fresh, to pardon my own interruption, has salads, wraps and panini sandwiches. It was moderately busy at lunchtime Monday. You order at the counter and in a bit they call your name to pick up your food. I got the Garden Salad (spring mix, tomatoes, mushrooms, cucumbers, carrots, green peppers and goat cheese) with balsamic dressing, plus an iced tea, for $7.77.

There were some problems. A customer who came in after me got his salad before I did. And when my salad came, it was in a to-go container, not the for-here bowl.

The bigger problem was the amount of dressing. My salad was coated. There was probably twice as much dressing as I would have liked. I ate most of the salad but the dressing was so overpowering that I couldn't finish. By mid-afternoon, I was not only $7.77 poorer, I was hungry again.

Maybe this experience was an anomaly, but if I go back, it will be for a panini, or I'll ask for dressing on the side. Anyone else try this place, or the Pita Pit? I'm happy to see locally owned businesses in the Expansion and certainly wish both restaurants the best. They weren't to my taste, though.

Today's print column closes with a mentiion of Shanty Devlin's.

As described to me, Shanty Devlin's was a bar on the northeast corner of Archibald and Foothill in Cucamonga in the early 1960s. The owner was a San Bernardino man, Dick Devlin.

Perhaps the bar's best-known feature was a piano player known as Elegant Ethel. She may have been in her 80s. She was blind. And she knew her stuff. She played the old songs, like "Won't You Come Home, Bill Bailey?" As Wayne Leavitt told me admiringly: "She would really bang on that piano."

On whatever the local radio station was in those days, Elegant Ethel would come on daily at noon to play a number. Her appearances were sponsored by First Trust Bank.

We're missing characters like Elegant Ethel these days. Or if we're not, and characters like her still exist, we don't know about them.

Anyone oldtimers want to add or correct details about Shanty Devlin's or Elegant Ethel?

Rather than take up column space with this, let me round up some of the reader reaction to my grand marshalship of Pomona's Christmas Parade:

Christopher Lee: "You were an excellent pick."

John Curtis: "I am disappointed that you went in costume. I think you should have looked like the guy in the paper, sans the balloon maybe. That is how your public knows you!!! I mean this in a nice way. Be David Allen and be proud of it. Your friend George Putnam certainly wasn't shy. When you ride in the Claremont parade some day, just use a little sun block, but please be yourself. Your audience loves you I think." [I was becoming swept up in this, until John's last two words. -- DA]

Tami Schumacher: "You are in the wrong parade. Need to start 'kissing up' to someone in Rancho for next year's Founder's Day Parade. Parade goes thru Victoria Gardens and you would probably get a good peek in the Victoria's Secret window while riding in a convertible. Also, Starbucks is nearby." [You know how to sell it, Tami. -- DA]

Derek Deason: "Well it's good to know you liked the Pomona Jaycees Christmas parade. I liked your 'reporter's oufit' too."

Mike Cicchese: "I only wish I could have been there to see you fulfilling your grand marshal duties. I love how you found out how far back the parade really went. Love it even more that they originally billed it the 56th, you found out it was really the 60th, and then when I click on the photo gallery from your blog, the caption says 54th." [Stay tuned for the 51st parade next year. -- DA]

Beth Brooks: "Did you hear about Santa's plight? Halfway through the parade the fire engine got a call and had to leave Santa on the curb! The kids in the area loved it! According to Santa, the police rescued him."

Joanne Dallas: "Anyone willing to pay $45 for a fedora in this day of baseball caps deserves the title of Grand Marshal. Good for you to get right into the role of tough reporter. We certainly need more investigative journalism today....and more men in real hats."

Mayor Norma Torres: "Enough about him!"

'Nuff said. Thanks for the comments, everyone. Add yours below, if you like.

As cell phones proliferate, public pay phones are dwindling. AT&T is getting out of the pay phone business, announcing it plans to sell its 65,000 pay phones around the country, including 21,000 in California, by the end of 2008. Verizon will be the last major company still in the business. (There are an estimated 1 million pay phones in the U.S., down from 2.1 million in 1999.)

While the Inland Valley still has plenty of pay phones, I'm always on the lookout for old-fashioned enclosed phone booths, the kind Superman liked to use.

They're an endangered species. I can think of two, one at the Chino Airport, outside of Flo's Cafe, and one in Ontario, next to Juanita's. They're the worse for wear, but they're there. When I visited Flo's a few months back, I checked the phone for a dial tone and was reassured to find one.

Know of any others?

Not really apropos of anything 909, but over the weekend I watched "Giant," the enormously long 1956 movie that's one of only three with James Dean. He plays a Texas ranch hand who ends up a rich oilman and, by contrast to his "you're tearing me apart" angst in "Rebel Without a Cause," gives what I would call a comic performance.

He wears a cowboy hat tilted forward at a 90-degree angle, walks funny, mumbles, plays with a length of rope, drops a waterbag for no particular reason while hanging it on a nail and crosses his legs with deliberation. Making tea for Elizabeth Taylor, he puts down her saucer, then his, then her cup, then his, then adjusts the placement of her cup, pauses, almost adjusts it again, then withdraws.

It's a mannered, attention-getting performance, but it's hysterical. Dean reminded me of Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow, who steals every scene he's in. Depp's mannerisms defied you not to watch his every move, and so did Dean's in "Giant."

"Giant" could have used Jim Backus in an apron, though.

I've just read "Muscatel at Noon," a 1951 collection of essays by Matt Weinstock, a columnist for the old L.A. Daily News. Bought it a few months ago, I think at Magic Door Books in Pomona, and it's a fun read. (Still gotta read "My L.A.," his earlier, and sole other, book, which I know I bought at Magic Door.) Weinstock was the spiritual father of Jack Smith, the Times columnist who came along a bit later, and he penned witty, self-effacing, character-rich pieces in the days before L.A. became a metropolis.

You'll see why I like him with this excerpt from the back jacket: "Mr. Weinstock says the nicest thing he can say about himself is that he is a working newsman -- despite the fact that he writes a column. Incidentally, his only formula is to try to get around to as many places as possible. He doesn't try to prove things, merely to report, reflect and have a little fun."

There's plenty of great writing inside. One favorite piece begins: "When old timers get together and cry in their beer over the days that used to be in Los Angeles they invariably think of Morris Schlocker, though many of them don't know him by name. Morris Schlocker painted no picture, designed no bridge, founded no memorial. He was, in fact, only a street sweeper. But in his way, he was an artist."

This next bit is sort of an inside-baseball thing but may prove illuminating. Weinstock at one point mentions that his newspaper publishes six editions a day. Imagine, six editions! These days, even big-city newspapers typically publish only one. But it struck me that in a way, newspapers are returning to the multiple-edition concept.

At dailybulletin.com, our online elves stealthily post stories throughout the day and night as they're finished. The idea from the higher-ups is that we're now a 24-hour newsroom. Well, not exactly: There are no news reporters on duty for about 10 of those hours, between roughly 9 p.m. and 7 a.m. But rather than wait until dawn, when the newspaper lands in your gardenias, you can log on at various points in the day or night and find fresh content.

Wonder what Weinstock would think of all this? He'd probably be curious and amused, as he was by so much else.

If you want to read about my grand (or not so grand) marshalship, check today's print column and see a photo gallery of the parade. Saturday morning was partly cloudy and it didn't rain, which was a relief.

I didn't see much of the parade while I was in it, but since I was at the head of the 10 a.m. parade, that meant I was through before anyone else. I was driven back to the starting spot by 11 a.m., and so I walked a bit along Holt and saw some of the later entries.

There were the usual drill teams, marching bands and whatnot, and good for them. A few only-in-Pomona touches among the entries: lowrider cars cruising, day laborers on the march and, on horseback, a guy dressed as Zorro, cape and all.

I also saw a tae kwon do studio, which trailed a car with its trunk open. Every so often the kids would stop, two of them would go to the trunk, get a board and hold it up, and another student would kick it in half. Haaii-yahh!!

There seemed to be lots more people on the sidewalks than than there were when I was actually in the parade, blast their latecoming hides.

Seeing Holt from the sidewalks instead of through a car window, as I usually do, was enlightening. Did you know there's a tropical fish store? And next to it, Nu China Express, whose sign boasts "The best Chinese food in Pomona"? (Not that there's much competition.) Nu China's window and sidewalk signs show an amusing range, from cappuccino and donuts to menudo and tamales. I'll have to go in sometime for kung pao chicken, a cruller and a taco.

Or, um, not.

...shame on you for not being at the Pomona Jaycees Christmas Parade!

That's East Holt Avenue between Caswell and East End. Hurry over and all will be forgiven.