Matt Weinstock: an appreciation

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.

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No rain on my parade

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.

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