Number one on the list. Absolutely, of course.
Bus tours in Beverly Hills, sweet, sweet houses of actors and actresses back in 1975.
Rodeo Drive, beautiful shops, ultra-expensive apparel and perfumes, mostly for women.
Walk of the Stars, those stars sunk into the sidewalk named to the actors and actresses, honored for their work and their success. Some had their footprints and hand prints sunk into the cement beside the star and name.
Best though was deciding which movie studio to tour, which took hours to do. I chose Universal.
Trams and guides took over. No cars were allowed once inside the gates. I saw how movies were made, shown their secrets and tricks, so unbelievably simple some of them were, when explained.
Acres of windowless buildings held television "sets" for situation comedies broadcast to the countries.
Revolving stages were living-rooms, kitchens, and any other rooms used in the taping that were set up as homes. All around the curved front of the stages, seats, in tiers and rows, held audiences for live tapings at night.
Free tickets to be a part of the tapings were offered by the guides.
The studio provided a wonderful insight and view into the magic of Hollywood, and memories of a monster with a stake through its neck boarding a tram to scare whoever wasn't aware that it was there, memories of a shark rising up out of water, blood dripping from its gaping jaws, of a tram whose lower half disappeared into the water and came up on the other side, keeping you dry and safe, of rushing water suddenly pouring down a gulch, threatening to drown the people in the tram.
Memories of Hollywood, wondering if you'd missed your calling to be a director, a set decorator, or a make-up artist or a wardrobe artist, whenever you thought of that day back then, in California where the sun shone and the air was clean in 1975.
Bus tours in Beverly Hills, sweet, sweet houses of actors and actresses back in 1975.
Rodeo Drive, beautiful shops, ultra-expensive apparel and perfumes, mostly for women.
Walk of the Stars, those stars sunk into the sidewalk named to the actors and actresses, honored for their work and their success. Some had their footprints and hand prints sunk into the cement beside the star and name.
Best though was deciding which movie studio to tour, which took hours to do. I chose Universal.
Trams and guides took over. No cars were allowed once inside the gates. I saw how movies were made, shown their secrets and tricks, so unbelievably simple some of them were, when explained.
Acres of windowless buildings held television "sets" for situation comedies broadcast to the countries.
Revolving stages were living-rooms, kitchens, and any other rooms used in the taping that were set up as homes. All around the curved front of the stages, seats, in tiers and rows, held audiences for live tapings at night.
Free tickets to be a part of the tapings were offered by the guides.
The studio provided a wonderful insight and view into the magic of Hollywood, and memories of a monster with a stake through its neck boarding a tram to scare whoever wasn't aware that it was there, memories of a shark rising up out of water, blood dripping from its gaping jaws, of a tram whose lower half disappeared into the water and came up on the other side, keeping you dry and safe, of rushing water suddenly pouring down a gulch, threatening to drown the people in the tram.
Memories of Hollywood, wondering if you'd missed your calling to be a director, a set decorator, or a make-up artist or a wardrobe artist, whenever you thought of that day back then, in California where the sun shone and the air was clean in 1975.
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