‘What do kids need with a revolving rooftop cocktail lounge?’ : Sweet Sidney And Me

Find a little sympathy in your heart for Sidney Grobstein.

He was building a house that provided recreational facilities for his grandchildren, and the city stopped him cold.

Now, curses, he’s got to start all over again.

Shed a salty tear for Sid.

Grobstein, a developer, was constructing what he says was a single-family dwelling in a pleasant semi-rural section of the San Fernando Valley when a man across the street became suspicious.

It began to look to Preston Conley that old Sid might be constructing an illegal three-unit apartment building in their neighborhood.

As he watched the house going up, Preston said, he realized that the main unit had two of everything, including two kitchens, and that a detached “cabana” looked suspiciously like a separate apartment.

Preston mentioned this to friends in the Reseda Homeowners Assn. who examined Sidney’s building plans and, in a gesture of cold distrust, filed a protest with the city.

Sidney was naturally shocked.

What looked like three kitchens in the main house and cabana, he insisted, were simply a kitchen and two wet bars. He liked to entertain.

The bedroom-sized room in the cabana was a billiards room, and what appeared to be a carport attached to the cabana was a Ping-Pong room.

“I designed this house,” Sidney told the city, “because I have grandchildren.”

The Board of Zoning Appeals, however, was indifferent to Sidney’s concern for his grandchildren and ordered that dear man to rip out the extra facilities and rebuild the structure as a one-family home.

Poor Sidney Grobstein. I know how he feels.

I too have grandchildren and, in fact, was about to add on to my house to provide facilities for their enjoyment when I came up against county zoning laws.

You’d think they had never seen a single-family home before with a restaurant, a cocktail lounge, a dance floor, tennis courts and a front desk.

“What’s this?” a building inspector demanded the day I took my blueprints downtown. His name was William Cobalt and he obviously did not love the human race.

“I want to add on to my house,” I explained pleasantly. “I have grandchildren.”

“You want to go up four stories for your grandchildren?”

“I think it’s important to provide them with recreational facilities,” I said.

“What,” Cobalt said, “do kids need with a revolving rooftop cocktail lounge?”

“That’s the Nancy Reagan Room,” I said. “Nan, as we call her, is leading a drive for kids to say no to drugs. I think the negative emphasis is counterproductive. I intend fighting drugs by teaching my grandchildren to say yes to hard liquor, the American Way. We’ll start with martinis in their own little cocktail lounge.”

“And the spa?”

“The Jane Fonda Workout Center. Good health is going to be important to the new generation. They may have wars to fight.”

“What about the restaurant?” Cobalt said.

“The little tykes have got to eat.”

“In a room that provides for 125 tables?”

“Well,” I said, “my grandchildren have many friends, and naturally they’ll want them over occasionally to share peanut butter sandwiches at lunchtime.”

“You need a full-sized galley to fix peanut butter sandwiches?”

“Not just for that,” I said. “The kitchen will also be used to feed the homeless during the holidays.”

“And the dance floor?”

“For the homeless to romp in happiness after a hearty meal.”

Cobalt glared and continued to study the plans. The front desk area and lobby also seemed to bother him.

“I designed it after a Motel Six entryway,” I explained. “I want the grandkids to feel the same kind of warmth and welcome I always felt during the years I spent on the road staying in cheap motels.”

Suddenly Cobalt said ah, ha! and his finger came down hard on the blueprints.

“This casino for the grandchildren too?”

I chuckled, the way Sweet Sidney Grobstein must have chuckled.

“That,” I said patiently, “is the Chuck E. Cheese Room. It will feature electronic games for the enjoyment of my grandchildren.”

“And blackjack tables for their good fortune?” Cobalt said with an evil grin.

“Those are individual pizza tables,” I said. “They are shaped in a semi-circle to facilitate the serving of snacks.”

The phone rang. Cobalt answered, listened and then hung up.

“Building permit denied!” he said suddenly.

“But why? My grandchildren deserve the best.”

“That,” he said, “was your grandson on the phone. In the spirit of kids who turn in their parents for violating narcotics laws, he wants to turn you in for violating zoning laws! He accuses you of trying to build a Hotel Med in Topanga.”

“The little rat,” I said. “And to think I was planning a singles bar for the garage.”

“Look on the bright side,” Cobalt said, pushing me out the door, “you’re the first person ever turned in by his grandson.”

That’s something, I guess.