Costa Mesa to Investigate ‘Swinger’ Parties : Inquiry: A neighbor complains about ‘Panther Palace,’ where 200 couples share potluck, partners.

Proud grandfather and grieving husband, 71-year-old Bill Goodwin stands at his kitchen sink, rinsing his false teeth and talking about sex.

“I can go four, five, six girls in one night,” he says, thrusting out his chest, with its short shelf of well-preserved pectorals. “You can see it doesn’t hurt me. I’m in great shape.”

Besides pumping iron, Goodwin stays fit by catering to Orange County’s “swinging” set, a subculture of 200 couples who regularly gather for partner-swapping and potluck suppers. Over the past nine years, Goodwin says he has hosted hundreds of swinger parties in his two-story Costa Mesa house, known in swinger circles as “The Panther Palace.”

Even as his wife, Dotty, battled breast cancer, and even after her death last March, the party never stopped.

But now Costa Mesa officials are threatening to turn out the lights. City Manager Allan L. Roeder says he is investigating whether Goodwin’s lifestyle has turned a quiet neighborhood--just down the road from Triangle Square and some of Orange County’s trendiest shops--into Little Gomorrah.

An anonymous neighbor recently wrote Mayor Joe Erickson, alleging that naked party-goers had been scampering up and down Goodwin’s once-sedate street, while condoms lie among the litter left behind by revelers--claims that Goodwin angrily denies.

“There’s no dope, there’s nothing illegal at all, and I don’t charge,” he says.

Still, Roeder forwarded the neighbor’s complaint to Costa Mesa’s police chief and city attorney, telling them to find out by today if Goodwin is breaking any laws.

Morality is not the issue, Roeder says. There is no law against orgies in Costa Mesa, and Goodwin has a right to give whatever kinds of parties he wishes. Officials can intervene only if they decide he is running a business, which would be a violation of residential zoning ordinances.

They may also be able to fine Goodwin for building extra bedrooms onto his 3,000-square-foot house without proper permits, city officials say.

In 10 years as city manager, Roeder says he has encountered no issue so odd as the Panther Palace, or its white-haired, self-styled carouser, who responded to his neighbor’s complaints by firing off a letter to city officials, denying any wrongdoing and inviting them to visit the Palace, “as my guests.”

“There have been numerous bad jokes tossed my way about me going in undercover,” Roeder says.

Roeder concedes it is naive to think such things never happen, though he says he was among the most naive until a week ago.

“I thought this went the way of flashing, these swapping parties,” he says, “and that it was one of those things that was kind of a fad for a period of time in the ‘70s, that it came and went.”

Not by a long shot, says Goodwin, who welcomed 107 couples to his last Halloween party, all in costume.

“Biggest party we ever had,” he brags.

Taking a break from preparations for his next get-together, Goodwin finishes rinsing his teeth under the tap. He opens his mouth, places them in and smiles broadly, a disarming prelude to some shameless boasting about his bedroom prowess.

“In the Navy, God, I’d go, go, go,” he says. “I love girls. I sure do. I got three beautiful daughters, and they all know about my swinging.”

Goodwin says his neighbors, like his daughters, don’t mind his bashes, which occur on the first and last Saturday of every month. (Swinger “brunches” take place every third Sunday.)

Attempts to portray his parties as throwbacks to ancient Rome are simply unfair, he says.

“We’re not just taking off our clothes and having sex,” he says. “We’ve also got karaoke!”

Goodwin insists that he and his guests are having wholesome adult fun, though they do seem to brush aside widespread concerns about sexually transmitted diseases. AIDS is not a fear, he says, because he allows only married couples and friends to attend. No singles or gay men.

“We don’t worry about disease because we do everything to stay healthy,” he says. “Swinging with another man’s wife is like swinging with your own wife.”

A retired truck driver and carpenter, Goodwin maintains a remarkable V-shaped physique for a man his age. He claims to be a former training partner of Jack LaLanne, and keeps his muscles plump by lifting rusty bar bells every day in a thatch-topped workout shed that looks like one of the castaways’ huts on Gilligan’s Island.

Goodwin built the workout shed with his own hands, as he did much of the Palace, including many thinly curtained bedrooms and dark booths, a disco dance floor and a 40-person Jacuzzi, which is heated to 100 degrees and hidden by palm trees and Monterey pines.

When the house’s cement surfaces were wet, Goodwin lovingly inscribed them with “Wild Bill and Dotty.” He says he and his beloved wife of 20 years became permanent hosts on the swinger circuit by popular demand.

An avid hot air balloonist whose love of panthers gave Goodwin the idea for the Palace decor and the large black panther statue on the front lawn, Dotty participated in the party life until her cancer was diagnosed two years ago. Weak and writhing in pain, she spent her last days in a hospital bed Goodwin installed in the front room.

The party went on around her.

“Oh, she was beautiful,” Goodwin says, tears running down his cheeks. “I miss her so much.”

As his wife lay dying, guests often sat with her during parties. Goodwin, meanwhile, slept every night on a nearby sofa, and now that Dotty is gone he cannot sleep anywhere else.

“The house is full of beds and I haven’t slept in a bed in two years,” he says.

But if he is not sleeping steadily, Goodwin finds a measure of ease in other ways. Washing dishes, doing laundry, making his guest’s rumpled beds, these are the elements of his grieving “therapy.” Then there are his guests, who provide a consistent source of distraction.

“We put our arms around each other and talk,” he says. “Sometimes, we don’t even have--well, not me, I always have sex.”

Goodwin says his guests come from all professions: Lawyers, doctors, teachers, chiropractors and psychologists and attend his parties, and they range in age from Generation X’ers to octogenarians.

“The oldest lady we had here was 84 years old,” he said. “She wasn’t too bad, you know. For her age, 84. Helluva nice little party gal. I haven’t seen her in a while. I hope she’s OK.”

Most parties attract a regular crowd of 40 couples, the majority from Southern California, though some drop in from Arizona, New York and beyond.

Goodwin says he never charges admission, and guests supply their own food and liquor. Usually, he says, guests donate $30 to help pay for disc jockeys, security and general upkeep.

“Everyone brings potluck,” he says. “Good stuff. Fried chicken, turkey, ham, cheeses, casseroles. You ought to taste the barbecued cabbage that comes here.”

Eventually, it is time for Goodwin to return to his party preparations. The phone is ringing, guests are RSVP-ing, and the proprietor of the Panther Palace has a million things to do.

After a lifetime spent emulating both Hugh Hefner and Martha Stewart, Goodwin concedes that he grows weary.

“In a way, I’m dreading this Saturday,” he admits. “You get a lot of people in your house, and you have a lot of cleanup to do.”

But having said this, he considers the morning sunlight as it bounces off the Jacuzzi and twinkles off the miniature disco ball, and he decides with a glint in his eye that it’s still good to be Wild Bill.

“You can’t never get tired of sex,” he says, indulging himself a toothy grin. “No man ever gets tired of sex.”